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ENCYCLOPAEDIA BRITANNICA
Platometor PLATOMETER (7rAan;s, broad, fiirpov, a measure) is
II the name of an instrument invented by Mr John Sang,
Platon. Kirkcaldy, 24th December 1851, the principal feature of
which is the employment of a cone acting on an index-
wheel, from which is read off the area of any figure whose
outline has been followed by the tracer of the instrument.
It has the peculiar advantage of giving the areas of the
most irregular figures with the same accuracy that it gives
the areas of the most regular, and with the same facility.
It will be found described and figured in the Transactions
of the Royal Scottish Society of Arts, vol. iv.
PLATON, a celebrated archbishop of Moscow, whose
family name was Leoshin, was born 24th June 1737. He
was the son of a priest near Moscow, and while yet a stu¬
dent at the university there, he was made teacher of
poetry and rhetoric at the convent. He shortly afterwards
entered the church ; and after various stages of advance¬
ment, he was, in 1762, made rector and professor of theo¬
logy. The visit of Queen Catherine II. to the St Sergius
Lavra was made after her coronation in 1762, and Platon
preached a discourse before her remarkable for its elo¬
quence. So favourable was the impression, that he was at
once appointed court preacher and preceptor in matters of
religion to the Grand Duke, for whose instruction he drew
up the Orthodox Faith, or Outlines of Christian Theo¬
logy, esteemed the best of his works. He was created
archbishop of Tver in 1770; and after a four years’ resi¬
dence at St Petersburg he was removed. During his
residency at his new office he established a number of
minor schools for religious instruction, and wrote two sepa¬
rate treatises, one for teachers, and the other for pupils.
He had also entrusted to him the education of the Princess
of Wiirtemberg-Stuttgart, Maria Pheodorovna, in the
tenets of the Grasco-Russian church. He was advanced to
the see of Moscow in 1775 ; and in 1785 he erected a con¬
vent in Bethania, where he afterwards resided. As metro¬
politan of the Russian church he enjoyed the privilege of
placing the crown on the Emperor Alexander at Moscow
1801. He died at Bethania during the following year,
1802.
VOL. XVIII.
His works, printed at different times, amount in all to 20 Plattsburg
volumes. A selection from them, consisting of the finest ||
passages, was published in 2 volumes in 1805. Plautus.
PLATTSBURG, a town of the United States of North
America, state of New York, on both sides of the Saranac,
at its mouth in a wide and beautiful bay on Lake Cham¬
plain, 160 miles N. by E. of Albany. It contains many
good edifices, among which are the county buildings, seve¬
ral churches, an academy and other schools, two banks,
&c. There are also saw-mills, cotton factories, and manu¬
factories of leather, machinery, &c. Plattsburg is a mili¬
tary post, and a large stone barracks was recently erected
in the neighbourhood, but it is not at present garrisoned.
An extensive and active trade is carried on, the town being
connected by railway with Montreal, and by steamers with
the various other ports on the lake. The tonnage of the
port, enrolled and licensed, June 30, 1852, was 6259; of
which, sailing-vessels 4558 tons, steamers 1701 tons. Pop.
(1850) 5618.
PLAUEN, a walled town of the kingdom of Saxony,
circle of Zwickau, is built on uneven ground in a beautiful
valley on the W. bank of the White Elster, 61 miles S.W.
of Leipsic. On an elevated spot stands the old castle
which was anciently the residence of the stewards of the
empire (Voigte des Reichs), Plauen having been the
capital of the Voigtland. Among the buildings of the
town are several churches, hospitals, and schools. Plauen
is one of the most important manufacturing towns in the
kingdom, producing cotton goods, muslins, cambrics, lace,
hosiery, leather, watches, philosophical instruments, and
other articles. Pop. 13,812.
PLAUTUS, the greatest of the Roman comic drama¬
tists, is almost unknown to us except by his writings. As
his personal history was a matter of indifference to his con¬
temporaries, it is not until the writings of a later period
that we find even a casual reference to it. Our endeavour
to reach the truth is moreover impeded by the many at¬
tributes which are generally ascribed to a comic poet, such
as humble origin and personal deformity. This may ac¬
count in some measure for the conflicting statements on
A »
Plautus, almost every point of his life. _ — . - q ,„qc
' Ritschl (De Plauti poeta nominibus) the poets name was
supposed to be Marcus Accius Plautus ; but on t e ns-
covery of the palimpsest manuscript at Milan, Ins real
’ name was found to be Titus Maccius Plautus; the one
name Maccius having been divided into the two, M. Accius
The word Plautus meant in the Umbrian dialect fl
footed.” Hence perhaps the idea of deformity. In some
of the manuscripts the cognomen Asimus is added to
name. Some have supposed that Asinns was the name
really given him on account of his having been employed
in grinding corn, a work generally performed by asses.
Ritschl, however, has proved satisfactorily that Asmms is
a corruption of Sarcinas, the ethnic name of the poet.
Plautus is generally supposed to have been born at Sarcina,
a village in Umbria, on the river Sapis (^o), according
to Ritschl (Be (state Plauti\ in the year 254 B.c.
to his parentage there are two conjectures ; either that he
was born of slaves, and, going early to Rome, had an oppor¬
tunity of associating with learned men, or that he was bom
of free parents who gave him a good education. For t e
little we know of his life we are indebted to a passage o
Varro, preserved by Aulus Gellius {Noctes Attica, m. 3.)
Plautus^while jet young went to Rome, where he was
employed working for the actors on the stage ( in {
artificum scenicorum,” a passage which does not ^
supposed by Lessing, that he wrote plays . With the
money which he gained by this means he made some com¬
mercial speculations. These failed, and Plautus was utterly
ruined. He returned to Rome, where his difficulties weie
probably increased by the great scarcity of corn then pre-
vailino-. To support himself, he entered the service of a
baker” who employed him in grinding corn with a hand-
mill. At this time he composed the Saturio, the Addictus,
and another play whose name is unknown. Ritsch sup¬
poses this to have been about the year 224 B.c., Plautus
being thirty years of age. By these plays, and by his em¬
ployment, he gained a sufficient sum to enable him to
leave his master, and to continue at Rome writing for the
stace. Of the rest of his life nothing is known. It is even
doubtful whether he ever obtained the Roman franchise.
The date of his death is differently stated by St Jerome
and by Cicero. The former {Chronicles of Eusebius)
names as the time of his death the 145th Olympiad,-that
is, between the years 200 and 196 B.C.; while the latter
(Brutus, 15), who is more exact, informs us that he died in
the consulship of P. Claudius and L. Porcius, while Cato
was censor,-that is, 183 b.c. Thus we find that he flour¬
ished during the second Punic war, and was contem¬
porary with Cato. ,
It is difficult, if not impossible, to ascertain how many
comedies Plautus actually wrote. Even in the time ot
Varro, as we see by the chapter in Aulus Gellius already
quoted, it was a matter of dispute. Varro, it seems, wrote
a book on the subject, entitled Qucestiones Plautina. At
that time no less than 130 plays claimed Plautus as
their author. Of these, Varro chose out 21 as being un¬
doubtedly authentic, which, from this circumstance, weie
called Varronianse. Among these were the 20 now
extant, the Vidularia, which is lost, being the 21st.
Varro, however, considered others besides these the work
of Plautus ; and L. JElius fixes the number at 25. Ac¬
cording to Gellius, several plays, which bore the names of
other writers, had internal evidence ot their having been
written by Plautus {Plautinissimi). Such were the Bceotia,
the Nervolaria, and the Fretum. The remaining plays
attributed to Plautus are accounted for in two ways ; either
there was another comic poet of the name ot Plautius,
whose works {Plautiance) were confounded with those of
Plautus {Plautince), from the similarity of the two words ;
or they were the work of contemporaries, which were re-
PLAUTUS.
Until the investigations of ioM (retraclata: by Plautus.
Probably Plautus.
bt iTS-d%"e' extant comedies were arranged
in their present order by Priscian the grammarian, who is
ffiso thought to have written the acrostic argument prefixed
to each. ° The comedies follow one another, wRh o
cention in the alphabetical oxAer The Amphitryon
is Pthe history of the birth of Hercules, in winch his father
Jupiter appears in a very questionable light. This play
in hs ridicule of the gods, approaches the old Greek
comedy more nearly than any of the other productions ot
Plautus. He himself called it a tragic comedy. So po¬
pular was it among the Romans that, as Arnobius tdls us,
ft continued to be acted at Rome in the reign of Diocle¬
tian. The Amphitryon of Mohere, and the Two Socias of
Drvden are both imitations of this play. 2. The Asinana
is a translation of a comedy written, according to Lessing,
bv Diphilus, a Greek comic poet. It is the story of a
father and son in love with the same mistress. It contains
much that is amusing, together with a great deal that is
obscene 3. The Aulularia is the story of a miser who
discovers in his house a hidden treasure. Unfortunately
the end of this play, is lost. From the acrostic argument
of Priscian, however, Antomus Codrus Urceus, a piofessor
at Bologna, has attempted to supply the deficiency. O
it Moliere has founded his Avare; and Shadwell an
Fielding their Miser. 4. The Captivi is generally ac¬
knowledged to be the masterpiece of Plautus, tor it
Lessing has an unbounded admiration, and even pro¬
nounces it “ the best piece which has ever come upon the
stage.” He tells us that, though he had repeatedly read
it with a view to discovering some fault, far from doing so,
on each perusal he had found more reason to admire it. It
has an excellent plot, abounds with humour, and, far from
having any taint of ribaldry, has a decidedly moral tend¬
ency. 5. The Curculio. 6. The Casina, copied bom
the Greek of Diphilus, is not a play of much merit. Ihe
prologue was evidently written long after its first repre¬
sentation, and after the death of Plautus. 7. I he Ciste -
laria is a short piece, containing much that is obscene, and
little that is interesting. 8. The Epidicus, a good p ay,
was a great favourite with Plautus himself. 9. I he Eac-
chides, a most ribald farce, is the only case in which the al¬
phabetical arrangement of the plays is not kept. I ms is
accounted for by the fact that, in the 215th line, the Epi¬
dicus is mentioned, thereby proving that it was written
before the Eacchides. 10. The Mostellaria has been
imitated by Reynard in his Unexpected Return, and also
by Fielding in his Intriguing Chambermaid. 11. Ihe
Mencechmi is very clever and amusing. It has been imi¬
tated by Shakspeare in his Comedy of Errors, and by Rey¬
nard. 12. The Miles Gloriosus is one of the best dramas
of Plautus. The subject is the outwitting of a braggart.
13. The Mercator, a play of small merit, is founded upon
the ’E/x7ropos of Philemon. 14. The Pseudolus. Ihis
play, and the Truculentus, we are told by C icero {T)e Se¬
ttee tut e), were considered by Plautus himself as his two
best. The Pseudolus certainly is very good; but of the
Truculentus we cannot say so much. In our opinion, it
is the very worst of all the plays, being deficient in plot
and filled with obscenity. 15. The Pcenulus is remarkable
for containing some Carthaginian words, almost the only
relics of that language. 16. The Persa. 17. 4 he Ru-
dens,a pleasing play, but with an unsatisfactory conclusion.
18. The Stichus. 19. The Trinumnus is considered by
Lessing to be the best production of its author, next to
the Captivi. 20. Truculentus. 21. Vidularia. This
play is supposed to have followed the Truculentus, and
completed the 21 Varronianse, from the fact, that in an
old manuscript {Codex of Camerarius), at the end of the
Truculentus, are the words “ Incipit Vidularia,” and that at
P L A
Plautus, the end of the palimpsest manuscript there are a few sen-
tences of this play. .
Horace, in his Ars Poetica (270), has the following
severe criticism upon Plautus i—
« At vestri proavi Plautinos et numeros et
Laudavere sales, nimium patienter utrumque
Ne dicam stulte, mirati, si modo ego et vos
Scimus inurbanum lepido seponere dicto,
Legitimumque sonum digitis callemis et aure.”
Lessing has tried to prove that Horace does not mean by
these words the unqualified condemnation of Plautus which
they seem to imply at first sight, but that he merely con¬
demns his verses. However this may be, we cannot wonder
that the polished ear of Horace should have been offended
by some of the coarse jokes and irregular lines of Plautus.
But, at the same time, Horace ought to have remembered
that 150 years had passed since Plautus flourished, and that
taste and feeling had much changed in the interval. Such
was not, however, the universal opinion of the learned men
of the Augustan age. For Cicero (De Officiis, 29) says:—
“ Comedy is of two very different kinds,—the one illiberal,
quarrelsome, shameless, and obscene; the other of great
elegance, refinement, genius, and wit; to which latter class
belong not only our Plautus and the ancient comedy of
the Athenians, but also the books of the Socratic philoso¬
phers thus placing Plautus on a level with the Athenian
philosophers and the writers of the Old Comedy. Quinti¬
lian (x. 1) also tells us that L. Aflius Stilo used to have so
great an admiration for the works of Plautus as to say
that, “ If the Muses were to speak Latin, they would adopt
the language of Plautus.”
If the wit of Plautus sometimes seems to us insipid, and
his jokes coarse, we must keep in mind how entirely the
force of comedy depends upon the circumstances and
manners of the age in which it is produced. As Plautus
wrote exclusively for the stage, to gain the applause of the
lower classes, he was obliged to have recourse to that low
buffoonery which was most attractive to them. Sometimes,
indeed, Plautus may have intended, by exposing, to check
the immoralities of his day. But if such were his object,
he ought not throughout to have made the courtezan the
only female who had any attractions in the way of wit or
conversation, while the lawful wife is generally a mute or
else an intolerable scold, who is to be ridiculed and out¬
witted. Deducting, however, from Plautus all that is low
and disgusting, there still remains a fund of real humour
for which no one can refuse him admiration. The come¬
dies of Plautus belong to the Comoedia Palliata. His
works, and those of Terence, are indeed the only means we
have of judging of the New Comedy of the Greeks. For
the writings of Menander, Diphilus, Philemon, and the
other writers of the New Comedy are, with the exception
of a few stray sentences, entirely lost. From this fact, we
are unable to ascertain how far they were actually copied
by Plautus ; but from the Roman tone which pervades his
characters, their actions, and their jokes, no one can for a
moment suppose that he was a servile copyist. Terence
probably imitated his Greek models far more exactly than
Plautus; for though Terence is certainly the more elegant
and refined writer, Plautus is by far the more original and
truly Roman. The comedies of Plautus are not perhaps
so interesting to us as those of Aristophanes and the writers
of the Old Comedy. For Aristophanes rakes up for us the
skeleton closets, and shows us the weak points of those
ancients whom we worship almost as demigods; whereas
the New Comedy is only a transition between the old and
that of modern times, without the piquancy belonging to
personality, and with none of the polish and fine dis¬
crimination of character which marks the comedy of our
days. The text of Plautus is very corrupt. Much of the
P L A 3
original has been lost, and the text has been filled with in- Playfair,
terpolations. This is principally owing to all the manu-
scripts which we had having been copied from one which
was itself corrupt. Some years ago, however, there was
discovered in the Ambrosian Library at Milan the palimp¬
sest manuscript, which is as old as the fifth century. This
is much purer, though even in it are found some interpo¬
lations. Ritschl has already produced six of the plays, with
their text, founded on this manuscript.
The oldest edition of the entire works of Plautus which
we have is that of Georgius Merula, which was produced
at Venice in the year 1472. The best of the earlier edi¬
tions are those of Taubman, Frankfort, 1605 ; Wittenburg,
1612 and 1621 ; Grovonius, Leyden, 1664 and 1669; and
at Amsterdam, 1684, the text of which was got by the
comparison of six different manuscripts. The best modern
editions of the entire works are those of Bothe, Berlin,
1809; and, last, at Leipsic, 1834; and of Weise, Qued-
linburg, 1837-38. Ritschl’s edition, when completed, will
surpass all those previous to it.
The best books we have on Plautus are Lessing’s Essay
Fon dem Leben und den Werken des Plautus, to which
we are deeply indebted ; and Ritschl’s Parergon Plautino-
rum Terentianorumque.
Plautus has been translated into almost every European
language. The best English translation is that of Bonell
Thornton, vols. i. ii. (1767) ; and Richard Warner, vols.
iii. iv. (1773), into familiar blank verse. (c. H. C.)
PLAYFAIR, John, a mathematician and philosopher
of great eminence and celebrity, and so peculiarly a bene¬
factor to this publication, as would have made it fit that
some memorial of him should be preserved in these pages,
even if it could have been surmised that it might not have
been found in any other place. There are few names, how¬
ever, in the recent history of British science that are more
extensively or advantageously known, or of which the few
particulars that remain to be recorded will be more gene¬
rally interesting. His life, like most others that have been
dedicated to the silent pursuits of learning and science,
does not abound in incidents or adventures; but it is full
of honour, both for the individual and the studies to which
he was devoted, and may be read with more profit than
many more ambitious histories.
He was the eldest son of the Reverend James Playfair,
minister of Benvie in Forfarshire, in which place he was
born on the 10th of March 1748. He resided at home,
under the domestic tuition of his father, until the age of
fourteen, when he entered at the university of St Andrews;
and was almost immediately distinguished not merely for
his singular proficiency in mathematical learning, but for
the extent of his general knowledge, the cleaxmess of his
judgment, and the dignity and propriety of his conduct.
A remarkable testimony to this effect has been made pub¬
lic in an early letter of Principal George Hill, who was at
this time one of his fellow-students, and was himself so
remarkable for early talent that we’ find it recorded of
him that he had privately composed an excellent sermon in
the tenth year of his age. A youth of this description cannot
be supposed to have been very indulgent in his estimate of
the merits of his competitors ; and it could therefore have
been no ordinary measure of ability that called forth the
following ingenuous avowal, in a confidential letter to his
mother: “ Playfair has very great merit, and more know¬
ledge and a better judgment than any of his class-fel¬
lows. I make no exceptions; my parts might be more
showy, and the kind of reading to which my inclination led
me was calculated to enable me to make a better figure at
St Andrews; but in judgment and understanding I was
greatly inferior to him.” (Dr Cook’s Life of Principal Hill.)
It is scarcely a stronger, though undoubtedly a very differ¬
ent proof of his rare attainments, that when the professor
of natural philosophy, Wilkie, the once celebrated author
of the Epigoniad, was prevented by indisposition from de¬
livering the regular lectures, he used generally to delegate
the task of instruction to his youthful pupil. Wilkie, be¬
sides being a scholar and philosopher of no mean note, was
a man of primitive benevolence and integrity, and of great
vivacity in conversation ; and the friendship which, in
spite of the disparity of their years, was speedily formed
between him and young Playfair, speaks as much for the
social and moral character of the latter, as his substitution
of him in the class-room does for his early proficiency in
science. On this last subject we shall mention but one
fact more. In 1766, when only eighteen years of age, he
offered himself, with the approbation of his instructors at
St Andrews, as candidate for the professorship of mathe¬
matics in Marischal College, Aberdeen, and sustained,
with the most distinguished credit, an examination 01
comparative trial which lasted eleven days, and embraced
nearly the whole range of the exact sciences. Out of the
six competitors who entered the lists against him, two
only were judged to have excelled him, the Reverend Dr
Trail, who was appointed to the office, and Dr Hamilton,
who afterwards succeeded to and long filled it with much
re]jn ^59 he removed to Edinburgh, where his merit and
modesty very soon introduced him to the friendship of Dr
Robertson, Adam Smith, Dr Matthew Stewart, Dr Black,
and Dr Hutton ; with all of whom he continued on terms
of the utmost cordiality during the whole period of their
lives. In 1772 he was a candidate for the professorship
of natural philosophy at St Andrews, vacant by the death
of his friend Dr Wilkie. There was no comparative trial
on this occasion; and he was again unsuccessful, under
circumstances which have led one of the most dutiful sons
of that university (Dr Cook, in his Life of Principal Hill)
to remark “ how much it suffered in thus losing a man by
whose talents its reputation would have been so highly pro¬
moted.” In the course of the same year, the death of his
father suddenly devolved upon him the burden of support¬
ing the family, and admonished him no longer to delay the
final election of a profession. He had been educated with
a view to the church, and was every way qualified to
accept a living on the Establishment; but his decided pie-
dilection for science had hitherto made him hesitate about
engaging in a vocation, the duties of which, he felt, if con¬
scientiously discharged, would necessarily interfere to a
great extent with the studies he was loath to abandon. In
this emergency, however, he thought himself no longer
entitled to indulge in those predilections, and accordingly
made application to Lord Gray, the patron, for a presenta¬
tion to the livings of Lift' and Benvie, which had been
filled by his father. His lordship was too well aware of
his merits to hesitate about conferring so great a benefit on
his parishioners ; and immediately issued a presentation in
his favour, although, from some challenge of his right to
the patronage, induction was not obtained until late in the
year 1773.
From this period until 1782 Playfair was constantly re¬
sident at Lift, and occupied almost exclusively with the
pastoral duties of his office. In this retreat his leisure
hours were dedicated to the education of his younger bro¬
thers, and to a very close and intimate correspondence
with Robertson (afterwards Lord Robertson), the son of the
illustrious historian, to whom he seems to have confined
the remarks that occurred to him upon the different authors
he perused, and the subjects of speculation which they sug¬
gested. We cannot help hoping that some selection from
this correspondence may one day be given to the public.
In the year 1779 he contributed to the Transactions of
the Royal Society of London a paper on the “ Arithmetic
of Impossible Quantities,” which exhibits, within a very
small compass, a striking example of the rare and admirable Playfair,
talent of detaching the sound spirit of science from what
may be termed its mysticism, and circumscribing, by t e
most precise and luminous boundaries, the vague and
unlimited inquiries into which many mathematicians had
been seduced by the nature of the instruments they em-
the year 1782 he was induced, by very advantageous
offers, to resign his charge, and to superintend the educa¬
tion of Ferguson of Raith, and his brother Sir Ronald ; an
arrangement which restored him in a great measure to the
literary and scientific society of Edinburgh, and enablec
him to gratify himself by a personal introduction to several
of the most eminent cultivators of science in London. He
had repeatedly visited Dr Maskelyne, astronomer-royal,
whilst that ingenious mathematician was busied, in 1774,
in making a series of observations in Perthshire on the
attraction of mountains ; and, whilst sharing the shelter ol
his tent on the side of Schehallien, contracted with him a
cordial friendship, which continued unbroken for the re¬
mainder of their lives. Under these honourable auspices
he made his first appearance in London in 1782, and was
speedily introduced to all those in whom he was likely to
take most interest. He seems to have kept a pretty full
and correct journal of all that he observed during this
journey to the metropolis ; and a portion of it, which is pre¬
fixed to the late collection of his works, is, in our judg¬
ment, one of the most interesting parts of that publication.
It is not only written with great elegance and accuracy,
but affords, in the fre^, candid, and pointed observations
which it contains on the different individuals with whom he
comes in contact, a very remarkable proof of his quick
and sagacious perception of character, and his power ot
selecting and turning to account, even in the fever and
distraction of a first visit to such a scene, all that was
really worthy of careful observation or permanent remem-
brance.
In 1785 he was received into the university of Edin¬
burgh, in consequence of an arrangement between his two
illustrious associates, Dr Adam Ferguson and Mr Dugald
Stewart. Mr Stewart exchanged the chair of mathematics,
in which he had succeeded to his father, for that of moral
philosophy, which had been long filled by Dr Ferguson,
who, finding that the delicate state of his health would
prevent him from discharging the active duties of the ma¬
thematical professor, immediately devolved them upon
Playfair, for whom he procured the appointment of joint
professor in that department.
In 1788 he published, in the Transactions of the Royal
Society of Edinburgh, a biographical account of Dr Mat¬
thew Stewart, which is remarkable, not only for the ease
and purity of the style, but also as containing a singularly
clear and interesting account of the labours of Dr Simson
in the restoration of the ancient geometry, and of the suc¬
cess both of him and Dr Stewart in adapting the elegant
simplicity of the Greek methods of investigation to problems
which had previously been regarded as insoluble except by
the aid of the modern analysis. He also published, in the
same year, a paper “ On the Causes which affect the Accu¬
racy of Barometrical Measurements,” which is written with
all the perspicuity, caution, and sagacity that constitute the
great excellence and the great difficulty of such disquisitions,
where scientific principles are employed to give precision
to physical observations.
In 1790 he published in the same Transactions a paper
of still greater interest and delicacy, “ On the Astronomy of
the Brahmins,”—a subject which had been recently recom¬
mended to the notice of the European scientific world by
the curious and learned observations of M. Badly, in his
General History of Astronomy, but had never met with so
minute and scrupulous an investigation as it now received
PLAY
Playfair, at the hands of Mr Playfair. The whole treatise is written
> v - with a beautiful perspicuity, in an admirable spirit of can¬
dour and ingenuity, and in a style more elegant and spirited
than had yet lent its attraction to subjects so recondite
and abstruse. The publication accordingly attracted very
general notice, both in Europe and in Asia; and gave rise
to much discussion and research, the final value and result
of which does not seem yet to be ascertained. This was
followed in 1794 by a learned and very beautiful treatise
on the Origin and Investigation of Porisms, in which the
obscure nature of the very comprehensive and indefinite
theorems to which this name was applied by the ancient
geometers, is explained with the most lucid simplicity ;
and the extraordinary merits of Dr Simson, in deducing
their true theory from the very vague and scanty notices
of them which had come down to his time, are commemo¬
rated with a noble spirit of emulation.
In 1795 he published his Elements of Geometry, for the
use of the pupils attending his class,—a work which has
since been held in such estimation by the public as to have
gone through numerous editions of a thousand copies each.
In 1797 he composed a sequel to his first paper on the In¬
dian Astronomy, in the shape of Observations on the Trigo¬
nometrical Tables of the Brahmins; and also a masterly
collection of Theorems on the Figure of the Earth. It is
also understood that he occupied himself a good deal at
this time in the preparation of an Essay on the Accidental
Discoveries made by Men of Science ivhile in Pursuit of
some other Object, although we find no portion oi this
curious discussion in the collection of his works.
His excellent and ingenious friend Dr Hutton died in
the year last mentioned ; and Playfair, having undertaken
to draw up a biographical account of him for the Royal
Society, was first led to study his ingenious but somewhat
crude speculations on the Theory of the Earth, and after¬
wards to lend them the assistance of his own powerful pen
in his Illustrations of the Huttonian Theory. 1 his work,
upon which he bestowed more time and labour than on
any of his other productions, did not appear till 1802 ; and
it was not till 1803 that he presented to their associates his
admirable memoir of their departed friend.
Whatever opinion may be formed, now or hereafter, of
the truth or soundness of the suppositions by which Dr
Hutton endeavoured to explain the actual state and con¬
dition of our globe, it is impossible to doubt that Playfair’s
illustration of that theory must always be ranked amongst
the most brilliant aad powerful productions of philosophical
genius. The beautiful clearness and captivating eloquence
with which the system itself is unfolded and explained, the
spirit and force of reasoning with which all the objections
to it are combated, the skill with which the infinite variety
of facts which it brought into view are combined into one
grand and legitimate introduction, and the judgment and
extent of learning by which so many large and profound
views of nature are brought to bear upon the points in dis¬
cussion, and blended into one large and discursive argument,
uniting the utmost logical precision with the richest variety
of topics and the highest graces of composition,—are merits
which have been universally acknowledged in this perform¬
ance, even by those who have not been convinced by its
reasonings; and have extorted, even from the fastidious
critics of France, the acknowledgment that “ Mr Playfair
writes as well as Buffon, and reasons incomparably better.”
The biographical account of Dr Hutton is by far the
best of Playfair’s productions in this line, and contains not
only an eloquent and luminous account of the speculations
in which he was engaged, but, what is too often forgotten
FAIR. 5
in this species of biography, a charming portrait of the in- Playfair,
dividual, drawn, no doubt, by a favourable hand, but gaining
far more in grace and effect than it can possibly have lost
in correctness, from the softening colours of affection.
In 1805 he quitted the chair of mathematics to succeed
Professor Robison in that of natural philosophy. The ap¬
pointment of Leslie as his successor in the chair of mathe¬
matics was opposed at the time by a majority of the Pres¬
bytery of Edinburgh, and made the subject of very angry
discussion, as well in various publications as in the General
Assembly of the Church of Scotland. From both these
fields of contention the opponents of Leslie retired discom¬
fited, and, in the opinion, we believe, of many of the
lookers on, disgraced. Amongst the heaviest blows they
had to sustain were those that parted from the hand of Mr
Playfair. He first addressed a Letter to the Lord Provost,
in which, after asserting, with infinite spirit and freedom,
the dignity of the science in question, he openly imputes
the new-sprung zeal for orthodoxy, which had prompted
the attack on Leslie, to a wish or design on the part of
some of the clergymen of Edinburgh to obtain for them¬
selves a number of the chairs in that university, which had
hitherto afforded sufficient occupation to the undistracted
industry of laymen. And when this denunciation brought
upon him a series of acrimonious and unhandsome attacks,
he replied to them all in a pamphlet of greater bulk, written
in a style of which the high polish and elegance only serve
to give a keener edge to the unsparing severity of the ex¬
posures which it conveys.1 We do not know, indeed, where
to find a more perfect model of polemical or controversial
writing; and much as it was to be regretted that an occasion
should have arisen for employing such a pen and such a
mind as Playfair’s on any temporary or personal theme, it
is impossible not to admire the extraordinary talent and
vigour with which, when the occasion did arrive, he could
turn talents, exercised in far other studies, to the purposes
suggested by the emergency.
In 1807 he was elected a fellow of the Royal Society of
London, and soon afterwards presented to that learned body
his Lithological Survey of Schehallien. In 1809 he con¬
tributed to the Edinburgh Transactions an excellent paper
on “ Solids of the greatest Attraction,” and in 1812 another
on the “ Progress of Heat in Spherical Bodies.”
In 1814 he published, in 2 vols. 8vo, for the use of his
class, an elementary work of great value, under the title of
Outlines of Natural Philosophy. For some years before
this, he had been much occupied in digesting the plan and
collecting the materials for a greatly enlarged edition of his
Illustrations of the Huttonian Theory ; with a view to which,
he had not only carefully perused and extracted a vast
body of voyages and travels, but had made various jour¬
neys, and very minutely examined almost all the places
in the British dominions the structure of which promised to
throw any light on the subject of his researches. No part
of the work, however, was actually written, when the pre¬
paration for it was suspended by his being induced to draw
up for this publication an introductory Dissertation on the
Progress of Mathematical and Physical Science ; a trea¬
tise which, though its author had written nothing else,
would itself suffice to carry down his name with distinction
to the latest posterity. The soundness of judgment, the
beauty of the writing, the extent of knowledge, the can¬
dour and precision of the estimates of character, and the
noble spirit of liberality and generous admiration for genius
which breathes throughout the whole performance, give it
an attraction which is rarely to be found in works of the
same erudition, and render it not only one of the most in-
1 This piece is entitled Letter to the Author of the Examination of Mr Steivart’s Short Statement of Facts relative to the Election of Pro¬
fessor Leslie, 8vo, Edin. 1806. It has not been reprinted in the collection of his works.
6
PLAYFAIR.
Playfair.
structive, but one of the most interesting publications that
philosophy has ever bestowed on the world.
P In 1815 he drew up for the Royal Society of Edinburgh
a very interesting memoir of his distinguished predecessor
Dr John Robison, a philosopher in whose early life there
was more adventure, and in his later days moie p° itica
prejudice, than we usually find to diversify the history ot
men of science. Nothing can be more spirited and inter¬
esting than Playfair's account of the former ; nothing more
manly and tender than his reluctant but decided protesta¬
tion against the excesses of the latter.
After the general peace in 1815 had at last opened the
Continent to British inquirers, Playfair, at the age o
eight, undertook a long journey through France and bwit-
zerland into Italy, and did not return for a period ot nearly
eighteen months. His principal attention was to
the mineralogical and geological phenomena of the ditterent
regions which he visited ; and he made many notes with a
view to the great object which he was not destined to ac¬
complish, namely—the extension and new-modelling ot his
Illustrations of the Huttonian Theory. Every object ot
liberal curiosity, however, had for him an attraction as tresh
as in his earliest youth ; and the social simplicity and bene¬
volence of his character and manners insured him a favour¬
able reception in every new society to which he was in¬
troduced. , ,. if.
On his return from this expedition, he employed himse
chiefly in preparing the second part of the Dissertation to
which we have alluded; and he also drew up a Memoir on
the Naval Tactics of Clerk of Eldin, which was published
after his death in the Philosophical Transactions, though
only a fragment of a projected life of Clerk, which he did
not live to complete. His health had been occasionally
broken for several years by the recurrence of a painful
affection of the bladder, which appeared with increased se¬
verity in the early part of 1819, but was so far got under as
to enable him to complete his course of lectures in the
spring. It returned, however, in a still more distressing
form in the summer, and at last put a period to his life on
the 19th of July. Though suffering great pain during the
last part of his confinement, he retained not only his intel¬
lectual faculties quite unimpaired, but also the serenity and
mildness of his spirit, and occupied himself till within a few
days of his death in correcting the proof-sheets of the Dis¬
sertation, the printing of the second part of which jhad
commenced some time before his last illness. . _
Before concluding these notices ot Playfair s scientific
and literary labours, we have still to mention that, from the
year 1804, he was a frequent contributor to the Edinburgh
Review ; and that though most of his articles were of a
scientific description, he occasionally diverged into the field
of general literature, or indulged in the refinements of me¬
taphysical speculation. Many of his scientific articles at¬
tracted great attention on the Continent as well as at home ;
and several of them are written with a force and beauty
that might well entitle them to a higher place than the pages
of a periodical publication. There is no general account
of the great facts and principles of astronomy so clear, and
comprehensive, and exact, nor half so beautiful oi majestic
in the writing, as his account of Eaplace s Mecanique
Celeste, in the eleventh volume of the publication just
mentioned.
In this brief sketch of the events of Playfair s life we
have purposely omitted any general account, either of his
personal character, or of the distinguishing features of his
intellectual powers and habits, thinking it better to give
those by themselves, in the words m which hey were re- Pkyfa.r.
corded, lo the satisfaction, we believe, of most of those who
k°ew him intimately, in a periodical journal wherein they
appeared a short time after his death The portrait there
appeare nr inced by one of the earliest and most
hi* ” g friends, “ a faithful and perfect
resemblance 2 and has accordingly been allowed a p ace
in the prefatory memoir which his nephew has prefixed to
thp collection of his works*
«It has struck many people, we believe, as very extraor-
dinarv that so eminent a person as Playfair should have
been allowed to sink into his grave in the midst of us, with¬
out callino- forth almost so much as an attempt to comme¬
morate his merit, even in a common newspaper; and that
the death of a man so celebrated and so beloved and at
the same time so closely connected with many who cou d
well appreciate and suitably describe his excellences should
be left to the brief and ordinary notice ot the daily obituary.
No event of the kind certainly ever excited more general
sympathy; and no individual, we are persuaded, will be
lono-eror more affectionately remembered by all the classes
of his fellow-citizens; and yet it is to these very circum¬
stances that we must look for an explanation of the appa¬
rent neglect by which his memory has been followed. His
humbler admirers have been deterred from expressing their
sentiments by a natural feeling of unwillingness to encroach
on the privilege of those whom a nearer approach to his
person and talents rendered it more worthy to speak ot
them ; whilst the learned and eloquent amongst his friends
have trusted to each other for the performance of a task
which they could not but feel to be painful in itself, and
not a little difficult to perform as it ought to be; or per¬
haps have reserved for some more solemn occasion that
tribute for which the public impatience is alieady at its
0 “ We beg leave to assure our readers that it is merely
from anxiety to do something to gratify this natural impa¬
tience that we presume to enter at all upon a subject to
which we are perfectly aware that we are incapable ot do¬
ing justice ; for of Mr Playfair’s scientific attainments, of
his proficiency in those studies to which he was peculiarly
devoted, we are but slenderly qualified to judge. But we
believe we hazard nothing in saying that he was one ot the
most learned mathematicians of his age, and among the
first, if not the very first, who introduced the beautiful dis¬
coveries of the later continental geometers to the know¬
ledge of his countrymen, and gave their just value and true
place, in the scheme of European knowledge, to those im¬
portant improvements by which the whole aspect of the ab¬
stract sciences has been renovated since the days ot Our
illustrious Newton. If he did not signalize himself by an)
brilliant or original invention, he must at least be allowed
to have been a most generous and intelligent judge of the
achievements of others, as well as the most eloquent ex¬
pounder of that great and magnificent system of knowledge
which has been gradually evolved by the successive labouis
of so many gifted individuals. He possessed, indeed, in the
highest degree, all the characteristics both ot a fine and a
powerful understanding,—at once penetrating and vigilant,
but more distinguished perhaps for the caution and sure¬
ness of its march, than for the brilliancy or rapidity ot its
movements; and guided and adorned through all its pro¬
gress by the most genuine enthusiasm for all that is grand,
and the justest taste for all that is beautiful, in the truth or
the intellectual energy with which he was habitually con¬
versant.
i Besides the Dissertation, Mr Playfair contributed the valuable biographical account of ^Epinus, and the still more valuable articl
0n2PLetteIrC from Mr D'uglld Stewart to Dr Playfair, in the Appendix to the Biographical Account of Professor Playfair, prefixed to the
collection of his works, published at Edinburgh in 1822, in 4 vols. 8vo.
PLAYFAIR.
Playfair.
“ To what account these rare qualities might have been
turned, and what more brilliant or lasting fruits they might
have produced, if his whole life had been dedicated to the
solitary cultivation of science, it is not for us to conjecture ;
but it cannot be doubted that they added incalculably to
his eminence and utility as a teacher, both by enabling him
to direct his pupils to the most simple and luminous methods
of inquiry, and to imbue their minds, from the very com¬
mencement of the study, with that fine relish for the truths
it disclosed, and that high sense of the majesty with which
they were invested, that predominated in his own bosom.
Whilst he left nothing unexplained or unreduced to its
proper place in the system, he took care that they should
never be perplexed by petty difficulties, or bewildered in
useless details, and formed them betimes to that clear, mas¬
culine, and direct method of investigation by which, with
the least labour, the greatest advances might be accom¬
plished.
“ Mr Playfair, however, was not merely a teacher ; and
has fortunately left behind him a variety of works, from
which other generations may be enabled to judge of some
of those qualifications which so powerfully recommended
and endeared him to his contemporaries. It is perhaps to
be regretted that so much of his time, and so large a pro¬
portion of his publications, should have been devoted to the
subjects of the Indian astronomy, and the Huttonian theory
of the earth. For though nothing can be more beautiful
or instructive than his speculations on those curious topics,
it cannot be dissembled that their results are less conclu¬
sive and satisfactory than might have been desired; and
that his doctrines, from the very nature of the subjects, are
more questionable than we believe they could possibly have
been on any other topic in the whole circle of the sciences.
To the first, indeed, he came under the great disadvantage
of being unacquainted with the eastern tongues, and with¬
out the means of judging of the authenticity of the docu¬
ments which he was obliged to assume as the elements of
his reasonings; and as to the other, though he ended, we
believe, with being a very able and skilful mineralogist, we
think it is now generally admitted that that science does
not yet afford sufficient materials for any positive conclu¬
sion, and that all attempts to establish a theory of the earth
must, for many years to come, be regarded as premature.
Though it is impossible, therefore, to think too highly ot
the ingenuity, the vigour, and the eloquence of those publi¬
cations, we are of opinion that a juster estimate of Mr Play¬
fair’s talent, and a truer picture of his genius and under¬
standing, is to be found in his other writings—in the papers,
both biographical and scientific, with which he has enriched
the Tratisactions of our Royal Society; his account of
Laplace, and other articles, which he is understood to have
contributed to the Edinburgh Review ; the Outlines of his
Lectures on Natural Philosophy; and, above all, his In¬
troductory Discourse to the Supplement to the Encyclo¬
paedia Britannica, with the final correction of which he
was occupied up to the last mortients that the progress
of his disease allowed him to dedicate to any intellectual
exertion.
“ With reference to these works, we do not think we are
influenced by any national or other partiality when we say
that he was certainly one of the best writers of his age ; and
even that we do not now recollect any one of his contem¬
poraries who was so great a master of composition. There
is a certain mellowness and richness about his style which
adorns without disguising the weight and nervousness, which
is its other great characteristic,—a sedate gracefulness and
manly simplicity in the more level passages, and a mild
majesty and considerate enthusiasm where he rises above
them, of which we scarcely know where to find any other
example. There is great equability, too, and sustained
force, in every part of his writings. He never exhausts
himself in flashes and epigrams, nor languishes into tame- Playfair,
ness and insipidity; at first sight you would say that plain- y-—'
ness and good sense were the predominating qualities, but
by and by this simplicity is enriched with the delicate and
vivid colours of a fine imagination, the free and forcible
touches of a most powerful intellect, and the lights and
shades of an unerring and harmonizing taste. In compar¬
ing it with the styles of his most celebrated contemporaries,
we would say that it was more purely and peculiarly a
written style, and therefore rejected those ornaments that
more properly belong to oratory. It had no impetuosity,
hurry, or vehemence,—no bursts or sudden turns or ab¬
ruptions like that of Burke ; and though eminently smooth
and melodious, it was not modulated to a uniform system
of solemn declamation like that of Johnson ; nor spread out
in the richer and more voluminous elocution of Stewart;
nor still less broken into that patchwork of scholastic
pedantry and conversational smartness which has found its
admirers in Gibbon. It is a style, in short, of great free¬
dom, force, and beauty ; but the deliberate style ot a man
of thought and of learning, and neither that of a wit throw¬
ing out his extempores with an affectation of careless grace,
nor of a rhetorician thinking more of his manner than his
matter, and determined to be admired for his expression,
whatever may be the fate of his sentiments.
“ His habits of composition, as we have understood, were
not perhaps exactly what might have been expected from
their results. He wrote rather slowly, and his first sketches
were often very slight and imperfect, like the rude chalking
for a masterly picture. His chief effort and greatest plea¬
sure was in their revisal and correction; and there were no
limits to the improvement which resulted from this applica¬
tion. It was not the style merely, or indeed chiefly, that
gained by it,—the whole reasoning, and sentiment, and
illustration were enlarged and new-modelled in the course
of it, and a naked outline became gradually informed with
life, colour, and expression. It was not at all like the com¬
mon finishing and polishing to which careful authors gene¬
rally subject the first draught of their compositions, nor
even like the fastidious and tentative alterations with which
some more anxious writers assay their choicer passages. It
was, in fact, the great filling in of the picture, the working
up of the figured xoeft on the naked and meagre woof that
had been stretched to receive it; and the singular thing in
his case was, not only that he left this most material part of
his work to be performed after the whole outline had been
finished, but that he could proceed with it to an indefinite
extent, and enrich and improve as long as he thought fit,
without any risk either of destroying the proportions of that
outline, or injuring the harmony and unity of the design.
He was perfectly aware, too, of the possession of this ex¬
traordinary power; and it was partly, we presume, in con¬
sequence of this consciousness that he was not only at all
times ready to go on with any work in which he was en¬
gaged, without waiting for favourable moments or hours of
greater alacrity, but that he never felt any of those doubts
and misgivings as to his being able to get creditably through
with his undertaking to which we believe most authors are
occasionally liable. As he never wrote upon any subject of
which he was not perfectly master, he was secure against
all blunders in the substance of what he had to say ; and
felt quite assured that, if he was only allowed time enough,
he should finally come to say it in the very best way of
which he was capable. He had no anxiety, therefore, either
in undertaking or proceeding with his task, and intermitted
and resumed them at his convenience, with the comfortable
certainty that all the time he bestowed on them was turned
to good account, and that what was left imperfect at one
sitting might be finished with equal ease and advantage at
another. Being thus perfectly sure both of his end and his
means, he experienced, in the course of his compositions,
8
P L A
Playfair.
none of that little fever of the spirits with »Wch <hat
tion is so apt to be accompanied. He bad no cap
visitines of fancy, which it was necessary to fix upo
I ol ofto lose for ever; no casual inspiratbn mvoke and
to wait for ; no transitory and evanescent lights to eaten
fore they faded. All that was in his mind was subject to
his control, and amenable to his call, though it might n
ohev at the moment: and whilst his taste was so sure that
he was in no danger of overworking a"y*'nS *at « had
designed, all his thoughts and sentiments had that umt^an
con-ruity that they fell almost spontaneously into harmo y
amforder • and the last added, incorporated, and assimi
“,ted with the first, as if they had sprung simultaneously
" rneedXu nXter on qualities that may be
gathered hereafter from the works he « W'lndhmn
They who lived with him mourn the most for th
nd 11 be traced in no such memorial; and prize fai above
friends, and s'hed a/T “ a igni^o ver ^>"9
•on" ■ not riIif;riS,Sor rather *0 Maples
'the mosT learned philosopher of his day the manners and
deportment of the most perfect gen em , temper
in him the result merely of good sense and gooti tempei,
assisted by an early familiarity with good company and a
consequent knowledge of his own P'^ ?"d,
‘unund him His good breeding was of a higher descent,
and his powers of pleasing rested on something better than
mere companionable qualities. With the greatest kindness
Sid geneLty of nature he united the most manly firm¬
ness and the highest principles of honour, and the most
cheerful and social dispositions with the gent'e-t and stea l-
est affections. Towards women he had always the m
chWahous feelings of regard and attention, and was, beyond
almost all men, acceptable and agreeable in their society,
though without the least levity or pretension unbecoming
his a^e or condition ; and such, indeed, was the fascination
of the perfect simplicity and mildness of his manners, that
the same tone and deportment seemed equa ly appropriate
n allTcieties, and enabled him to delight the young and
the gay with the same sort of conversation which instru^
the fearned and the grave. There never, indeed, was a man
of learning and talent who appeared m society so perfectly
free from all sorts of pretension or notion of his own im¬
portance, or so little solicitous to distinguish himself, or so
sincerely willing to give place to every one else. ,E e
upon subjects which he had thoroughly studied he was never
Tu the lelst impatient to speak, and spoke at all times with¬
out any tone of authority ; whilst, so far from wishing to set
off what he had to say by any brilliancy or emphasis of ex-
nression it seemed generally as if be had studied to d s
guise the weight and originality of his thoughts under tie
plainest form of speech and the most quiet and mdifferent
manner ; so that the profoundest remarks and subtlest obser¬
vations were often dropped, not only without any solicitude
that their value should be observed, but without any appa¬
rent consciousness that they possessed any. 1 hough the
most social of human beings, and the most disposed to en-^
courage and sympathise with the gaiety and jovia i y oi
others, his own spirits were in general rather cheerful t lan
cay, or at least never rose to any turbulence or tumult o
merriment; and whilst he would listen with the kindest
indulgence to the more extravagant sallies of his younger
friends, and prompt them by the heartiest approbation, his
own satisfaction might generally be traced in a slow and
temperate smile, gradually mantling over his benevolent
and intelligent features, and lighting up the countenance ot
p L E
>. •,), .he expression of the mildest and most genu- rlaJ||0""'
• * Wkn teoPV It tvas wonderful, indeed, cons.dermg pleb».tn
me Ph« s intellect, and the rigid and unde- , 
the measure of I wn c(inductj how tolerant he was
viating propnety o - f men He was too indul-
ofthe defect and ermm of otta menHe ^ a
ffnd andUbeml tdlo'vance for the faults of all mankind;
k d t nnlv faults of baseness or of cruelty, against which
except on y anifest the most open scorn and detes-
he never failed t in short) Gf his high attainments,
MrPiayfai^was one of the most amiable and estimable of
^ i v Vifful in his manners, inflexible in his principles,
men: delightful « ^ had all that could charm
and generous n his “”ec I0n and whilst his friends en-
!n TS free Sun" SIT Conversation of an easy and
action, as that his body should cease to gravitate or hit,
^ If we do not greatly deceive ourselves, there is nothing
here of exaggeration or partial feeling, and nothing witi
which an indifferent and honest chronicler would not con¬
cur Nor is it altogether idle to have dwelt so long on the
personal character of this distinguished individual. For we
are ourselves persuaded that this personal character has
done almost as much for the cause of science and pin o-
sonhv amongst us as the great talents and attainment, w t
which It was combined; and has contnbuted in a very
eminent degree to give to the better society of Edinburgh
ttoi mne of intelligence and liberality by which it is so
honourably distinguished. It is not a little advantageous to
philosophy that it is in fashion; and it is still moie advan-
taeeous, perhaps, to the society which is led to confer on
it tfiis apparently trivial distinction. It is a great thing or
the country at krge,-for its happiness, its prosperity and
its renown,—that the upper and influencing part of its po¬
pulation should be made familiar even in its untasked and
social hours, with sound and liberal information, and be
taught to know and respect those who have distinguishe
themselves for great intellectual attainments. Nor is. t,
after all, a slight or despicable reward for a man of genius
to be received with honour in the highest and most elegan
society around him, and to receive in his living person that
homage and applause which is too often reserved for his
memory. Now, those desirable ends can never be effectu¬
ally accomplished unless the manners of our leading p u-
losophers are agreeable, and their personal habits and de¬
positions engaging and amiable. From the tune o urn
and Robertson, we have been fortunate in Edinburgh
possessing a succession of distinguished men, who have
kept up this salutary connection between the learned an
the fashionable world; but there never perhaps was any
one who contributed so powerfully to confirm and extend
it, and that in times when it -was peculiarly difficult, as the
lamented individual of whom we are now speaking, an
they who have had the best opportunity to observe how
superior the society of Edinburgh is to that of most other
places of the same size, and how much of that superiority
is owing to the cordial combination of the two aristocracies
of rank and of letters (of both of which it happens to be
the chief provincial seat), will be best able to judge of the
importance of the service he has thus rendered to its inha¬
bitants, and, through them, and by their example, to all the
rest of the country.” C1'* Jv
PLAYHOUSE. See Theatre.
PLEBEIAN, or Plebs, connected etymologically with
he root pleo, and with n-XriOos, a term applied by the more
P L E
P L I
9
Plectrum correct among the Greek writers on Roman history to the
|| commonalty of Rome. It thus stands contrasted with pa~
Pleiades, trician ; and the two great divisions of the Roman people
thus indicated give to the earliest periods of Roman his¬
tory its peculiar character and interest. The ancients
themselves do not agree about the time at which the dis¬
tinction arose between the plebeians and the patricians.
They are generally believed to have formed two distinct
classes so early as the time of Romulus ; while a recent
writer (Dr W. lime’s Forschungen auf dem Gebiete der
Rom. Verfassungsgeschichte, Frankfort, 1847) endeavours
to prove that the plebeians were originally identical with the
clients. The time when they first appear as a distinct
class in contrast to the patricians is in the reign of Tullus
Hostilius. The plebeian order, recently increased by the
Alban conquest, was, in the days of Ancus Martius, far
superior in point of numbers to the populus Romanus.
They were excluded, however, from the senate, the comitia,
and from all civil and priestly offices of state. In all mat¬
ters connected with the army the plebeians had to shed their
blood, if need were, in defence of their fellow-citizens. In
judicial affairs they had to succumb to the patricians. They
continued to have their own sacra; and they were free
landowners, and had their own gentes.
The population of Rome thus consisted of two opposing
elements. The plebeian order stood in no definite relation
to the patricians ; and it had no means of protecting itself
against any arbitrary proceeding of the ruling class. Such
a state of things could not last. Tarquinius Priscus was the
first to conceive the idea of ameliorating the condition of
the plebeians ; but he only effected the admission of the
noblest among the old plebeian families into the three old
tribes. It remained for others to effect their enlargement.
This was reserved for Servius Tullius. He divided the
city into four parts ; the plebeians into twenty-six tribes; and
each plebeian received, according to Niebuhr, seven jugera
of land. Each tribe had its own sacra, festivals, and meet¬
ings, which were convoked by their tribunes.
The next king that ruled over Rome the plebeians lost
all they had gained. A third of the plebeians lost their
estates in the war with Porsenna, became impoverished,
and were perhaps for a time subject to the Etruscans.
After the first secession, however, b.c. 494, the plebeians
gained several great advantages. These advantages con¬
tinued to progress until, in b.c. 286, Hortensius succeeded
in successfully and permanently reconciling the two orders,
and procuring for the plebescita of the plebeians the full
power of leges binding upon the whole nation. Thus, after
many generations, the government of Rome had passed from
an oppressive oligarchy to a moderate democracy, in which
each party had its proper influence, and the power of check¬
ing the other if it should venture to assume more than it
could legally claim.
PLEC I RUM {irXrjKTpov, an instrument to strike with),
was a little stick made of various materials, such as wood,
horn, ivory, and metal, with which the player struck the
chords of a stringed instrument.
PLEDGE (plegius), in common law, a surety or gage,
either real or personal, which the plaintiff or demandant is
to find for his prosecuting the suit.
PLEIADES, in fabulous history, the seven daughters
of Atlas, King of Mauritania, and of Pleione, who were
changed into the constellation which bears their name.
They were Maia, Electra, Taygete, Sterope, Merope, Hal-
cyone, and Celaeno, who were also called Atlantides, from
their father Atlas.
Pleiades, an assemblage of seven stars, in the neck of
the constellation Taurus. These stars are so called from
the Greek ttAcco, to sail, as being terrible to mariners, by
reason of the rains and storms which frequently rise with
them. The Latins called them vergiliee, from ver, sprin*’-;
VOL. XVIII.
Flinius.
because of their rising about the time of the vernal Pleonasm
equinox.
PLEONASM (7r/\.€ovacr/xos, excess), a figure by which we
may use words seemingly superfluous to express a thought
with the greater energy; such as, “ I saw it with my own
eyes,” “ I heard it with my own ears,” and the like.
PLESCHEN, or Pleszew, a town of Prussia, in the
province and government of Posen, and 54 miles S.E. of
that town. It is not far from the Polish frontier ; and has
a considerable trade in horses and cattle which come from
Poland. There are manufactured here shoes, cloth, tobacco,
and potash. Pop. 4955.
PLETHORA (irXrjddjprj, fulness), in Medicine, is when
the vessels are too much loaded with fluids. A plethoric
state is marked by plumpness, fulness of countenance,
a high colour, frequent dimness of sight, and ringing of the
ears. It is often accompanied by corpulency, and a great
accumulation of fat about the belly. It is generally the
consequence of high living, of indolence, with much indul¬
gence in sleep and luxury. Plethoric people are liable to
a long train of dangers and inconveniences. They are apt
to lose breath, to perspire on the slightest exertion, to
headache, to vertigo, to palsy, to apoplexy, to bluntness of
faculties, to stomach complaints, to low spirits, and a variety
of other uncomfortable sensations. Bleeding is not con¬
sidered good for plethora. In addition to regimen and the
care of the general health, frequent purgatives are proper ;
and a course of mineral waters is frequently very salutary.
PLICA POLONICA, or Plaited Hair, is a disease
in which the hairs are thicker than usual, and so entangled
that it is impossible to separate them. It is peculiar to Po¬
land, Lithuania, Hungary, and some neighbouring coun¬
tries. Baron Larrey carefully investigated the nature of
this disease when at Warsaw with the French army, and
was perfectly satisfied that it is a local and factitious" com¬
plaint. produced by dirt and neglect, and that it may be
cured with safety. The head is to be shaved, and an oint¬
ment applied made of equal parts of sulphur ointment and
pitch ointment, and the head is to be frequently washed
with soap and water. Mercury, rubbed in with hair powder,
is good for destroying the vermin. Internal remedies, such
as Plummer's pill, or slight dosec of calomel, may in some
cases be necessary.
PLINIUS SECUNDUS, Caius, a Roman writer on na¬
tural history and other subjects, was born a.d. 23, in the
tenth year of Tiberius, and died August 25, a.d. 79, in the
first year of Titus. His birth-place has been the subject
of considerable discussion ; but the weight of testimony is
thought to incline in favour of Novum Comum, now Como,
in Cisalpine Gaul, in preference to Verona or (as suggested
by Hardouin) Rome. His earlier years were passed
probably at his native place ; but while a youth he was
enabled, by the affluence of his family, to remove to Rome,
and attend the lectures of the grammarian Apion and other
teachers of eminence. It was in his early life, probably,
that he visited the provinces of Africa, Egypt, and Greece.
In about his twenty-third year he served in Germany,
under the legatus Pomponius Secundus, in command of a
troop of cavalry. At this period he travelled over a great
part of that country, visiting the sources of the Danube,
the country of the Chauci (modern Oldenburg and Ha¬
nover), Belgic Gaul, and the shores of the German Ocean.
It was in Germany, too, that he wrote his first work, a treatise,
now lost, On the Use of the Javelin bg Cavalry. In a.d.
52 he returned to Rome, and for a short time turned his
attention to forensic pursuits,—a vocation in which he pro¬
bably gained little or no distinction. On the death of
Pomponius, who was equally celebrated as a general and
as a poet, Pliny wrote his Life, in two books. During
the earlier years of Nero’s reign, he lived in retirement, and
devoted the whole of his time probably to literary pursuits.
B
10
Plinius.
It was at this period, or somewhat earlier, that he completed
a History of the Wars in Germany, in twenty books, which
he had commenced while in that country (in obedience,
the younger Pliny says, to the injunctions of a vision), and
which, like his Life of Pomponius Secundus, is no longer
extant. His next composition was a voluminous woik,
entitled The Student, in three books, and which, like most
of his other works, has perished. It purported to be a
manual for the training of an orator from infancy to his en¬
trance upon public life. In the latter part of Neios leign
he wrote a treatise, in eight books, of which some fragments
still survive, On Ambiguities of Language, a work which,
he informs us (Hist. Nat., b. i.), made a great sensation
among certain Stoics, logicians, and grammarians, but the
doctrines of which they had not hitherto attempted to refute.
Towards the close of the same reign, Pliny was appointed
imperial Procurator in Nearer Spain, and, not impiobably,
at the same period was raised to equestrian rank. About
a.d. 70 or 71 he returned to Rome, and, having been pre¬
viously acquainted with the Emperor Vespasianus, was
soon admitted into the number of his most intimate fiiends,
and honoured with an appointment near his person, the
nature of which is now unknown. During this reign, he
completed his Continuation of the Roman History of Aufi-
dius Bassus, in thirty-one books,—a work which he had
previously commenced, but the publication of which, he
says (Hist. Nat., b. i.), he had determined to postpone until
after his decease. No portion of it, unfortunately, has sur¬
vived. It was in a.d. 77, probably, that he published his
most important work, and the only one that has come down
to us, his Historia Naturalis. From a remark in b. xix.,
c. 19, it would appear that he contemplated writing another
work,—an intention probably which he did not live to realize.^
In a.d. 73 or 74 Pliny had been appointed Prafectus of
the Roman fleet stationed at Misenum, on the western coast
of Italy ; and to this he owed, remotely, his singular death,
the details of which we learn from a letter of his nephew’,
the younger Pliny, to Tacitus the historian (b. vi., Ep. 16).
Being at Misenum, and having his attention drawn to a
cloud of unusual appearance arising from Mount Vesuvius,
Pliny ordered a light vessel to be got ready, and, taking
his tablets wdth him, embarked. Amid showers of ashes
and pumice, he made his way into the midst of the dangei,
observing and noting down every change in the appearance
of the phenomenon. It being found impossible to land at
Retina, a village near Herculaneum, and the pilot advising
him to return to Misenum, “ Fortune favours the bold ”
was his answer; and he gave orders to steer for Stabiae, in
order to join Pomponianus there. On his arrival at btabim,
where for the moment the danger was not so imminent, he
found his friend on the point of setting sail. Pliny pre¬
vailed upon him, however, to forego his intention, and re¬
quested the servants to conduct him to the bath. He then
took his place at table, and dined, to all appearance without
the least apprehension of danger. After again encouraging
his friends and soothing their fears, he retired to rest, and
soon fell asleep. Pomponianus, however, and the others,
who in the meantime had sat up, finding the peril becoming
more and more imminent, ordered him to be aroused ; which
done, they betook themselves to the open fields, tying pil¬
lows upon their heads to protect themselves from the
falling stones. The sea being too tempestuous to allow of
their embarking, Pliny now lay down upon a sail. Alarmed
afresh, however, by the nearer approach of the flames, and
making an effort to rise, he fell to the ground and expired,
suffocated by the vapours no doubt, his chest being natu¬
rally contracted and his lungs weak. It was this eruption
also which overwhelmed Herculaneum and Pompeii.
Of Pliny’s habits, an interesting account has been pre¬
served by his nephew in a letter addressed to Macer (b.
hi., Ep. 5) ; from which we learn that but few moments of
PLINIUS.
his life were left unemployed in literary pursuits. In sum- Phnius.
mer he was in the habit of sitting up to a ate hour at his
studies • while in winter he would set to work at one or two
in the morning, and sometimes at midmght even. After
waiting „pon the Emperor before daybreak, and executing
his commLions, it was his practice to return home and re¬
sume his studies. Taking an early meal, he would, in
summer, recline for a few moments in the sun, some book
he in o' read to him, and he making extracts in the meanwhile.
Indeed this was his constant practice, for it was a favour, e
maxim with him, that “ There was no book so bad but that
some good might be got out of it.’ He would then take a
cold bath, and, after a slight refreshment of food and rest,
continue his literary pursuits till the evening meal. During
this repast as well, some book was usually read to him, he
making comments from time to time. Such vvas h.s mode
of life when at Rome ; and in the country there was no
relaxation from his application to study. When on a
iourney his secretary was always by his side, ready to take
down what he might dictate. By this economy of h.s time
he amassed 160 volumes of notes, closely written on both
sides • and for a portion only of which, when in Spain, one
Largius Licinius offered him 400,000 sesterces. Phny
died unmarried. . .
For an insight into Pliny’s sentiments upon religion and
philosophy, virtue and vice, men and manners, we must
Slave recourse to his Natural History, as our only source
of information; and here even, not unfrequently, we are
precluded from coming to any satisfactory conclusion, owing
to the contradictions and obscurities that, equally from the
compilatory nature of the work, the curtness of his
the corruptness of the text, and the unsettled state of Ins
opinions, so frequently present themselves. We have
every reason to believe, however, that he was a man of
high moral principles, and a lover, so far as his light ex¬
tended, of virtue for its own sake. Impressed with great
and noble sentiments, expressing his horror of bloodshed,
debauchery, and drunkenness, and detesting that falsehood,
meanness, and profligacy wdiich so fearfully characteiized
imperial Rome, he loses no opportunity to the extent of
prejudice even—of proclaiming himself a laudator temporis
acti, of extolling the simplicity of the olden times, and of
leading us to suppose that he looked upon the elder Cato
as his ideal of perfection, and considered his precepts to be
little short of oracular. His religious and philosophical
opinions were evidently of an unsettled character. In
common with Lucretius and the Epicureans, he denies the
existence of a Providence and the immortality of the soul;
while, on the other hand, he adopts the Pythagorean notion
of the harmony of the spheres, and agrees with the btoics
in considering the universe, or Nature, to be identical with
the Deity, and in the belief that the world will ultimately
be destroyed by fire. Pliny, it is evident, was not a rigid
adherent of any sect of philosophy ; but we may feel assured
that he was a decided pantheist, and least unfavourable
perhaps, as a whole, to the tenets of Epicurus. He appears,
however, to have taken but a gloomy view of human exist¬
ence and the dealings of God with man ; so much so, that
did we not learn from other sources that he had experienced
no want of success in life, was in affluent circumstances,
and enjoyed ample means for gratifying his literary tastes
and caprices, we should have concluded that he was an
eminently disappointed man, and that hence arose the dis¬
satisfaction, which he omits no opportunity of expressing,
with the terms upon which life has been granted to us.
At the very earliest moment that the plan of his work will
admit of his expressing the opinion (b. vii., c. 1), “ It is
far from easy to determine,” says he, “ whether Nature^has
proved to man a kind parent or a merciless stepmother,” a
complaint which is immediately followed up by repinings
at the sad lot of man,—“ The only tearful animal,” he says.
P L I N I U S.
Plinius. Then, again (b. vii., c. 51), man’s liability to disease is a
n/-—' blemish in the economy of Nature ; and life is too short,
and its tenure too uncertain. So sensitive is he upon the
injustice of man being born to sorrow, that he expresses it
as his conviction (b. vii., c. 41) that “ no pleasure whatever
can possibly compensate for the slightest grief.” As life
has not been granted on his own terms, he thinks it un¬
worthy of his acceptance, and the sooner it is got rid of the
better. Nature, in his opinion, has bestowed no greater
blessing on man than a short life; sudden death he regards
as a singular phaenomenon, and as the supreme happiness
of the human race ; and the highest privilege that has
been conferred upon us is the power that has been given
to every one of putting an end to his own existence (b.
xxviii., e. 2). “After burial,” says he (b. vii., c. 56), “come
the quiddities about the Manes (Manium ambages). All
men, after their last day, return to what they were before
the first; and after death there is no more sensation left in
the body or in the soul than there was before birth.” The
doctrines of the immortality of the soul, of transmigration,
and of a place for departed spirits, find equally little favour
with him.
The faults presented by his work, valuable as it is, are
of two kinds,—the one, the natural result of his own unset¬
tled opinions on most matters of a speculative nature ; the
other, the consequence of his determination to embrace
every subject included in the “encyclopedia” of the
Greeks (b. i.), his want of discrimination, his ignorance of
many of the subjects upon which he treats, his imperfect
acquaintance probably with the language of his originals,
and his unconscious prepossession for all that is strange^
startling, and marvellous. Prone to censure credulity in
others; equally averse, as he professes to be, to superstition
and to scepticism ; and a disbeliever, as he says, in omens,
astrology, and magic,—there is nothing, it would appear, in
some instances, that he is not ready, with a most astounding
credulity, to believe ; while, again, on other occasions, with
an equally singular waywardness, he refuses to give credit
where there is nothing in reality that ought in any way to
stagger belief. Induced probably by the example of the
elder Cato, his great prototype, he loses no opportunity of
manifesting the strongest aversion to the Greeks, and
brings repeated charges against them of viciousness, vanity,
and lying ; and yet to these same Greeks is he avowedly
indebted for the larger and by far the more valuable part
of his information upon most of the subjects of which
he treats ! A hater, too, of servility in others, he makes no
scruple of falling in with the adulation of the day, when¬
ever his subject leads him to mention his friend and patron
the Emperor Vespasianus, and his sons Titus and Domi-
tianus. Compiled, as his work is, from upwards of 2000
volumes, some errors might naturally be expected, and
would be as readily forgiven ; but so anxious is he for a
laige accumulation of facts, and those of as singular a nature
as possible, that he inserts statements which a moment’s
consideration would have convinced the most credulous even
must be destitute of all reasonable foundation. The result,
too, of his own ignorance of many of his subjects is, that he
is incapable of correcting the errors of those from whom
he has borrowed, or of determining the relative value of the
facts which he selects and of those which he omits. Much
must have been left to his amanuenses, no doubt; and it is
either to their carelessness and ignorance, or, what is equally
probable, to his own imperfect knowledge of the language,
that we must attribute his numerous incorrect transla¬
tions from the Greek, the works of Theophrastus in par¬
ticular.
Pliny, in short, appears to have been actuated by a thirst
for acquiring knowledge, from books, from oral information,
and from personal observation, as ardent perhaps as that
which influenced either Aristotle or our Lord Bacon but
without a particle of their genius, their powers of discern- Plinius.
ment, or their capacity for turning their acquisitions to prac-
tical account. The result is, that his Historia Naturalis
cannot be viewed as a “ Natural History” in our sense of the
tcim, but as a vast compilation merely of asserted facts in
meteorology, geography, zoology, botany, mineralogy, and
therapeutics, and in the various arts more or less remotely
connected with them. His work, however, is of inestimable
value in many respects, and Cuvier, a man better qualified
perhaps than any one else to give an opinion on the sub¬
ject, while fully sensible of its imperfections, has awarded
it a high rank among the most valuable productions of anti¬
quity [Biogr. Univers., vol. xxxv.) “ This great work,”
he says, “ is one of the most precious monuments left to us by
antiquity, and a proof of the astonishing learning of a war¬
rior and a statesman. To appreciate with justice this vast
and celebrated composition, we must consider the plan, the
facts, and the style. The plan is immense : it is his object
to write, not merely a Natural History in our present re¬
stricted sense of the term—not a treatise, more or less de¬
tailed, on animals, plants, and minerals; but a work which
embraces astronomy, physics, geography, agriculture, com¬
merce, medicine, and the fine arts, in addition to natural
history properly so called; while at the same time he con¬
tinually interweaves with his narrative information relative
to man considered metaphysically, and the history of na¬
tions,—so much so, indeed, that in many respects this work
may be called the Encyclopaedia of its age. It was impos¬
sible that, in treating, however cursorily, of such a prodigi¬
ous number of subjects, the writer should not have recorded
a multitude of remarkable facts; which to us are the more
valuable as he is the only author extant who mentions
them. Unhappily, the manner in which he has collected
and arranged them causes them to lose much of their value;
from his mixture of truth and fable, and more especially from
the difficulty, and in some cases the impossibility, of disco¬
vering exactly of what objects he is speaking. Pliny was
not an observer, like Aristotle; still less was he a man of
genius, capable, like that philosopher, of seizing the laws
and relations according to which Nature has regulated her
productions. In general, he is only a compiler, and, indeed,
mostly a compiler who, having no idea himself of the sub¬
jects on which he collects the testimonies of others, cannot
appreciate the truth of those testimonies, nor even always
understand what they mean. A comparison of his extracts
with the original authors still extant, and especially with
Aristotle, shows us that he was far from selecting either
what was most important or most exact. In general, he pre¬
fers whatever is singular and marvellous, or what may help
him in establishing the contrasts in which he so much de¬
lights, or the reproaches he is so fond of uttering against
Providence. It is true that he does not give the same
degree of faith to everything that he mentions, but it is
quite by chance that he believes or doubts ; and it is by
no means the most childish stories that always provoke his
incredulity. But if Pliny possesses little merit as a critic
and a naturalist, it is far otherwise with his talent as a
writer, and the immense treasury which he opens to us of
Latin terms and forms of expression : these, from the very
abundance of the subjects upon which he treats, render his
work one of the richest repositories of the Roman language.
Wherever he finds it possible to give expression to general
ideas or to philosophical view’s, his language assumes con¬
siderable energy and vivacity, and his thoughts present a
certain novelty and boldness which greatly tend to relieve
the dryness of his enumerations, and, with the majority of
his readers, excuse the deficiencies of his scientific infor¬
mation. He is always grave and noble, and everywhere
shows a love of justice and virtue, a horror of that cruelty
and baseness of which he had such frightful examples be¬
fore his eyes, and a contempt for that unbridled luxury
12 P L I
Plinius. which in his time had so deeply corrupted the Roman
people. For these great merits Pliny cannot be too highly
praised; and, in spite of the faults which we cannot but re¬
cognise in him when viewed as a naturalist, we must never¬
theless allow that he is one of the most meritorious of
the Roman writers, and among the most worthy to be^
ranked in the number of the classics after the reign ot
Augustus.”
The style of Pliny is often harsh, and always elliptical ;
so much so, that the brevity and conciseness which he
seems more particularly to aim at not unfrequently dege¬
nerate into obscurity ; relieved, however, by his general
elevation of tone, his fondness for point and contrast, and
touches of keen irony every now and then. With wit or
genuine humour he seems to have had but little acquaint¬
ance, and we have but two or three faint traces of them
throughout the work. Occasionally the context has the
appearance of being little more than rough notes, hastily
put together by himself, or left to the mercy of his scribes,
and subjected to no revision before publication. This,
combined with the corruptness of the text, renders it next
to impossible, in some instances, to divine his meaning.
The following is a brief outline of the thirty-seven books
into which the Historia Naturalis is dividedThe first
contains tbe dedication to Titus, with a sketch of the plan^
proposed, and concludes with a summary of the contents of
the other thirty-six, and a list of the authorities consulted
in each. The second treats of the Deity, the universe,
the earth, sun, moon, stars, and elements. In the next four
books we have a geographical description (in most instances
a bare recital of names) of the earth as known to the an¬
cients ; the sixth book, more particularly, being valuable
for a detailed account of India, including Taprobane, the
modern Ceylon. The seventh treats of man,—his organi¬
zation, generation, and destiny; his virtues and vices, and
his progress in the various arts and inventions. An account
of beasts, fishes, birds, reptiles, and insects, with a sketch of
human and comparative anatomy, forms the subject of the
next four books. Botany is the main subject of the next
sixteen books, which, though inartistically put together, are
made to include a large amount of interesting information
upon numerous subjects,—among them, perfumes, wines,
oils, resins, fruits, trees, cabinet-woods, grafting, the culture
of the vine and of the cereals, prognostics derived from
various sources, flax, tissues, vegetables, garden-plants,
chaplets, and chaplet-flowers ; with an elaborate account, in
books xxii.—xxvii., of the remedies derived from every por¬
tion of the vegetable world, and a description of the various
diseases then known. In b. xxviii. he treats—and with
much revolting detail—of the medicaments derived from
the human body. In the next two books he describes the
remedies derived from other living creatures, branching off
into an account of the history of medicine and magic
(which last he looks upon as an offshoot of the medical art),
with some notices of the more current superstitions of the
day. B. xxxi. and b. xxxii. are devoted to an account of me¬
dicinal waters, and the remedies derived from fish and other
aquatic animals and productions. In b. xxxiii. and b. xxxiv.
he gives a description of the various metals, with a large
amount of miscellaneous information more or less remotely
connected with them; his digressions embracing money,
jewels, plate, bronzes, statues, and statuaries of all nations,
with a correct table of their dates. B. xxxv. contains an
account of mineral pigments and tbe art of painting, with
copious notices of the more eminent painters, and of the
various eras of the art. In b. xxxvi. he passes on to a de¬
scription of stone and the other materials employed in build¬
ing, tbe use of marble for tbe purposes of sculpture, the his¬
tory of that art and of the more eminent sculptors and their
works, the most remarkable buildings and works of art at
Rome and elsewhere, concluding with a history of the
P L I
invention and manufacture of glass. In b. xxxvii. he gives Plinius.
an account of gems, murrhine, amber, and precious stones ;  v~~
and concludes the work with a patriotic eulogium upon Italy,
her productions, her fertility, her beauties, and her elevated
rank among nations. . 7. ,
The earliest edition of the Historia JSaturahs was pub¬
lished by J. De Spira, at Venice, 1469. The first edition
of critical merit is that by Hardouin (Paris, 1685 and 1723).
The most valuable critical edition is that by Sillig (Ham-
burg and Gotha, 1851-55, 6 vols. 8vo), the last six books
bein<T rendered additionally valuable by the new readings
of a manuscript of the tenth or eleventh century, discovered
at Bamberg, which has been admirably collated by M. Jan.
In many passages previously looked upon as hopelessly cor¬
rupt, or else not at all suspected of being so, this manu¬
script supplies words and sentences which greatly tend
to alter or elucidate the meaning; and by the aid of
them Sillig has been enabled to re-ivrite these books in a
great degree. Twenty-two lines have also been added,
from this manuscript, at the end of tbe work; before the
discovery of which, both Jan and Sillig had expressed it as
their opinion that the proper termination was wanting; and
even now, notwithstanding tbe comparative completeness
of the restored text, Bernhardy (Grundriss d. Rom. Lit.,
p. 644, 2d ed.) is of opinion that there is still something
wanting. From a perusal of these new readings, we may
feel assured that the text of the earlier books is defective
in the extreme; and much, no doubt, of tbe alleged obscu¬
rity of Pliny’s style may be attributed to this cause. The
best illustrated editions of the text are those published by
Lemaire (Paris, 1827-33, 10 vols. 8vo), under various edi¬
tors; and by Panckoucke (Paris, 1829-33, 20 vols. 8vo),
with a French translation by Ajasson de Grandsagne, and
notes by Cuvier, Fee, Parisot, and other learned men.
There are English translations of this work, by Philemon
Holland (London, 1601, 2 vols. folio) ; and by Dr Bostock
and H. T. Riley (London, 1855-57, 6 vols. 8vo), with
copious illustrations of the text. (h. t. r.)
Plinius C.ecilius Secundus, Cains, commonly known
as the “ Younger Pliny,” was the son of Cains Caecilius, a
person of equestrian rank, and of Plinia, the sister of tbe
elder Pliny. His native place was probably Novum Co¬
mum, now Como ; though Verona has been suggested.
He was born a.d. 61 or 62; for we learn, from a letter
of his to Cornelius Tacitus (b. vi., Ep. 20), that he was in
his eighteenth year at the decease of his uncle, in a.d. 79.
The time of his death is not known, but it is thought to
have been towards the close of the reign of I rajanus, who
died a.d. 117. Losing his father in early life, he was
adopted by his uncle, then in Spain ; upon whose return
to Rome, a.d. 70 or 71, he was, with his mother, received
under his roof. His education was conducted under tbe
supervision of his uncle and his guardian Verginius Rufus,
a person of consular rank, and of whom (b. ii., Ep. 1) he
speaks in terms of grateful remembrance. In his fourteenth
year he wrote a Greek tragedy, of which he does not speak
in very flattering terms in after life (b. vii., Ep.4). At Rome,
he studied eloquence under Quintilianus and Nicetes Sa-
cerdos. With his mother, he was residing with the elder
Pliny at Misenum at the period of tbe great eruption of
Vesuvius, and his death. At the age of nineteen he ap¬
peared as an advocate in the Forum, and was frequently
employed in a similar capacity in the court of the Centurn-
viri; as also in prosecutions before the Roman senate.
While young he served as military tribune in Syria, where
he met with Euphrates, the Stoic philosopher, and Arte-
midorus. After his return to Rome, he was appointed
Qucestor Ccosaris, and was Prcrtor about a.d. 93. Towards
the end of the reign of Domitianus, he drew upon himself
the resentment of that emperor for his support of the cause
of Helvidius, who was put to death. In a.d. 100 he was
P L I
Plinius. appointed Consul, upon which occasion he composed his
Panegyric upon the Emperor Trajanus. In a.d. 103 he
became Pro-prcetor of the province of Pontica. He filled
other offices also; and it is inferred from his letters (b. hi.,
Ep. 20; b. iv., Ep. 25) that he attained senatorial rank. His
latter years were probably spent in retirement in Italy, his
constitution being weak and his health delicate. He was
twice married; his first wife dying about A.D. 96, the fol¬
lowin'’- year he married Calpurnia, who was considerably
younger than himself,—a highly accomplished woman, and
a member of an illustrious family. He had no children by
either wife, born alive.
His character may be inferred from his letters. Some¬
what credulous and superstitious, he was evidently an ami¬
able man,—frugal, temperate, and in general humane; a
promoter of learning, and on terms of intimacy with most
of the literary men of his day. Possessing several villas on
the banks of the Lake of Como, he was in the enjoyment
of affluence ; and he spent his money liberally, for the
benefit of others as well as the improvement of his estates.
He has been accused, however, of being jealous of the re¬
putation of some of his friends; and that he was some¬
what vain of his own acquirements, there is reason to be¬
lieve.
The only extant works of Pliny are his Panegyric upon
Trajanus, and his Epistles, in ten books. Very different
estimates have been put upon the former. By some scholars
it has been styled a work of surpassing excellence, and a
model of eloquence; while by others it is stigmatized as a
fulsome composition, and of little merit. Indeed, we are
bound to admit that, in point of flattery, it oversteps modern
notions of propriety, and that its style is too studied and
formal: its chief value probably consists in what little infor¬
mation it gives us about the author and his times. The
first nine books of the Epistles are addressed to various
persons, and furnish the chief materials for Pliny’s Life,
with much interesting information about his contemporaries.
The tenth book contains his letters to Trajanus during his
government in Asia Minor, together with the Emperor’s
answers; an interesting series, which, it has been sug¬
gested, though on insufficient grounds, was not the genuine
production of Pliny. Be this as it may, the collection
forms a valuable accession to ancient literature, the merits
of which are well described by Erasmus.—“ The letters
of Pliny,” he says, “ are redolent of wit, elegant, and
appropriate: in them we read nothing but what pertains
to everyday life, and everything is purely Latin, chaste, and
ably described.”
The two letters descriptive of the death and literary habits
of the elder Pliny, and those addressed to Trajanus, with
the answers, form the most interesting portions of the work.
From the time of Tertullian, peculiar interest has been
attached by the Christian world to Pliny’s name, from the
testimony which he bears (b. x., Ep. 97) relative to the cha¬
racter and tenets of the early Christians of his day,—the
followers, as he calls them, of “ a perverse and extravagant
superstition.” The conduct of Pliny, who was otherwise a
humane man, towards the Christians of Bithynia, seems to
have been cruel and intolerant; and his object is to ask
the Emperor’s advice as to his future proceedings, more par¬
ticularly with the view of putting down their secret meet¬
ings. The Emperor’s answer (b. x., Ep. 98), advising him
to be lenient, and not too searching in his inquiries, is tem¬
pered with a spirit of mercy and justice, which unfortu¬
nately has not at all times characterized professing Chris¬
tians themselves in their differences upon religion.
The first edition of the Epistolee is that of Naples, 1476,
folio ; and of the Panegyricus and Epistolce, that of Venice,
1485, 4to. The best edition of the entire works is that of
Gierig (Leipsic, 1806, 2 vols. 8vo). The edition of the
Epistolce by Cortius and Longolius (Amst., 1734, 4to) is
P L 0 13
highly commended. There is also a very elaborate Life of Plinth
Pliny by Masson (Amst., 1709, 8vo). There are two Eng- II
lish translations of the Epistolce,—one by Lord Orrery,
the other by W. Melmoth ; the latter probably the more
meritorious of the two. (h. t. e.)
PLINTH. See Glossary to Architectuee.
PLOCK (Russian Plozk), a government of the Russian
empire, in the kingdom of Poland, lying between N. Lat.
52. 15.and 53.30., E.Long. 18. 45. and 22.35.; andbounded
on the E. by the government of Augustovo, S. by those ol
Lublin and Warsaw, W. and N. by Prussia ; area, 6742
square miles. The Bug and the Vistula bound it on the
S. and W., and the Narew, an affluent of the former river,
flows through it from N. to S. A large part of the country
is occupied with woods and marshes ; but some parts of it
consist of fine meadows and rich arable land. The govern¬
ment is divided into six circles. Pop. (1851) 548,406, in¬
cluding 30,803 Germans.
Plock, the chief town of the above government, on the
right bank of the Vistula, 50 miles N.W. of Warsaw. It is
well built on a hill in a fertile region; and contains an ancient
cathedral with many interesting monuments, other Roman
Catholic churches, and a Reformed church, several con¬
vents, an episcopal palace, schools of various kinds, an
orphan hospital, lunatic asylum, and a theatre. A trade in
corn, hides, &c., is actively carried on with Dantzic and
other places. Pop. (1854) 12,728.
PLOERMEL, a town of France, capital of an arron-
dissement, in the department of Morbihan, on the lake and
river Due, 25 miles N.E. of Vannes. The town is well
built, and has wide, clean streets, two squares, and a
public green. The parish church is a low, heavy building,
containing interesting monuments of two of the dukes of
Brittany. There are also here a college, hospital, and
court-house. The inhabitants trade in hempen yarn, iron,
cattle, woollen and linen stuffs, &c. The climate is very
healthy. Pop. (1856) 4868.
PL()N, a town of Denmark, in the duchy of Holstein,
on a narrow neck of land separating the two lakes of Great
and Little Plon, 17 miles S.E. of Kiel. The situation is
very pleasant and picturesque. On a hill, rising steeply
out of the lake, stands the castle, occasionally the residence
of the Danish monarchs. It commands an extensive view
over one of the most fertile regions of Holstein, consisting
of hill and dale, wood and water, meadows and corn-fields.
The town itself is very ancient, having been a celebrated
place as early as the time when the Vandals held this
country; but except the usual public buildings it has no
structures of any importance. Pop. 3000. The great lake,
irregular in form, 7 miles long and 4 broad, the largest in
Holstein, is fringed with wood and studded with several
islets.
PLOT, Robert, a learned antiquary and philosopher,
was born at Sutton-Barne, in the parish of Borden, Kent,
in the year 1641. He studied in Magdalen Hall, and
afterwards in University College, Oxford. In 1682 he was
elected secretary of the Royal Society, and published the
Philosophical Transactions from No. 143 to No. 166 in¬
clusive. The next year Elias Ashmole appointed him first
keeper of his museum ; and about the same time the vice-
chancellor nominated him primarius professor of chemistry
in the university of Oxford. In 1687 he was made secre¬
tary to the earl marshal; and the following year received
the title of historiographer to James II. In 1690 he re¬
signed his professorship of chemistry, and likewise his place
of keeper of the museum, to which he presented a very
large collection of natural curiosities, which he had de¬
scribed in his Histories of Oxfordshire and Staffordshire;
the former published at Oxford in 1677, folio, and reprinted,
with additions and corrections, in 1705, and the latter
printed of the same size in 1686. In January 1694-5
14
P L 0
P L 0
Plotinus.
Henry Howard, earl marshal, nominated him Mobray-
herald extraordinary ; two days after which he was con¬
stituted register of the Court of Honour; and, on the
30th of April 1696, he died of the stone, at his house at
Borden.
As Dr Plot delighted in natural history, the above works
were designed as essays towards a Natural History of Eng¬
land ; and he had actually formed a design of travelling
through England and Wales for that purpose. He accord¬
ingly drew up a plan of his scheme, in a letter addressed to
Bishop Fell, which is inserted at the end of the second
volume of Leland’s Itinerary, in the edition of 1744.
Amongst several manuscripts which he left behind him
were large materials for the Natural Histoi’y of Kent, Mid¬
dlesex, and the city of London. Besides the above works,
he published J)e Origine Fontium Tentamen Philosophi-
cum, 8vo, and nine papers in the Philosophical Trans¬
actions.
PLOTINUS, the most celebrated writer and teacher
of the Neo-Platonic school. He was born at Lycopolis, a
city of Egypt, in a.d. 204, and began very early to show a
great singularity both in his taste and in his manners. At
the age of twenty-eight he had a strong desire to study
philosophy, on which occasion he was recommended to the
most famous professors of Alexandria. He was not satis¬
fied with their lectures ; but upon hearing those of Ammo-
nius, he confessed that this was the man he wanted. He
studied for eleven years under that excellent master, and
then went to hear the Persian and Indian philosophers. In
a.d. 243, when the Emperor Gordianus intended to wage war
against the Persians, he followed the Roman army, but
probably repented of it; for it was with difficulty he could
save his life by flight after the emperor had been slain. He
was then thirty-nine. The year following he went to Rome,
and read philosophical lectures in that city ; but avoided
following the example of Erennius and Origen, his fellow-
pupils, who having, like him, promised not to reveal some
hidden and excellent doctrines which they had received
from Ammonius, had nevertheless broken their pledge.
Plotinus continued ten years in Rome without writing any¬
thing ; but in his fiftieth year he obtained as his scholar
Porphyry, who being of an exquisitely fine genius, was not
satisfied with superficial answers, but required to have all
difficulties thoroughly explained ; and therefore Plotinus, to
treat things with greater accuracy, was obliged to write
more books. He had previously written twenty-one books,
and during the six years of Porphyry’s sojourn with him
he wrote twenty-four, and nine after Porphyry left Rome,
making in all fifty-four. The Romans had a high venera¬
tion for him ; and he passed for a man of such judgment
and virtue that many persons of both sexes, when they
found themselves dying, entrusted him, as a kind of guar¬
dian angel, with the care of their estates and children. Lie
was the arbiter of numberless lawsuits; and constantly be¬
haved with such humanity and rectitude that he did not
create a single enemy during the twenty-six years he re¬
sided in Rome. He did not meet with the same justice,
how ever, from all of his own profession ; for Olympias, a
philosopher of Alexandria, being envious of his glory, used
his utmost endeavours, though in vain, to ruin him. The
Emperor Gallienus and the Empress Salonina had a very
high regard for him ; and if it had not been for the oppo¬
sition of some jealous courtiers, they would have caused
the city of Campania to be rebuilt, and given it to him, with
the territory belonging to it, to establish a colony of philo¬
sophers, and to govern it according to the ideal laws of
Plato’s commonw'ealth. He laboured under various dis¬
orders during the last year of his life, which obliged him to
leave Rome, when he was carried to Campania, to the heirs
of one of his friends, who furnished him with everything
necessary; and he died there, a.d. 270, at the age of
sixty-six, in the noblest manner that a heathen philoso- Plotinus,
pher could expire. “ I am labouring with all my might,”
said he, “ to return the divine part of me to the Divine
Whole which fills the universe.”
We have already remarked that the ideas of Plotinus
were singular and extraordinary ; and we shall now show
that they were so. He was ashamed of being lodged in a
body, for which reason he did not care to tell the place of
his birth or family. The contempt he had for all earthly
things was the reason why he would not permit his picture
to be drawn ; and when his disciple Amelius urged him to
do so, “ Is it not enough,” said he, “ to drag after us,
whithersoever we go, that image in which nature has shut
us up ? Do you think that we should likewise transmit to
future ages an image of that image, as a sight worthy of
their attention ?” On the same principle, he refused to at¬
tend to his health ; for he never made use of preservatives
or baths, and did not even eat the flesh of tame animals.
Lie ate but little, and often abstained from bread ; which,
joined to his intense meditation, prevented him from sleep¬
ing. In short, he thought the body altogether below his
notice, and had so little respect for it that he considered it
as a prison, from which it would be his supreme happiness
to be freed. Wlien Amelius, after his death, inquired of
the oracle of Apollo about the state of his soul, he was told
that it was gone to the assembly of the blessed, where
charity, joy, and a love of the union with God prevail.
And the reason given for this, as related by Porphyry, is,
“ that Plotinus had been peaceable, gracious, and vigilant;
that he had perpetually elevated his spotless soul to God ;
that he had loved God with his whole heart; that he had
disengaged himself, to the utmost of his abilities, from this
wretched life; that, elevating himself with all the powers
of his soul, and by the several gradations taught by Plato,
towards that Supreme Being which fills the universe, he
had been enlightened by him, had enjoyed the vision of
him without the help or interposition of ideas, and, in short,
had often been united to him.” This is the account of
Porphyry, who also tells us that he himself had once been
favoured with the vision. Plotinus had his familiar spirit
as well as Socrates; but, according to Porphyry, it was not
one of those called demons, but of the order of those who
are called gods ; so that he was under the protection of a
spirit superior to that of other men. When Amelius de¬
sired him to share in the sacrifices which he used to offer
up on solemn festivals, “ It is their business,” replied Plo¬
tinus, “ to come to me ; not mine to go to them.”
Porphyry put the fifty-four books of Plotinus in order,
and divided them into six Enneades. The greater part of
them turn on the most high-flown ideas in metaphysics;
and this philosopher seems, in certain points, to differ but
little from Spinoza. He wrote two books to prove that all
being is one and the same; which is, in fact, the very doc¬
trine of Baruc Spinoza. He inquires, in another book,
whether there are many souls, or only one. His manner
of composing partook of the singularity of his nature. He
never read over his compositions after he had written them ;
he wrote a bad hand, and was not exact in his orthography;
he stood in need, therefore, of a faithful friend to revise and
correct his writings ; and he chose Porphyry for this pur¬
pose in preference to Amelius, who had been his disciple
twenty-four years, and was very much esteemed by him.
Marsilius Ficinus, at the request of Cosmo de’ Medici, exe¬
cuted a Latin version of the works of Plotinus, with a
summary and analysis of each book, which was printed at
Basil, first by itself in 1559, and afterwards with the Greek
in 1580, folio. His Life was written by Porphyry, the most
illustrious of his disciples. A beautiful edition of the
works of Plotinus, in 3 vols. 4to, has been published at
the Oxford university press, with this title, Plotini Opera
Omnia Edidit Fredericus Creuser, Oxon. e typographeo
P L O
Plough Aeademico, 1835. There is also an English translation of
|| Select Works of Plotinus, by Taylor.
Plunket. PLOUGH. See Ageicultuke.
PLOWDEN, Edmund, sergeant at law, descended from
an ancient family in Shropshire, was born in 1517, and was
first a student of the university of Cambridge, where he
spent three years in the study of philosophy and medicine.
He then removed to Oxford, where having continued his
former studies about four years more, he was in 1552 ad¬
mitted to the practice of physic and surgery ; but probably
finding the practice of the healing art less agreeable than the
study of physic, he entered himself of the Middle Temple,
and began to read law. Wood says that in 1557 he was
summer reader to that society, and Lent reader three years
afterwards, being then sergeant and oracle of the law. * He
died in the year 1584, aged sixty-seven; and was buried
in the Temple church. He wrote Commentaries or Re¬
ports of divers Cases in the reigns of Edward VI., Mary,
and Elizabeth, London, 1571, 1578, 1599, and 1613, writ¬
ten in the old Norman language ; and Queries, or a Moot-
Rook of Cases, translated, methodized, and enlarged, by
H. B. of Lincoln’s Inn, London, 1662, in 8vo.
PLUCHE, Noel Antoine, a celebrated French writer,
was born at Rheims in 1688; and having distinguished him¬
self by his engaging manners and proficiency in the belles
lettres, was appointed professor of humanity in the university
of that city. Two years afterwards he obtained the chair of
rhetoric, and was admitted into holy orders. The Bishop
of Leon, informed of his talents, conferred upon him the
direction of the college of his episcopal city. By his indus¬
try and superior knowledge, a proper order and subordina¬
tion were soon established in it; but some peculiar opinions
respecting the affairs of the time disturbed his tranquillity,
and obliged him to resign his office. The intendant of
Rouen, at the request of the celebrated Rollin, intrusted
him with the education of his son. He published Le
Spectacle de la Nature, in 9 vols. 12mo ; Histoire du Ciel,
or History of the Heavens, in 2 vols. 12mo (Voltaire
called this work Fable du Ciel} ; Re Linguarum Arti-
ficio, a work which he translated under the title of Le
Mecanique des Langues, in 12mo; Harmony of the
Psalms and the Gospel, or a translation of the Psalms and
Hymns of the Church, with notes relative to the Vulgate,
the Septuagint, and Hebrew Text, printed at Paris in 1764,
in 12mo. In 1749 Abbe Pluche retired to Varenne St
Maure, where he gave himself up entirely to devotion and
study. He died of apoplexy, on the 20th of November
1761, at the age of seventy-three years.
PLUMB-LINE, or Plummet, an instrument used by
cat penteis, masons, and otners, in order to judge whether
walls or beams be upright planes, horizontal, or the like.
It is so called from a piece of lead fastened to the end of a
coid, which usually constitutes this instrument. Sometimes
the stiing descends along a wooden ruler, raised perpendi¬
cularly on another, in which case it becomes a level.
PLUNKE1, William Conyngham, Baron, Lord
Chancellor of Ireland. This eminent lawyer, orator, and
statesman, was the second son of the Rev. Thomas
Plunket, a minister of the Church of Scotland in Ireland,
and was born in the county of Fermanagh in July 1765.
He was educated in boyhood by his father, who was a man
of considerable abilities and reputation ; and in 1779 he be¬
came a student of 1 rinity College, Dublin, having failed at
his entrance in obtaining the humble honour of a sizarship.
1 hough well versed in regular academic studies, as his
writings and speeches abundantly prove, he was most con¬
spicuous in his university career as the acknowledged
leader of the Historical Society, the debating club of
Trinity College, at this time full of young men of re¬
markable promise. In this arena, according to the tradi¬
tion of his contemporaries, he showed from the first the
P L U
15
powers of a great speaker ; and he held an admitted supe- Plunket.
lioiity in an assembly among whose members were several v ^ y ^ ^
orators of great future eminence.
Having entered Lincoln’s Inn in 1784, Plunket was
called to the Iiish bai in 1/87. His talents, acquirements,
character, and station in life were calculated to insure him
success in the profession of the law. If somewhat defi¬
cient in ready dexterity, his intellect was exactly that of
a jurist or a great master of equity—not too refining or
overprone to speculation, and yet capable of the highest
legal generalizations, and of applying them to masses of
fact, however tedious and complicated. His power of close
and rapid argument was very remarkable, his memory
equally capacious and exact, and he had enriched an ample
store of professional learning with the fruits of assiduous
general study. In addition, he was sedate and persevering
in his disposition, his promise of eloquence was already
acknowleged, and his fortune was sufficiently scanty to
coerce him to submit to drudgery. Accordingly, although
at first his progress at the bar was not rapid, be gradually
obtained a considerable practice in equity; became known
as a logical pleader and powerful advocate; and after an
apprenticeship of eleven years as a junior, was raised to the
rank of king’s counsel in 1798.
In 1/98 he entered the Irish Parliament as member for
Charlemont. His political faith was already settled, and
w-as only slightly modified in after life, at least as regards
its cardinal tenets. He was an anti-Jacobin Whig of the
school of Burke, not ungracefully filled with a fervent Irish
patriotism. Having but. little turn for speculation, he dis¬
liked the principles of the French Revolution, and its fero¬
cious excesses made such an impression upon him that he
always showed the greatest antipathy to merely democratic
movements. But he was a sincere admirer of the consti¬
tutional government of England as established in 1688 ;
he reverenced the predominance it secures to law and to
the play ot social forces; and he naturally loved its parlia¬
mentary and municipal institutions. He even justified the
ascendancy it had given to the established church, although
he thought that the time had at length arrived for extend¬
ing toleration to Roman Catholics and Dissenters. To
transfer it to Ireland as thus modified, and under an inde¬
pendent legislature, was, even in his youth, the only re¬
form he sought for his country ; and although he opposed
the Union with all his power, this was only because he
thought it incompatible with this object.
\\ hen Plunket became a member of Parliament, the
Irish Whig party was almost extinct, and Mr Pitt was
feeling his way to accomplish the Union. In this he wtxs
seconded ably by Lord Castlereagh, by the panic caused by
a wild insurrection, and by the secession of Mr Grattan
from politics. When, however, the measure was actually
brought forward, it encountered a vehement opposition ;
and among the ablest and fiercest of its adversaries was
Plunket, whose powers as a great orator were now universally
recognised. His speeches in these debates show all the
force of reasoning, the admirable arrangement, and the
grasp of facts which characterize his later efforts; but they
are somewhat disfigured by personal invective, and here
and there betray an indecent acrimony. They raised him,
however, immediately to the front rank of his party; and
when Mr Grattan re-entered the moribund senate in which
even his genius had been displayed in vain, he took his
seat next to Plunket, thus significantly recognising the
place he had attained.
After the union of Great Britain and Ireland Plunket
returned to the practice of his profession, and became at
once a leader of the equity bar. In 1803, after the out¬
break of Emmet's rebellion, he w'as selected as one of the
crown lawyers to prosecute the unfortunate enthusiast, and
at the trial, in summing up the evidence, delivered a speech
16 P L U
Plunket. of remarkable power, which shows his characteristic dis-
like of revolutionary outbursts. For tins speech he was
exposed to much unmerited obloquy, and more especially
to tbe libellous abuse of Cobbett, who could not endure
his antipathy to democratic violence, and against whom he
brought a successful action for damages. In 1804, in Mr
Pitt’s second administration, he became solicitor, and then
attorney-general for Ireland ; and he continued in office
when Lord Grenville came into power at the head of the
ministry of all the talents. Plunket held a seat in Parlia¬
ment during this period; and when there, made several
able speeches in favour of Catholic emancipation, and of
continuing the war with France; but when the Grenville
cabinet was dissolved, he returned once more to professional
life, and for some years devoted himself exclusively to it.
In 1812, having amassed a considerable fortune, he
re-entered Parliament as member for Trinity College, and
identified himself thoroughly with the Grenville or anti-
Gallican Whigs. He was now in the full maturity of his
powers, and very soon was acknowledged one of the first,
if not the first, orator of the House of Commons. His
political tenets and his great abilities combined to secure
him respect and admiration. His peculiar reverence for
the English constitution in church and state, his strong
dislike of French principles, his steady advocacy of the
war with Napoleon, and his antipathy to anything like
democracy, made him popular with the Tory party. On
the other hand, he was the zealous and most able supporter
of Catholic emancipation; he was not averse to some
measure of parliamentary reform ; and, as generally he was
on the side of constitutional progress, he was reckoned a
principal ornament of one of the sections of the Whigs.
During the period between 1812 and 1822 his speeches on
the Catholic question, on the renewal of the war in 1815,
and on the “ Peterloo massacre,” as it wyas called, will alike
indicate his position as a statesman, and give an idea of his
oratorical abilities.
In 1822 Plunket was once more attorney-general for
Ireland, with Lord W7ellesley as lord-lieutenant. One
of his first official acts was to prosecute for the “ bottle
riot;” an attempt on his part to put down the Orange fac¬
tion in Ireland. But, though always the advocate of the
Catholic claims, he strenuously opposed the Catholic Asso¬
ciation, which about this time, under the guidance of Mr
O'Connell, began its extraordinary and successful agitation.
He struggled vehemently to extinguish it, and in 1825
made a powerful speech against it; and thus the curious
spectacle was seen of the ablest champion of an oppressed
sect doing all in his power to check its efforts to emancipate
itself. And yet in this conduct it cannot be denied that
Plunket was quite consistent with his principles of politics.
In 1827 Plunket was made master of the rolls in Eng¬
land ; but, owing to the professional jealousy of the bar,
who not unnaturally thought him an intruder, he was
obliged to abandon this office. Soon afterwards he became
chief justice of the common pleas in Ireland, and was
then created an English peer. He was thus no longer a
member of the House of Commons when the great mea¬
sure of 1829 at length threw it open to the misgoverned
sect of whom he had for many years been the chief
advocate. In 1830 he was appointed lord chancellor of
Ireland, and held the office, with an interval of a few
months only, until 1841, when he finally retired from pub¬
lic life. During this period he made some able speeches in
favour of parliamentary reform ; but they were scarcely
equal to his earlier efforts ; and his reputation as a judge,
though far from low, was not so eminent as might have
been expected. He died in 1854, in his ninetieth year;
and at his death the bar of Ireland held a general meeting
to acknowledge their sense of his great qualities, and to
devise a monument to his memory.
P L U
The eloquence of Lord Plunket is his best title to fame. Plural
It was remarkable for a felicitous exposition of principles |l
not too recondite for tbe general hearer, and yet broad, J Starch,
deep, and comprehensive; for close, rapid, and vigorous -v^
reasoning; for perspicuous and well-arranged narrative;
and for addiction, chaste, severe, and idiomatic—very rarely
adorned with metaphor or antithesis, yet occasionally en¬
riched with the most admirable illustrations, and fre¬
quently enlivened with a caustic and powerful satire. If it
was wanting in anything, it was in passion ; unlike that of
Mr F'ox, it never subdued the hearer; but it convinced
him by a mingled display of argument, exposition, and
irony, scarcely equalled even in the age of Brougham,
Canning, and Lyndhurst. (>y. o’c.m.)
PLURAL. See Grammar.
PLUTARCH, one of the most celebrated writers of an-
tiquit}7, was a native of Chaeroneia in Bceotia. The exact
date of his birth and death is unknown; but as he tells us that
he studied philosophy under Ammonius at Delphi, when
Nero made a tour through Greece, and as we know this
circumstance to have taken place a.d. 66, we may place the
birth of Plutarch towards the latter years of the reign of
Claudius (a.d. 48-53). He was sprung from an honourable
family, which had often been invested with the highest
offices of the magistracy. He speaks of having seen his
great-grandfather Nicarchus, from whom he learned, as
from an eye-witness, the miseries which his country had
suffered from the oppressions of Antony. His grandfather
Lamprias was distinguished for his eloquence and imagina¬
tion ; and his father is praised for his modesty, his acquaint¬
ance with the theology of his time, and his knowledge of
the works of the poets. Plutarch had two brothers, Timon
and Lamprias; of the former of whom he says that he has
no obligations to fortune so great as'the enjoyment of his
brother Timon’s invariable friendship and kindness. Under
Ammonius, of whom we know little more than what his
pupil has told us, he acquired the doctrines of that humane
and rational philosophy for which he was afterwards so dis¬
tinguished. Upon what occasion he visited Italy is uncer¬
tain, but it is supposed to have been on some public busi¬
ness of the Chseroneians. Whilst he remained at Rome,
he found his house resorted to by all the principal citizens,
and his lectures on philosophy attended by the most illus¬
trious of the Romans. Sossius Senecio, who was four times
consul, once under Nerva and thrice under Trajan, was his
most intimate friend. To him he addresses his Lives, ex¬
cept that of Aratus, which is inscribed to Polycrates of
Sicyon, the grandson of Aratus. Whether he remained in
Italy till all philosophers were banished from that country
by a decree of Domitian, is a point of which we have no
means of determining; but wre know that he spent the
greater part of his time in his native city. Here he de¬
voted himself to the discharge of such humble duties as the
magistrates of Chaeroneia were required to perform; and
vre find that he also joined to his magisterial character the
office of priest of Apollo. Suidas states that he was pre¬
ceptor to Trajan ; but he was so nearly contemporary with
that emperor that little credit is due to this assertion.
Plutarch was married to a lady of his native city, called
Timoxena, and in his matrimonial connection he seems to
have been particularly fortunate. By her he had five
children, four sons and* a daughter, who died young ; and
on this occasion he addressed a beautiful letter ol consola¬
tion to his wife, which is highly honourable to both parties.
Two only of his sons survived, Plutarch and Lamprias,
the latter of whom appears to have been a philosopher ;
and it is to him that we are indebted for a catalogue cf his
father’s writings. His nephew Sextus was of considerable
eminence, and taught the Greek language to Marcus An¬
toninus. We have no particular account either as to the
manner or the time of his death, only it is evident that he
i
P L U
P L Y
17
lived to a good old age. The most probable conjecture
is that of Fabricius, who says he died in the fifth year of
Hadrian, at the age of seventy.
His works have been divided, and they admit of a pretty
equal division, into Lives and Morals,—the former of which,
in his own estimation, were to be preferred, as more noble
than the latter. His style has been excepted to with some
reason. He has also been criticised for some mistakes in
Roman antiquities, and for a partiality to the Greeks. On
the other hand, he has been justly praised for the copious¬
ness of his fine sense and learning, for his integrity, and for
a certain air of goodness which appears in all he wrote.
His business was not to please the ear, but to instruct and
charm the mind ; and in this none ever excelled him. The
work which has immortalized Plutarch is his Lives of forty-
six Greeks and Romans. The latest and best edition of
the Greek text is that of C. Sintenis, Leipsic, 1839-46,
4 vols. 8vo. The translations are numerous. They have
been done into French by Amyot, 1559, of which there is
an English translation by Sir Thomas North, London, 1612,
but unfortunately it does not always follow the French.
Dryden’s was by numerous hands, he having written only
the dedication, and the Life of Plutarch attached. The
English version of John and William Langhorne has fre¬
quently been printed. There is a good German transla¬
tion by Kaltwasser, Magdeburg, 10 vols. 8vo, 1799-1806.
The other writings of Plutarch, above sixty in number, are
classed under the general name Moralia, or ethical works.
The best edition of the Greek text is that of Wyttenbach,
Oxford, 8 vols., 1795-1821. It has been done into French
by Amyot, into German by Kaltwasser, and into English by
various hands, 5 vols. 1684-94; but a good English trans¬
lation of the Morals is still wanted.
PLUTO. See Hades.
PLUTUS, in Pagan worship, the god of riches, is fre¬
quently confounded with Pluto. He was represented as
appearing lame when he approached, but provided with
wings at his departure, to show the difficulty of amassing
wealth and the uncertainty of its enjoyment. He was also
represented blind, to show that he often bestowed his
favours on the most unworthy, and left in necessity those
who had the greatest merit.
PLYMOUTH, a town at the western extremity of the
county of Devon, on the southern shore of England, 216
miles by road, and 247 by railway {i:ia Bristol and Exeter)
from the metropolis. It is situated at the head of the
sound of the same name, and on the small river Plym, from
which circumstance the prefix of its name is undoubtedly
derived. It is a place which has grown to its present im¬
portance from the natural advantages of maritime access,
and the capability of defence arising from local circum¬
stances, which have been extended by liberal expenditure
under the direction of men of the most scientific attain¬
ments.
The entrance to the hai'bour, or more properly harbours,
of Plymouth, is not without its dangers, consisting of rocks
and shoals. Of the former are the Meivstone, the Shag stone,
and the Rennij ; and of the latter the Tinker, the Shovel,
the Knap, and the Panther ; but their position is so well
known, and so accurately pointed out by buoys, that in all
but the most tempestuous and foggy weather they are easily
avoided. The first object deserving notice in the water-
access to Plymouth is that part called the Sound, a most
capacious anchoring place, capable of affording shelter and
protection to 100 sail of the line. The Sound has been
rendered secure by that prodigious display of human labour
known by the name of the Breakwater. As a full and
scientific description of that work has been given in a for¬
mer volume (see vol. v., p. 306), we refer to it; only
adding, that since the trial of the storms of 1816 and 1817,
the strength as well as the utility of the work has been
VOL. XVIII.
proved by a storm which took place on the 23d of Novem- Plymouth,
ber 1824, when the whole southern coast of England was
bestrewed with wreck and desolation. The tide then rose
to the frightful height of 26 feet 2 inches, whilst the mean
rise of the water at spring-tides is usually only 18 feet.
The greater part of the surface of the Breakwater was on
that occasion completely overturned, and huge stones of
from two to five tons each were carried from the outer and
deposited on the inner slope. It need scarcely be remarked,
that those liabilities to injury to which such a work as the
breakwater is subject whilst in progress, will not exist in an
equal degree when the work is completed. Thus, in a
hurricane of January 1828 not a single stone of the finished
part of the work was removed from its position. (See
Breakwater.)
Within the breakwater there are many indentations, the
mouths of which terminate in the Sound, and form excel¬
lent harbours, some of them adapted for the largest class of
ships. The easternmost of these inlets is at first called
Catwater, and extends to the Lake of Saltram, being crossed
by the Lary Bridge, an elegant work, erected between the
years 1824 and 1827, about 500 feet in length. The small
river Plym rises in the Dartmoor Mountains, and empties
itself into the Lake of Saltram. The next to Catwater is
a capacious harbour, called Sutton Pool, which is capable
of receiving a thousand sail. It is used chiefly by the
largest class of merchant ships, and by the steam-packets ;
and it has several yards for repairing or building mer¬
chant vessels. The next harbour is called Mill Bay; it
is chiefly used for commercial purposes, and has some
good quays, some ship-building yards, and good moorings
for steamboats. Beyond that, at the extreme west, which
separates it from Cornwall, is that indentation which is of
the most importance to the British navy. It is the harbour
of Hamoaze, one of the finest in the world. It is open to
the full force of the tide, but receives the stores of fresh
water which fall into it from the rivers Tavy, Tamar, Lyn-
her, and St Germains. It is the place where the men-of-
war in ordinary are moored; and on its border are the ex¬
tensive dock-yard, the gun-wharf, and the powder-magazine,
which, with other objects, will hereafter be noticed. In
Hamoaze, the admiral commanding the port has his flag
displayed on his ship; and when surrounded, as he com¬
monly is, by a hundred sail of vessels, a most impressive
spectacle is presented to view afloat, whilst the picturesque
objects on the shore tend to increase the effect.
Within the breakwater is Drake’s or St Nicholas’ Island.
It is surrounded with rocks, has a strong castle and other
fortifications, and is provided with furnaces for heating balls,
and with other means of defence. It is of great importance,
as commanding the entrance into Hamoaze, Catwater, and
the other harbours.
Little is known of Plymouth prior to the time of the Nor¬
man conquest, when it was called South Town or Sutton, al¬
though under the Saxon dynasty it was called Tamerweorth.
In the reign of Edward I. it was called Sutton Prior and
Sutton Valletort, the northern parts being built on the
lands of the prior of Plympton, and the southern parts on
the estates of the Valletorts. At that period it was chiefly
inhabited by fishermen. Under the fostering care of the
priors the place made considerable advances, and the more
appropriate name of Plym-mouth was given to it. The
growing prosperity of the town excited the jealousy of
France; and in 1339 a force from thence landed, and at¬
tempted to burn it. They succeeded in burning a portion,
but were ultimately repulsed, with the loss of 500 men, by
Hugh Courtenay, Earl of Devon, aided by a number of
“ knights and men of the countrie.” A similar attempt was
made in 1377, but with no great result; and after each, the
fortifications were extended and strengthened. In 1335
the Black Prince embarked from Plymouth for France, and
C
18 P L y M
Plymouth, on his return to England he landed here with his prisoner,
King John of France, who had been captured at the famous
battle of Cressy. At the threatened invasion of England
by the Spanish Armada, Plymouth was not behind the
neighbouring maritime towns in providing for the defence
of the kingdom, as we learn it contributed to the fleet
“seven ships and one fly-boat.” During the civil war be¬
tween Charles I. and the Parliament, Plymouth was held
by the troops of the latter party, who, though besieged, and
almost reduced by famine, resisted for three years every
effort of the royalists. After the restoration the citadel was
erected ; and in the reign of William III. the dockyard and
the naval arsenal were established towards the west, upon
the eastern shore of Hamoaze. Since that time it has gone
on increasing; but the greatest progress has been made
during the present century, in which it has assumed a new
character, in the intelligence and wealth of the inhabitants,
as well as in the architectural style of its buildings both
public and private. The buildings collectively called Ply¬
mouth are comprehended in three divisions, now known,
the first by that name, the second by that of Stonehouse,
and the third by that of Devonport. The name of the
last was, till August 1824, Plymouth Dock, when, on an
application from the inhabitants, the present name was given
by royal authority.
The population of the three ports, at the respective de¬
cennial enumerations, has been as follows :—
Ports.
Plymouth..,
Stonehouse.,
Devonport..
Total.,
16,040
3,407
23,747
43,194
20,803
5,174
30,083
56,060
1821.
21,591
6,043
33,578
61,212
31,080
9,571
34,883
75,534
1811.
36,527
9,711
33,820
80,058
1851.
52,221
11,979
38,180
102,380
Plymouth was incorporated a borough by Henry VI. in
the year 1439, and by that charter, and subsequent altera¬
tions of a trifling nature, was governed till 183d, when, by
the law made to reform municipal corporations, it was
divided into six wards, each choosing six councillors, who
elect twelve aldermen, one of whom is appointed mayor. The
borough returns two members to the House of Commons.
The town is in the hundred of Roborough, and consists of
two parishes, which are within the deanery of Plympton
and the archdeaconry of Totness, in the diocese of Exeter.
The church of the parish of St Andrews is interesting to
the admirers of ancient architecture. It formerly belonged
to a monastery ; and many alterations having been made
since its erection in 1440, various styles are exhibited in
the building, which thus as a whole appears incongruous;
and though handsome in parts, it wants, as regards the
body of the church, that altitude which is the most essen¬
tial ingredient of Gothic architecture. It consists of a nave
of considerable dimensions, with aisles, and a chancel of
great extent. The windows are mostly of the pointed style,
and the tower, containing a fine peal of eight bells, must
be admitted to be of good general proportions, and it is
crowned by a pinnacled compartment of remarkable beauty.
The church of the other parish is known by the name of
Charles church, probably in remembrance of the second
king of that name, who divided the borough of Plymouth
into two parishes, and erected this edifice. The tower and
spire have an agreeable outline, but otherwise the exterior
of the building can only be described as in the debased
Gothic style of a degenerate period. Each of these
churches has a chapel attached to it under the respective
clergymen, which together contain sittings for 2700 per¬
sons. The populousness of the town has Tendered the
erection of several other churches imperative. The prin¬
cipal of the new buildings is dedicated to St James, and
was erected in 18.34-5, from a design by Mr St Aubyn.
O U T H.
The several sects of Methodists, Baptists, Independents, Plymouth.
Quakers, Roman Catholics, Unitarians, and Jews have v—'
their respective places of religious worship ; but the first
mentioned have by far the most numerous body of ad¬
herents. The Hoe or Howe at Plymouth is an eminence
on the south side of the town. It is a healthy and pleas-
ino- promenade, stretching from Catwater to Mill Bay, on
the eastern extremity of which is built the principal de¬
fence of this most important place, called the Citadel. The
entrance to this work, on the side of the town, is through
two gateways of a bad specimen of architecture. The
buildings consist of houses for the governor and other
officers,0of barracks, an hospital, a magazine, an armoury,
and a chapel. The fortification consists of three regular
and two irregular bastions, the curtains of the regular bas¬
tions being strengthened by two ravelins and horn-works ;
on the east, north, and west sides are a deep ditch, counter¬
scarp, and covered way, palisadoed, and the parapets are
pierced for 120 cannon. The lower fort is connected with
the citadel, and is chiefly intended to defend the Sound.
Amongst the public buildings of Plymouth, the most
imposing is a noble pile, which comprehends the Royal
Hotel, the assembly-rooms, and the theatre. The founda¬
tion was laid in September 1811, and the building was
completed in 1818. The front is in the Ionic style, and
nearly 100 yards in length. The expense of the erection,
amounting to L.60,000, was defrayed partly by the corpo¬
ration and partly by the institution of a tontine. The
theatre is large, and is constructed with not less regard to
the safety than to the accommodation of the audience.
The Athenaeum is a fine building, erected by the Philo¬
sophical Institution, and completed in the year 1819. The
portico exhibits four columns appropriate to the character
of a building devoted to literature and art. The general
style of the architecture is Doric, blended with the Grecian.
In connection with the institution is a public library, which
now contains a vast and well-selected collection of books.
The custom-house, erected at the commencement of the
present century, is worthy of the town, and convenient for
its commerce. It exhibits a front of granite, suitable, solid,
and well proportioned. The interior is well arranged for
business. On the ground floor are the offices of the prin¬
cipal surveyor, the tide-surveyor, the landing-waiter, the
searchers, and others. A granite staircase leads to the long
room, which is 54 feet in length, 26 in width, and 22 in
height. This building was completed in 1820, at an ex¬
pense of L.8000.
The Royal Baths is an elegant pile of building between
Plymouth and Stonehouse. It is furnished with hot and
cold baths of fresh or of sea water, of hot air, of sulphur, and
of vapour. Within it has a pump-room, where a medicinal
water is supplied from a spring, which is chiefly composed
of muriates of soda, of magnesia, and of lime, combined
with small proportions of sulphate and carbonate of lime,
and a very minute portion of carbonate of iron. It is one
of the best arranged institutions of its kind in England ; and
belongs to a joint-stock company, incorporated by charter
in 1828.
An edifice was commenced in 1-835 for an hospital and dis¬
pensary for South Devon and East Cornwall. At present
the central part only is erected ; but in the original plan it
was contemplated to erect two wings, as soon as sufficient
funds could be obtained for the purpose. These would
double the capacity of the building as to beds, and supply
other conveniences. There are in the centre part a theatre
for operations and lectures, and wards for forty beds, with
appropriate rooms for nurses and other attendants. Few
towns have advanced so much within the last fifty years,
in respect to its public buildings, as Plymouth. That ad¬
vance is still progressive ; and amongst the new erections
may be noticed the town-hall, the gaol, the Botanical
PLY M
Plymouth. Society’s hall, the mechanics’ institute, and the free public
v _ > library. In the first-named building is a fine portrait of
the Prince Recent by Hoppner; and the latter has lately
been augmented by the erection of a museum in the Ionic
stvle and which is well stored with curiosities. It bears
the name of the Cottonian Museum, from the founder 
Cotton, Esq., F.R.S., of Plymouth. With all the improve¬
ments here noticed, it must be observed that the principal
thoroughfares are irregular in their disposition, and that the
most bustling street is the narrowest of the town ; and
though there are excellent shops of every description, some
of them exhibiting fronts of chaste architectural character,
yet they are incongruously to be seen among houses of very
antique date and style. The northern part of the town
consists of small but neat houses ; but the best masses of
buildings are at the west end, and they are chiefly occupied
by persons in the legal, medical, or other professions.
The sanitary state of Plymouth has lately been much
discussed. In 1853, in a report published by the General
Board of Health, it was stated to be one of the most un¬
healthy towns in the kingdom; and the want of proper
sewerage and drainage, combined with the impure and de¬
fective water supply, and the uncleanly state of many of the
dwellings, especially those of the lower classes, have ren¬
dered the place pestilential; but lately some measures have
been taken in order to stay these evils, and there is reason
to hope that in the course of a few years the town will be
restored to its former position as one of the most healthy in
the southern part of the kingdom. The market for fish is
very remarkable, both for the variety, the excellence, and
the cheapness of that description of food. The market-
days are Mondays, Thursdays, and Saturdays ; and the
market-place is spacious, comprising nearly 3 acres.
The maritime commerce of Plymouth is extensive. A
great trade in timber is carried on with the Baltic, with
America, and the Mediterranean ; and there is a direct
intercourse with the East and West Indies and Mauritius,
which secures a good supply of tropical commodities. It is
a bonding port for many articles, and especially for tobacco.
There are also large importations of timber, hemp, tallow,
and other articles, for the use of the dock-yard. The
coasting trade is carried on principally with London, New¬
castle, Newport in Monmouthshire, and Bristol. Great
quantities of manganese are shipped to Scotland, lead to
Bristol, and some wool to Hull. The docks have lately
been extended at an immense cost. A great curiosity is
the iron floating pier, 300 feet long and 40 feet wide. The
amount of duty received at the custom-house during the
past year (1857) considerably exceeded L.100,000. The
number of sailing-vessels registered at Plymouth, Decem¬
ber 31, 1857, was 425, tonnage 47,441 ; of steam-vessels
9, tonnage 332. In 1857 there entered 3333 sailing-
vessels, tonnage 268,311; and 527 steam-vessels, ton¬
nage 178,695 : and there cleared 1771 sailing-vessels,
tonnage 135,279 ; and 567 steam-vessels, tonnage
159,373. Besides these, there are more than fifty decked
boats, called trawlers, employed in the extensive sea fishery,
the produce of which is sent to Exeter, Bath, and even to
London. The building and repairing of ships give occupa¬
tion to some hundreds of persons.
Plymouth was in 1834 constituted a stannary town. The
neighbouring tin and other mines are numerous and pro¬
ductive. The vicinity also abounds in quarries of granite,
slate, and marble ; the latter being highly esteemed for its
veining and susceptibility of polish. The export of granite
and the other stone is much facilitated by the tram-railway,
24 miles in length, which extends from the interior of Dart¬
moor to the quays of Catwater and Sutton Pool harbours.
By the same means coal, lime, and manure are conveyed
from the port to the interior. This railroad was executed
by a joint-stock company formed in the year 1818, and w'as
OUT H. 19
completed in 1820. The exchange for the merchants, Plymouth,
erected in 1813, is near the custom-house; and amongst
other institutions, it has a chamber of commerce, a marine
insurance office, a steam-packet office, the oil-gas company’s
office, and an appropriate reading-room.
Plymouth abounds with benevolent institutions, both of
ancient and modern foundation. The workhouse, which
is a corporate establishment, founded by several acts
of Parliament, provides for a great number of paupers of
both sexes and of all ages. Charles’s alms-houses, founded
by Charles II., Joy’s alms-houses, the Household of Faith,
the new alms-houses, the Mendicity Society, the Female
Benevolent Society, and some others, are supported either
by bequests, or by voluntary contributions, or by annual
subscriptions. Most of the places of worship have schools
attached to them ; and there are a few endowed schools, and
one grammar-school, from whose funds exhibitions are
given to students at Oxford. Besides the hospital already
noticed, there is a large public dispensary, and an infirmary
for diseases of the eye. There is a medical society, with a
professional library for the members of the healing art, em¬
bracing the entire field of medical literature. In 1815 a
law library was established, the members of which consist
exclusively of barristers and attorneys. The books are
open for reference to any subscriber to the general library,
to whose collection they have been recently united. The
amusements of Plymouth are the stage, music, balls, an¬
nual races, and, what is more appropriate to the situation,
regatta or marine races, in which the assistance of the
Naval Yacht Club is afforded.
Stonehouse, the centre town of the group, received the
name from Joel de Stonehouse, the lord of this domain in
the reign of Henry III., before which it was called Hippes-
ton. It has now descended to the Earl of Mount Edge-
cumbe, who, by granting leases on liberal terms, has assisted
in that great increase of the town which the state of the
population at the present time shows. These leases are
granted on lives, renewable for ever at a fixed fine, and
subject to an annual conventional rent. The town is joined
with Plymouth by a thoroughfare street, and it occupies
nearly the same level. The southern part is most on the
increase, and is almost entirely occupied by genteel fami¬
lies, chiefly those of naval and military officers, and other
persons holding situations under the government; but some
other parts consist of small ill-built houses, which are oc¬
cupied for the most part by the dock-yard artizans.
Stonehouse was constituted a township by the Reform
Act, and exercises the elective franchise in connection with
the borough of Devonport. It is divided into two wards,
the east and the west, by the line of Brownlow Street. It
is under the jurisdiction of a bench of magistrates. The
poor are under the management of a governor, visitors, and
guardians, in a workhouse, attached to which is a prison
for vagrants and petty offenders, who are detained till they
can be removed by the orders of the magistrates. The
chief trade by water is in coals and timber; and the ves¬
sels discharge their cargoes on quays in the Pool, in which
are accommodations for building ships.
The buildings devoted to public worship in connection
with the Established Church are two ancient chapels dedi¬
cated to St George and St Paul, and two modern edifices,
besides a chapel in connection with the Royal Naval Hos¬
pital, and which is open to the public. The Roman Ca¬
tholics, Independents, both kinds of Methodists, the Bap¬
tists, Wesleyans, and others, have also places of worship;
and most of them have schools for the instruction of
those attending their respective public services.
An object that strikes every one in passing from Ply¬
mouth into Stonehouse is the establishment of the United
Gas Company, at Mill Bay, by which the three towns in
a direct line of nearly 4 miles are supplied with light.
20
P L Y M 0 U T II.
Plymouth. The edifices belonging to the government are the most
S—prominent objects in Stonehouse. One of these, the Ma¬
rine Barracks, is on the western shore of Mill Bay, where
there is a convenient landing-place. The buildings form
an oblong square, in front of which are the apartments for
the privates, whilst those of the officers are on the two
sides. On the west side are the entrance-gate and a newly- •
erected guard-house. These barracks are handsomely and
regularly built, have an hospital, and accommodate about
1000 men. The mess apartments are spacious and well
furnished ; and the officers have a very good library.
The Royal Naval Hospital is situated in the north-east
part of Stonehouse. This important institution for the re¬
ception of sick and wounded marines and seamen was
founded in 1762. It occupies a rising ground, and the
area of the whole is about 24 acres, of which 13 are formed
into a delightful place of exercise-ground for the convales¬
cent patients. It consists of ten buildings, surrounding an
extensive quadrangle, each containing six wards calculated
to receive sixteen patients; but in cases of emergency the
number can be extended to twenty. Thus as many as
1200 patients can be accommodated at one time. The
superior officer is of the rank of post-captain in the navy,
and has under him two lieutenants. The other officers
are a physician, a surgeon, a steward, a dispenser, four
hospital mates, several extra rmtes, and a chaplain.
The most remarkable object at Stonehouse is one only
finished during the last reign, and hence bearing the name
of the Royal William Victualling-Yard. It is situated close
to the shore, upon which a most extensive marine terrace
has been constructed, 50 feet broad, and nearly 1500 feet
in length. It is entered from the land side by a magnifi¬
cent gateway, under an arch surmounted by a statue of Wil¬
liam IV., and two lateral ways. The whole of the building
is of beautiful granite ; and the shafts of the columns form¬
ing the internal avenue are each of one stone 36 feet high.
After passing the gateway on the left are the neat granite-
fronted residences of the two principal resident officers. On
the right is the baking establishment, comprising a quad¬
rangular range of buildings 250 by 200 feet, inclosing an
architectural chimney-shaft of granite 150 feet in height.
Further on is the Melville quadrangle, 240 feet square, with
its rusticated granite archway (28 feet high), and the clock-
chamber, of the same material, making together an eleva¬
tion of 95 feet, and forming a magnificent centre-piece 61
feet in width. Opposite to this is the basin, 250 by 200
feet in extent, surrounded by quays of granite, save where
an iron swing-bridge vaults over an opening of 45 feet into
Stonehouse Pool. Answering the great bake-house, on the
opposite of the basin, is the brew-house, similar in dimen¬
sions and in external character to the former, and having a
corresponding chimney-shaft. Passing onwards in a direct
line from the entrance, the irregular quadrangle of the
cooperage is on the left, and beyond that the Clarence
stores, which run along the quay of that name, 340 feet.
There is also a reservoir for fresh water, elevated above
most of the buildings, being 50 feet in height, neatly fin¬
ished with granite and an iron railing, which contains 7000
tons. The Melville quadrangle includes the offices of the
establishment, and, with the Clarence stores, are used as
depots for wet and dry provisions, and for slops for the sea¬
men. In the brew-house a steam-engine is used in the
operation of grinding malt, in mashing, and pumping. Two
similar engines are employed in the bake-house, where
there are twenty-five pair of millstones, affording the means
of grinding a thousand bushels of meal in ten hours. In
the same period flour is converted in the bake-house into
ship biscuit, to the extent of 2450 lb. weight. The entire
premises of this establishment occupy an extent of about
13 acres, of which one-half has been recovered from the
sea, and the remainder excavated from the rock, the stone
taken from which has been made use of to build a strong
wall to defend the whole against the sea. The cost of
this enormous establishment was above L.1,500,000.
Devonport, the third town of the group, is divided from
Stonehouse by an arm of the sea, or inlet, over which there
is now a bridge. It is in the parish of Stoke Damerel; and
the ground on which it stands is for the most part the pro¬
perty of the St Aubyn family, whose steward holds a court-
leet and a court-baron annually at Michaelmas, when a jury
is sworn in, to prevent nuisances, and to appoint and swear
in constables. -Having been constituted a borough by the
Reform Act, it now returns two members to Parliament; but
the right of voting for them is also extended to the house¬
holders of Stonehouse. The town is locally governed by
a mayor, twelve aldermen, and thirty-six councillors. It
has also a bench of justices independent of the magistracy
of Plymouth and Stonehouse.
The town of Devonport is supplied with water by a com¬
pany established by act of Parliament 33 George III., which,
by means of pipes, have brought from the Dartmoor Hills
a stream of water which winds amongst the hills for thirty-
seven miles, when it reaches a reservoir on the higher part
of the town, whence it is distributed to the several streets
and houses. The streets of the town are clean, and the
whole has an appearance of great neatness; and two or
three of these streets are of very handsome architecture.
Several of the public buildings, though upon a small scale,
are distinguished for the classical elegance of their archi¬
tectural designs. The town-hall is distinguished by a Doric
portico, in which the depth of the pronaos, and the eleva¬
tion of the entrance-door upon a second internal landing,
are features exciting great admiration. The columns are
27 feet 6 inches in height, and the lower diameters 5
feet 6 inches. The hall is 75 feet in length, 40 teet in
width, and 31 feet in height. On the walls are por¬
traits of Georges I., II., III., also of William IV., and
of Queens Charlotte and Caroline. Within the building
are cells for prisoners, offices for parochial purposes, and
apartments occupied by the mechanics’ institute. The
library is an elegant erection, executed in 1823. The
celebrated Denon, on seeing the design for this facade,
pronounced it the best attempt to appropriate Egyptian
architecture to domestic purposes that had ever come under
his notice. The institution is designated the Civil and
Military Library. It has a news-room, committee-room,
and spacious library, already containing between 6000 and
7000 volumes, constantly augmenting ; and besides, it pos¬
sesses a comprehensive and valuable collection of minerals,
presented by Sir John St Aubyn.
W hen the name of Devonport was given to this town, a
column was erected to commemorate the grant, which
now forms one of its chief architectural ornaments. This
noble monument is of Devonshire granite, fluted, and of
Doric proportions ; measuring 65 feet 4 inches from the
bottom of the shaft to the top of the capital, and making,
with its inferior and crowning pedestals, a total altitude of
101 feet. Its height above the street, including the rock
on which it stands, is 124 feet. A staircase of 140 steps
leads to the gallery, the prospect from which will well repay
the labour of ascending to it. Its cost of erection was
L.2750.
I he church of Stoke Damerel, the mother church of this
very populous parish, being small, several chapels of ease
have been erected. The principal of these is St Mary’s, a
neat structure of brick and stone, in the middle-pointed
style of architecture, erected in 1851, from a design
by St Aubyn: it presents a picturesque appearance; and
consists of nave and chancel, with aisles, porch, and tower ;
above the tower rises a handsome spire to the height
of 122 feet. The interior length of the edifice is about
110 feet. Mount Zion chapel, belonging to the Calvinists,
Plymouth.
PLY
PLY
21
Plymouth
exhibits an ingenious adaptation of Mohammedan architec-
; ture to Christian purposes. Though it has a strange, it has
also a picturesque appearance; and the interior is capa¬
cious and commodious. St Aubyn’s chapel is distinguished
bv its stone spire. It was built by subscription, under an
act of Parliament, in 1771. St John’s chapel .was built in
the same way, eight years later, at a cost of L.7700. f he ..
arrangement of the interior is curiously amphitheatrical.
The "oof embraces a clear span of 70 feet, the length
of the chapel being 90 feet. Besides these episcopal
chapels, a large one was built in the dock-yard by govern¬
ment in 1821. It was chiefly intended for the accommo¬
dation of the officers, civil, naval, and military, together
with the operatives and soldiers belonging to the yard; but
it is also open to the public. Besides the established
churches, the Calvinist and Arminian Methodists, and the
Independents and Baptists, have their places of worship, as
well as the smaller sects of the Moravians and the Uni¬
tarians.
The government-house, on Mount Wise, near the grand
parade, commands a southern view of much beauty. It
contains every accommodation for carrying on the military
government, and for the family of the governor. The front
extends 200 feet. A large brass cannon, at the principal
entrance, was taken from the Turks in the engagement of
the Dardanelles. The port-admiral’s house is near to it,
on the north-west side, and comprises all the offices for the
transaction of naval business, except that of courts-martial,
which are always held on board the flag-ship in Hamoaze.
At a short distance from it, on the top of the hill, is the
semaphore, by which a constant communication is main¬
tained between the office and the flag-ship, and which forms
the first of a chain of telegraphs communicating with the
Admiralty in London. The parade with its martial pomp
and music, and Mount Wise with its charming walks and
prospects, form a great source of pleasure to the inhabitants.
To these may be added Richmond Walk, at the foot of
Mount Wise, which leads to the public baths constructed
at the joint expense of the navy and ordnance depart¬
ments, and to the king’s stairs, erected for access to the
shore in 1820.
The most important object in Plymouth and its vicinity
is the dock-yard. In the eighth volume of this work, under
the article Dock-Yards, is a general description of this
establishment, to which the reader is referred. To what is
there stated we may add, that the whole dock-yard ex¬
tends over 75 acres of land, of which about one-sixth is
the property of the crown, and the remainder of Sir John
St Aubyn, under a lease for twenty-one years, renewable
every seven years with a fine of L.534, 4s. 6d., and an
annual ground-rent of thirty shillings per acre.
The operations carried on within the yard give employ¬
ment to upwards of 2000 men in time of peace, and the
number of individuals depending on it for subsistence ex¬
ceeds 7000. The chapel of the dock-yard is a fine build¬
ing, the foundation of which was laid in 1814. The
interior is elegantly fitted up. It is 100 feet in length
and 75 in breadth, and has a tower with a set of bells.
The erection is said to have cost L.24,000. In the year
1834 a police force was established as a civil guard to the
dock-yard, consisting of a director, three inspectors, three
sergeants, and forty constables.
The gun-wharf is an important part of this naval arsenal,
on the north side of the dock-yard. It covers five acres of
land. It contains storehouses filled with the various instru¬
ments of destruction ; vast quantities of muskets, pistols, Plymouth
and cutlasses are deposited in chests or arranged in racks, ||
or on the wralls in the form of stars, circles, and crescents. Plynteria.
Near these storehouses is the blacksmith’s shop, and other v'—
buildings used as depositories for gun-carriages and the
implements of the field-train. The intervals between the
different edifices are occupied by piles of ordnance belong¬
ing to the ships in the harbour, with their respective names
painted on the cannon. There are also large quantities
of shot arrayed in pyramidical heaps, marked with the
number contained in each pile. The vaist portion of stores
seen here, together with the armoury, form a sight worthy
of attention, . .
Visitors, who are not foreigners, are permitted to inspect
the whole of the dock-yard premises; they are, however,
always accompanied by a constable. Foreigners must
obtain an order for admission from the Admiralty.
Plymouth, a seaport of the United States of North
America, state of Massachusetts, on Plymouth Bay, 35
miles S.E. of Boston. It is built chiefly of wood, and
entirely in modern style, there being not a single antique
building to remind the visitor that this is the oldest town
of New England. The Pilgrim’s Hall is a plain massive gra¬
nite building, erected in 1824 by the Pilgrim Society, who
meet annually here to commemorate the arrival here of the
101 pilgrim fathers, as they are called, in the Mayflower,
December 22, 1620. In the hall there are several his- •
torical paintings and a cabinet of curiosities ; and in front
of the building is placed a part of the rock on which the
emigrants first set foot. Some of the churches are hand¬
some ; and one occupies the site of that originally built by
the pilgrims. Plymouth contains county buildings, banks,
newspaper offices, cotton factories, &c. The inhabitants
are largely engaged in the fisheries. The total tonnage of
the port, June 30, 1852, was 3368 registered, and 9365
enrolled and licensed; the latter including 2538 tons em¬
ployed in the coasting trade, 5169 in cod-fishing, and
1495 in mackerel-fishing. Pop. (1850) 6024. ^
PLYMPTON, two adjoining towns of England, county
of Devon, on the left bank of the Plym, 4 miles N.E. of
Plymouth, and 213 W.S.W. of London. Plympton St
Mary, which lies to the N.W. of the other, contains no
notable building, except the old lichen-tinted church,
standing with its demons’ heads and other grotesque orna¬
ments in a lawn-like churchyard. Pop. of the parish (1851)
2815. Plympton Earle, or Plympton St Maurice, contains
the ruins of a castle famous in the wars of King John and
of the Commonwealth, crowning a knoll, near which stand
the old granite church and the quaint grammar school
with its high roof and piazza. The town contains many
old houses, some of them raised on arches; and a vener¬
able guildhall, bearing the date 1671. Plympton Earle
was the birthplace of Sir Joshua Reynolds. Pop. (1851)
833.
PLYNTERIA (TrAwr^pia, from TrXvveiv, to wash), a
Grecian festival in honour of Athena, who received from
the daughter of Cecrops the name of Aglauros. During
the solemnity they undressed the statue of the goddess and
washed it. The day on which it was observed the people
regarded as unfortunate and inauspicious ; and therefore
no person was permitted to appear in the temples, which
were purposely surrounded with ropes. It was customary
at this festival to bear in procession a cluster of figs, thus
intimating the progress of civilization amongst the primitive
inhabitants of the earth.
OQ
PNEUMATICS.
Air.
Extent of
the science
No precise
Emit to the
different
classes of
bodies.
Air the
most fami¬
liar com¬
pressible
fluid.
Different
properties
of air.
According to the present usage of cur language, this term
is restricted to that part of natural philosophy which treats
of mechanical properties of elastic fluids. The word, in its
original meaning, expresses a quality of air, or more properly
of breath.
We have extended the term Pneumatics to the study
of the mechanical properties of all elastic or sensibly com¬
pressible fluids,—that is, of fluids whose elasticity and com¬
pressibility become an interesting object of our attention ;
as the term Hydrostatics is applied to the study of the
mechanical properties of such bodies as interest us by their
fluidity or liquidity only, or whose elasticity and compressi¬
bility are not familiar or interesting, though not less real or
general than in the case of air and all vapours.
There is no precise limit to the different classes of na¬
tural bodies with respect to their mechanical properties.
There is no such thing as a body perfectly hard, perfectly
soft, perfectly elastic, or perfectly incompressible. All bodies
have some degree of elasticity intermixed with some degree
of ductility. Water, mercury, oil, are compressible; but
their compressibility need not be attended to in order per¬
fectly to understand the phenomena consequent on their
materiality, fluidity, and gravity. But if we neglect the
compressibility of air, we remain ignorant of the cause and
nature of its most interesting phenomena, and are but im¬
perfectly informed with respect to those in which its elasti¬
city has no share; and it is convenient to attend to this
distinction in our researches, in order to understand those
phenomena which depend solely or chiefly on compressi¬
bility and elasticity. This observation is important; for
here elasticity appears in its most simple form, unaccom¬
panied with any other mechanical affection of matter (if we
except gravity), and lies most open to our observation,
whether employed for investigating the nature of this very
property of bodies, or for explaining its mode of action. We
shall even find that the constitution of an avowedly elastic
fluid, whose compressibility is so very sensible, will give us
the distinctest notions of fluidity in general, and enable us
to understand its characteristic appearances, by which it is
distinguished from solidity,—namely, the equable distribu¬
tion of pressure through all its parts in every direction, and
the horizontality which its surface assumes by the action of
gravity; phenomena which have been assumed as equiva¬
lent to the definition of a perfect fluid, and from which all
the laws of hydrostatics and hydraulics have been de¬
rived. And these laws have been applied to the explana¬
tion of the phenomena around us ; and water, mercury, oil,
&c.,have been denominated fluid only because their appear¬
ances have been found to tally exactly with these conse¬
quences of this definition, while the definition itself remains
in the form of an assumption, unsupported by any other
proof of its obtaining in nature.
Of all the sensible compressible fluids, air is the most
familiar, was the first studied, and has been the most
minutely examined. It has therefore been generally taken
as the example of their mechanical properties, whilst those
mechanical properties which are peculiar to any of them,
and therefore characteristic, have usually been treated as an
appendix to the general science of pneumatics.
But although the mechanical properties are the proper
subjects of our consideration, it will be impossible to avoid
considering occasionally properties which are more of a che¬
mical nature ; because they occasion such modifications of
th* mechanical properties as would frequently be unintelli¬
gible without considering them in conjunction with the Air.
other ; and, on the other hand, the mechanical properties ^—v-» J
produce such modifications of the properties merely chemi¬
cal, and of very interesting phenomena consequent on them,
ihat these would often pass unexplained unless we give an
account of them in this place.
By mechanical properties we mean such as produce, or MerhsmVal
are connected with, sensible changes of motion, and which properties,
indicate the presence and agency of moving or mechanical
powers. They are therefore the subject of mathematical
discussion ; admitting of measure, number, and direction.
We shall therefore begin with the consideration of air.
It is by no means an idle question to put, What is this air what is
of which so much is said and written? We see nothing, we air?
feel nothing of it. We find ourselves at liberty to move about
in any direction withoutany obstacle or hinderance. Whence,
then, the assertion, that we are surrounded with a matter
called air ? A few very simple observations and experi¬
ments will show' us that this assertion is wrell founded.
We are accustomed to say, that a vessel is empty when Proofs that
we have poured out of it the water which it contained, it is matier
Take a cylindrical glass jar, hav-
Fig. 1.
ing a small hole in its bottom; and
having stopped this hole, fill the
jar with water, asd then pour out
the water, leaving the glass empty,
in the common acceptation of the
word. Now, throw a bit of cork,
or any light body, on the surface
of water in a cistern ; cover this
with the glass jar A held in the
hand with its bottom upwards, and
move it downwards, as at B, keep¬
ing it all the while in an upright
position. The cork will continue to float on the surface of
t ie water in the inside of the glass, and will most distinctly
show whereabouts that surface is. It will thus be seen,
that the water within the glass has its surface considerably
ower at C than that of the surrounding water ; and however
deep we immerge the glass, we shall find that the water
will never rise m the inside of it so as to fill it. If plunged
to the depth of 32 feet, the water will only half fill it; and
yet the acknowledged laws of hydrostatics tell us, that the
uater would fill the glass if there were nothing to hinder it.
I here isthereforesomethingalreadywithinthe glasswhichpre-
\ents the water from getting into it; manifestinginthis man-
nei the most distinctive property of matter, viz. the hindering
other matter from occupying the same place at the same time.
vv hue things are m this condition, pull the stopper D Possessed
ou o t le hole in the bottom of the jar, and the water will of impul-
instantly rise in the inside of the jar, and stand at an equal sive loice
might within and without. This is justly ascribed to the
escape through the hole of the matter which formerly ob¬
structed the entry of the water; for if the hand be held be-
fore the hole, a puff will be distinctly felt, or a feather held
tieie wi be blown aside ; indicating in this manner that
w lat prevented the entry of the water, and now escapes,
possesses another characteristic property of matter, impul¬
sive jorce. I he materiality is concluded from this appear-
ance, m the same manner that the materiality of water is
concluded from the impulse of a jet from a pipe. We also
see the mobility of the formerly pent up, and now liberated
substance, in consequence of external pressure, viz. the pres¬
sure of the surrounding water.
PNEUMATICS.
23
Air.
Impenetra¬
bility,
Air a ma¬
terial liuid.
Also, if we take a smooth cylindrical tube, shut at one
end, and fit a plug or cork to its open end, so as to slide a-
long it, but so tightly as to prevent all passage by its sides ;
and if the plug be well soaked in grease, we shall find that
no force whatever can push it to the bottom of the tube.
There is therefore something within the tube preventing by
its impenetrability the entry of the plug, and therefore pos¬
sessing this characteristic of matter.
Elasticity, In like manner, if, after having opened a pair of common
bellows, we shut up the nozzle and valve hole, and try to
bring the boards together, we find it impossible. There is
something included which prevents this, in the same man¬
ner as if the bellows were filled with wool; but on opening
the nozzle we can easily shut them, viz. by expelling this
something; and if the compression be forcible,the something
\vTill issue with considerable force, and very sensibly impel
any thing in its way.
Inertia, and It is not accurate to say, that we move about without any
mobility, obstruction : for we find, that if we endeavour to move a
large fan with rapidity, a very sensible hinderance is per¬
ceived, and a sensible wind is produced, which will agitate
the neighbouring bodies. It is therefore justly concluded
that the motion is possible only in consequence of having
driven this obstructing substance out of the wav ; and that
this impenetrable, resisting, moveable, impelling substance,
is matter. We perceive the perseverance of this matter in
its state of rest when we wave a fan, in the same manner that
we perceive the inertia of water when we move a paddle
through it. The effects of wind in impelling our ships and
mills, in tearing up trees, and overturning buildings, are equal
indications of its perseverance in a state of motion. To this
matter, when at rest, we give the name air; and when it is in
motion we call it wind.
Air, therefore, is a material fluid ; a fluid, because its parts
are easily moved, and yield to the smallest inequality of pres¬
sure. Air possesses some others of the very general, though
not essential, properties of matter. It is heavy. This ap¬
pears from the following facts.
1. It always accompanies this globe in its orbit round the
sun, surrounding it to a certain distance, under the name of
atmosphere, which indicates the being connected with the
earth by its general force of gravity. It is chiefly in con¬
sequence of this that it is continually moving round the
earth from east to west; forming what is called the trade-
w ind, to be more particularly considered afterwards. All
that is to be observed on this subject at present is, that, in
consequence of the disturbing force of the sun and moon,
there is an accumulation of the air of the atmosphere, in the
same manner as of the wraters of the ocean, in those parts
of the globe which have the moon near their zenith or na¬
dir : and as this happens successively, going from the east
to the west, by the rotation of the earth round its axis in
the opposite direction, the accumulated air must gradually
flow along to form the elevation. This is chiefly to be ob¬
served in the torrid zone ; and the generality and regulari-
tj of this motion are greatly disturbed by the changes W'hich
are continually taking place in different parts of the atmos¬
phere from causes w hich are not mechanical.
2. It is in like manner owing to the gravity of the air that
it supports the clouds and vapours which we see constantly
floating in it. We have even seen bodies of no inconsi¬
derable weight float, and even rise, in the air. Soap bub¬
bles, and balloons filled with inflammable gas, (hydrogen or
gas obtained from oil or coal,) rise and float in the same
mannei as a coi k rises in water. This phenomenon proves
the weight of the air, in the same manner that the swim¬
ming of a piece of wood indicates the weight of the water
which supports it. -
3. But we are not left to these refined observations for
the Proof of the air’s gravity. We observe many familiar
phenomena, which must be immediate consequences of
the supposition that air is a heavy fluid, and, like other hea- Air.
vy fluids, presses on the outsides of all bodies immersed in
or surrounded by it. I hus, for instance, if we shut the
nozzle and valve hole of a pair of bellows after having squeez¬
ed the air out of them, we shall find that even some hun¬
dred pounds, are necessary for separating the boards. They
are kept together by the pressure of the heavy air which
surrounds them in the same manner as if they were immer¬
sed in water. In like manner, if we stop the end of a sy¬
ringe after its piston has been pressed down to the bottom,
and then attempt to draw up the piston, we shall find a con¬
siderable force necessary, viz. about fifteen or sixteen pounds
Fig. 2.
Familiar
proofs of
its weight
for every square inch of the sec¬
tion of the syringe. Exerting this
force, we can draw up the pis¬
ton to the top, and we can hold
it there; but the moment we
cease acting, the piston rushes
down and strikes the bottom. It
is called a suction, as we feel
something as it were drawing in
the piston; but it is really the
weight of the incumbent air
pressing it in. And this obtains
in every position of the syringe ;
because the air is a fluid, and
presses in every direction. Nay,
it presses on the syringe as well
as on the piston; and if the piston be hung by its ring on
a nail, the syringe requires force to draw it down, just as
much as to draw the piston up ; and if it be let go, it will
spring up unless loaded with at least fifteen pounds for every
square inch of its transverse section. See fig. 2.
4. But the most direct proof of the weight of the air is It may
had by weighing a vessel empty of air, and then weighing even lie
it again when the air has been admitted ; and this, as it is we'fcri|vd-
the most obvious consequence of its weight, has been assert¬
ed as long ago as the days of Aristotle. If we take a very
large and limber bladder, and squeeze out the air very
carefully, and weigh it, and then fill it till the wrinkles
just begin to disappear, and weigh it again, we shall
find no difference in the weight. But this is not Aristotle’s
meaning; because the bladder, considered as a vessel, is
equally full in both cases, its dimensions being changed.
We cannot take the air out of a bladder without its imme¬
diately collapsing. But what would be true of a bladder
would be equally true of any vessel. Therefore, take a round
vessel A, (fig. 3,) fitted with a stopcock B, and o
syringe C. Fill the whole with water, and lg‘
press the piston to the bottom of the syringe.
Then keeping the cock open, and holding the
vessel upright, with the syringe undermost,
draw down the piston. The water will fol¬
low it by its weight, and leave part of the ves¬
sel empty. Now shut the cock, and again
push up the piston to the bottom of the sy¬
ringe, the water escapes through the piston
valve, as will be explained afterwards ; then
opening the cock, and again drawing down
the piston, more water will come out of the
vessel. Repeat this operation till all the wa¬
ter have come out. Shut the cock, unscrew
the syringe, and weigh the vessel very accu¬
rately. Now open the cock, and admit the
air, and weigh the vessel again, it will be
found heavier than before, and this additional weight is the
weight of the air which fills it; and it will be found to be
523 grains, about an ounce and a fifth avoirdupois, for
every cubic foot that the vessel contains. Now since a
cubic foot of water would weigh 1000 ounces, this experi¬
ment would show that water is about 840 times heavier than
24
Air.
The most
convenient
method of
doing this.
This pro-
perty of
air denied
by the Pe¬
ripatetics.
air. The most accurate judgment of this kind of which we
' have met with an account, is that recorded by Sir George
Shuckburgh, in the sixty-seventh volume of the Philosophi¬
cal Transactions, (p. 560.) From this it follows, thatwhen the
air is of the temperature 53, and the barometer stands at
29^ inches, the air is 836 times lighter than water. But
the experiment is not susceptible of sufficient accuracy for
determining the exact weight of a cubic foot of air. Its
weight is very small ; and the vessel must be strong and
heavy, so as to overload any balance that is sufficiently nice
for the experiment.1
To avoid this inconvenience, the whole may be weighed
in water, first loading the vessel so as to make it preponder¬
ate an ounce or two in the water. By this means the ba¬
lance will be loaded only with this small preponderancy. But
even in this case there are considerable sources of error,
arising from changes in the specific gravity of the water and
other causes. The experiment has often been repeated with
this view, and the air has been found at a medium to be
about 840 times as light as water, but with great variations,
as may be expected from its very heterogeneous nature, in
consequence of its being the menstruum of almost every
fluid, of all vapours, and even of most solid bodies; all which
it holds in solution, forming a fluid perfectly transparent,
and of very different density according to its composition.
It is found, for instance, that perfectly pure air of the tem¬
perature of our ordinary summer is considerably denser
than when it has dissolved about half as much water as it
can hold in that temperature; and that with this quantity
of water the difference of density increases in proportion as
the mass grows warmer, for damp air is more expansible by
heat than dry air. We have had occasion to consider this
subject when treating of the connection of the mechanical
properties of air with the state of the weather.
Such is the result of the experiment suggested by Aris¬
totle, evidently proving the weight of the air ; and yet the
Peripatetics uniformly refused it this property. It was a
matter long debated among the philosophers of the last cen¬
tury. The reason was, that Aristotle assigns a different
cause to many phenomena which any man led by common
observation would ascribe to the weight of the air. Of this
kind is the rise of water in pumps and syphons. Aristotle had
Air.
PNEUMATICS.
water did not follow the piston there would be a void be¬
tween them. But nature abhors a void ; therefore the wa-'
ter follows the piston; this reasoning is overtumed by one
observation. Suppose the pips shut at the bottom, the
piston can be drawn up, and thus a void produced.
Galileo seems to have been the first who seriously as- Galileo
cribed this to the weight of the air. Many had supposed first pre¬
air heavy; and thus explained the difficulty of raising the dieted the
board of bellows, or the piston of a syringe, &c. But liehe'Sht t0
distinctly applies to this allowed weight of the air all thej^
consequences of hydrostatical laws; and he reasons as
lows. The heavy air rests on the water in the cistern, and
presses it with its weight. It does the same with the wa¬
ter in the pipe, and therefore both are on a level: but if
the piston, after being in contact with the surface of the
water, be drawn up, there is no longer any pressure on the
surface of the water within the pipe ; for the air now rests
on the piston only, and thus occasions a difficulty in draw -
ing it up. The water in the pipe, therefore, is in the same
situation as if more water were poured into the cistern,
that is, as much as would exert the same pressure on its
surface as the air does. In this case we are certain that
the water will be pressed into the pipe, and will raise up
the water in it, and follow it till it is equally high within
and without. The same pressure of the air shuts the valve
E during the descent of the piston. He did not wait for
the very obvious objection, that if the rise of the water was
the effect of the air’s pressure, it would also be its measure,
and would be raised and supported only to a certain height.
He directly said so, and adduced this as a decisive experi¬
ment. If the horror of a void be the cause, says he, the
water must rise to any extent however great; but if it be
owing to the pressure of the air, it will only rise till the
weight of the water in the pipe is in equilibrio with the
pressure of the air, according to the common laws oi hy¬
drostatics. And he adds, that this is well known ; for it is
a fact, that pumps will not draw water much above forty
palms, although they may be made to propel it, or to lift
it to any height. He then makes an assertion, which, he says,
if true, will be decisive. Let a very long pipe, shut at one
end, be filled with water, and let it be erected perpendicu¬
larly with the close end uppermost, and a stopper in the
other end, and then its lower orifice immersed into a vessel
Construc¬
tion of
(jumps in
the last
century.
PNEUMATICS.
25
Air. f"B of 29f Roman inches: and he found, that when the
■'-'■“'^•'''tube was inclined, the point/was in the same horizontal
plane with/in the upright tube, according to the received
laws of hydrostatical pressure. The experiment was often
repeated, and soon became famous. About three years
afterwards the same experiment was published, at Warsaw
in Poland, by Valerianus Magnus, as his own discovery :
but it appears from the letters of Roberval, not only that
Toricelli was prior, and that his experiment was the gene¬
ral topic of discussion among the curious ; but also highly
probable that Valerianus Magnus was informed of it when
at Rome, and daily conversant with those who had seen it.
He denies, however, even having heard of the name of To¬
ricelli.
Origin of This was the era of philosophical ardour ; and we think
the Royal that it was Galileo’s invention and immediate application of
Society. the telescope which gave it vigour. Discoveries of the most
wonderful kind in the heavens, and which required no ex¬
tent of previous knowledge to understand them, were thus
put into the hands of every person who could purchase a
spy-glass ; whilst the high degree of credibility which some
of the discoveries, such as the phases of Venus and the ro¬
tation and satellites of Jupiter, gave to the Copernican sys¬
tem, immediately set the whole body of the learned in mo¬
tion. About the years 1642 and 1644 we find clubs of gentle¬
men associated in Oxford and London for the cultivation of
knowledge by experiment; and before 1655 all the doctrines of
hydrostatics and pneumaticswere familiar there, and establish¬
ed by experiment. Mr. Boyle procured a coalition of these
clubs under the name of the Invisible and Philosophical So¬
ciety. In May 1658 Mr. Hooke finished for Mr. Boyle an
air-pump, which had employed him a long time, and occa¬
sioned him several journeys to London for things which the
workmen of Oxford could not execute. He speaks of this
as a great improvement on Mr. Boyle’s own pump, which he
had been using some time before. Boyle therefore must
have invented his air-pump, and was not indebted for it to
Schottus’s account of Otto Guericke’s, published in the Me-
chanica Hydraulo-pneumalica of Schottus in 1657, as he as¬
serts Teehniea Curiosa. The Royal Society of London arose
in 1656 from the coalition of these clubs, after fifteen years’
co-operation and correspondence. The Montmorine Socie¬
ty at Paris had subsisted nearly about the same time ; for
we find Pascal in 1648 speaking of the meetings in the Sor-
bonne College, from which we know that society originat¬
ed. Nuremberg, in Germany, was also a distinguished se¬
minary of experimental philosophy. The magistrates, sen¬
sible of its valuable influence in many manufactures, the
source of the opulence and prosperity of their city, and many
of them philosophers, gave philosophy a professed and mu¬
nificent patronage, furnishing the philosophers with a copi¬
ous apparatus, a place of assembly, and a fund for the expence
of their expenments ; so that this was the first academy of
sciences out of Italy under the patronage of government.
In Italy, indeed, there had long existed institutions of this
kind. Rome was the centre of church-government, and the
resort of all expectants for preferment. The clergy was the
majority of the learned in all Christian nations, and particu¬
larly of the systematic philosophers. Each, eager to recom¬
mend himself to notice, brought forward every thing that
was curious ; and they were the willing vehicles of philoso¬
phical communication. Thus the experiments of Galileo
and Toricelli were rapidly diffused by persons of rank, the
dignitaries of the church, or by the monks their obsequious
servants.
Toricellian All now agree in giving Toricelli the honour of the first
repeated invention 5 and [t universally passes by the name of the To-
in various ricellian Experiment. The tube is called the Toricellian
forms. tuhe; and the space left by the mercury is called the Tori¬
cellian Vacuum, to distinguish it from the Boylean Vacuum,
which is only an extreme rarefaction. The experiment was
VOL. xvm.
repeated in various forms, and with apparatus which enabled Air.
philosophers to examine several effects which the vacuum
produced on bodies exposed to it. This was done by mak¬
ing the upper part of the tube terminate in a vessel of some
capacity, or communicate with such a vessel, in which were
included along with the mercury bodies on which the experi¬
ments were to be made. When the mercury had run out,
the phenomena of these bodies were carefully observed.
An objection was made to the conclusion drawn from To- An objec-
ricelli’s experiment, which appears formidable. If the To- tion to the
ricellian tube be suspended on the arm of a balance, it is conclusion
found that the counterpoise must be equal to the weight both !irawn ^roM1
of the tube and of the mercury it contains. This could notU °^viate(1-
be, say the objectors, if the mercury were supported by the
air. It is evidently supported by the balance ; and this gave
rise to another notion of the cause different from the Peri¬
patetic fug a vacui. A suspensive force, or rather attraction,
was assigned to the upper part of the tube.
But the true explanation of the phenomena is most easy
and satisfactory. Suppose the mercury in the cistern and
tube to freeze, but without adhering to the tube, so that the
tube could be freely drawn up and down. In this case the
mercury is supported by the base, without any dependence
on the pressure of the air ; and the tube is in the same con¬
dition as before, and the solid mercury performs the office of
a piston to this kind of syringe. Suppose the tube thrust
down till the top of it touches the top of the mercury. It
is evident that it must be drawn up in opposition to the pres¬
sure of the external air, and it is precisely similar to the sy¬
ringe in fig. 2. The weight sustained therefore by this arm
of the balance is the weight of the tube and the downward
pressure of the atmosphere on its top.
The curiosity of philosophers being thus excited by this Galileo’s
very manageable experiment, it was natural now to try the original ex¬
original experiment proposed by Galileo. Accordingly Ber- periment
ti in Italy, Pascal in France, and many others in different Per^ormecl-
places, made the experiment with a tube filled with water,
wine, oil, &c., and all with the success which might be ex¬
pected in so simple a matter: and hence the doctrine of
the weight and pressure of the air was established beyond
contradiction or doubt. All this was done before the year
1648. A very beautiful experiment was exhibited by Au-
zout, which completely satisfied all who had any remaining
doubts.
A small box or vial EFGH, had two glass tubes,
AB, CD, three feet long, inserted into it in such
a manner as to be firmly fixed in one end, and to
reach nearly to the other end. AB was open at
both ends, and CD was close at D. This ap¬
paratus was completely filled with mercury, by
unscrewing the tube AB, filling the box and the
tube CD ; then screwing in the tube AB, and
filling it; then holding a finger on the orifice A,
the whole was inverted and set upright in the
position represented in the figure /3, immersing
the orifice A (now a of fig./3,) in a small vessel
of quicksilver. The result was, that the mercury
ran out at the orifice a, till its surface m n with¬
in the phial descended to the top of the tube ha.
The mercury also began to descend in the tube
dc (formerly DC,) and run over into the tube
b a, and run out at a, till the mercury in d c
was very near equal in a level with m n. The mercury de¬
scending in 5 a till it stood at A, 29^ inches above the sur¬
face op of the mercury in the cistern, just as in the Tori¬
cellian tube.
The rationale of this experiment is very easy. The whole
apparatus may first be considered as a Toricellian tube of an
uncommon shape, and the mercury would flow out at a. But
as soon as a drop of mercury comes out, leaving a space
above m n, there is nothing to keep up the mercury in the
D
Fig. 6.
d
JT
A decisive
experiment
by Auzout.
v
ir
26 PNEUMATICS.
Air. tube dc. Its mercury, therefore, descends also ; and run-
ning over into b a, continues to supply its expence till the
tube e? c is almost empty, or can no longer supply the waste
of b a. The inner surface therefore falls as low as it can,
till it is level with b. No more mercury can enter b a, yet
its column is too heavy to be supported by the pressure of
the air on the cistern below ; it therefore descends in b a,
and finally settles at the height ko, equal to that of the mer¬
cury in the Toricellian tube.
The prettiest circumstance of the experiment remains.
Make a small hole g in the upper cap of the box. The ex¬
ternal air immediately rushes in bv its weight, and now pres¬
ses on the mercury in the box. This immediately raises the
mercury in the tube d c to l, 29^ inches above m n. It
presses on the mercury at k in the tube b a, balancing the
pressure of the air in the cistern. The mercury in this tube
therefore is left to the influence of its own weight, and it
descends to the bottom. Nothing can be more apposite or
decisive.
The gravi- And thus the doctrine of the gravity and pressure of the
ty of the air is established by the most unexceptionable evidence; and
air a stati- we are entitled to assume it as a statical principle, and to
uii iPrm- affirm a priori all its legitimate consequences.
C1J) e' And in the first place, we obtain an exact measure of the
pressure of the atmosphere. It is precisely equal to the
weight of the column of mercury, of water, of oil, &c. which
it can support; and the Toricellian tube, or others fitted
up upon the same principle, are justly termed baroscopes
and barometers with respect to the air. Now it is observed
that water is supported at the height of 32 feet nearly : the
weight of the column is exactly 2000 avoirdupois pounds on
every square foot of base, or 13^ on every square inch.
The same conclusion very nearly may be drawn from the
column of mercury, which is nearly 29^ inches high when
in equilibrium with the pressure of the air. We may here
observe, that the measure taken from the height of a co¬
lumn of water, wine, spirits, and the other fluids of consi¬
derable volatility, as chemists term it, is not so exact as that
taken from mercury, oil, and the like. For it is observed,
that the volatile fluids are converted by the ordinary heat
of our climates into vapour when the confining pressure of
the air is removed ; and this vapour, by its elasticity, exerts
a small pressure on the surface of the water, &c. in the pipe,
and thus counteracts a small part of the external pressure ;
and therefore the column supported by the remaining pres¬
sure must be lighter, that is, shorter. Thus it is found,
that rectified spirits will not stand much higher than is com¬
petent to a weight of 13 pounds on an inch, the elasticity
of its vapour balancing about of the pressure of the air.
We shall afterwards have occasion to consider this matter
more particularly.
A difficulty As the medium height of the mercury in the barometer
solved. is 2-9^ inches, we see that the whole globe sustains a pres¬
sure equal to the whole weight of a body of mercury of this
height; and that all bodies on its surface sustain a part of
this in proportion to their surfaces. An ordinary sized man
sustains a pressure of several thousand pounds. How comes
it then that we are not sensible of a pressure which one
should think enough to crush us together ? This has been
considered as a strong objection to the pressure of the air ;
for when a man is plunged a few feet under water, he is
very sensible of the pressure. The answer is by no means
so easy as is commonly imagined. We feel very distinctly
the effects of removing this pressure from any part of the
body. If any one will apply the open end of a syringe to
his hand, and then draw up the piston, he will find his hand
mucked into the syringe with great force, and it will give
Itam ; and the soft part of the hand will swell into it, being
pressed in by the neighbouring parts, which are subject to
the action of the external air. If one lays his hand on the
top of a long perpendicular pipe, such as a pump filled to
the brim with water, which is at first prevented trom run- Air.
ning out by the valve below; and if the valve be then open- ^ 1 v ^ ^
ed, so that the water descends, he will then find his hand
so hard pressed to the top of the pipe, that he cannot draw
it away. But why do we only feel the inequality of pres¬
sure ? There is a similar instance wherein we do net feel
it, although we cannot doubt of its existence. When a man
goes slowly to a great depth under water in a diving-bell,
we know unquestionably that he is exposed to a new and
very great pressure, yet he does not feel it. But those facts
are not sufficiently familiar for general argument. The hu¬
man body is a bundle of solids, hard or soft, filled or mixed
with fluids, and there are few or no parts of it which are
empty. All communicate either by vessels or pores ; and
the whole surface is a sieve through which the insensible
perspiration is performed. The whole extended surface of
the lungs is open to the pressure of the atmosphere ; every
thing is therefore in equilibrio ; and if free or speedy access
be given to every part, the body will not be damaged by the
pressure, however great, any more than a wet sponge would
be deranged by plunging it any depth in water. The pressure
is instantaneously diffused by means of the incompressible
fluids with which the parts are filled; and if any parts are filled
with air or other compressible fluids, these are compressed till
their elasticity again balances the pressure. Besides, all our
fluids are acquired slowly, and gradually mixed with that
proportion of air which they can dissolve or contain. The
whole animal has grown up in this manner from the first
vital atom of the embryo. For such reasons the pressure
can occasion no change of shape by squeezing* together the
flexible parts ,• nor any obstruction by compressing the ves¬
sels or pores. We cannot say what would be felt by a man,
were it possible that he could have been produced and grown
up in vacuo, and then subjected to the compression. We
even know that any sudden and considerable change of ge¬
neral pressure is very severely felt. Persons in a diving-
bell have been almost killed by letting them down or draw¬
ing them up too suddenly. In drawing up, the elastic mat¬
ters within have suddenly swelled, and not finding an im¬
mediate escape, have burst the vessels. Dr. Halley expe¬
rienced this, the blood gushing out from his ears by the ex¬
pansion of air contained in the internal cavities of this or¬
gan, from which there are but very slender passages.
A very important observation recurs here. The pressure The wea-
of the atmosphere is variable. This was observed almost ft
as soon as philosophers began to attend to the barometer.
Pascal observed it in France, and Descartes observed it in
Sweden in 1650. Mr. Boyle and others observed it in Eng¬
land in 1656. And before this, observers, who took notice
of the concomitancy of these changes of aerial pressure with
the state of the atmosphere, remarked, that it was general¬
ly greatest in winter and in the night; and certainly most
variable during winter and in the northern regions. Fami¬
liar now with the weight of the air, and considering it as
the vehicle of the clouds and vapours, they noted with care
the connection between the weather and the pressure of the
air, and found that a great pressure of the air was general¬
ly accompanied with fair weather, and a diminution of it
with rain and mists. Hence the barometer came to be con¬
sidered as an index not only of the present state of the air’s
weight, but also as indicating by its variations changes of
weather.
In the next place, we may conclude that the pressure of The pres-
the air will be different in different places, according tosur® °f ftfl
their elevation above the surface of the ocean ; for if air be air 111 pro'
a heavy fluid, it must press in some proportion according to f^eleva?
its perpendicular height. If it be a homogeneous fluid of tion.
equal density and weight in all its parts, the mercury in the
cistern of a barometer must be pressed precisely in propor¬
tion to the depth to which that cistern is immersed in it;
and as this pressure is exactly measured by the height of
*
PNEUMATICS.
27
Air. the mercury in the tube, the height of the mercury in the
Toricellian tube must be exactly proportional to the depth
of the place of observation under the surface of the atmos¬
phere.
This prov- The celebrated Descartes first entertained this thought,
ed by expe- (Epist. 67. of Pr. III.) and soon after him Pascal. His oc-
riments. CUpation in Paris not permitting him to try the justness of
his conjecture, he requested Mr. Perrier, a gentleman of
Clermont in Auvergne, to make the experiment, by observ¬
ing the height of the mercury at one and the same time at
Clermont and on the top of a very high mountain in the
neighbourhood. His letters to Mr. Perrier in 1647 are still
extant. Accordingly, Mr. Perrier, in September 1648, fill¬
ed two equal tubes with mercury, and observed the heights
of both to be the same, viz. 26^ inches, in the garden of
the convent of the Friars Minims, situated in the lowest part
of Clermont. Leaving one of them there, and one of the
fathers to observe it, he took the other to the top of Puy de
Dome, which was elevated nearly 500 French fathoms above
the garden. He found its height to be 23 ^ inches. On
his return to the town, in a place called Font de VArbre,
150 fathoms above the garden, he found it 25 inches; when
he returned to the garden it was again 26^, and the per¬
son set to watch the tube which had been left, said that it
had not varied the whole day. Thus a difference of eleva¬
tion of 3000 French feet had occasioned a depression of 3^
inches ; from which it may be concluded, that 3|- inches of
mercury weighs as much as 3000 feet of air, and one-tenth
of an inch of mercury as much as 96 feet of air. The next
day he found, that taking the tube to the top of a steeple
120 feet high, made a fall of one-sixth of an inch. This
gives 72 feet of air for one-tenth of an inch of mercury ; but
ill agreeing with the former experiment. But it is to be
observed, that a very small error of observation of the baro¬
meter would correspond to a great difference of elevation,
and also that the height of the mountain had not been mea¬
sured with any precision. This has been since done (Mem.
Acad. par. 1703,) and found to be 529 French toises.
Pascal published an account of this great experiment,1 and
it was quickly repeated in many places of the world. In
1653, it was repeated in England by Dr. Power (PowePs
Exper. Phil.) and in Scotland in 1661, by Mr. Sinclair, pro¬
fessor of philosophy in the university of Glasgow, who ob¬
served the barometer at Lanark, on the top of mount Tinto
in Clydesdale, and on the top of Arthur’s seat at Edinburgh.
He found a depression of two inches between Glasgow and
the top of Tinto, three quarters of an inch between the bot¬
tom and top of Arthur’s seat, and ^ of an inch at the ca¬
thedral of Glasgow on a height of 126 feet.2
Hence we may derive a method of measuring the heights
of mountains. Having ascertained with great precision the
elevation corresponding to a fall of one-tenth of an inch of
mercury, which is nearly 90 feet, we have only to observe
the length of the mercurial column at the top and bottom of
the mountain, and to allow 90 feet for every tenth of an
inch. Accordingly this method has been practised with
great success; but it requires an attention to many things
not yet considered ; such as the change of density of the
mercury by heat and cold; the changes of density of air
from its compressibility; a change immediately connected
with or dependent on the very elevation we wish to mea¬
sure.
Aisoamea- These observations give us the most accurate measure of
sure of the the density of air and its specific gravity. This is but vague-
the ai? 0t ly thouSh directly measured by weighing air in a bladder
or vessel. The weight of a manageable quantity is so small,
that a balance sufficiently ticklish to indicate even very sen¬
tence a
method of
measuring
heights.
sible fractions of it is overloaded by the weight of the ves- Air.
sel which contains it, and ceases to be exact; and when we ^ ^
take Bernouilli’s ingenious method of suspending it in wa¬
ter, we expose ourselves to great risk of error by the va¬
riation of the water’s density. Also it must necessarily be
humid air which we can examine in this way: but the propor¬
tion of an elevation in the atmosphere to the depression of
the column of mercury or other fluid, by which we mea¬
sure its pressure, gives us at once the proportion of this
weight or their specific gravity. Thus since it is found that
in such a state of pressure the barometer stands at 30 inches,
and the thermometer at 32°, 87 feet of rise produces one-
tenth of an inch of fall in the barometer, the air and the
mercury being both of the freezing temperature, we must
conclude that mercury is 10 440 times heavier or denser
than air. Then, by comparing mercury and water, we get
■^(5 nearly for the density of air relative to water ; but this
varies so much by heat and moisture, that it is useless to
retain any thing more than a general notion of it; nor is it
easy to determine whether this method or that by actual
weighing be preferable. It is extremely difficult to observe
the height of the mercury in the barometer nearer than ^ ^
of an inch ; and this will produce a difference of even five
feet, or ^ of the whole. Perhaps this is a greater propor¬
tion than the error in weighing.3
From the same experiments we also derive some know- Height of
ledge of the height of the aerial covering which surrounds the atmo*-
our globe. When we raise our barometer 87 feet above phere.
the surface of the sea, the mercury falls about one-tenth of
an inch in the barometer ; therefore if the barometer shows
30 inches at the sea-shore, we may expect that, by raising it
300 times 87 feet or five miles, the mercury in the tube will
descend to the level of the cistern, and that this is the height
of our atmosphere. But other appearances lead us to sup¬
pose a much greater height. Meteors are seen with us much
higher than this, and which yet give undoubted indication
of being supported by our air. There can be little doubt,
too, that the visibility of the expanse above us is owing to
the reflection of the sun’s light by our air. Were the hea¬
venly spaces perfectly transparent, we should no more see
them than the purest water through which we see other ob¬
jects ; and we see them as we see water tinged with milk
or other faeculae. Now it is easy to show, that the light
which gives us what is called twilight must be reflected from
the height of at least 50 miles ; for we have it when the sun
is depressed 18 degrees below our horizon.
A little attention to the constitution of our air will con- Why this
vince us, that the atmosphere must extend to a much great- knowledge
er height than 300 times 87 feet. We see from the most18 1101 ac*
familiar facts that it is compressible ; we can squeeze it in00™16,
an ox-bladder. It is also heavy ; pressing on the air in this
bladder with a very great force, not less than 1500 pounds.
We must therefore consider it as in a state of compression,
existing in smaller room than it would assume if it were not
compressed by the incumbent air. It must therefore be in
a condition something resembling that of a quantity of fine
carded wool thrown loosely into a deep pit; the lower stra¬
ta carrying the weight of the upper strata, and being com¬
pressed by them; and so much the more compressed as they
are further down, and only the upper stratum in its uncon¬
strained and most expanded state. If we shall suppose this
wool thrown in by a hundred weight at a time, it will be
divided into strata of equal weights, but of unequal thick¬
ness ; the lowest being the thinnest, and the superior stra¬
ta gradually increasing in thickness. Now, suppose the pit
filled with air, and reaching to the top of the atmosphere,
the weights of all the strata above any horizontal plane in
1 Grande Experience sur la Pesanteur de tAir.
See Sinclair s Ars Nova et Magna Gravitatis et Levitatis; Sturmii Collegium Experimentale, and SchottI Technica Curiota.
iarometers are now made by which accurate observations may be made to the jo'oo1!1 Part °f an inch.
28
Air.
PNEUMATICS.
it is measured by the height of the mercury in the Toricel- pressing it forward, and at the moment of its discharge is
lian tube placed in that plane ; and one-tenth of an inch of brought to a state of rapid motion ; so the ball from a pop-
mercury is just equal to the weight of the lowest stratum gun or wind-gun is gradually accelerated along the barrel
87 feet thick ; for on raising the tube 87 feet from the sea, by the pressure of the air during its expansion from its com-
the surface of the mercury will descend one-tenth of an pressed state, and finally quits it with an accumulated ve-
Air
inch. Raise the tube till the mercury fall another tenth.
This stratum must be more than 87 feet thick: how much
more we cannot tell, being ignorant of the law of the air’s
expansion. In order to make it fall a third tenth, we must
raise it through a stratum still thicker; and so on conti¬
nually.
All this is abundantly confirmed by the very first experi¬
ment made by the order and directions of Pascal. For by
carrying the tube from the garden of the convent to a place
150 fathoms higher, the mercury fell ^ inches, or 1.2916 ;
which gives about 69 feet eight inches of aerial stratum for
y]0 of an inch of mercury ; and by carrying it from thence
to a place 350 fathoms higher, the mercury fell 11|, or
1.9167 inches, which gives 109 feet seven inches for of
an inch of mercury. These experiments were not accur¬
ately made. It is evident, however, from the whole tenor
of them, that the strata of air decrease in density as we as¬
cend through the atmosphere; but it remained to be dis¬
covered what is the force of this decrease, that is, the law
of the air’s expansion. Till this be done we can say no¬
thing about the constitution of our atmosphere ; we can¬
not tell in what manner it is fittest for raising and support¬
ing the exhalations and vapours which are continually arising
from the inhabited regions; not as an excrementitious waste,
but to be supported, perhaps manufactured, in that vast la¬
boratory of nature, and to be returned to us in beneficent
showers. We cannot use our knowledge for the curious,
and frequently useful, purpose of measuring the heights of
mountains and taking the levels of extensive regions; in short,
without an accurate knowledge of this, we can hardly ac¬
quire any acquaintance with those mechanical properties
which distinguish air from those liquids which circulate here
below.
Compres- Having therefore considered at some length the leading
sibilny of consequences of the air’s fluidity and gravity, let us consider
the air. jts compressibility with the same care ; and then, combining
the agency of both, we shall answer all the purposes of phi¬
losophy, discover the laws, explain the phenomena of na¬
ture, and improve art. We proceed therefore to consider
a little the phenomena which indicate and characterise this
other property of the air. All fluids are elastic and com¬
pressible as well as air; but in them the compressibility
makes no figure, or does not interest us while we are con¬
sidering their pressures, motions, and impulsions. But in
air the compressibility and expansion draw our chief atten¬
tion, and make it a proper representative of this class of
fluids.
Nothing is more familiar than the compressibility of air.
It is seen in a bladder filled with it, which we can forcibly
squeeze into less room ; it is seen in a syringe, of which we
can push the plug farther and farther as we increase the pres¬
sure. But these appearances bring into view another, and
the most interesting, property of air, viz. its elasticity. When
Fig. 7.
A familiar
phenome¬
non.
locity. These two motions are indications perfectly similar
of the elasticity of the bow and of the air.
Thus it appears that air is heavy and elastic. It needs Fluidity of
little consideration to convince us in a vague manner that the air
it is fluid. The ease with which it is penetrated, and driven experimen-
about in every direction, and the motion of its pipes andta^PI0vt:
channels, however crooked and intricate, entitle it to this
character. But before we can proceed to deduce conse¬
quences from its fluidity, and to offer them as a true account
of what will happen in these circumstances, it is necessary
to exhibit some distinct and simple case, in which the cha¬
racteristic mechanical property of a fluid is clearly and une¬
quivocally observed in it. That property of fluids is, that
any pressure applied to any part of them is propagated
through the whole mass in every direction ; and that in con¬
sequence of this diffusion of pressure, any two external forces
can be put in equilibrio by the interposition of a fluid, in the
same way as they can be put in equilibrio by the interven¬
tion of any mechanical engine.
Let a close vessel ABC (fig. 7.), of any form, have two
upright pipes EDC, GFB, inserted into
any parts of its top, sides, or bottom, and
let water be poured into them, so as to
stand in equilibrio with the horizontal sur¬
faces at E, D, G, F, and let D d, be
horizontal lines, it will be found that the
height of the column E c? is sensibly equal
to that of the column Gf This is a fact
universally observed in whatever way the
pipes are inserted. Now the surface of the
water at D is undoubtedly pressed upwards
with a force equal to a column of water,
having its surface for its base, and E d
for its height; it is therefore prevented from rising by some
opposite force. This can be nothing but the elasticity of
the confined air pressing it down. The very same thing must
be said of the surface at F ; and thus there are two external
pressures at D and F set in equilibrio by the interposition
of air. The force exerted on the surface D, by the pressure
of the column E d, is therefore propagated to the surface
at F; and thus air has this characteristic mark of fluidity.
In this experiment the weight of the air is insensible
when the vessel is of small size, and has no sensible share
in the pressure reaching at D and F. But if the elevation
of the point F above D is very great, the column E d will
be observed sensibly to exceed the column Gf Thus if F
be 70 feet higher than D, E e? will be an inch longer than
the column Gj: for in this case there is reacting at D, not
only the pressure propagated from F, but also the weight of
a column of air, having the surface at D for its base and 70
eet high. T. his is equal to the weight of a column of water
one inch high.
we have scnippzprlTli^ air Jrfi-v.o w m It isby this propagation of pressure, \\\\?,fluidity, that the
rnnm I o i , r th.e bladder or syringe into less pellet is discharged from a child’s pop-gun. It sticks fast
, we find that the force with which we compressed it is in the muzzle ; and he forces in another’pellet at the other
press it togetner, it will swell out and regain its natural di- the air between them, and thus nronao-ntino- tn the nthpr
as a" mats of Luf ^ro^suerrf1^^^0111 ^ & ^ Pellet theSure which he exerts! tiS die friction is over-
compressed^t^e'to wh'h-^we'reduce^liern.^Thmi^s ZZZZT ^ by ““
u. As an a™ is
PNEUMATICS.
29
Air.
most vessel without communicating with it, being soldered
into its top and bottom. It also passes through the top
of the under-vessel, where it is also soldered, and reaches
almost to its bottom. This tube is open at
both ends. There is another open tube ST,
which is soldered into the top of the under
vessel and the bottom of the upper vessel,
and reaches almost to its top. These two
tubes serve also to support the upper vessel.
A third tube GF is soldered into the top of
the upper vessel, and reaches almost to its
bottom. This tube is open at both ends,
but the orifice G is very small. Now sup¬
pose the uppermost vessel filled with water
to the height EN, E e being its surface a
little below T. Stop the orifice G with the
finger, and pour in water at A. This will
descend through AB, and compress the air
in OPQR into less room. Suppose the
water in the under vessel to have acquired
the surface C c, the air which formerly oc¬
cupied the whole of the spaces OPQR, and KLeE will now
be contained in the spaces o P c C and KL e E ; and its
elasticity will be in equilibrio with the weight of the column
of water, whose base is the surface E e, and whose height
is A c. As this pressure is exerted in every part of the air,
it will be exerted on the surface E e of the water of
the upper vessel; and if the pipe FG were continued up¬
wards, the water would be supported in it to an height eH
above E e, equal to A c. Therefore if the finger be now taken
from off the orifice G, the wrater will spout up to the same
height as if it had been immediately forced out by a column
of water A c without the intervention of the air, that is,
nearly to H. If instead of the funnel at A, the vessel have
a brim V W which will cause the water discharged at G to
run down the pipe AB, this fountain will play till all the
water in the upper vessel is expended. The operation of
this second fountain will be better under¬
stood from fig. 9, which an intelligent
reader will see is perfectly equivalent to
fig. 8. A very powerful engine for rais¬
ing water upon this principle has long
been employed in the Hungarian mines;
where the pipe AB is about 200 feet
high, and the pipe FG about 120 ; and the
condensation is made in the upper vessel,
and communicated to the lower at the
bottom of the mine, by a long pipe.
We may now then apply to air the laws
of hydrostatics and hydraulics, in per¬
fect confidence that their legitimate con¬
sequences will be observed in all its situa¬
tions. We shall in future substitute, in
place of any force acting on a surface of
air, a column of water, mercury, or any
other fluid whose weight is equal to
this force ; and as we know distinctly from theory what will
be the consequences of this hydrostatic pressure, we shall
determine a ‘priori the phenomena in air; and in cases
where theory does not enable us to say with precision
what is the effect of this pressure, experience informs us
in the case of water, and analogy enables us to transfer this
to air.
From such familiar and simple observations and experi-
rim ments> the fluidity, the heaviness, and elasticity, are discov¬
ered of the substance with which we are surrounded, and
which we call air. But to understand these properties, and
completely to explain their numerous and important conse¬
quences, we must call in the aid of more refined observa¬
tions and experiments, which even this scanty knowledge
of them enables us to make ; we must contrive some me¬
Fig. 9.
Laws of
hydrosta¬
tics appli¬
cable to air.
More re-
thods of producing with precision, any degree of condensa¬
tion or rarefaction, of employing or excluding the gravitat¬
ing pressure of air, and of modifying at pleasure the action
of all its mechanical properties.
Nothing can be more obvious than a method of compress¬
ing a quantity of air to any degree. Take a cylinder or
prismatic tube AB (fig. 10.) shut at one end, and fit it with
a piston or plug C, so nicely that no air
can pass by its sides. This will be best
done in a cylindric tube by a turned stop¬
per, covered with oiled leather, and fitted
with a long handle CD. When this is
thrust down, the air which formerly oc¬
cupied the whole capacity of the tube is
condensed into less room. The force ne¬
cessary to produce any degree of com¬
pression may be concluded from the
weight necessary for pushing down the
plug to any depth. But this instrument
leaves us little opportunity of making in¬
teresting experiments on or in this con¬
densed air; and the force required to make
any degree of compression cannot be mea¬
sured with much accuracy ; because the
piston must be very close, and have great
friction, in order to be sufficiently tight.
And as
d the com¬
pression
is increa¬
sed, the
leather is more squeezed to the side
of the tube ; and the proportion of
the external force, which is employ¬
ed merely to overcome this variable
and uncertain friction, cannot be as¬
certained with any tolerable preci¬
sion. To get rid of these imperfec¬
tions, the following addition may be made to the instrument,
which then becomes what is called the condensing syringe.
The end of the syringe is perforated with a very small hole
ef and being externally turned to a small cylinder, a narrow
slip of bladder, or of waxed silk, must be tied over the hole
at/ Now let us suppose the piston pushed down to the bottom
of the barrel, to which it applies close ; when it is drawn up
to the top, it leaves a void behind, and the weight of the ex¬
ternal air presses on the slip of bladder, which therefore
clasps close to the brass, and thus performs the part of a
valve, and keeps it close, so that no air can enter. But the
piston having reached the top of the barrel, a hole F in
the side of it is just below the piston, and the air rushes
through this hole, and fills the barrel. Now push the pis¬
ton down again, it immediately passes the hole F, and no
air escapes through it; it therefore forces open the valve
at/ and escapes while the piston moves to the bottom.
Now let E be any vessel, such as a glass bottle, having
its mouth furnished with a brass cap firmly cemented to it,
having a hollow screw which fits a solid screw p p, turned
to the cylindric nozzle of the syringe. Screw the syringe
into this cap, and it is evident that the air forced out of the
syringe will be accumulated in this vessel; for upon draw¬
ing up the piston, the valve / always shuts by the elasti¬
city or expanding force of the air in E ; and on pushing it
down again, the valve will open as soon as the piston has
got so far down that the air in the lower part of the barrel
is more powerful than the air already in the vessel. Thus
at every stroke an additional barrelful of air will be forced
into the vessel E; and it will be found, that after every
stroke the piston must be farther pushed down before the
valve will open. It cannot open till the pressure arising
from the elasticity of the air condensed in the barrel, is su-
Air.
30
PNEUMATICS.
-Ah.
Elasticity
of the air
increased
by conden
sation.
Methods of
judging of
the conden¬
sation, &c.
perior to the elasticity of the air condensed in the vessel;
that is, till the condensation of the first, or its density, is some-
tvhat greater than that of the last, in order to overcome the
straining of the valve on the hole, and the sticking occasion¬
ed by the clammy matter employed to make it air-tight.
Sometimes the syringe is constructed with a valve in the
piston. This piston, instead of being of one piece, and so¬
lid, consists of two pieces perforated. The upper part i k
n m, is connected with the rod or handle, and has its lower
part turned down to a small cylinder, which is screwed into
the lower part k l o n, and as a perforation g h going up in
the axis, and terminating in a hole h in one side of the rod,
over this hole at g there is a valve similar to the valve at f.
When the piston is drawn up, and a void left below it, the
weight of the external air forces it through the hole g h,
opens the valve g, and fills the barrel. Then, on pushing
down the piston, the air being squeezed into less room,
presses on the valve g, shuts it; and none escaping through
the piston, it is gradually condensed as the piston descends,
till it opens the valve f and is added to that already accu¬
mulated in the vessel E.
Having in this manner forced a quantity of air into the
vessel E, we can make many experiments in it in this
state of condensation. We are chiefly concerned at pre-
sent, with the effect which this produces on its elasticity.
We see this to be greatly increased ; for we find more and
more force required for introducing every successive bar¬
relful. When the syringe is unscrewed, we see the air rush
out with great violence, and every indication of great ex¬
panding force. If the syringe be connected with the ves¬
sel E, in the same manner as the syringe in fig. 3, viz.
by interposing a stopcock B between them, and if this
stopcock have a pipe at its extremity, reaching near to
the bottom of the vessel, which is previously half filled
with water, we can observe distinctly when the elasticity
of the air in the syringe exceeds that of the air in the
receiver; for the piston must be pushed down a certain
length before the air from the syringe bubbles up through
the water, and the piston must be farther down at each
successive stroke before this appearance is observed. When
the air has thus been accumulated in the receiver, it presses
the sides of it outward, and will burst it if not strong
enough. It also presses on the surface of the water ; and
if we now shut the cock, unscrew the syringe, and open the
cock again, the air will force the water through the pipe
with great velocity, causing it to rise in a beautiful jet.
When a metal-receiver is used, the condensation may be
pushed to a great length, and the jet will then rise to a
great height; which gradually diminishes as the water is
expended, and room given to the air to expand itself.
We judge of the condensation of air in the vessel E, by
the number of strokes, and the proportion of the capacity of
the syringe to that of the vessel. Suppose the first to be
one-tenth of the last; then we know, that after ten strokes
the quantity of air in the vessel is doubled, and therefore
its density double, and so on after any number of strokes.
Let the capacity of the syringe (when the piston is drawn
to the top) be a, and that of the vessel be b, and the num¬
ber of strokes be n, the density of air in the vessel will be
b-\-na „ na
-r—,or 1+—.
But this is on the supposition that the piston accurately
fills the barrel, the bottom of the one applying close to that
of the other, and that no force is necessary for opening either
of the valves ; but the first cannot be insured, and the last
is very far from being true, In the construction now de¬
scribed, it will require at least one-twentieth part of the
ordinary pressure of the air to open the piston valve ; there¬
fore the air which gets in will want at least this proportion
of its complete elasticity; and there is always a similar
part of the elasticity employed in opening the nozzle valve.
The condensation therefore is never nearly equal to what is Air-
here determined.
It is accurately enough measured by a gage fitted to the
instrument. A glass tube GH of a cylindric bore, and close
at the end, is screwed into the side of the cap on the mouth
of the vessel E. A small drop of mercury is taken into this
tube by warming it a little in the hand, which expands the
contained air, so that when the open end is dipped into
mercury, and the whole allowed to cool, the mercury ad¬
vances a little into the tube. The tube is furnished with
a scale divided into small equal parts, numbered from the
close end of the tube. Since this tube communicates with
the vessel, it is evident that the condensation will force the
mercury along thetube, acting like apiston on the air beyond
it, and the air in the tube and vessel will always be of one
density. Suppose the vmmber at which the drop stands
before the condensation is made to be c, and that it stands
at d when the condensation has attained the degree requir¬
ed, the density of the air in the remote end of the gage, and
consequently in the vessel, will be —.
d
Sometimes there is used any bit of tube close at one end,
having a drop of mercury in it, simply laid into the vessel
E, and furnished with a scale ; but this can only be used with
glass vessels, and these are with difficulty made strong enough
to resist the pressure arising from great condensation. In
such experiments metalline vessels are generally used, fitted
with a variety of apparatus for different experiments.
It must be observed in this place, that very great con- Syringes
densations require great force, and therefore small syringes, for great
It is therefore convenient to have them of various sizes, and C0T1,ieuSft
to begin with those of a larger diameter, which operate more t'ons•
quickly ; and when the condensation becomes fatiguing, to
change the syringe for a smaller.
For this reason, and in genera!! to make the condensing
apparatus more convenient, it is proper to have a stop-cock
interposed between the syringe and the vessel, or, as it is
usually called, the receiver. This consists of a brass pipe,
which has a well-ground cock in its middle, and has a hol¬
low screw at one end, which receives the nozzle screw of
the syringe, and a solid screw at the other end, which fits
the screw of the receiver. (See fig. 3.)
By these gages, or contrivances similar to them, we have Instanced
been able to ascertain very great degrees of condensation °f f^eat
in the course of some experiments. Dr. Hales found, that( 0n(leris&-
when dry wood was put into a strong vessel, which it almosttl0n’
filled, and the remainder was filled with water, the swelling
of the wood, occasioned by its imbibition of water, condensed
the air of his gage into the thousandth of its original bulk.
He found that pease, treated in the same way, generated
elastic air, which, pressing on the air in the gage, condensed
ft into the fifteen-hundredth part of its bulk. This is the
greatest condensation that has been ascertained with preci¬
sion, although in other experiments it has certainly been
carried much farther; but the precise degree could not be
ascertained,
Another important observation is, that in every state ofSomeopin.
density in which we find it, it retains its perfect fluidity, ionsrespec
transmitting all pressures which are applied to it with undi- fing elasti
minished force, as appears by the equality constantly ob- c^y’
served between the opposing columns of water or other fluid
by which it is compressed, and by the facility with which
all motions are performed in it in the most compressed states
in which we can make observations of this kind. This fact
is totally incompatible with the opinion of those who ascribe
the elasticity of air to the springy ramified structure of "its
particles, touching each other like so many pieces of sponge
or foot-balls. A collection of such particles might indeed
be pervaded by solid bodies with considerable ease, if they
were merely touching each other, and not subjected to any
external pressure. But the moment such pressure is exert-
PNEUMATICS.
31
Air.
O
ed, and the assemblage squeezed into a smaller space, each
presses on its adjoining particles: they are individually com¬
pressed, flattened in their touching surfaces, and before the
density is doubled they are squeezed into the foim of per¬
fect tubes, and compose a mass, which may indeed propa-
o-ate pressure from one place to another in an imperfect
manner, and with great diminution of its intensity, but will
no more be fluid than a mass of soft clay.
Conse- We have seen the air is heavy and compressible, and
quences of might now proceed to deduce in order the explanation of
the air’s the appearances consequent on each of these properties,
elasticity. j3ut) as has been already observed, the elasticity of air mo¬
difies the effects of its gravity so remarkably, that they would
be imperfectly understood if both qualities were not com¬
bined in our consideration of either. At any rate, some
farther consequences of its elasticity must be considered,
before we understand the means of varying at pleasure the
effects of its gravity.
Its great Since air is heavy, the lower strata of a mass of air must
expansibili- support the upper ; and, being compressible, they must be
typroved by condensed by their weight. In this state of compression the
experiment. e)asticity of the lower strata of air acts in opposition to the
weight of the incumbent air, and balances it. There is no
reason which should make us suppose that its expanding
force belongs to it only when in such a state of compression.
It is more probable that, if we could free it from this pres¬
sure, the air would expand itself into still greater bulk. This
is most distinctly seen in the following experiment.
Into the cylindric jar ABCD, (fig. 11,) which Fig. 11.
has a small hole in its bottom, and is furnished with
an air-tight piston E, put a small flaccid bladder,
having its mouth tied tight with a string. Having
pushed the piston near to the bottom, and noticed
the state of the bladder, stop up the hole in the
bottom of the jar with the finger, and draw up the
piston, which will require a considerable force.
You will observe the bladder swell out, as if air had
been blown into it; and it will again collapse on
allowing the piston to descend. Nothing can be
more unexceptionable than the conclusion from
this experiment, that ordinary air is in a state of
compression, and that its elasticity is not limited
to this state. The bladder being flaccid, shews
that the included air is in the same state with the air which
surrounds it; and the same must be affirmed of it while it
swells but still remains flaccid. We must conclude that the
whole air within the vessel expands, and continues to fill it,
when its capacity has been enlarged. And since this is ob¬
served to go on as long as we give it more room, we con¬
clude, that by such experiments we have not yet given it
so much room as it can occupy.
Attempts It was a natural object of curiosity to discover the limits
to discover of this expansion ; to know what was the natural uncon-
the limits strained bulk of a quantity of air, beyond which it would
of this ex- not eXpan(i though all external compressing force were re-
moved. Accordingly philosophers constructed p. r ^
instruments for rarefying the air. The common
water-pump had been long familiar, and appeared
very proper for this purpose. The most obvious
is the following.
Let the barrel of the syringe AB communi¬
cate with the vessel Y, with a stopcock C be¬
tween them. Let it communicate with the ex¬
ternal air by another orifice D, in any conven¬
ient situation, also furnished with a stopcock.
Let this syringe have a piston very accurately
fitted to it so as to touch the bottom all over
when pushed down, and have no vacancy about
the sides.
Now, suppose the piston at the bottom, the
cock C open, and the cock D shut, draw the pis-
pansion.
ton to the top. The air which filled the vessel V will ex¬
pand so as to fill both that vessel and the barrel AB ; and, ^
as no reason can be given to the contrary, we must suppose
that the air will be uniformly diffused through both. Call¬
ing V and B the capacity of the vessel and barrel, it is
plain that the bulk of the air will now be V -f- B ; and since
the quantity of matter remains the same, and the density
of a fluid is as its quantity of matter directly and its bulk
V
inversely, the density of the expanded air will be
the density of common air being 1 ; for V -j- B : V=1 ;
V
Y+B*
The piston requires force to raise it, and it is raised in
opposition to the pressure of the incumbent atmosphere ;
for this had formerly been balanced by the elasticity of the
common air ; and we conclude from the fact, that force is
required to raise the piston, that the elasticity of the ex¬
panded air is less than that of air in its ordinary state; and
an accurate observation of the force necessary to raise it
would shew how much the elasticity is diminished. When
therefore the piston is let go, it will descend as long as the
pressure of the atmosphere exceeds the elasticity of the air
in the barrel; that is, till the air in the barrel is in a state
of ordinary density. To put it further down will require
force, because the air must be compressed in the barrel;
but if we open the cock D, the air will be expelled through
it, and the piston will reach the bottom.
Now shut the discharging cock D, and open the cock C,
and draw the piston. The air which occupied the space
y
V, with the density -y—will now occupy the space
V-j-B, if it expands so far. To have its density D, say,
As its present bulk V + B is to its former bulk V, so its
former density t0 its new density ; which will there-
V x V
AU.
V
fore be y + B x or V+B|.
It is evident, that if the air continues to expand, the
density of the air in the vessel after the third drawing up of
y i3 , . V |4
the piston will be after the fourth it will be y^jjgj,
V
and after any number of strokes n will be y—^
Thus,
if the vessel is four times as large as the barrel, the density
after the fifth stroke will be ^§f, nearly \ of its ordinary
density.
On the other hand, the number n of strokes necessary for
reducing air to the density D is jog y _ jog (WfB) ’
Thus we see that this instrument can never abstract the Some in¬
whole air in consequence of its expansion, but only rarefy itcomeni-
continually as long as it continues to expand; nay, there is ^lces 0
a limit beyond which the rarefaction cannot go. When the ^
piston has reached the bottom, there remains a small space
between it and the cock C filled with common air. When
the piston is drawn up, this small quantity of air expands,
and also a similar quantity in the neck of the other cock ;
and no air will come out of the receiver V till the expanded
air in the barrel is of a smaller density than the air in the
receiver. This circumstance evidently directs us to make
these two spaces as small as possible, or by some contrivance
to fill them up altogether. Perhaps this may be done effec¬
tually in the following manner.
82
Air.
Let BE represent the bottom of the
'barrel, and let the circle HKI be the
section of the key of the cock, of a
large diameter, and place it as near to
the barrel as can be. Let this com¬
municate with the barrel by means of
a hole FG widening upwards, as the
frustum of a hollow obtuse cone. Let
the bottom of the piston bfhgebe
shaped so as to fit the bottom of the
barrel and this hole exactly. Let the
cock be pierced with two holes. One
of them, HI, passes perpendicularly
through its axis, and forms the com¬
munication between the receiver and
barrel. The other hole, KL, has one
extremity K on the same circumference with H, so that
when the key is turned a fourth part round, K will come
into the place of H: but this hole is pierced obliquely
into the key, and thus keeps clear of the hole HI. It
goes no further than the axis, where it communicates
with a hole bored along the axis and terminating at its ex¬
tremity. This hole forms the communication with the
external air, and serves for discharging the air in the barrel.
(A side view of the
key is seen in fig. Fig. 14.
14.) Fig. 13 shows
the position of the
cock while the piston
is moving upwards,
and fig. 14 shows its
position while the pis¬
ton is moving down¬
wards. When the pis¬
ton has reached the
bottom, the conical piece f h g of the piston, which may be
of firm leather, fills the hole FHG, and therefore completely
expels the air from the barrel. The canal KL l of the cock
contains air of the common density; but this is turned aside
into the position KL (fig. 13), while the piston is still touch¬
ing the cock. It cannot extend into the barrel during the
ascent of the piston. In place of it the perforation HLI
comes under the piston, filled with air that had been turned
aside with it when the piston was at the top of the barrel,
and therefore of the same density with the air of the receiver.
It appears therefore that there is no limit to the rarefaction
as long as the air will expand.
This instrument is called an Exhausting Syringe. It is
more generally made in another form, which is much less
expensive, and more convenient in its use. Instead of be¬
ing furnished with cocks for establishing the communications
and shutting them, as is necessary, it has valves like those
of the condensing syringe, but opening in the opposite di¬
rection from those in fig. 10.
This syringe is evidently more easy in its use, requiring
no attention to the cocks to open and shut them at the
proper times. On this account this construction of an ex¬
hausting syringe is much more generally used.
But it is greatly inferior to the syringe with cocks, with
respect to its power of rarefaction. It is evident that no
air will come out of the receiver unless its elasticity exceed
that of the air in the barrel by a difference able to lift up
the valve fig. 10. A piece of waxed silk tied across this
hole can hardly be made tight and certain of clapping to the
hole without some small straining, which must therefore be
overcome. It must be very gentle indeed not to require a
force equal to the weight of two inches of water, and this
iS equal to about the 200th part of the whole elasticity of
the ordinary air ; and therefore this syringe, for this reason
& one, cannot rarefy air above 200 times, even though air
were capable of an indefinite expansion. In like manner
PNEUMATICS.
Fig. 13.
the valve in the piston cannot be raised without a similar Air-pump,
prevalence of the elasticity of the air in the barrel above
the weight of the atmosphere. These causes united, make it
difficult to rarefy the air more than 100 times, and very few
such syringes will rarefy it more than 50 times; whereas
the syringe with cocks, when new and in good order, will
rarefy it 1000 times.
But, on the other hand, syringes with cocks are much
more expensive, especially when furnished with apparatus
for opening and shutting the cocks. They are more diffi¬
cult to make equally tight, and (which is the greatest objec¬
tion) do not remain long in good order. The cocks, by so
frequently opening and shutting, grow loose, and allow the
air to escape. No method has been found of preventing
this. They must be ground tight by means of emery or
other cutting powders. Some of these unavoidably stick in
the metal, and continue to wear it down. For this reason
philosophers, and the makers of philosophical instruments,
have turned their chief attention to the improvement of the
syringe with valves.
OF THE AIR-PUMP.
An Air-Pump is nothing but an exhausting syringe ac- Invention
commodated to a variety of experiments. It was first invent- of the air*
ed by Otto Guericke, a gentleman of Magdeburgh in Ger- Purnp. bJ
many, about the year 1654. We trust that it will not be 0rUencke'
unacceptable to our readers to see this instrument in its first
form, and to trace it through its successive steps to its pre¬
sent state of improvement.
Guericke gave a minute description of all his pneumatic
apparatus to Gaspar Schottus, professor of mathematics at
Wirtemberg, who immediately published it with the author’s
consent, with an account of some of his performances, first
in 1657, in his Mechamca Hydraulico-pneumatica; and
then in his Technica Curiosa, in 1664.
Otto Guericke’s
Fig. 16.
Construc¬
tion of his
pump.
air-pump consists
of a glass receiver
A of a form nearly
spherical, fitted up
with a brass cap
and cock B. The
nozzle of the cap
was fixed to a sy¬
ringe DE, also of
brass, bent at D
into half a right
angle. This had a
valve at D, open¬
ing from the re¬
ceiver into the sy¬
ringe, and shutting when pressed in the opposite direction.
In the upper side of the syringe there is another valve F,
opemng from the syringe into the external air, and shutting
when pressed inwards. The piston had no valve. The sy¬
ringe, the cock B, and the joint of the tube, were immersed
in a cistern filled with water. From this description, it is
easy to understand the operation of the instrument. When
the piston was drawn up from the bottom of the syringe, the
va ve I was kept shut by the pressure of the external air,
an t e vaNe D opened by the elasticity of the air in the
receiver. When it was pushed down again, the valve D
immediately shut by the superior elasticity of the air in the
synnge , and when this was sufficiently compressed, it
opened the valve F, and was discharged. It was immersed
cocks^ t lat n0 a*r its wa7 through the joints or
Seem that this machine was not very perfect; Its fin per.
Lmericke says, that it took several hours to produce an fection*.
evacuation of a moderate sized vessel; but he says, that
when it was in good order, the rarefaction was so great, that
PNEUMATICS.
33
of it.
Fig. 17.
Air-pump, when the cock was opened, and water admitted, it filled the
receiver so as sometimes to leave no more than the bulk of
a pea filled with air. This is a little surprising ; for if the
valve F be placed as far from the bottom of the syringe as
in Schottus’ figure,1 it would appear that the rarefaction
could not be greater than what must arise from the air in
DF, expanding till it filled the whole syringe : because, as
soon as the piston in its descent passes F, it can discharge
no more air, but must compress it between F and the bot¬
tom, to be expanded again when the piston is drawn up.
It is probable that the piston was not very tight, but that
on pressing it down, it allowed the air to pass it; and the
water in which the whole was immersed prevented the re¬
turn of the air when it was drawn up again ; and this ac¬
counts for the great time necessary for producing the de¬
sired rarefaction.
His im- Guericke added a part to the machine, which saved his
provement numerous visitants the trouble of hours’ attendance, before
they could see the curious experiments
with rarefied air. He made a large copper
vessel G (fig. 1?.), having a pipe and
cock below, which passed through the
floor of the chamber into an under apart¬
ment, where it was joined to the syringe
immersed in the cistern of water, and
worked by a lever. The upper part of
the vessel terminated in a pipe, furnished
with a stopcock H, surrounded with a
small brim to hold water for preventing
the ingress of air. On the top was ano¬
ther cap I, also filled with water, to pro¬
tect the junction of the pipes with the
receiver K. This great vessel was always
kept exhausted, and workmen attended
below. When experiments were to be
performed in the receiver K, it was set
on the top of the great vessel, and the cock H was opened.
The air in K immediately diffused itself equally between
the two vessels, and was so much more rarefied as the re¬
ceiver K was smaller than the vessel G. When this rare¬
faction was not sufficient, the attendants below immediately
worked the pump.
Guericke’s method of excluding air from all the joints of
his apparatus, by immersing these joints in water, is the
only method that has to this day been found effectual; and
there frequently occur experiments where this exclusion for
a long time is absolutely necessary. In such cases it is ne¬
cessary to construct little cups or cisterns at every joint, and
to fill them with water or oil. In a letter to Schottus,
1662-3, he describes very ingenious contrivances for pro¬
ducing complete rarefaction after the elasticity of the re¬
maining air has been so far diminished that it is not able to
open the valves. He opens the exhausting valves by a
plug, which is pushed in by the hand ; and the discharging
valve is opened by a small pump placed on its outside, so
that it opens into a void instead of opening against the pres¬
sure of the atmosphere.2 These contrivances have been
lately added to air-pumps by Haas and Hurter as new in¬
ventions.
It must be acknowledged, that the application of the
pump or syringe to the exhaustion of air was a very obvious
thought on the principle exhibited in fig. 3 ; and in this
way it was also employed by Guericke, who first filled the
receiver with water, and then applied the syringe. But
this was by no means either his object or his principle. His
object was not solely to procure a vessel void of air, but to
Merits of
Guericke.
exhaust the air which was already in it; and his principle Air-pump,
^iis the power which he suspected to be in air of expandingv ■*ip**y
itself into a greater space when the force was removed
which he supposed to compress it. He expressly says,3 that
the contrivance occurred to him accidentally when occupied
with experiments in the Toricellian tube, in which he found
that the air would really expand, and completely fill a
much larger space than what it usually occupied, and that
he had found no limits to the expansion, evincing this by
facts which we shall perfectly understand by and bye. This
was a doctrine quite new, and required a philosophical mind
to view it in a general and systematic manner; and it must
be owned, that his manner of treating the subject is equally
remarkable for ingenuity and for modesty.
His doctrine and his machine were soon spread over Progress of
Europe. It was the age of literary ardour and philosophical experimen-
curiosity ; and it is most pleasant to us, who, standing ontal philoso-
the shoulders of our predecessors, can see far around us, to,,liy-
observe the eagerness with which every new, and to us fri¬
volous, experiment was repeated and canvassed.
About this time the foundations of the Royal Society of Ardour of
London were laid. Mr. Boyle, Mr. Wren, Lord Brounker, Mr- Boyie.
Dr. Wallis, and others, held meetings at Oxford, in which
were received accounts of whatever was doing in the study
of nature; and many experiments were exhibited. The
researches of Galileo, Toricelli, and Pascal, concerning the
pressure of the air, greatly engaged their attention, and
many additions were made to their discoveries. Mr. Boyle,
the most ardent and successful studier of nature, had the
principal share in these improvements, his inquisitive mind
being aided by an opulent fortune. In a letter to his ne¬
phew Lord Dungarvon, he says that he had made many at¬
tempts to see the appearances exhibited by bodies freed from
the pressure of the air. He had made Toricellian tubes,
having a small vessel a-top, into which he put some bodies
before filling the tubes with mercury ; so that when the
tube was set upright, and the mercury run out, the bodies
were in vacuo. He had also abstracted the water from a
vessel by a small pump, by means of its weight, in the
manner shewn in fig. 3, having previously put bodies into
the vessel along with the water. But all these ways were
very troublesome and imperfect. He was delighted when
he learned from Schottus’ first publication, that Guericke
had effected this by the expansive power of the air ; and
immediately set about constructing a machine from his own
ideas, no description of Guericke’s being then published.
Fig. 18.
It consisted of a receiver A,
(fig. 18.) furnished with a stop¬
cock B, and syringe CD placed in
a vertical position below the re¬
ceiver. Its valve C was in its
bottom, close adjoining to the en¬
try of the pipe of communication;
and the hole by which the air is¬
sued was farther secured by a
plug which could be removed.
The piston was moved by a wheel
and rack-work. The receiver of
Guericke’s pump was but ill adapt¬
ed for any considerable variety of
experiments ; and accordingly ve¬
ry few were made in it. Mr. Boyle’s
receiver had a large opening EF,
with a strong glass margin. To
this was fitted a strong brass cap,  
pierced with a hole G in its middle, to which was fitted a
His air-
puinp.
At f °Wn aCfTnt 0 - theseldisc0veries’ published in 1672, eight years after the Technxca Curiosa, the valve is represented
f sL Schottf clS7(i8-"oe ,tw<>uldaPPear lhatthe 'ep^enting itin the middle «t F was , blunder of Scl.otlu8.-ED.
3 Tractatus de Experimentis Magdeburgicis, et Epistola ad Schottum.
VOL. XVIII. E
34
Air-pump.
PNEUMATICS.
His contii
vances to
make air-
vessels
tight.
DrHooke’s
improve¬
ment of
Boyle’s
air-pump.
plug ground into it, and shaped like the key of a cock. The
extremity of this key was furnished with a screw, to which
could be affixed a hook, or a variety of pieces for support¬
ing what was to be examined in the receiver, or for produc¬
ing various motions within it, without admitting the air.
This was farther guarded against by means of oil poured
round the key, where it was retained by the hollow cup-like
form of the cover. With all these precautions, however,
Mr. Boyle ingenuously confesses, that it was but seldom, and
with great difficulty, that he could produce an extreme de¬
gree of rarefaction ; and it appears by Guericke’s letter to
Schottus that in this respect the Magdeburgh machine had
the advantage. But most of Boyle’s very interesting expe¬
riments did not require this extreme rarefaction ; and the
variety of them, and their philosophic importance, compen¬
sated for this defect, and soon eclipsed the fame of the in¬
ventor to such a degree, that the state of air in the receiver
was generally denominated the vacuum Boyleanum, and
the air-pump was called machina Boyleana.
Mr. Boyle found, that to make a vessel air-tight, it was
sufficient to place a piece of wet or oiled leather on its brim,
and to lay a flat plate of metal on this. The pressure of
the external air squeezed the two solid bodies so hard toge¬
ther, that the soft leather effectually excluded it. This
enabled him to render the whole machine incomparably more
convenient for a variety of experiments. He caused the
conduit-pipe to terminate in a flat plate which he covered
with leather, and on this he set the glass ball or receiver,
which had both its upper and lower brim ground flat. He
covered the upper orifice in like manner with a piece of oiled
leather and a flat plate, having cocks and a variety of other
perforations and contrivances suited to his purposes. This
he found infinitely more expeditious, and also tighter than
the clammy cements which he had formerly used for secu¬
ring the joints.
He was now assisted by Dr. Hooke, the most ingenious
and inventive mechanic that the world
has ever seen. This person made a
great improvement on the air-pump,
by applying two syringes AA, (fig.
19), whose pistons P and P' are both
worked by one wheel, O pitching in
the racks or piston rods R and R', the
pistons being thus raised and depressed
alternately by turning the winch W
backwards and forwards. In the bot¬
tom of each of the barrels there is an
opening communicating with the re¬
ceiver or bell glass B, placed on the
plate A, (fig. 20). Over these openings
Fig. 20.
Fig. 19.
valves of oiled silk are so placed as to admit of the passage Air-pump,
of the air from the receiver to the syringe or barrel, but to
oppose its passage from the barrel to the receiver. Now,
suppose either of the pistons to be at the bottom of its bar¬
rel, it is obvious, that on drawing it up a vacuum will be
found in the lower portion of the barrel, until the air in the
receiver, by its elastic force, opening the valve V or V',
rushes in, distributing itself equally betwixt the barrel and
receiver, but as the pistons are furnished with valves P and
P' similar to and opening in the same direction as VY'; on
the descent of the piston the air which occupies the space
betwixt the piston and bottom of the barrel being prevent¬
ed from returning to the receiver by the valve V or Vr,
opens the valve in the piston and escapes into the apart¬
ment, with the air of which the piston valve communicates.
This evidently doubled the expedition of the pump’s oper¬
ation ; but it also greatly diminished the labour of pump¬
ing ; for it must be observed, that the piston P must be
drawn up against the pressure of the external air, and when
the rarefaction is nearly perfect, this requires a force of
nearly fifteen pounds for every inch of the area of the piston.
Now when one piston P is at the bottom of the barrel, the
other P' is at the top of the barrel, and the air below P' is
equally rare with that in the receiver. Therefore the pres¬
sure of the external air on the piston P'is nearly equal to that
on the piston P. Both, therefore, are acting in opposite direc¬
tions on the wheel which gave them motion ; and the force
necessary for raising P is only the difference between the
elasticity of the air in the barrel P, and that of the air in
the barrel P'. This is very small in the beginning of the
stroke, but gradually increases as the piston P' descends, and
becomes equal to the whole excess of the air’s pressure above
the elasticity of the remaining air of the receiver, when the
air at P of the natural density begins to open the piston
valves. An accurate attention to the circumstances will
show us that the force requisite for working the pump is
greatest at first, and gradually diminishes as the rarefaction
advances; and when this is nearly complete, hardly any
more force is required than what is necessary for overcom¬
ing the friction of the pistons, except during the discharge
of the air at the end of each stroke. This is therefore the
form of the air-pump which is most generally used over all
Europe ; though in the various modifications some traces
of national prepossession remain. We shall give a descrip¬
tion of Boyle’s air-pump as finally improved by Hawkesbee,
which, with some small accommodations to particular views,
continued for many years the most approved form.
It consists of two brass barrels
a a, (fig. 21.) twelve inches
high, and two wide. The pistons
are raised and depressed by turn¬
ing the winch b. This is fasten¬
ed to an axis passing through
a strong toothed wheel, which
lays hold of the teeth of the
racks c c. Then the one is
raised while the other is depress¬
ed ; by which means the valves,
which are made of limber bladder,
fixed in the upper part of each
piston, as well as in the openings
into the bottom of the barrels,
perform their office of discharg¬
ing the air from the barrels, and
admitting into them the air from
the receiver to be afterwards discharged ; and when the re¬
ceiver comes to be pretty well exhausted of its air, the
pressure of the atmosphere in the descending piston is near¬
ly so great, that the power required to raise the other is
little more than is necessary for overcoming the friction
of the piston, which renders this pump preferable to all
Hawkes-
bee’s im¬
provements
PNEUMATICS.
35
Air pump, others, which require more force to work them as therare-
faction of the air in the receiver advances. .
The barrels are set in a brass dish <?e, aDout two inches
deep filled with water or oil to prevent the insinuation ot
air. 5 The barrels are screwed tight down by two nuts,
which force the frontispiece down on them, through which
the two pillars pass ; for the sake of distinctness, these are
omitted in this figure, but are shown in fig. 20.
From between the barrels rises a slender brass pipe h h,
communicating with each by a perforation in the transverse
piece of brass on which they stand. The upper end of this
pipe communicates with another perforated piece of brass,
which screws on underneath the plate i i, of ten inches
diameter, and surrounded with a brass rim to prevent the
shedding of water used in some experiments. This piece
of brass has three branches. 1 st, An horizontal one com¬
municating with the conduit pipe h h. 2d, An upright one,
screwed into the middle of the pump plate, and terminating
in a small pipe, rising about an inch above it. 3d, A per¬
pendicular one, looking downwards in the continuation
of this pipe, and having a hollow screwr in its end receiv¬
ing the brass cap of the gage-pipe 11, which is of glass,
thirty-four inches long, and immersed in a glass cistern
m filled with mercury. This is covered a-top with a cork
float, carrying the weight of a light wooden scale divided
into inches, which are numbered from the surface of the
mercury in the cistern. This scale will therefore rise and
fall with the mercury in the cistern, and indicate the true
elevation of that in the tube.
There is a stop-cock immediately above the insertion of
the gage-pipe, by which its communication may be cut off.
There is another at «, by which a communication is open¬
ed with the external air, for allowing its readmission ; and
there is sometimes another immediately within the inser¬
tion of the conduit-pipe for cutting off the communication
between the receiver and the pump. This is particularly
useful when the rarefaction is to be continued long, as there
are by these means fewer chances of the insinuation of air
by the many joints.
The receivers are made tight by simply setting them on
the pump-plate, with a piece of wet or oiled leather be¬
tween ; and the receivers, which are open a-top, have a brass
cover set on them in the same manner. In these covers
there are various perforations and contrivances for various
purposes. The one in fig. 26 has a slip wire passing
through a collar of oiled leather, having a hook or a screw
in its lower end, for hanging any thing on, or producing a
variety of motions.
Sometimes the receivers are set on another plate, which
has a pipe screwed into its middle, furnished with a stop¬
cock and a screw, which fits the middle pipe k. When the
rarefaction has been made in it, the cock is shut, and then
the whole may be unscrewed from the pump, and removed
to any convenient place. This is called a transporter plate.
It only remains to explain the gage ll. In the ordin¬
ary state of the air, its elasticity balances the pressure of
the incumbent atmosphere. We find this from the force
that is necessary to squeeze it into less bulk in opposition
to this elasticity. Therefore the elasticity of the air in¬
creases with the vicinity of its particles. It is therefore
reasonable to expect, that when we allow it to occupy more
room, and its particles are further asunder, its elasticity will
be diminished though not annihilated ; that is, it will no
longer balance the whole pressure of the atmosphere,
though it may still balance part of it. If therefore an up¬
right pipe have its lower end immersed in a vessel of mer¬
cury, and communicate by its upper end with a vessel con¬
taining rarefied, therefore less elastic air, we should expect
that the pressure of the air will prevail, and force the mer¬
cury into the tube, and cause it to rise to such a height
that the weight of the mercury, joined to the elasticity of
the rarefied air acting on its upper surface, shall be exactly Air-pump,
equal to the whole pressure of the atmosphere. The height
of the mercury is the exact measure of that part of the
whole pressure which is not balanced by the elasticity of
the rarefied air, and its deficiency from the height of the
mercury in the Toricellian tube is the exact measure of this
remaining elasticity.
It is evident, therefore, that the pipe will be a scale of
the elasticity of the remaining air, and will indicate in some
sort the degree of rarefaction ; for there must be some re¬
lation between the density of the air and its elasticity ; and
we have no reason to imagine that they do not increase
and diminish together, although we maybe ignorant of the
law, that is, of the change of elasticity corresponding to a
known change of density. This is to be discovered by ex¬
periment ; and the air-pump itself furnishes us with the
best experiments for this purpose. After rarefying till the
mercury in the gage has attained half the height of that in
the Toricellian tube, shut the communication with the bar¬
rels and gage, and admit the water into the receiver. It
will go in till all is again in equilibrio with the pressure of
the atmosphere ; that is, till the air in the receiver has col¬
lapsed into its natural bulk. This we can accurately mea¬
sure, and compare with the whole capacity of the receiver ;
and thus obtain the precise degree of rarefaction corre¬
sponding to half the natural elasticity. We can do the
same thing with the elasticity reduced to one-third, one-
fourth, &c. and thus discover the whole law.
This gage must be considered as one of the most inge¬
nious and convenient parts of Hawkesbee’s pump ; and it
is well disposed, being in a situation protected against acci¬
dents ; but it necessarily increases greatly the size of the
machine, and cannot be applied to the table-pump repre¬
sented in fig. 20. When it is wanted here, a small plate is
added behind, or between the barrels and receiver ; and on
this is set a small tubulated (as it is termed) receiver, cov¬
ering a common weather-glass tube. This receiver being
rarefied along with the other, the pressure on the mercury
in the cistern arising from the elasticity of the remaining
air, is diminished so as to be no longer able to support the
mercury at its full height; and it therefore descends till
the height at which it stands puts it in equilibrio with the
elasticity. In this form, therefore, the height of the mer¬
cury is directly a measure of the remaining elasticity; while
in the other it measures the remaining unbalanced pressure
of the atmosphere. But this gage is extremely cumber¬
some, and liable to accidents. We are seldom much inter¬
ested in the rarefaction till it is great; a contracted form
of this gage is therefore very useful, and was early used. A
syphon ABCD (flg. 22.) each branch of
which is about four inches long, close
at A and open at D, is filled with boil¬
ing mercury till it occupies the branch
AB, and a very small part of CD, hav¬
ing its surface at O. This is fixed to a
small stand, and fixed into the receiver,
along with the things that are to be ex¬
hibited in the rarefied air. When the
air has been rarefied till its remaining
elasticity is not able to support the
column BA, the mercury descends in
AB, and rises in CD, and the remain¬
ing elasticity will always be measured by the elevation of
the mercury in AB above that in the leg CD. Could the
exhaustion be perfected, the surfaces in both legs would be
on a level. Another gage might be put into the same foot,
having a small bubble of air at A. This would expand A complete
from the beginning of the rarefaction ; but our knowledge exhaustion
of the relation between the density and elasticity does not "ot
warrant us in using it as a measure of either. y 16 air*
It is enough for our present purpose to observe, that the pumi)‘
Fig. 22.
36 PNEUMATICS.
Air pump^ barometer gage is a perfect indication and measure of the
Various
improve¬
ments of
this ma¬
chine.
performance of an air-pump, and that a pump is, cceteris
paribus, so much the more perfect, as it is able to raise the
mercury higher in the gage. It is in this way that we dis¬
cover that none can produce a complete exhaustion, and
that their operation is only a very great rarefaction: for
none can raise the mercury to that height at which it stands
in the Toricellian tube, well purged of air. Few pumps will
bring it within one-tenth of an inch. Hawkesbee’s, fitted
up according to his instructions, will seldom bring it within
one-fifth. Pumps with cocks, when constructed according
to the principles mentioned when speaking of the exhausting
syringe, and new and in fine order, will in favourable cir¬
cumstances bring it within one-fortieth. None with valves
fitted up with wet leather, or when water or volatile fluids
are allowed access into any part, will bring it nearer than
one-fifth. Nay, a pump of the best kind, and in the finest
order, will have its rarefying power reduced to the lowest
standard, as measured by this gage, if we put into the re¬
ceiver the tenth part of a square inch of white sheep-skin,
fresh from the shops, or of any substance equally damp.
This is a discovery made by means of the improved air-pump,
and leads to very extensive and important consequences in
general physics, some of which will be treated of under this
article; and the observation is made thus early, that our
readers may better understand the improvements which have
been made on this celebrated machine.
It would require a volume to describe all the changes
which have been made on it. An instrument of such mul¬
tifarious use, and in the hands of curious men, each diving
into the secrets of nature in his favourite line, must have re¬
ceived many alterations and real improvements in many par¬
ticular respects. But these are beside our present purpose ;
which is to consider it merely as a machine for rarefying
elastic or expansive fluids. We must therefore confine our¬
selves to this view of it; and shall carefully state to our
readers every improvement founded on principle, and on
pneumatical laws. All who used it perceived the limit set
to the rarefaction by the resistance of the valves, and tried
to perfect the construction of the cocks. The Abbe Nollet
ands’Gravesande, twoof the most eminent experimental phi¬
losophers in Europe, were the most successful.
Mr. s’Gravesande justly preferred Hooke’s plan of a double
sande’s itn- pump, and contrived an apparatus for turning the cocks by
provement. the motion of the pump’s handle. This is far from either
being simple or easy in working; and occasions great jerks
and concussions in the whole machine. This, however, is
not necessarily connected with the truly pneumatical im¬
provement. His piston has no valve, and the rod is connect¬
ed with it by a stirrup D (fig. 23), as
in a common pump. The rod has a
cylindric part cp, which passes through
tlie stirrup, and has a stiff motion in it
up and down of about half an inch ;
being stopped by the shoulder c above
and the nut below. The round plate
supported by this stirrup has a short
square tube n d, which fits tight into
the hole of a piece of cork F. The
round plate E has a square shank g,
which goes into the square tube n d
A piece of thin leather, soaked in oil,
is put between the cork and the plate
E, and another between the cork and
the plate which forms the sole of the
stirrup. All these pieces are screwed
together to form the piston by the nail
e, whose flat head covers the hole n.
Suppose,therefore, the piston touching
the bottom of the barrel, and the winch
turning to raise it again, rhe mction of
s’Grave-
Fig. 23,
the piston on the barrel keeps it in its place, and the rod is Air-pump,
drawn up through the stirrup D. Thus the wheel has liberty v-»-j
to turn about an inch; and this is sufficient for turning the cock,
so as to cut off the communication with the external air, and
to open the communication with the receiver. This being
done, and the motion of the winch continued, the piston is
raised to the top of the barrel. When the winch is turned in
the opposite direction, the piston remains fixed till the cock
is turned, so as to shut the communication with the receiver,
and open that with the external air.
This is a pretty contrivance, and does not at first appear
necessary ; because the cocks might be made to turn at the
beginning and end of the stroke without it. But this is just
possible , and the smallest error of adjustment, or wearing
of the apparatus, will cause them to be open at improper
times. Besides, the cocks are not turned in an instant, and
are improperly open during some very small time ; but this
contrivance completely obviates the difficulty.
The cock is precisely similar to that formerly described,
having one perforation diametrically through it, and another
entering at right angles to this, and after reaching the cen¬
tre, it passes along the axis of the cock, and comes out to
the open air.
It is evident, that by this construction of the cock, the Its incon-
ingenious improvement of Dr. Hooke, by which the pressure veniences
of the atmosphere on one piston is made to balance, in great reinediecL
part, the pressure on the other, is given up: for, whenever
the communication with the air is opened, it rushes in, and
immediately balances the pressure on the upper side of the
piston in this barrel? so that the whole pressure in the other
must be overcome by the person working the pump. Grave-
sande, aware of this, put a valve on the orifice of the cock ;
that is, tied a slip of wet bladder or oiled leather across it;
and now the piston is pressed down, as long as the air in the
barrel is rarer than the outward air, in the same manner as
when the valve is in the piston itself.
This is all that is necessary to be described in Mr.s’Grave-
sande’s air pump. Its performance is highly extolled by
him, as far exceeding his former pumps with valves. The
same preference was given to it by his successor Muschen-
brock. But, while they both prepared the pistons and valves
and leathers of the pump, by steeping them in oil, and then
in a mixture of water and spirits of wine, we are certain that
no just estimate could be made of its performance. For
w ith this preparation it could not bring the gage within one-
fifth of an inch of the barometer. We even see other limits
to its rarefaction : from its construction, it is plain that a
very considerable space is left between the piston and cock,
not less than an inch, from which the air is never expelled ;
and if this be made extremely small, it is plain that the pump
must be worked very slow, otherwise there will not be time
for the air to diffuse itself from the receiver into the barrel,
especially towards the end, when the expelling force, viz.
the elasticity of the remaining air, is very small. There is
also the same limit to the rarefaction, as in Hooke’s or
Hawkesbee s pump, opposed by the valve, which will not
open till the air below the piston is considerably denser than
the external air; and this pump soon lost any advantages it
possessed when fresh from the workman’s hands, by the
cock s growing loose and admitting air. It is surprising that
Grayesande omitted Hawkesbee’s security against this, by
placing the barrels in a dish filled with oil; which would
effectually have prevented this inconvenience.
We must not omit a seemingly paradoxical observation Advantage
of s Gravesande, that in a pump constructed with valves, and of short 8
worked with a determined uniform velocity, the required ban-els
degree of rarefaction is sooner produced by short barrels
than by long ones. It would require too much time to give
a general demonstration of this, but it will easily be seen by
an example. Suppose the long barrel to have equal capa¬
city with the receiver, then at the end of the first stroke the
PNEUMATICS.
Air-pump, air in the receiver will have one-half its natural density.
^ Now, let the short barrels have half this capacity : at the
end of the first stroke the density of the air in the receiver
is two-thirds, and at the end of the second stroke it is four-
. ninths, which is less than one-half, and the two strokes of
the short barrel are supposed to be made in the same time
with one of longest, &c.
The valve Hawkesbee’s pump maintained its pre-eminence without
pump im- rival in Britain, till about the year 1750, when it engaged
proved by attention of Mr. John Smeaton. He was then a maker
Smeaton. 0p philosophical instruments, and made many attempts to
perfect the pumps with cocks, but found, that whatever per¬
fection he could bring them to, he could not enable them to
preserve it; and he never would sell one of this construction.
He therefore attached himself solely to the valve pumps.
The first thing was to diminish the resistance to the entry of
the air from the receiver into the barrels; and this he rendered
almost nothing, by enlarging the surface on which this fee¬
bly elastic air was to press. Instead of making these valves
to open by its pressure on a circle of one-twentieth of an
inch in diameter, he made the valve-hole one inch in diame¬
ter, enlarging the surface 400 times ; and, to prevent this
piece of thin leather from being burst by the great pressure
on it, when the piston in its descent was approaching the
bottom of the barrel, he supported it by a delicate but
strong grating, dividing the valve-
hole like the section of a honey-comb,
as represented in fig. 24; and the
ribs of this grating are seen edgewise
in fig. 25, at a b c.
The valve was a piece of thin
membrane or oiled silk, gently strain¬
ed over the mouth of the valve-hole,
and tied on by a fine silk thread
wound round it in the same manner
that the narrow slips had been tied on formerly. This done,
he cut with a pointed knife the leather round the edge,
nearly four quadrantal arcs, leaving a small tongue between
each, as in fig. 24. The strained valve immediately shrinks
inwards, as represented by the shaded parts ; and the strain
by which it is kept down is now greatly diminished, taking
place only at the corners. The gratings being reduced
nearly to an edge (but not quite, lest they should cut), there
is very little pressure to produce adhesion by the clammy
oil. Thus it appears, that a very small elasticity of the air
in the receiver will be sufficient to raise the valve; and Mr.
Smeaton found, that when it was not able to do this at first,
when only about of the natural elasticity, it would do
it after keeping the piston up eight or ten seconds, the air
having been all the while undermining the valve, and gra¬
dually detaching it from the grating.
Unfortunately he could not follow this method with the
piston valve. There was not room round the rod for such
an expanded valve ; and it would have obliged him to have
a great space below the valve, from which he could not ex¬
pel the air by the descent of the piston. His ingenuity hit
on a way of increasing the expelling force through the com¬
mon valve. He inclosed the rod of the piston in a collar of
leather D C (fig. 25,) through which it moved freely with¬
out allowing any air to get past its sides. For greater se¬
curity, the collar of leather was contained in a box termi¬
nating in a cup filled with oil. As this makes a material
change in the principle of construction of the air-pump, and
indeed of pneumatic engines in general, and as it has been
adopted in all the subsequent attempts to improve them, it
merits a particular consideration.
Structure The piston itself consists of two pieces of brass fastened by
of his pis- screws from below. The uppermost, which is of one solid
ton• piece with the rod GH (fig. 25), is of a diameter somewhat
less than the barrel; so that when they are screwed together,
a piece of leather soaked in a mixture of boiled oil and tallow,
37
is put between them ; and when the piston is thrust into Air-pump,
the barrel from above, the leather
comes up around the side of the Fig. 25.
piston, and fills the barrel, making T
the piston perfectly air-tight. The' ‘
lower half of the piston projects
upwards into the upper, which has
a hollow g b c e to receive it.
There is a small hole through the
lower half at a to admit the air ;
and a hole c d in the upper half
to let it through, and there is a slip
of oiled silk strained across the
hole a by way of valve, and there
is room enough left at 5 e for this
valve to rise a little when pressed
from below. The rod GH passes
through the piece of brass which
forms the top of the barrel so as
to move freely, but without any
sensible shake: this top is formed
into a hollow box, consisting of
two pieces ECDF and CNOD, which screw together at CD.
This box is filled with rings of oiled leather exactly fitted to
its diameter, eachhavingahole in itforthe rod to pass through.
W hen the piece ECDF is screwed down, it compresses the
leathers; squeezing them to the rod, so that no air can pass
between them; and, so secure us against all ingress of air, the
upperpartisformedinto a cup EF, which is kept filled with oil.
The top of the barrel is also pierced with a hole LK,
which rises above the flat surface N O, and has a slip of oiled
silk tied over it to act as a valve ; opening when pressed
from below, but shutting when pressed from above.
The communication between the barrel and receiver is
made by means of the pipe ABPQ ; and there goes from
the hole K in the top of the barrel a pipe KRST, which
either communicates with the open air or with the receiver,
by means of the cock at its extremity T. The conduit pipe
ABPQ has also a cock at Q, by which it is made to com¬
municate either with the receiver or with the open air.
These channels of communication are variously conducted
and terminated, according to the views of the maker. The
sketch in this figure is sufficient for explaining the princi¬
ple, and is suited to the general form of the pump, as it has
been frequently made by Nairne and other artists in London.
Let us now suppose the piston at the top of the barrel, Superiority
that it applies to it all over, and that the air in the bar- of this con-
rel is very much rarefied : In the common pump the piston struction.
valve is pressed hard down by the atmosphere, and contin¬
ues shut till the piston gets far down, condenses the air be¬
low it beyond its natural state, and enables it to force up
the valves. But here, as soon as the piston quits the top
of the barrel, it leaves a void behind it; for no air gets in
round the piston rod, and the valve at K is shut by the
pressure of the atmosphere. There is nothing now to op¬
pose the elasticity of the air below but the stiffness of the
valve be; and thus the expelling (or more accurately the
liberating) force is prodigiously increased.
The superiority of this construction will be best seen by
an example. Suppose the stiffness of the valve equal to the
weight of l-10th of an inch of mercury, when the barome¬
ter stands at 30 inches, and that the pump-gage stands at
29’9 ; then, in an ordinary pump, the valve in the piston
will not rise till the piston has got within the 300th part of
the bottom of the barrel, and it will leave the valve-hole
filled with air of the ordinary density. But in this pump
the valve will rise as soon as the piston quits the top of the
barrel; and when it is quite down, the valve-hole a will
contain only the 300th part of the air which it would have
contained in a pump of the ordinary form. Suppose, far¬
ther, that the barrel is of equal capacity with the receiver,
Fig. 24.
38
PNEUMATICS.
v lr Pump. and that both pumps- are so badly constructed, that the
” space left below the piston is the 300th part of the barrel.
In the common pump the piston valve will rise no more,
and the rarefaction can be carried no farther, however de¬
licate the barrel valve may be; but in this pump the next
stroke will raise the gage to 29,95, and the piston valve will
again rise as soon as the piston gets half way down the barrel.
The limit to the rarefaction by this pump depends chiefly
on the space contained in the hole LK, and in the space
b c d oi the piston. When the piston is brought up to the
top, and applied close to it, those spaces remain filled with
air of the ordinary density, which will expand as the piston
descends, and thus will retard the opening of the piston
valve. The rarefaction will stop when the elasticity of this
small quantity of air, expanded so as to fill the whole barrel
(by the descent of the piston to the bottom), is just equal
to the force requisite for opening the piston valve.
Another advantage attending this construction is, that in
drawing up the piston, we are not resisted by the whole
pressure of the air ; because the air is rarefied above this
piston as well as below it, and the piston is in precisely the
same state of pressure as if connected with another piston
in a double pump. The resistance to the ascent of the pis¬
ton is the excess of the elasticity of the air above it over
the elasticity of the air below ; this, toward the end of the
rarefaction, is very small, while the piston is near the bot¬
tom of the barrel, but gradually increases as the piston rises,
and reduces the air above it into smaller dimensions, and
becomes equal to the pressure of the atmosphere, when the
air above the piston is of the common density. If we should
raise the piston still farther, we must condense the air above
it; but Mr. Smeaton has here made an issue for the air by
a small hole in the top of the barrel, covered with a deli¬
cate valve. This allows the air to escape, and shuts again
as soon as the piston begins to descend, leaving almost a
perfect void behind it as before.
This pump has another advantage. It may be changed
in a moment from a rarefying to a condensing engine, by
simply turning the cocks at Q.and T. Whilst T communi¬
cates with the open air and Q with the receiver, it is a rarefy-
ing engine or air-pump; but when T communicates with the
receiver, and Q. with the open air, it is a condensing engine.
Description Fig. 26 represents Mr. Smeaton’s air-pump as it was usu-
of Smea-
tou’s pump. Fig. 26.
ally made by Nairne. Upon a solid base or table are set Air-pump,
up three pillars F, H, H ; the pillar F supports the pump-
plate A, and the pillars H, H, support the front or head,
containing a brass cog-wheel, which is turned by the handle
B, and works in the rack C fastened to the upper end of
the piston rod. The whole is still farther steadied by two
pieces of brass n and A, which connect the pump-plate
with the front, and have perforations communicating be¬
tween the hole a in the middle of the plate and the barrel,
as will be described immediately. DE is the barrel of the
pump, firmly fixed to the table by screws through its upper
flanch ; e/d c is a slender brass tube screwed to the bot¬
tom of the barrel, and to the under side of the horizontal
canal n. In this canal there is a cock m, which opens a
communication between the barrel and the receiver, when
the key is in the position represented here ; but when the
key is at right angles with this position, this communication
is cut off. If that side of the key which is here drawn next
to the pump-plate be turned outward, the external air
is admitted into the receiver; but if turned inwards, the
air is admitted into the barrel.
^ A is another slender brass pipe, leading from the dis¬
charging valve at g to the horizontal canal A A, to the under
side of which it is screwed fast. In this horizontal canal
there is a cock n which opens a passage from the barrel
to the receiver when the key is in the position here
drawn ; but opens a passage from the barrel to the ex¬
ternal air when the key is turned outwards, and from the
receiver to the external air when the key is turned inwards.
I his communication with the external air is not immediate
but through a sort of box i ; the use of this box is to re¬
ceive the oil which is discharged through the top valve g.
In order to keep the pump tight, and in working order, it
is proper sometimes to pour a table-spoonful of olive oil
into the hole a of the ptimp-plate, and then to work the
pump. The oil goes along the conduit b c dfe, gets into
the barrel and through the piston-valve, when the piston is
pressed to the bottom of the barrel, and is then drawn up,
and forced through the discharging valve g along the pipe
g A, the horizontal passage A n, and finally into the box i.
This box has a small hole in its side near the top, through
which the air escapes.
I rom the upper side of the canal n there arises a slen¬
der pipe which bends outward and then turns downwards,
and is joined to a small box, which cannot be seen in this
view. From the bottom of this box proceeds downwards
the gage-pipe of glass, which enters the cistern of mercury
G fixed below.
On the upper side of the other canal there is a small
stud, having a short pipe of glass projecting horizontally
from it, close by and parallel to the front piece of the pump,
and reaching to the other canal. This pipe is close at the
farther end, and has a small drop of mercury or oil in it.
This serves as a gage in condensing, indicating the degree
of condensation by the place of the drop ; for this drop is
forced along the pipe, condensing the air before it in the
same degree that it is condensed in the barrel and receiver.
In constructing this pump, Mr. Smeaton introduced a Method of
method of joining together the different pipes and other joining to-
pieces, which has great advantages over the usual manner Sedier the
of screwing them together with leather between, and which different
is now much used in hydraulic and pneumatic engines. We ^r-
shall explain this to our readers by a description of the man¬
ner in which the exhausting gage is joined to the horizontal
duct c b.
Ihe piece A i p, in fig, 27, is the same with the little
cylinder observable on the upper side of the horizontal canal
”, in fig- 26. The upper part A i is formed into an out¬
side screw, to fit the hollow screw of the piece deed. The
top of this last piece has a hole in its middle, giving an easv
passage to the bent tube c A a, so as to slip along it with
PNEUMATICS.
39
Fig. 27.
Air-pump, freedom. To the end cot this bent
tube is soldered a piece of brass cf
g, perforated in continuation of the
tube, and having its end ground flat
on the top of the piece h ip, and also
covered with a slip of thin leather
strained across it and pierced with a
hole in the middle.
It is plain from this form, that if
the surface ./> be applied to the top
of h i, and the cover deed be
screwed down on it, it will draw or
press them together, so that no air
can escape by the joint, and this
without turning the whole tube c b
a round, as is necessary in the usual
way. This method is now adopted for joining together the
conducting pipes of the machines for extinguishing fires, an
operation which was extremely troublesome before this im¬
provement.
The conduit pipe TL e f c (fig. 26), is fastened to the bot¬
tom of the barrel, and the discharging pipe g h to its top,
in the same manner. But to return to the gage ; the bent
pipe c b a (fig. 27), enters the box s t near one side, and
obliquely, and the gage-pipe g r is inserted through its bot¬
tom towards the opposite side. The use of this box is to
catch any drops of mercury which may sometimes be dashed
up through the gage-pipe by an accidental oscillation. This,
by going through the passages of the pump, would corrode
them, and would act particularly on the joints, which are
generally soldered with tin. When this happens to an air-
pump, it must be cleaned with the most scrupulous atten¬
tion, otherwise it will be quickly destroyed.
Great This account of Smeaton’s pump is sufficient for enabling
powers of the reader to understand its operation and to see its supe-
this pump, riority. It is reckoned a very fine pump of the ordinary
construction which will rarefy 200 times, or raise the gage
to 29’85, the barometer standing at 30. But Mr. Smeaton
found, that his pump, even after long using, raised it to
29'95, which we consider as equivalent to rarefying 600
times. When in fine order, he found no bounds to its rare¬
faction, frequently raising the gage as high as the barome¬
ter ; and he thought its performance so perfect,1 that the
barometer-gage was not sufficiently delicate for measuring
the rarefaction. He therefore substituted the syphon-gage
already described, which he gives some reasons for prefer¬
ring; but even this he found not sufficiently sensible.
Another Fie contrived another, which could be carried to any de-
contrivance gree °f sensibility. It consisted of a glass body A (fig. 28),
of Smea- of a pear shape, and was therefore called the
ton’s.
pear-gage. This had a small projecting ori¬
fice at B, and at the other end a tube CD,
whose capacity was the hundredth part of
the capacity of the whole vessel. This was
suspended at the slip-wire of the receiver,
and there was set below it a small cup with
mercury. When the pump was worked, the
air in the pear-gage was rarefied along with
the rest. When the rarefaction was brought
to the degree intended, the gage was let
down till B reached the bottom of the mer¬
cury. The external air being now let in,
the mercury was raised into the pear, and
stood at some height E in the tube CD. The
length of this tube being divided into 100
parts, and those numbered from D, it is evi-
28.
that will express the degree of
rare¬
faction which had been produced when the gage was im- Air-pump,
mersed into the mercury ; or if DC be of the whole ^
capacity, and be divided into 100 parts by a scale annexed
to it, each unit of the scale will be Ts))fm of the whole.
This was a very ingenious contrivance, and has been the
means of making some very curious and important disco¬
veries. By this gage Mr. Smeaton found, that his pump
frequently rarefied a thousand, ten thousand, nay, an hun¬
dred thousand times. But though he in every instance saw
the great superiority of his pump above all others, he fre¬
quently found irregularities which he could not explain, and
a want of correspondence between the pear and the baro¬
meter gages which puzzled him. The pear-gage frequently
indicated a prodigious rarefaction, when the barometer-gage
would not show more than 600.
These unaccountable phenomena excited the curiosity of
philosophers, who by this time were making continual use
of the air-pump in their meteorological researches, and much
interested in everything connected with the state or constitu¬
tion of elastic fluids. Mr.Nairne, a most ingenious and ac¬
curate maker of philosophical instruments, made many curi¬
ous experiments in the examination and comparison of Mr.
Smeaton’s pump with those of the usual construction, at¬
tending to every circumstance which could contribute to
the inferiority of the common pumps or to their improve¬
ment, so as to bring them nearer to this rival machine.
This rigorous comparison brought into view several circum¬
stances in the constitution of the atmospheric air, and its
relation to other bodies, which are of the most extensive
and important influence in the operations of nature. We
shall notice at present such only as have a relation to the
operation of the air-pump in extracting air from the re¬
ceiver.
Mr. Nairne found, that when a little water, or even a bit Experi-
of paper damped with water, was exposed under the re-meats with
ceiver of Mr. Smeaton’s air-pump, when in the most perfect11 k/ Mr.
condition, raising the mercury in the barometer-gage to ^allne’
29’95, he could not make it rise above 29*8 if Fahrenheit’s
thermometer indicated the temperature 47 °, nor above 29’7
if the thermometer stood at 55°; and that to bring the gage
to this height and keep it there, the operation of the pump
must be continued for a long time after the water had
disappeared or the paper become perfectly dry. He
found that a drop of spirits, or paper moistened with spi¬
rits, could not in those circumstances allow the mercury
in the gage to rise to near that height; and that similar
effects followed from admittting any volatile body what¬
ever into the receiver or any part of the apparatus.
This showed him at once how improper were the direc¬
tions which had been given by Guericke, Boyle, Grave-
sande, and others, for fitting up the air-pump for experi¬
ment, by soaking the leather in water, covering the joints
with water, or in short, admitting water or any volatile body
near it.
He therefore took his pumps to pieces, cleared them of
all the moisture which he could drive from them by heat,
and then leathered them anew with leather soaked in a
mixture of olive oil and tallow, from which he had expelled
all the water it usually contains, by boiling it till the first
frothing was over. When the pumps were fitted up in this
manner, he uniformly found that Mr. Smeaton’s pump rare¬
fied the gage to 29’95, and the best common pump to 29’87,
the first of which he computed to indicate a rarefaction to
600, and the other to 230. But in this state he again
found that a piece of damp paper, leather, wood, &c. in the
receiver, reduced the performance in the same manner as Remark-
before. able pheno.
But the most remarkable phenomenon was, that when he menoru
1 This can only be explained by supposing that Mr, Smeaton employed an imperfect barometer.
40
PNEUMATICS.
Air-pump, made use of the pear-gage with the pump cleared from all the piston and the top, it successively collapses into water Air-pump,
moisture, it indicated the same degree of rarefaction with during the ascent of the piston, and again expands into va-
the barometer-gage; but when he exposed a bit of paper pour when we push the piston down again. Whenever
moistened with spirits, and thus reduced the rarefaction of this happens there is an end of the rarefaction.
the pump to what he called 50, the barometer-gage stand- Whilst this operation is going on, the air comes out along Air and va-
ing at 29-4, the pear-gage indicated a rarefaction exceed- with the vapour; but we cannot say in what proportion, pour not
ing 100,000. In short, it was not measurable; and this If it were always uniformly mixed with the vapour, it would uniformly
phenomenon was almost constant. Whenever he exposed diminish rapidly ; but this does not appear to be the case.m'xe<*t0"
any substance susceptible of evaporation, he found the rare- There is a certain period of rarefaction in which a transientsetlier'
faction indicated by the barometer-gage greatly reduced, cloudiness is perceived in the receiver. This is watery va-
whilst that indicated by the pear-gage was prodigiously in- pour formed at that degree of rarefaction, mingled with, but
creased; and both these effects were the more remarkable as not dissolved in or united with, the air, otherwise it would
the subject was of easier evaporation, or the temperament of be transparent. A similar cloud will appear if damp air be
the air of the chamber was warmer. admitted suddenly into an exhausted receiver. The va-
This uniform result suggested the true cause. Water pour, which formed an uniform transparent mass with the
boils at the temperature of 212°, that is, it is then convert- air, is either suddenly expanded and thus detached from
ed into a vapour which is permanently elastic while of that the other ingredient, or is suddenly let go by the air, which
temperature, and its elasticity balances the pressure of the expands more than it does. We cannot affirm with proba-
atmosphere. If this pressure be diminished by rarefying
the air above it, a low temperature will now allow it to be
converted into elastic vapour, and keep it in that state.
Water will boil in the receiver of an air-pump at the tem¬
perature of 96°, or even under it. Philosophers did not
bility which of these is the case. Different compositions of
air, that is, air loaded with vapours from different substan¬
ces, exhibit remarkable differences in this respect. But we
see from this and other phenomena, which shall be men¬
tioned in their proper places, that the air and vapour are
think of examining the state of the vapour in temperatures not always intimately united ; and therefore will not always
lower than what produced ebullition. But it now appears, be drawn out together by the air-pump. But let them be
that in much lower heats than this the superficial water is ever so confusedly blended, we see that the air must come
converted into elastic vapour, which continues to exhale out along with the vapour, and its quantity remainino-in the
from it as long as the water lasts, and, supplying the place receiver must be prodigiously diminished by this association,
of air in the receiver, exerts the same elasticity, and hin- probably much more than could be, had the receiver only
ders the mercury from rising in the gage in the same man- contained pure air.
ner as so much air of equal elasticity would have done. Let us now consider what must happen in the pear-gage. Consequen-
Experi- When Mr. Nairne was exhibiting these experiments to As the air and vapour are continually drawn off from the ces of this,
ments illus- the Hon. Henry Cavendish in 1770, this gentleman inform- receiver, the air in the pear expands and goes off with it.
trative of e(i him that it appeared from a series of experiments of his We shall suppose that the generated vapour hinders the o-age
father Lord Charles Cavendish, that when water is of the from rising beyond 29-5.. During the continued working
temperature 72°, it is converted into vapour, under any pres- of the pump, the air in the pear, whose elasticity is 0-5,
sure less than three-fourths of an inch of mercury, and at slowly mixes with the vapour at the mouth of the pear, and
41° it becomes vapour when the pressure is less than one- the mixture even advances into its inside, so that if the
fourth of an inch: even mercury evaporates in this manner pumping be long enough continued, what is in the pear is
when all pressure is removed. A dewy appearance is fre- nearly of the same composition with what is in the receiver,
quently observed covering the inside of the tube of a baro- consisting perhaps of 20 parts of vapour and one part of air,
meter, where we usually suppose a vacuum. This dew, all of the elasticity of 0-5. When the pear is plunged into
when viewed through a microscope, appears to be a set of the mercury, and the external air allowed to get into the
detached globules of mercury, and upon inclining the tube receiver, the mercury rises in the pear-gage, and leaves not
this ac¬
count.
so that the mercury may ascend along it, these globules will
be all licked up, and the tube become clear. The dew
which lined it was the vapour of the mercury condensed by
the side of the tube ; and it is never observed but when
one side is exposed to a stream of cold air from a window,
&c.
To return to the vapour in the air-pump receiver; it must
be observed, that as long as the water continues to yield it,
we may continue to work the pump ; and it will be contin¬
ually abstracted by the barrels, and discharged in the form
of water, because it collapses as soon as exposed to the ex¬
ternal pressure. All this while the gage will not indicate
any more rarefaction, because the thing immediately indi¬
cated by the barometer-gage is diminished elasticity, which
does not happen here. When all the water which the tem ¬
perature of the room can keep elastic has evaporated under
a certain pressure, suppose half an inch of mercury, the gage
60’ but 60x20
1200
of it filled with common air, the
vapour having collapsed into an invisible atom of water.
Thus the pear-gage will indicate a rarefaction of 1200, while
the barometer-gage only showed 60, that is, showed the
elasticity of the included substance diminished 60 times.
The conclusion to be drawn from these two measures (the
one of the rarefaction of air, and the other of the diminu¬
tion of elasticity) is, that the matter with which the receiver
was filled, immediately before the readmission of the air,
consisted of one part of incondensible air, and or 20
60
parts of watery vapour.
The only obscure part of this account is what relates to Difficulty
the composition of the matter which filled the pear-gage in account-
— o-e- before the admission of the mercury. It is not easy to see*n£ ^or
standing at 29-5, the vapour which now fills the receiver how the vapour of the receiver comes in by a narrow mouth s,ome of
expan s, an y its diminished elasticity the gage rises, and while the air is coming out by the same passage. Accord-1 ese"
now some more water which had been attached to bodies ingly it requires a very long time to produce this extreme
y c emica or corpuscular attraction is detached, and a new rarefaction in the pear-gage; and there are great irregu-
SU^ 7 continues to support the gage at a greater height; larities in any two succeeding experiments, as may be seen
^ r)0eAi°n COI)tinually 611 almost all has been ab- by looking at Mr. Nairne’s account of them.1 Some va-
? c U ere W1, rern<6n some which no art can take pours appear to have mixed much more readily with the air
way , or as i passes through the barrels, and gets between than others ; and there are some unaccountable cases where
1 Phil Trans, vol. Ixvii.
PNEUMATICS.
41
Two new
improve¬
ments.
Air-pump, vitriolic acid and sulphureous bodies were included, in which
the dimunition of density indicated by the pear-gage was
uniformly less than the diminution of elasticity indicated by
the barometer-gage. It is enough for us at present to have
established, by unquestionable facts, this production of elas¬
tic vapour, and the necessity of attending to it, both in the
construction of the air-pump, and in drawing results from
experiments,exhibited in it.
Mr. Smeaton’s pump, when in good order, and perfectly
free from all moisture, will in dry weather rarefy air about
600 times, raising the bai'ometer-gage to within ^5th of an
inch of a fine barometer. This was a performance so much
superior to that of all others, and by means of Mr. Nairne’s
experiments opened so new a field of observation, that the
air-pumps once more became a capital instrument among
the experimental philosophers. The causes of its superio¬
rity were also so distinct, that artists were immediately ex¬
cited to a farther improvement of the machine ; so that this
becomes a new epoch in its history.
There is one imperfection which Mr. Smeaton has not
attempted to remove. The discharging valve is still open¬
ed against the pressure of the atmosphere. An author of
the Swedish academy adds a subsidiary pump to this valve,
which exhausts the air from above it, and thus puts it in the
situation of the piston valve. We do not find that this im¬
provement has been adopted so as to become general. In¬
deed the quantity of air which remains in the passage to this
valve is so exceedingly little, that it does not seem to me¬
rit attention. Supposing the valve hole of an inch wide
and as deep (and it need not be more), it will not occupy
more than gC,50th part of a barrel twelve inches long and
two inches wide.
Mr. Smeaton, by his ingenious construction, has greatly
diminished, but has not annihilated, the obstructions to the
passage of the air from the receiver into the barrel. His
success encouraged farther attempts. One of the first and
most ingenious was that of Professor Russell of the Univer¬
sity of Edinburgh, who, about the year 1770, constructed a
pump in which both cocks and valves were avoided.
The piston is solid, as represented in fig. 28, and its rod
Improve¬
ments in
this pump
attempted.
Fig. 28.
passes through a collar of leather on the top of the barrel.
This collar is divided into three portions by two brass rings
«, b, which leave a very small space round the piston rod.
The upper ring a communicates by means of a lateral per¬
foration with the bent tube, l m n, which enters the barrel
at its middle n. The lower ring b communicates with the
bent tube c d, which communicates with the horizontal pas¬
sage d e going to the middle e of the pump plate. By the
way, however, it communicates also with a barometer gage Air-purnp.
p o, standing in a cistern of mercury o, and covered with
glass tube close at the top. Beyond e, on the opposite cir¬
cumference of the receiver plate, there is a cock or plug/
communicating with the atmosphere.
The piston rod is closely embraced by the three collars
of leather ; but, as already said, has a free space round it in
the two brass rings. To produce this pressure of the lea¬
thers to the rod, the brass rings which separate them are
turned thinner on the inner side, so that their cross section
along a diameter would be a taper wedge. In the side of
the piston rod are two cavities q r, t s, about one-tenth of
an inch wide and deep, and of a length equal to the thick¬
ness of the two rings a b, and the intermediate collar of
leathers. These cavities are so placed on the piston-rod,
that when the piston is applied to the bottom of the barrel,
the cavity £ s in the upper end of the rod has its upper end
opposite to the ring a, and its lower end opposite to the ring
b, or to the mouth of the pipe c d. Therefore, if there be a
void in the barrel, the air from the receiver will come from
the pipe c d, into the cavity in the piston-rod, and by it will
get past the collar of leather between the rings, and thus
will get into the small interstice between the rod and the
upper ring, and then into the pipe l m n, and into the empty
barrel. When the piston is drawn up, the solid rod imme¬
diately shuts up this passage, and the piston drives the air
through the discharging valve k. When it has reached the
top of the barrel, and is closely applied to it, the cavity q r
is in the situation in which t s formerly was, and the com¬
munication is again opened between the receiver and the
empty barrel, and the air is again diffused between them.
Pushing down the piston expels the air by the lower dis¬
charging pipe and valve hi; and thus the operation may
be continued.
This must be acknowledged to be a most simple and in¬
genious construction, and can neither be called a cock nor
a valve. It seems to oppose no obstruction whatever; and
it has the superior advantage of rarefying both during the
ascent and the descent of the piston, doubling the expedi¬
tion of the performance, and the operator is not opposed by
the pressure of the atmosphere except towards the end of
each stroke. The expedition, however, is not so great as
one should expect; for nothing is going on while the piston
is in motion, and the operator must stop a while at the end
of each stroke, that the air may have time to come through
this long, narrow, and crooked passage, to fill the barrel.
But the chief difficulty which occurred in the execution
arose from the clammy oil with which it was necessary to
impregnate the collar of leathers. These were always in a
state of strong compression, that they might closely grasp
the piston rod, and prevent all passage of air during the
motion of the piston. Whenever therefore the cavities in
the piston rod come into the situations necessary for con¬
necting the receiver and barrel, this oil is squeezed into
them, and choaks them up. Hence it always happened that it
was some time after the stroke before the air could force its
way round the piston rod, carrying with it the clammy oil
which choaked up the tube l m n ; and when the rarefac¬
tion had proceeded a certain length, the diminished elasti¬
city of the ah was not able to make its way through these
obstructions.
Mr. Cavallo1 has given the description of an air-pump
contrived and executed by Messrs Hans and Hurter, in¬
strument makers in London, where these artists revived
Guericke’s method of opening the barrel-valve during the
last strokes of the pump by a force acting from without.
We shall insert as much of this description as relates to the
distinguishing circumstance of its construction.
VOL. XVIII.
1 Phil. Trans, vol. Ixxiii.
F
42
Air-pump,
PNEUMATICS.
Fig. 29.
Fig. 29 represents a section of the bottom of the bar-
*'/rel, where AA is the barrel, and BB the bottom, which
has in its middle a hollow cylin¬
der CCFF, projecting about half
an inch into the barrel at CC,
and extending a good way down¬
wards to FF. The space be¬
tween this projection and the sides
of the barrel is filled up by a £
brass ring DD, over the top of
which is strained a piece of oiled
silk EE, which performs the office
of a valve, covering the hole CC.
But this hole is filled up by a
piece of brass, or rather an as¬
semblage of pieces screwed toge-
gether GG,HH,II. It consists of
three projecting fillets or should¬
ers GG, HH, II, which form two hollows between them,
and which are filled with rings of oiled leather OO, PP,
firmly screwed together. The extreme fillets GG, II, are
of equal diameter with the inside of the cylinder, so as
to fill it exactly, and the whole stuffed with oiled leather,
slide up and down without allowing any air to pass. The
middle fillet HH is not so broad, but thicker. In the up¬
per fillet GG there is formed a shallow dish about ^ of an
inch deep and | wide. This dish is covered with a thin
plate, pierced with a grating like Mr. Smeaton’s valve plate.
There is a perforation VX along the axis of this piece, which
has a passage out at one side H, through the middle fillet.
Opposite to this passage, and in the side of the cylinder
CC,FF, is a hole M, communicating with the conduit pipe
MN, which leads to the receiver. Into the lower end of
the perforation is screwed the pin KL, whose tail L passes
through the cap FF. The tail Lis connected with a lever
PiQ, moveable round the joint Q. This lever is pushed
upwards by a spring, and thus the whole piece which we
have been describing is kept in contact with the slip of oiled
silk or valve EE. This is the usual situation of things.
Now suppose a void formed in the barrel by drawing up
the piston ; the elasticity of the air in the receiver, in the
pipe MN, and in the passage XV, will press on the great
surface of the valve exposed through the grating, will raise
it, and the pump will perform precisely as Mr. Smeaton’s
does. But suppose the rarefaction to have been so long
continued, that the air is no longer able to raise the valve;
this will be seen by the mercury rising no more in the pump-
gage. W hen this is perceived, the operator must press with
his foot on the end R of the lever RQ. This draws down
the pin KL,and with it the whole hollow plug with its grated
top. And thus, instead of raising the valve from its plate,
the plate is here drawn down from the valve. The air now
gets in without any obstruction whatever, and the rarefac¬
tion proceeds as long as the piston rises. When it is at the
top of the barrel, the operator takes his foot from the lever,
and the spring presses up the plug again and shuts the valve.
The piston rod passes through a collar of leather, as in Mr.
Smeaton’s pump, and the air is finally discharged through
an outward valve in the top of the barrel. These parts have
nothing peculiar in them.
This is an ingenious contrivance, similar to what was
adapted by Guericke himself; and we have no doubt of these
pumps performing extremely well if carefully made ; and it
seems not difficult to keep the plug perfectly air-tight by
supplying plenty of oil to the leathers. We cannot say, how¬
ever, with precision, what may be expected from it, as no
account has been given of its effects, besides what Mr.
Cuvallo published in the Philosophical Transactions for
1783, where he only says, that when it had been long used,
it had, in the course of some experiments, rarefied 600
times.
Fig. 30.
Aiming still at the removing the obstructions to the entry Air-pump,
of the air from the receiver into the barrels, Mr. Prince, an
American,has constructed a pump in which there is no valve Prince,
or cock whatever between them. In this pump the piston
rod passes through a collar of leather, and the air is finally
discharged through a valve, as in the two last. But we are
chiefly to attend, in this place, to the communication be¬
tween the barrel and the receiver. The barrel widens be¬
low into a sort of cistern ABCD,
communicating with the receiver
by the pipe EF. As soon, there¬
fore, as the piston gets into this
wider part, where there is a vacan¬
cy all round it, the air of the re¬
ceiver expands freely through the
passage FEE into the barrel, in
which the descent of the piston had
made a void. When the piston is
again drawn up, as soon as it gets
into the cylindric part of the bar¬
rel, which it exactly fills, it carries
up the air before it, and expels it
by the top valve ; and, that this
may be done more completely, this valve opens into a se¬
cond barrel or air-pump whose piston is rising at the same
time, and therefore the valve of communication (which is
the discharging valve of the primary pump) opens with the
same facility as Mr. Smeaton’s piston valve. While the
piston is rising, the air in the receiver expands into the
barrel; and when the piston descends, the air in the barrel
again collapses till the piston gets again into the cistern,
when the air passes out, and fills the evacuated barrel, to
be expelled by the piston as before.
^o distinct account has yet been given of the perform¬
ance of this pump. We only learn that great inconveniences
were experienced from the oscillations of the mercury in the
gage. As soon as the piston comes into the cistern, the
air from the receiver immediately rushes into the barrel, and
the mercury shoots up in the gage, and gets into a state of
oscillation. I he subsequent rise of the piston will frequent¬
ly keep time with the second oscillation, and increase it.
1 he descent of the piston produces a downward oscillation,
by allowing the air below it to collapse ; and by improperly
timing the strokes, this oscillation becomes so greatas to make
the mercury enter the pump. To prevent this, and a greater
irregularity of working as a condenser, valves were put in the
piston ; but as these require force to open them, the addi¬
tion seemed rather to increase the evil, by rendering the
oscillations more simultaneous with the ordinary rate of
working.
It appears, however, of very difficult execution. It has
many long, slender, and crooked passages, which must be
drilled through broad plates of brass, some of them appear¬
ing scarcely practicable. It is rare to find plates and other
pieces of brass without air-holes, which it would be very dif¬
ficult to find out and to close; and it must be very difficult
to clear it of obstructions ; so that it appears rather a sug¬
gestion of theory than a thing warranted by its actual per¬
formance.
M. Lavoisier, or some of the philosophers who were oc- Lavoisier
cupied in concert with him in the investigation of the dit-
feient species of gas which are disengaged from bodies in
the course of chemical operations, contrived an air-pump
which has great appearance of simplicity, and, being very
different from all others, deserves to be taken notice of.
It consists of two barrels/, to, (fig.31) with solid pistons h k.
Ihe pumpplateaZ* ispiercedatits centre c with a hole which
branches towards each ofthe barrels, as represented b\cd,ce.
Between the plate and the barrels slides another plate h i,
pierced in the middle with a branched hole f dg, and near
the ends with two holes h h, i i, which go from its under
PNEUMATICS.
43
Fig. 31.
Aif-pump. side to the ends. The holes in these two plates are so ad-
'-^v^^'justed, that when the plate A z
is drawn so far towards A that
the hole i comes within the bar¬
rel m, the branch d f of the hole
in the middle plate coincides with
the branch cd of the upper plate, ^
and the holes e g are shut.
Thus a communication is esta¬
blished between the barrel l and
the receiver on the pump-plate,
and between the barrel m and
the external air. In this situa¬
tion the barrel l will exhaust, and
m will discharge. When the pis¬
ton of l is at its mouth, and that
of m touches its bottom, the slid¬
ing plate is shifted over to the
other side, so that m communicates with the receiver through
the passage gd, ec, and l communicates with the air by the
passage h h.
It is evident that this sliding plate performs the office of
four cocks in a very beautiful and simple manner, and that
if the pistons apply close to the ends of the barrels so as to
expel the whole air, the pump will be perfect. It works,
indeed, against the whole pressure of the external air. But
this may be avoided by putting valves on the holes h i;
and these can do no harm, because the air remaining in them
never gets back into the barrel till the piston be at the far¬
ther end, and the exhaustion of that stroke completed. But
the best workmen of London think that it will be incompa¬
rably more difficult to execute this cock (for it is a cock of
an unusual form), in such a manner that it shall be air-tight
and yet move with tolerable ease, and that it is much more
liable to wearing loose than common cocks. No accurate
accounts have been received of its performance. It must
be acknowledged to be ingenious, and it may suggest to an
intelligent artist a method of combining common conical
cocks upon one axis so as to answer the same purposes much
more effectually ; for which reason we have inserted it here.
The last improvement which we shall mention, is that
published by Mr. Cuthbertson. His pump has given such
evidences of its perfection, that we can hardly expect or
wish for any thing more complete. But we must be allowed
to observe, beforehand, that the same construction was in¬
vented, and in part executed, before the end of 1779, by
Dr. Daniel Rutherford, then professor of botany in the Uni¬
versity of Edinburgh, who was at that time engaged in ex¬
periments on the production of air during the combustion of
bodies in contact with nitre, and who was vastly desirous of
procuring a more complete abstraction of pure aerial mattei
than could be effected by Mr. Smeaton’s pump. The com¬
piler of this article had then an opportunity of perusing the
Doctor’s dissertation on this subject, which was read in the
Philosophical Society of Edinburgh. In this dissertation he
appears fully apprised of the existence of pure vital air in
the nitrous acid, as its chief ingredient, and as the cause of
its most remarkable phenomena, and to want but a step to
the discoveries which have ennobled the name of M. La¬
voisier. He was particularly anxious to obtain apart this
distinguishing ingredient in its composition, and, for this
purpose, to abstract completely from the vessel in which he
subjected it to examination, every particle of elastic matter.
The writer of this article proposed to him to cover the bot¬
tom of Mr. Smeaton s piston with some clammy matter,
which should take hold of the bottom valve, and start it
when the piston is drawn up. A few days after, the Doc¬
tor showed him a drawing of a pump, having a conical me¬
tal valve in the bottom, furnished with a long slender wire,
sliding in the inside of the piston-rod with a gentle friction,
sufficient for lifting the valve, and secured against all chance
Cuthbert¬
son.
of failure by a spring a-top, which took hold of a notch in Air-pump,
the inside of the piston-rod about a quarter of an inch from
the lower end, so as certainly to lift the valve during the
last quarter of an inch of the piston’s motion. Being an ex¬
cellent mechanic, he had executed a valve on this principle,
and was fully satisfied with its performance. But having
already confirmed his doctrines respecting the nitrous acid
by incontrovertible experiments, his wishes to improve the
air-pump lost their incitement, and he thought no more of
it; and not long after this the ardour of the philosophers of
the Teylerian Society at Haerlem and Amsterdam excited
the efforts of Mr. Cuthbertson, their instrument maker, to
the same purpose, and produced the most perfect air-pump
that has yet appeared. We shall give a description of it,
and an account of its performance, in the inventor’s own
words.
CuthbertsortsAir-Pump.—Onfig.32isa perspective vieiv
Fig. 32.
of Cuthbertson’s pump, with its two principal gages screwed
into their places. These need not be used together, except
in cases where the utmost exactness is required. In com¬
mon experiments one of them is removed, and a stop-screw
put in its place. When the pear-gage is used, a small round
plate, on which the receiver may stand, must be
first screwed into the hole at A ; but this hole is Fig. 33.
stopped on other occasions with a screw. When all
the three gages are used, and the receiver is ex¬
hausted, the stop-screw B, at the bottom of the
pump, must be unscrewed, to admit the air into
the receiver; but when they are not all used, either
of the other stop-screws will answer this purpose.
Fig 33 represents a cross bar for preventing
the barrels from being shaken by working the pump
or by any accident. Its place in fig. 32 is repre¬
sented by the dotted lines.
44
PNEUMATICS.
Air-pump, pig, 34 is a section of one of the barrels, with all its in-
ternal parts ; and figs. 35, 36, 37, and 38, are different parts
of the piston, proportioned in size to one another.1
In fig. 34 CD represents the barrel, F the collar of lea¬
thers, G ahollow cylindrical vessel to contain oil, R is also
an oil-vessel to receive the oil which is drawn, along with
the air, through the hole a a, when the piston is drawn up¬
wards ; and, when this is full, the oil is carried over with
the air, along the tube T, into the oil-vessel G; cc is a wire
which is driven upwards from the hole a a by the passage
of the air ; and as soon as this has escaped, it falls down
again by its own weight, shuts up the hole, and prevents
all return of the air into the barrel. At dd are fixed two
pieces of brass, to keep the wire c c in a vertical direction,
that it may accurately shut the hole. H is a cylindrical wire
or rod which carries the piston I, and is made hollow to
receive a long wire g g, which opens and shuts the hole L ;
and on the other end of the wire O is screwed a nut, which,
by stopping in the narrowest part of the hole, prevents the
wire from being driven up too far. This wire and screw
are more clearly seen in figs. 35 and 39 ; they slide in a
collar of leather r, figs. 35 and 38, in the middle piece of
the piston. Figs. 37 and 38 are the two main parts which
compose the piston, and when the pieces 36 and 39 are add¬
ed to it the whole is represented by fig. 35. Fig. 38 is a
piece of brass of a conical form, with a shoulder at the bot¬
tom. A long hollow screw is cut in it, about two-thirds of
its length, and the remainder of the hole, in which there is
no screw, is of about the same diameter with the screwed
part, except a thin plate at the end, which is of a width ex¬
actly equal to the thickness of g g, fig. 34. That part of
the inside of the conical brass in which no thread is cut, is
filled with oiled leathers with holes through which gg can Air-pump,
slide stifly. There is also a male screw with a hole in it,
fitted to g g, serving to compress the leathers r. In fig. 37,
aaaa is the outside of the piston, the inside of which is
turned so as exactly to fit the outside of fig. 38 ; 5 5 are
round leathers about 60 in number, c c is a circular piece
of brass of the size of the leathers, and of eHs a screw serv¬
ing to compress them. The screw at the end of fig. 36 is
made to fit the screw in fig. 38. Now if fig. 39 be pushed
into fig. 38, this into fig. 37, and fig. 36 be screwed into
the end of fig. 38, these will compose the whole of the pis¬
ton, as represented in fig. 34. H, in fig. 34, represents the
same part as H in fig. 35, and is that to which the rack is
fixed. If, therefore, this be drawn upwards, it will cause
fig. 38 to shut close into fig. 37, and drive out the air above
it; and when it is pushed downwards it will open as far as
the shoulder a a will permit, and suffer air to pass through.
AA (fig. 40) is the receiver plate, BB is a long square piece
Fig. 40.
of brass, screwed into the under side of the plate, through
which a hole is drilled corresponding to that in the centre
of the receiver-plates and with three female screws a, b, c.
The rarefaction of the air in the receiver is effected as
follows. Suppose the piston at the bottom of the barrel.
The inside of the barrel, from the top of the piston to a,
(fig. 34) contains common air. When the rod is drawn up,
the outer part of the piston sticks fast in the barrel till the
conical part connected with the rod shuts the conical hole,
and its shoulder applies close to its bottom. The piston is
now shut, and therefore the whole is drawn up by the rack-
work, driving the air before it through the hole a c, into the
oil-vessel at R, and out into the room by the tube T. The
piston will then be at the top of the barrel at a, and the wire
gg will stand nearly as represented in the figure just raised
from the hole L, and prevented from rising higher by the
nut O. During this motion the air will expand in the re¬
ceiver, and come along the bent tube m into the barrel.
Thus the barrel will be filled with air, which, as the piston
rises, will be rarefied in proportion as the capacity of the re¬
ceiver, pipes, and barrel, is to the barrel alone. When the
piston is moved down again by the rack-work, it will force
the conical part (fig. 38) out of the hollow part (fig. 37) as
far as the shoulders aa ; fig. 35 will rest on a a (fig. 37)
which will then be so far open as to permit the air to pass
freely through it, while at the same time the end of^^r is
forced against the top of the hole, and shuts it, in order to
prevent any air from returning into the receiver. Thus the
piston, moving downwards, suffers tne air to pass out be¬
tween the sides of figs. 37 and 38 ; and, when it is at the
bottom of the barrel, will have the column of air above it ;
and, consequently, when drawn upwards it will shut, and
drive out this air, and, by opening the hole L at the same
time, will give a free passage to more air from the receiver.
I his process being continued, the air of the receiver wall be
rarefied as far as its expansive power will permit. For in
this machine there are no valves to be forced open by the
1 The piston and barrel are
ever, of double size.
1-65 inches in diameter, in proportion to which the scale is
drawn.
Figures 35,36, 37, and 38, are, how-
PNEUMATICS.
45
Air pump, elasticity of the air in the receiver, which at last it is unable
to effect. There is therefore nothing to prevent the air from
expanding to its utmost degree.
It may be suspected here, that as the air must escape
through the discharging passage ac, fig. 34, against the press¬
ure of a column of oil and the weight of the wire, there will
remain in this passage a quantity of air of considerable den¬
sity, which will expand again into the barrel during the de¬
scent of the piston, and thus put a stop to the progress of
rarefaction. This is the case in Mr. Smeaton’s pump, and
all which have valves in the piston. But it is the peculiar
excellency of this pump, that whatever be the density of the
air remaining in ac, the rarefaction will still go on. It is
worth while to be perfectly convinced of this. Let us sup¬
pose that the air contained in ac is T^gth part of the com¬
mon air which would fill the barrel, and that the capacity of
the barrel is equal to that of the receiver and passages, and
that the air in the receiver and barrel is of the same den¬
sity, the piston being at the bottom of the barrel: the bar¬
rel will therefore contain TJg<j parts of its natural quantity,
and the receiver Now let the piston be drawn up.
No air will be discharged at ac, because it will contain the
whole air which was in the barrel, and which has now col¬
lapsed into its ordinary bulk. But this does not in the least
hinder the air of the receiver from expanding into the bar¬
rel, and diffusing itself equally between both. Each will
now contain their ordinary quantity when the pis¬
ton is at the top, and ac will contain as before, or s.
Now push down the piston. The hole L is instantly shut,
and the air in ac expands into the barrel, and the barrel now
contains ^§5. When the piston has reached the bottom,
let it be again drawn up. There will be discharged
through c, and the air in the receiver will again be equally
distributed between it and the barrel. Therefore the re-
2A
ceiver will now contain When the piston reaches the
12—
bottom, there will be in the barrel. When again drawn
21
up to the top, there will be discharged, and the re-
li
ceiver will contain > and when the piston reaches the
Hi
bottom, there will be At the next stroke the receiver
0-5.
will contain only —&c. &c.
J 1000
Thus it appears, that notwithstanding the Tlg5 which al¬
ways expands back again out of the hole ac into the barrel,
the rarity of the air in the receiver will be doubled at every
stroke. There is therefore no need of a subsidiary air-pump
at c, as in the American air-pump, and in the Swedish at¬
tempt to improve Smeaton’s.
In using this air-pump no particular directions are ne¬
cessary, nor is any peculiar care necessary for keeping it in
order, except that the oil-vessel G be always kept about
half full of oil. W hen the pump has stood long without being
used, it will be proper to draw a table-spoonful of olive-oil
through it, by pouring it into the hole in the middle of the
receiver-plate when the piston is at the bottom of the bar¬
rel. Then by working the piston, the oil will be drawn
through all the parts of the pump, and the surplus will be
driven through the tube T into the oil-vessel G. Near the
top of the piston rod at H, there is a hole which lets some
Fig. 41.
oil into the inside of the rod, which gets at the collar of lea-Air-pump,
thers rr, and keeps the wire gg air-tight.
When the pump is used for condensation at the same time
that it rarifies, or separately, the piece
containing the bent tube T must be re¬
moved, and fig. 41 put into its place, and
fixed by its screws. Fig. 41, as drawn
in the plate, is intended for a double-
barrelled pump. But for a single barrel
only one piece is used, represented by
baa, the double piece being cut off at
the dotted line a a. In this piece is a
female screw to receive the end of a long
brass tube, to which a bladder (if suffi¬
cient for the experiment of condensa¬
tion,) or a glass, properly secured for
this purpose, must be screwed. Then
the air which is abstracted from the re¬
ceiver on the pump-plate will be forced
intothebladderorglass. Butifthepump
be double, the apparatus fig. 41 is used,
tube screwed on at c.1
Figs. 42 and 43 represent
the turn gages, which will be
sufficiently explained after¬
wards. Fig. 42 is screwed
into b, or into the screw at
the other end c, fig. 40, and
fig 43 into the screw a,
fig. 40.
If it be used as a single
pump, either to rarefy or
to condense, the screw K,
which fastens the rack to
the piston rod H, must be
taken out. Then turning
the winch till H is depress¬
ed as low as possible, the
machine will be fitted to ex¬
haust as a single pump;
and if it be required to condense, the directions formerly
given must be observed with regard to the tube T, and fig.41.
“ I took,” says Mr. Cuthbertson, “ twm barometer Fig.43.
tubes of an equal bore with that fixed to the pump.
These were filled with mercury four times boiled.
They were then compared, and stood exactly at the
same height. The mercury in one of them was boil¬
ed in it four times more, without making any
change in their height; they were therefore judged
very perfect. One of these was immersed in the
cistern of the pump gage, and fastened in a posi¬
tion parallel to it, and a sliding scale of one inch
was attached to it. This scale, when the gage is
used, must have its upper edge set equal with the
surface of the mercury in the boiled tube after ex¬
haustion, and the difference between the height of
the mercury in this and in the other barometer
tube may be observed to the of an inch ; and
being close together, no error arises from their not
beingexactly vertical, if they are only parallel. This
gage will be better understood by inspecting fig. 43.
“ I used a second gage, which I shall call a dou¬
ble syphon. (See fig. 42.) This was also prepared
with the utmost care. I had a scale for measuring the dif¬
ference between the height of the columns in the two legs.
It was an inch long, and divided as the former, and kept in
a truly vertical position by suspending it from a point with
1 An air-pump of this description is by far too delicate to be employed without risk of injury in experiments on condensed air.
46
PNEUMATICS.
Air-pump. a weight hung to it,-as represented in the figure. Upon
1 comparing these two gages, I always found them to indicate
the same degree of rarefaction. I also used a pear-gage,
though the most imperfect of all, in order to repeat the cu¬
rious experiments of Mr. Nairne and others.”
When experiments require the utmost rarefying power
of the pump, the receiver must not be placed on leather,
either oiled or soaked in water, as is usually done. The
pump plate and the edge of the receiver must be ground
very flat and true, and this with very fine emery, that no
roughness may remain. The plate of the pump must then
be wiped very clean and very dry, and the receiver rubbed
with a warm cloth till it become electrical. The receiver
being now set on the plate, hog’s lard, either alone or mix¬
ed with a little oil which has been cleared of water by boil¬
ing, must be smeared round its outside edge. In this con¬
dition the pump will rarefy its utmost, and what still re¬
mains in the receiver will be permanent air. Or a little of
this composition may be thinly smeared on the pump plate ;
this will prevent all risk of scratching it with the edge of the
receiver. Leather of very uniform thickness, long dried be¬
fore a fire, and well soaked in this composition, which must
be cleared of all water by the first boiling, will answer very
well, and is expeditious, when receivers are to be frequently
shifted. Other leathers should be at hand soaked in a com¬
position containing a little rosin. This gives it a clammi¬
ness which renders it impermeable to air, and is very proper
at all joints of the pump, and all apparatus for pneumatic
experiments. As it is impossible to render the pear-gage
as dry as other parts of the apparatus, there will be gene¬
rally some variation between this and the other gages.
When it is only intended to show the utmost power of
the pump, without intending to ascertain the quality of the
residuum, the receiver may be set on wet leather. If, in
this condition, the air be rarefied as far as possible, the sy¬
phon and barometer gage will indicate a less degree of rare¬
faction than in the former experiments. But when the air
is let in again, the pear gage will point out a rarefaction
some thousands of times greater than it did before. If the
true quantity of permanent air after exhaustion be required,
the pear gage will be nearest the truth ; for when the air
is rarefied to a certain degree, the moistened leather emits
an expansible fluid, which, filling the receiver, forces out the
permanent air; and the two first gages indicate a degree
of exhaustion which relates to the whole elastic matter re¬
maining in the receiver, viz. to the expansible fluid toge¬
ther with the permanent air; whereas the pear gage points
out the degree of exhaustion, with relation to the perman¬
ent air alone, which remains in the receiver; for by the
pressure of the air admitted into the receiver, the elastic
vapour is reduced to its former bulk, which is imperceptible.
Many bodies emit this elastic fluid when the pressure of
the air is much diminished ; a piece of leather, in its ordin¬
ary damp state, about an inch square, or a bit of green or
dry wood, will supply this for a great while. When such
fluids have been generated in any experiments, the pump
must be carefully cleared of them, for they remain not only
in the receiver, but in the barrels and passages, and will again
expand when the exhaustion has been carried far.
The best method of clearing the pump is to take a very
large receiver, and, using every precaution, to exhaust it as
far as possible. Then the expansible matter lurking in the
barrels and passes will be diffused through the receiver also,
or will be carried off along with its air. It w ill be as much
rarer than it was before, as the aggregate capacity of the
receiver, barrels and passes is larger than that of the two last.
The performance of the pump may be judged of from Air pump,
the four following experiments: The two gages being screwed
into their places, and the hole in the receiver-plate shut up
the pump was made to exhaust as far as it could. The mer¬
cury in the legs of the syphon was only of an inch out of
the level, and that in the boiled barometer-tube is of an inch
higher than in the one screwed to the pump. A standard
barometer then stood at 30 inches, and therefore the pump
rarefied the permanent air 1200 times. This is twice as
much as Mr. Nairne found Mr. Smeaton’s do in its best state.
Mr. Cavallo seems disposed to give a favourable account of
Haas and Hurter’s pump, and it appears never to have ex¬
ceeded 600 times. Mr. Cuthbertson has often found the
mercury within of an inch of the level in the syphon-
gage, indicating a rarefaction of 3000.1
To one end of a glass tube, two inches diameter and
thirty inches long, was fitted a brass cap and collar of leather,
through which a wire was inserted, reaching about two
inches within the tube. This was connected with the con¬
ductor of an electric machine. The other end was ground
flat and set on the pump plate. When the gages indicated
a rarefaction of 300, the light became steady and uniform,
of a pale colour, though a little tinged with purple ; at 600
the light was of a pale dusky white ; when 1200 it disap¬
peared in the middle of the tube, and the tube conducted
so well that the prime conductor only gave sparks so faint
and short as to be scarcely perceptible. After taking off
the tube, and making it as dry as possible, it was again con¬
nected with the conductor, which was giving sparks two
inches long. When the air in it was rarefied ten times, the
sparks were of the same length. Sometimes a pencil of
light darted along the tube. When the rarefaction was
20, the spark did not exceed an inch, and light streamed
the whole length of the tube. When the rarefaction was
30, the sparks were halfian inch, and the light rushed along
the tube in great streams. When the rarefaction was 100^
the sparks were about 1 long, and the light filled the tube
in an uninterrupted body. When 300, the appearances
were as before. When 600, the sparks were f5, and the
light was of a faint white colour in the middle, but tin°-ed
with purple toward the ends. When 1200, the light was
hardly perceptible in the middle, and was much fainter at
the ends than before, but still ruddy. When 1400, which
was the most the pump could produce, six inches of the
middle of the tube were quite dark, and the ends free of
any tinge of red, and the sparks did not exceed is of an
inch.
We trust that our readers will not be displeased with the The best
preceding history of the air-pump. The occasional infor-improve-
mation which it gives will be of great use to every person meats of
much engaged in pneumatic experiments, and help him intlle air-
the contrivance and construction of the necessary appara-Pump.mad8
tus. We may be indulged in one remark, that although this1" Bntain-
noble instrument originated in Germany, all its improve¬
ments were made in this kingdom. Both the mechanical
and pneumatical principles of Mr. Boyle’s construction were
extremely different from the German, and, in respect of ex¬
pedition and conveniency, much superior. The double
barrel and gage by Hawkesbee were capital improvements,
and on principle ; and Mr. Smeaton’s method of making the
piston work in rarefied air made a complete change in the
whole process.
Aided by this machine, we can make experiments estab- rniutw nf
hshmg and illustrating the gravity and elasticity of the air, the aif.
in a much more perspicuous manner than could be done by pump,
the spontaneous phenomena of nature. It allows us in the
We aie disposed to place most reliance on the experiment where T ' _ is stated as thp limls nf n .• i i , •
corresponds with the best information we have been able to obtain reJsrHi.J V h r f exhaustl0T,« Particularly as this result
■ SI*. anice ™ Mr a   Ithe^ SlI^ ~1
possessing all the ad-
Air-pmrp. first place to show the materiality of air in a very distinct
manner. Bodies cannot move about in the atmosphere with¬
out displacing it. This requires force ; and the resis¬
tance of the air always diminishes the velocity of bodies
moving in it. A heavy body therefore has the velocity
of its fall diminished ; and if the quantity of
air displaced be very great, the diminution
will be very considerable. This is the
reason why light bodies, such as feathers,
fall very slowly. Their moving force is
very small, and can therefore displace a
great quantity of air only with a very small
velocity. But if the same body be drop¬
ped in vacuo, when there is no air to be
displaced, it falls with the whole veloci¬
ty competent to its gravity. Fig. 44 re¬
presents an apparatus by which a guinea
and a downy feather are dropped at the same
instant. If this be done after the air has
been pumped out, the guinea and the fea¬
ther will be observed to reach the bottom
at the same instant.
Fig. 45 represents another apparatus for
showing the same thing. It consists of
two sets of brass vanes put on separate
axles, in the manner of windmill sails.
One set has their edges placed in the di¬
rection of their whirling motion, that is, in
a plane to which the axis is perpendicular.
The planes of the other set pass through
the axis, and they are therefore trimmed
so as directly to front the air through which they move.
I wo springs act upon pins projecting from the axis; and
their strength or tensions are so adjusted, that when they
Fig. 45.
aie disengaged in vacuo, the two sets continue in motion Air-pump,
equally long. If they are disengaged in the air, the vanes^-*-V^
which beat the air with their planes will stop long before
those which cut it edgewise.
We can now abstract the air most completely from a
dry vessel, so as to know the precise weight of the air which
filled it. The first experiment we have of this kind, done
with accuracy, is that of Dr. Hooke, February 10, 1664,
when he found 114 pints of air to weigh 945 grains. One
pint of water was 85^ ounces. This gives for the specific
gravity of air very nearly.
Since we are thus immersed in a gravitating fluid, it fol- The effect
lows, that every body preponderates only with the excess of air on
of its own weight above that of the air which it displaces ; t*ie we>Kht
for every body loses by this immersion the weight of the?^^0^'6®,
displaced air. A cubic foot loses about 521 grains in frosty ™-^erse
weather. We see balloons even rise in the air, as a piece
of cork rises in water. A mass of water
which really contains 850 pounds will load
the scale of a balance with 849 only, and
will be balanced by about 849| pounds of
brass. This is evinced by a very pretty
experiment, represented in fig. 46. A
small beam is suspended within a receiver.
To one end of the beam is appended a thin
glass or copper ball, close in every part.
This is balanced by a small piece of lead
hung on the other arm. As the air is
pumped out of the receiver, the ball will
gradually preponderate, and will regain its
equilibrium when the air is re-admitted.
Some philosophers have proposed, and even used, a large
of light make, suspended at a beam, for a barometer*
If its capacity be a cubic foot, l-f70 grains will indicate the
Fig. 46.
Fig. 1.
Fig. 1 presentsa view of this pump. A A
Fig. 2.
■’-rt
J
vantages of Mr. Cuthbertson’s, with this other in addition, that it is much simpler in its construction,
are the barrels. B the pipe leading from them to C the re¬
ceiver plate, D the barometer gage, E a stopcock for re¬
admitting the air, or for attaching a syphon gage, or other piece
of apparatus. Fig. 2 is a section of the piston, and of the
under part of one of the barrels, shewing the whole of the
internal construction ; A A, a a is the barrel, O N the piston,
G I the piston rod containing the rod r, which slides in the
collar of leathers I, and opens the valve v e; in this respect it
is precisely the same as Cuthbertson’s, but the maker dis¬
penses with all the apparatus at the top of Cuthbertson’s
barrels, and has only an oiled silk valve S, in the piston, which
as exposed to the atmosphere, as in Hook’s pump. The
exclusion of the atmosphere from the piston valve, the maker
considers as unnecessary. From the account previously given
ot the performance of Cuthbertson’s, and of the other pumps
described, as well as from his own experience, he is of opi¬
nion that the action of the best air pump is stopped, either
by the formation of elastic vapour from the oil necessarily
present, or from some unknown property of the air itself, long
before it has been so much rarefied as to be unable to open
the piston valves. His reason for this opinion is, that the ca-
pacify of the barrels of any well-constructed pump is several
thousand times greater than the space which exists between
the valves, when the piston has reached the bottom of the
barre!; in short this may be limited to the small hole
, ’ . , or f*a.mPle> ln 3,1 air-pump, the length of the stroke
of which is 12 inches, the diameter of the barrels -2i in. the
diameter of the hole S N ^th of an inch, and its length one
inch, the capacity of the hole S N is 7500 times less than
of^heTpiston^ become'o^tlm'sanne^densTty^but1'iis^it^is^krunv-rTfrom^tlie *tmospliere„'Yjien, ^e whole barrel, will, by the descent
the atmosphere has sufficient elastic force to open an oil silk vih^ ^ /ll^ TTv,0 H°ok S pi‘mP’ that alr T^fh pilrt of the de,lsity of
but as this degree of exhaustion has never yet been attained it e’^d- th8! thePUmP We have 7Pposed’ will exhaust 7425 times,
than the imperfection of the mechanical arrangement. A metallic valvP i n ,7* h 7 T™ ,7*' S°Ugbt f°r in ^P^tion of this,
having a projecting point v to open it on Ah* 7,7 metal.llc valveL 1 P’ ma-v be Placed m the piston instead of the oiled silk one
the return of the air during fhe time wh h d p t b'e witt Z lJ, " 7 ° “7 lSpaCe °T fil)ed 'vith oik to preven
the valve. ^ P tS betW1Xt the commencement of the ascent of the piston and the complete shutting of
48
PNEUMATICS.
Air-pump, same change that is indicated by t 5 of an inch of an ordin¬
ary bar ometer. But a vessel of this size will load a balance
too much to leave it sufficiently sensible to small changes
of density. Besides, it is affected by heat and cold, and
would require a very troublesome equation to coi'rect their
effects.
It may perhaps be worth while to attend to this in buy¬
ing and selling precious commodities; such as pearls,
diamonds, silk, and some drugs. As they are generally sold
by brass or leaden weights, the buyer will have some ad¬
vantage when the air is heavy and the barometer high. On
the other hand, he will have the advantage in buying gold
and mercury when the air is light. It is needless to con¬
fine this observation to precious commodities, for the ad¬
vantage is the same in all in proportion to their levity.
There is a case in which this observation is of conse¬
quence to the philosopher: we mean the measuring of time
by pendulums. As the accelerating force on a pendulum
is not its whole weight, but the excess of its weight over
that of the displaced air, it follows that a pendulum will vi¬
brate more slowly in the air than in vacuo. A pendulum
composed of lead, iron, and brass, may be about 8400 times
heavier than the air which it displaces when the barometer
is at 30 inches and the thermometer is at 32°, and the ac¬
celerating force will be diminished about tsioo' This will
cause a second pendulum to make about five vibrations less
in a day than it would do in vacuo. In order therefore to
deduce the accelerative power of gravity from the length of
a pendulum vibrating in the air, we must make an allowance
of 0".17, or of a second per day, for every inch that the
barometer stands lower than 30 inches. But we must also
note the temperature of the air ; because when the air is
warm it is less dense when supporting by its elasticity the
same weight of atmosphere, and we must know how much
its density is diminished by an increase of temperature. The
correction is still more complicated ; for the change of den¬
sity affects the resistance of the air, and this affects the time
of the vibration, and this by a law that is not yet well ascer¬
tained. As far as we can determine from any experiments
that have been made, it appears that the change arising from
the altered resistance takes off about 2-5ths of the change
produced by the altered density, and that a second pendulum
makes but three vibrations a-day more in vacuo than in the
open air. This is a very unexpected result; but it must be
owned that the experiments have neither been numerous
nor very nicely made.
The air-pump also allows us to shew the effects of the
air’s pressure in a great number of amusing and instructive
phenomena.
When the air is abstracted from the receiver, it is strong¬
ly pressed to the pump-plate by the incumbent atmosphere,
and it supports this great pressure in consequence of its cir-
the res pl^ar f°rm- Being equally compressed on all sides, there
turcoYthe n? ,l^ace where it should give way rather than another ;
air. but if it be thin, and not very round, which is sometimes the
case, it will be crushed to pieces. If we take a square thin
vial, and apply an exhausting syringe to its mouth, it will
not fail being crushed.
As the operation of pumping is something like sucking,
many of these phenomena are in common discourse ascrib¬
ed to suction, a word much abused; and this abuse misleads
the mind exceedingly in its contemplation of natural pheno¬
mena. Nothing is more usual than to speak of the suction
of a syringe, the suction and draught of a chimney. See. The
following experiment puts the true cause of the strong ad¬
hesion of the receiver beyond a doubt.
Place a small receiver, or cupping-glass on the pump-
plate without covering the central hole, as represented in
Experi¬
ments to
shew the
effects of
Fig 47.
Fitr. 48.
fig. 47, and cover it with a larger receiver. Exhaust the air Air-pump,
from it; then admit it as suddenly as possible.
The outer receiver, which, after the rarefaction,
adhered strongly to the plate, is now loose, and
the cupping-glass will be found sticking fast to
it. While the rarefaction was going on, the air
in the small receiver also expanded, escaped from
it, and was abstracted by the pump. When the
external air was suddenly admitted, it pressed on
the small receiver, and forced it down to the
plate, and thus shut up all entry. The small receiver must
now adhere ; and there can be no suction, for the pipe of
the pump was on the outside of the cupping-glass.
This experiment sometimes does not succeed, because
the air occasionally finds a passage under the brim of the
cupping-glass. But if the cupping-glass be pressed down
by the hand on the greasy leather or plate, every thing will
be made smooth, and the glass will be so little raised by the
expansion of its air during the pumping, that it will instant¬
ly clap close when the air is re-admitted.
In like manner, if a thin square phial be furnished with a
valve, opening from within, but shutting when
pressed from without, and if this phial be put
under a receiver, and the air be abstracted from
the receiver, the air in the phial will expand
during the rarefaction, escape through the
valve, and be at last in a very rarefied state
within the phial. If the air be now admitted
into the receiver, it will press on the flat sides
of the included phial and crush it to pieces.
(See fig. 48.)
If a piece of wet ox-bladder be laid over the top of a
receiver whose orifice is about four inches wide, and the
air be exhausted from within it, the incumbent atmosphere
will press down the bladder into a hollow
form, and then burst it inward with a prodi¬
gious noise. (See fig. 49.) Or if a piece of
thin flat glass be laid over the receiver, with
an oiled leather between them to make the
juncture air-tight, the glass will be broken
downwards. This must be done with cau¬
tion, because the pieces of glass sometimes
fly about with great force.1
If there be formed two FU
hemispherical cups of brass,
with very flat thick brims,
and one of them be fitted
with a neck and stopcock, as
represented by fig. 50, the air
may be abstracted from them
by screwing the neck into
the hole in the pump-plate.
To prevent the insinuation
of air, a ring of oiled leather
may be put between the rims.
Now unscrew the sphere from the pump, and
fix hooks to each, and suspend them from a
strong nail, and hang a scale to the lowest. It
will require a considerable weight to separate
them; namely, about 15 pounds for every square
inch of the great circle of the sphere. If this
be four inches diameter, it will require near 190
pounds. 1 his pretty experiment was first made
by Otto Guericke, and on a very great scale.
His sphere was of a large size, and when ex¬
hausted, the hemispheres could not be drawn
asunder by 20 horses. It was exhibited, along with many
others equally curious and magnificent, to the emperor of
Fig. 49.
^ pum,,i fo'f'»6«»Uhe glass will get into ,be pump and impair its
PNEUMATICS.
Fig. 52.
By this
pressure
Fig. 53.
Germany and his court, at the breaking up
of the diet of Ratisbon in 1654. If a
loaded syringe be suspended by its pis¬
ton from the hook in the top plate of the re¬
ceiver, as in fig. 51, and the air be abstrac¬
ted by the pump, the syringe will gradually
descend (because the elasticity of the air,
which formerly balanced the pressure of the
atmosphere, is now diminished by its ex¬
pansion, and is therefore no longer able to
press the syringe to the piston), and it will at
last drop off. If the air be admitted before
this happens, the syringe will immediately rise
again.
Screw a short brass pipe into the neck of
a transporter, on which is set a tall receiv¬
er, and immerse it into a cistern of water. On
opening the cock, the pressure of the air on the
surface of the water in the cistern will force
it up through the pipe, and cause it to spout
into the receiver with a strong jet, because
there is no air within to balance by its elas¬
ticity the pressure of the atmosphere. (See
fig. 52.)
It is in the same wray that the gage of the
air-pump performs its office. The pressure of
the gage of t]ie atmosphere raises the mercury in the gage
oump acts ^ the weight of the mercury, together with
the remaining elasticity of the air in the re¬
ceiver, are in equilibrio with the whole pres¬
sure of the atmosphere : therefore the height
and weight of the mercury in the gage is the
excess of the wreight of the atmosphere above
the elasticity of the included air ; and the de¬
ficiency of this height from that of the mer¬
cury in the Toricellian tube is the measure of
this remaining elasticity.
If a Toricellian tube be put under a tall re¬
ceiver, as shown in fig. 53, and the air be ex¬
hausted, the mercury in the tube will descend,
while that in the gage will rise ; and the sum
of their heights will always be the same, that
is, equal to the height in an ordinary barome¬
ter. The height of the mercury in the receiver
is the effect and measure of the remaining elas¬
ticity of the included air, and the height in the
pump-gage is the unbalanced pressure of the
atmosphere. This is a very instructive ex¬
periment, perfectly similar to Mr. Auzout’s,
and completely establishes and' illustrates
the whole doctrine of atmospheric pressure.
Water rises We get a similar illustration and confirma-
ui pumps, tion (if such a thing be now needed) of the
cause of the rise of water in pumps, by screw¬
ing a syringe into the top plate of a receiver,
which syringe has a glass pipe plunging into
a small cup of water. (See fig. 54.) When the
piston-rod is drawn up, the w'ater rises in the
glass pipe, as in any other pump, of which
this is a miniature representation. But if the
air has been previously exhausted from the
receiver, there is nothing to press on the wa¬
ter in the little jar ; and it will not rise in the
glass pipe though the piston of the syringe be drawn to the
top.
It moves Analogous to the rise of water in pumps is its rise and
m syph0118- motion in syphons. Suppose a pipe ABCD, fig. 55, bent
at right angles at B and C, and having its two ends immer¬
sed in the cisterns of water A and D. Let the leg CD be
longer than the leg BA, and let the whole be full of water.
The water is pressed upwards at A with a force equal to
VOL. XVIII.
A
Fig.54.
Fig. 55.
Fig. 56.
y
the weight of the column of air EA reaching to the top
of the atmosphere ; but it is pressed downwards by
the weight of the column of water BA.
The water at D is pressed dow-nwards by
the weight of the column CD, and upwards
by the weight of the column of air FD
reaching to the top of the atmosphere. The
two columns of air differ very little in their
weight, and may without any sensible error
be considered as equal. Therefore there is a
superiority of pressure downwards at D, and
the water wull flow out there. The pressure of
the air will raise the water in the leg AB, and
thus the stream will be kept up till the ves¬
sel A is emptied as low as the orifice of the
leg BA, provided that the height of AB is
not greater than what the pressure of the atmosphere can
balance, that is, does not exceed 32 or 33 feet for water,
30 inches for mercury, &c.
A syphon then will always run from that vessel whose
surface is highest; the form of the pipe is indifferent, be¬
cause the hydrostatical pressures depend on the vertical
height only. It must be filled with water by some other
contrivance, such as a funnel, or a pump applied a-top; and
the funnel must be stopped up, otherwise the air would get
in, and the water would fall in both legs.
If the syphon have equal legs, and be
turned up at the ends, it will remain full
of water, and be ready for use. One end
of it need only be dipped into any vessel of
water, and the water will then flow out at
the other end of the syphon. This is called
the Wirtemberg syphon, and is represented
in fig. 56.
What is called the syphon fountain, con¬
structed on this principle, is shown in fig.
57, where AB is a tall receiver, standing in
a wide bason DE, which is supported on the
pedestal H, by the hollow pillar FG. In
the centre of the receiver is a jet pipe C,
and in the top a ground stopper A. Near
the base of the pillar is a cock N, and in the
pedestal is another cock O.
Fill the bason DE with water within half
an inch of the brim. Then pour in water
at the top of the receiver (the cock N being
shut) till it is about half full, and then put
in the stopper. A little water will run out
into the vessel DE. But before it runs over,
open the cock N, and the water will run in¬
to the cistern H ; and by the time that the
pipe C appears above water, a jet will rise
from it, and continue as long as wrater is
supplied from the bason DE. The passage
into the base cistern may be so tempered
by the cock N that the water within the re¬
ceiver shall keep at the same height, and
what runs into the base may be received
from the cock O into another vessel, and re¬
turned into DE, to keep up the stream.
This pretty philosophical toy may be constructed in the Manner of
following manner. BB, (fig. 58,) is the ferril or cap into its con-
which the receiver is cemented. From its centre descends struction
the jet pipe Ca, sloping outwards, to give room for the dis- an(i opera
charge pipe hd of larger diameter, the lower extremity t‘011,
of which d fits tightly into the top of the hollow pillar FG.
The operation of the toy is easily understood. Suppose
the distance from C to H (fig. 57,) three feet, which is about
•jL of the height at which the atmosphere would support a
column of water. The water poured into AB would de¬
scend through FG (the hole A being shut) till the air has
y
The sy¬
phon foup
tain.
Fig. 57
A<
c 11 if
50
Experi¬
ments on
PNEUMATICS.
Syphons
are often
used thus.
expanded j1^, and then it would
stop. If the pipe Ca be now
opened, the pressure of the air
on the surface of the water in
the cistern DE will cause it to
spout through C to the height of
three feet nearly, and the water
will continue to descend through
the pipe FG. By tempering
the cock N so as to allow the
water to pass through it as fast
as it is supplied by the jet, the
amusement may be continued
a long time. It will stop at last,
however; because, as the jet
is made into rarefied air, a little
air will be extricated from the wTater, which will gradually
accumulate in the receiver, and diminish its rarefaction,
which is the moving cause of the jet. This indeed is an in¬
convenience felt in every employment of syphons, so much
the more remarkably as their top is higher than the surface
of the water in the cistern of supply.
Cases of this employment of a syphon are not unfrequent.
When water collected at A (fig.59)) is to be conducted in a
Fig. 59-
The air-
pump dis¬
covers the
combina¬
tion of air
Fisr. 60.
pipe to C, situated in a lower part of the country, it some¬
times happens that the intervening ground is higher than
the fountain-head as at B. A forcing pump is erected at
A, and the water forced along the pipe. Once it runs out
at C, the pump may be removed, and the water will con¬
tinue to run on the syphon principle, provided BD do not
exceed 33 feet. But the water in that part of the conduit
which is above the horizontal plane AD, is in the same
state as in a receiver of rarefied air, and gives out some of
the air which is united with it. This gradually accumu¬
lates in the elevated part of the conduit, and at last chokes
it entirely.
This combination of air with water is very distinctly seen
by means of the air-pump. If a small
glass containing cold water, fresh drawn
from the spring, be exposed, as in fig.
60, under the receiver, and the air
'^t l water’ rarefied, small bubbles will be ob¬
served to form on the inner surface
of the glass, or on the surface of any
body immersed in it, which will in¬
crease in size, and then detach them¬
selves from the glass and reach the
top ; as the rarefaction advances, the
whole water begins to show very mi¬
nute air-bubbles rising to the top ;
and this appearance wall continue for
a very long time, till it be completely
disengaged. Warming the water will occasion a still far¬
ther separation of air, and a boiling heat will separate all
that can be disengaged. The reason assigned for these
air-bubbles first appearing on the surface of the glass, &c.
is, that air is attracted by bodies, and adheres to their sur¬
face. This may be so. But it is more probably owing to
the attraction of the water for the glass, which causes it to
quit the air which it held in solution, in the same manner
as we see it happen when it is mixed with spirits-of-wine,
with vitriolic acid, &c., or when salts or sugar are dissolved
in it. For if we pour out the water which has been purged
of air by boiling in vacuo, and fill the glass with fresh water, Experi-
we shall observe the same thing, although a film of the merits on
purified water was left adhering to the glass. In tnis case t .
there can be no air adhering to the glass.
Water thus purged of air by boiling (or even without
boiling) in vacuo, will again absorb air when exposed to the
atmosphere. The best demonstration of this is to fill with
this water a phial, leaving about the size of a pea not filled.
Immerse this in a vessel of water, with the mouth under¬
most, by which means the air-bubble will mount up to the
bottom of the phial. After some days standing in this con¬
dition, the air-bubble will be completely absorbed, and the
vessel quite filled with ivater. A glass of beer placed un¬
der the receiver and treated in the same way will be almost
wholly converted into froth by the escape of its fixed air,
and will have lost entirely the prickling smartness which is
so agreeable, and become quite vapid.
The air-pump gives us, in the next place, a great variety Experi-
of experiments illustrative of the air’s elasticity and ex-mentsillus
pansibility. The very operation of exhaustion, as it is trative of
called, is an instance of its great expansibility. But this ^
is not palpably exhibited to view. The following experi- exp/nsibU
ments show it most distinctly. First, put a flaccid bladder, jj^y 0f jjje
of which the neck is firmly tied with a thread, under a air.
receiver, and work the pump. The bladder will gradually
swell, and will even be fully distended. Upon readmitting
the air into the receiver, the bladder gradually collapses
again into its former dimensions; while the bladder is
flaccid, the air within it is of the same density and elasti¬
city with the surrounding air, and its elasticity balances the
pressure of the atmosphere. When part of the air of the
receiver is abstracted, the remainder expands so as still to
fill the receiver ; but by expanding, its elasticity is plainly
diminished ; for we see by the fact, that the elasticity of the
air of the receiver no longer balances the elasticity of that
in the bladder, as it no longer keeps it in its dimensions.
The air in the bladder expands also ; it expands till its di¬
minished elasticity is again in equilibrio with the diminished
elasticity of the air in the receiver ; that is, till its density
is the same. When all the wrinkles of the bladder have
disappeared, its air can expand no more, although we con¬
tinue to diminish the elasticity of the air of the receiver by
further rarefaction. The bladder now tends to burst; and
if it be pierced by a point or knife fastened to the slip-wire,
the air will rush out, and the mercury descend rapidly in
the gage.
If a phial or tube (fig. 61) be partly
filled with water, and immersed in a ves¬
sel of water with the mouth downwards,
the air will occupy the upper part of the
phial. If this apparatus be put under a
receiver, and the air be abstracted, the
air in the phial wall gradually expand,
allowing the water to run out by its
weight till the surface of the water be on
a level within and without. When this
is the case, we must grant that the den¬
sity and elasticity of the air in the phial
is the same with that in the receiver.
When we work the pump again, we shall
observe the air in the phial expand still
more, and come out of the water in bub¬
bles. Continuing the operation, we shall see the air con¬
tinually escaping from the phial; when this is over, it shows
that the pump can rarefy no more. If we now admit the
air into the receiver, we shall see the water rise into the
phial, and at last almost completely fill it, leaving only a
very small bubble of air at the top. This bubble had ex¬
panded so as to fill the whole phial.
Every one must have observed a cavity at the big end
of an egg between the shell and the white. The white and
Fig. 61.
PNEUMATICS.
51
Expert- yolk are contained in a thin membrane or bladder which
meats on aciheres loosely to the shell, but is detached from it at
air- that part; and this cavity increases by keeping the egg
jn a dry place. One may form a judgment of its size,
and therefore of the freshness of the egg, by touching it
with the tongue; for the shell, where it is not in contact
with the contents, will presently feel warm, being quickly
heated by the tongue, whilst the rest of the egg will feel
cold.
If a hole be made in the opposite end of the egg, and it
be set on a little tripod, and put under a receiver, the ex¬
pansion of the air in the cavity of the egg will force the
contents through the hole till the egg be quite emptied ; or,
if nearly one-half of the egg be taken away at the other
end, and the white and yolk taken out, and the shell be put
under a receiver, and the air abstracted, the air in the cavity
of the egg will expand, gradually detaching the membrane
from the shell, till it causes it to swell out, and gives the
whole the appearance of an entire egg. In like manner
shrivelled apples and other fruits will swell in vacuo by the
expansion of the air confined in their cavities.
If a piece of wood, a twig with green leaves, charcoal,
plaster of Paris, &c. be kept under water in vacuo, a pro¬
digious quantity of air will be extracted ; and if we readmit
the air into the receiver, it will force the water into the
pores of the body. In this case the body will not swim in
water as it did before, showing that the vegetable fibres are
specifically heavier than water. It is found, however, that
the air contained in the pith and bark, such as cork, is not
all extricated in this way; and that much of it is contained
in vesicles which have no outlet; being secreted into them
in the process of vegetation, as it is secreted in the air-
bladder of fishes, where it is generally found in a pretty
compressed state, considerably denser than the surrounding
air. The air-bladder of a fish is surrounded by circular
and longitudinal muscles, by which the fish can compress
the air still further ; and, by ceasing to act with them, al¬
low it to swell out again. It is in this manner that the fish
can suit its specific gravity to its situation in the water, so
as to have no tendency either to rise or sink ; but if the fish
be put into the receiver of an air-pump, the rarefaction of
the air obliges the fish to act more strongly with these con¬
tracting muscles, in order to adjust its specific gravity ; and
if too much air has been abstracted from the receiver, the
fish is no longer able to keep its air-bladder in the proper
degree of compression. It becomes therefore too buoyant,
and comes to the top of the water, and is obliged to strug¬
gle with its tail and fins in order to get down ; frequently
in vain. The air-bladder sometimes bursts,
and the fish goes to the bottom, and can no Fig. 62.
longer keep above without the continual ac¬
tion of its tail and fins. When fishes die,
they commonly float at top, their contrac¬
tive action being now at an end. All
this may in some degree be illustrated by
a small half-blown bladder, to which is ap¬
pended a bit of lead, just so heavy as to
make it sink in water ; when this is put un¬
der a receiver, and the air abstracted, the
bubble will rise to the top ; and, by nicely
adjusting the rarefaction, it may be kept at
any height.
The playthings called Cartesian devils are similar to this.
They are hollow glass figures, having a small aperture in the
lower part of the figures, as at the point of the foot; their
weight is adjusted so that they swim upright in water.
When put into a tall jar filled to the top, and having a piece
of leather tied over it, they will sink in the water, by press¬
ing on the leather with the ball of the hand. This, by com¬
pressing the water, forces some of it to enter into the figure,
and makes it heavier than the water; for which reason it
sinks, but rises again on removing the pressure of the hand. Expert.
(See figs. 63 and 64.) ments on
If a half-blown ox-bladder be put into a box, and great air-
weights laid on it, and the whole be put under a receiver,
and the air abstracted; the air will, by expanding, lift up
the weights, though above an hundred pounds. (See fig. 65.)
Fig. 63.
Fig. 64.
Fig. 65.
i
By such experiments, the great expansibility of the air is Compressi-
abundantly illustrated, as its compressibility was formerly bility a!'(f
by means of the condensing syringe. We now see that the
two sets of experiments form an uninterrupted chain ; and nQ stat6‘ 0f
that there is no particular state of the air’s density where the air very
the compressibility and expansibility are remarkably dissi-dissimilar
milar. Air in its ordinary state expands; because its or¬
dinary state is a state of compression by the weight of the
atmosphere ; and if there were a pit about thirty-three miles
deep, the air at the bottom would probably be as dense as
water ; and if it were fifty miles deep, it would be as dense
as gold, if it did not become a liquid before this depth ; nay,
if a bottle with its mouth undermost wrere immersed six
miles under water, it would probably be as dense as water ;
wre say probably, for this depends on the nature of its com¬
pressibility ; that is, on the relation which subsists between
the compression and the force which produces it.
This is the circumstance of its constitution, which we now Halation
proceed to examine ; and it is evidently a very important between
circumstance. We have long ago observed, that the
compressibility and permanent fluidity of air, observed in a
vast variety of phenomena, is totally inexplicable, on the projucjng
supposition that the particles of air are like so many balls of it.
sponge or so many foot-balls. Give to those what compres¬
sibility you please, common air could no more be fluid than
a mass of clay ; it could no more be fluid than a mass of such
balls pressed into abox. It may be demonstrated, that before
a parcel of such balls, just touching each other, can be squeezed
into half their present dimensions, their globular shape will
be entirely gone, and each will have become a perfect cube,
touching six other cubes with its whole surface; and these
cubes will be strongly compressed together, so that motion
could never be performed through among them by any so¬
lid body without a very great force. Whereas we know
that in this state air is just as permeable to every body as
the common air that we breathe. There is no way in which
we can represent this fluidity to our imagination, but by con¬
ceiving air to consist of particles, not only discrete, but dis¬
tant from each other, and actuated by repulsive forces, or
PNEUMATICS.
Density ex¬
plained as
applied to
air.
Analogy.
soriiething analogous to them. It is an idle subterfuge, to
which some physicists have recourse, saying, that they are
kept asunder by an intervening ether, or elastic fluid of any
other name. This is only removing the difficulty a step far¬
ther off; for the elasticity of this fluid requires the same ex¬
planation ; and therefore it is necessary, in obedience to the
rules of just I’easoning, to begin the inquiry here; that is,
to determine from the phenomena what is the analogy be¬
tween the distances of the particles and the repulsive forces
exerted at these distances, proceeding in the same way as
in the examination of planetary gravitation. We shall learn
the analogy by attending to the analogy between the com¬
pressing force and the density.
For the density depends on the distance between the par¬
ticles ; the nearer they are to each other, the denser is the
air. Suppose a square pipe one inch wide and eight inches
long, shut at one end, and filled with common air; then sup¬
pose a plug so nicely fitted to this pipe that no air can pass
by its sides ; suppose this piston thrust down to within an
inch of the bottom : it is evident that the air which former¬
ly filled the whole pipe now occupies the space of one cu¬
bic inch, which contains the same number of particles as
were formerly diffused over eight cubic inches.
The condensation would have been the same if the air
which fills a cube whose side is two inches had been squeez¬
ed into a cube of one inch, for the cube of two inches also
contains eight inches. Now, in this case it is evident that
the distance between the particles would be reduced to its
half in every direction. In like manner, if a cube whose
side is three inches, and which therefore contains 27 inches,
be squeezed into one inch, the distance of the particles will
be one-third of what it was: in general the distance of the
particles will be as the cube-root of the space into which
they are compressed. If the space be ^7, T^, &c.
of its former dimensions, the distance of the particles will
be j, &c. Now the term density, in its strict sense,
expresses the vicinity of theparticles; thus,r?ms« arbores are
trees growing near each other. The measure of this vici¬
nity therefore is the true measure of the density; and when
27 inches of air are compressed into one, we should say that
it is three times as dense ; but we say, that it is 27 times
denser.
Density is therefore used in a sense different from its
strictest acceptation ; it expresses the comparative number
of equidistant particles contained in the same bulk. This is
also abundantly precise, when we compare bodies of the
same kind, differing in density only ; but we also say, that
gold is 19 times denser than water, because the same bulk
of it is 19 times heavier. This assertion proceeds on the
assumption, or the fact, that every ultimate atom of terres¬
trial matter is equally heavy. A particle of gold may con¬
tain more or fewer atoms of matter than a particle of water.
In such a case, therefore, the term density has little or no
reference to the vicinity of the particles; and is only a
term of comparison of other qualities or accidents. But
when we speak of the respective densities of the same
substance in its different states of compression, the word
density is strictly connected with vicinity of particles, and
we may safely take either of the measures. We shall abide
by the common acceptation, and call that air eight times as
dense which has eight times as many particles in the same
bulk, although the particles are only twice as near to each
other.
I hus then we see, that by observing the analogy between
the compressing force and the density, we shall discover the
analogy between the compressing force and the distance of
the particles. Now the force which is necessary for com¬
pressing two particles of air to a certain vicinity is a proper
measure of the elasticity of the particles corresponding to
that vicinity or distance ; for it balances it, and forces which
balance must be esteemed equal. Elasticity is a distinctive
name for that corpuscular force which keeps the particles
at that distance ; therefore observations made on the ana¬
logy between the compressing force and the density of air
will give us the law of its corpuscular force, in the same
way that observations on the simultaneous deflections of
the planets towards the sun gives us the law of celestial gra¬
vitation.
But the sensible compressing forces which we are able to
apply is at once exerted on unknown thousands of particles,
whilst it is the law of action of a single particle that we want
to discover. We must therefore know the proportion of the
numbers of particles on which the compressing force is ex¬
erted. It is easy to see, that since the distance of the par¬
ticles is as the cube root of the density inversely, the num¬
ber of particles in physical contact with the compressing
surface must be as the square of this root. Thus, when a
cube of eight inches is compressed into one inch, and the
particles are twice as near each other as they were before,
there must be four times the number of particles in contact
with each of the sides of this cubical inch ; or, when we have
pushed down the square piston of the pipe spoken of above
to within an inch of the bottom, there will be four times
the number of particles immediately contiguous to the pis¬
ton, and resisting the compression ; and in order to obtain
the force really exerted on one particle, and the elasticity
of that particle, we must divide the whole compressing force
by 4. In like manner, if we have compressed air into ^yth
of its former bulk, and brought the particles into ^d of their
former distance, we must divide the compressing force by 9.
1
In general, if d express the density, will express the
distance x of the particles ; Zjd, or d? will express the vi-
2
cinity or real density; and d'd will express the number of
particles acting on the compressing surface ; and iff ex-
press the accumulated external compressing force, will
#
express the force acting on one particle ; and therefore the
elasticity ot that particle corresponding to the distance x.
We now proceed to consider the experiments by which Compressi.
the law of compression is to be established.1 In order bility of air.
to examine the compressibility of air that is not
rarer than the atmosphere at the surface of the Fig. 66.
earth, we employ a bent tube or syphon ABCD
(fig. 66), hermetically sealed at A, and open at D.
I he short leg AB must be very accurately divided
in the proportion of its solid contents, and fitted
with a scale whose units denote equal increments,
not of length, but of capacity. There are various
ways of doing this ; but it requires the most scrupu¬
lous attention, and without this the experiments are
of no value. In particular, the arched form at A
must be noticed. A small quantity of mercury must
then be poured into the tube, and passed backwards
and forwards till it stands (the tube being held in
a vertical position) on a level at B and C. Then
we are certain that the included air is of the same
density with that of the contiguous atmosphere. _UJ
Mercury is now poured into the leg DC, which will fill it,
exbiWted^befm-^the^Roval^oif PulPose were those made by Mr Boyle, published in his Defensio Doctrince de Acre contra Linum, and
exhibited before the Koydl Society the year before. Manotte made experiments of the same kind, which were published in lf.7fi in
Ins Lssaisur la Nature de l’Air, and Truitt: des Mouvemens des Eaux. The most copious experiments are those by Sulzer (Mem Berlin ix I
t11086 by Fontana (0Puscu]* Pbysico-Mathematical, and those by Sir George Shuckburgh and General Roy in thJPhilosophical Tramactims.
« *
Experi¬
ments on
air.
Experi¬
ments of
Boyle, &c.
Varieties in
these ex¬
periments.
Heteroge¬
neous na¬
ture of the
air.
The elasti¬
city of air.
PNEUMATICS.
53
suppose to G, and will compress the air into a smaller space
AE. Draw the horizontal line EF; the new bulk of the
compressed air is evidently AE, measured by the adjacent
scale, and the addition made to the compressing force of
the atmosphere is the weight of the column GF. Produce
GF downwards to H, till FH is equal to the height shown
by a Toricellian tube filled with the same mercury ; then
the whole compressing force is HG. This is evidently the
measure of the elasticity of the compressed air in AE, for
it balances it. Now, pour in more mercury, and let it rise
to y, compressing the air into A e. Draw the horizontal
line ef, and make/A equal to FH; then A e will be the new
AB
bulk of the compressed air, will be its new density, and
A <7 will be the measure of the new elasticity. This opera¬
tion may be extended as far as we please, by lengthening
the tube CD, and taking care that it be strong enough to
resist the great pressure. Great care must be taken to keep
the whole in a constant temperature, because the elasticity
of air is greatly affected by heat, and the change by any
increase of temperature is different according to its density
or compression.
The experiments of Boyle, Mariotte, Amontons, and
others, were not extended to very great compressions, the
density of the air not having been quadrupled in any of
them ; nor do they seem to have been made with very great
nicety. It may be collected from them in general, that the
elasticity of the air is very nearly proportioned to its den¬
sity ; and accordingly this law was almost immediately ac¬
quiesced in, and was called the Boylean law ; it is accord¬
ingly assumed by almost all writers on the subject as exact.
Of late years, however, there occurred questions in which
it was of importance that this point should be more scru¬
pulously settled, and the former experiments were repeated
and extended. The result has been, that the compression
of atmospheric air and most other gases increases rather
faster than is strictly proportional to the pressure.
Considerable varieties and irregularities are to be observ¬
ed in these experiments. It is extremely difficult to pre¬
serve the temperature of the apparatus, particularly of the
leg AB, which is most handled. A great quantity of mer¬
cury must be employed ; and it does not appear that philo¬
sophers have been careful to have it precisely similar to that
in the barometer, which gives us the unit of compressing
force and of elasticity. The mercury in the syphon as well
as in the barometer should be pure and boiled. If the mer¬
cury in the syphon is adulterated with bismuth and tin,
which it commonly is to a considerable degree, the com¬
pressing force, and consequently the elasticity, will appear
greater than the truth. If the barometer has not been nice¬
ly filled, it will be lower than it should be, and the compress¬
ing force will appear too great, because the unit is too
small; and this error will be most remarkable in the smaller
compressions.
The greatest source of error and irregularity in the expe¬
riments is the very heterogeneous nature of the air itself.
Air is a solvent of all fluids, all vapours, and perhaps of many
solid bodies. It is highly improbable that the different
compounds shall have the same elasticity, or even the same
law of elasticity ; and it is well known, that air loaded with
water or other volatile bodies, is much more expansible by
heat than pure air ; nay, it would appear from many expe¬
riments, that certain determinate changes both of density
and of temperature, cause air to let go the vapours which it
holds in solution. Cold causes it to precipitate water, as
appears in dew; so does rarefaction, as is seen in the re¬
ceiver of an air-pump.
In general, it appears that the elasticity of air does not
increase quite so fast as its density. This will be best seen
by the following tables, calculated from the experiments of
Mr. Sulzer. The column E in each set of
presses the length of the column GH, the
whilst the column D expresses
experiments ex- Experi-
unit being FHy ments on
air.
First set.
E
Second set.
Third set.
1-000
MOO
1-222
1-375
1-571
1-692
1- 833
2- 000
2-288
2- 444
3- 143
3- 666
4- 000
4-444
4- 888
5- 500
5-882
1-000
1-093
1-211
1-284
1-559
1-669
1-796
1- 958
2- 130
2-375
2- 936
3- 391
3- 706
4- 035
4-438
4-922
5 522
1-000
1-236
1-294
1-375
1-466
1-571
1- 692
2- 000
2- 444
3- 143
3- 666
4- 444
5- 500
7-333
1-000
1-224
1-288
1-332
1.417
1-515
1-647
1- 964
2- 392
3- 078
3- 575
4- 320
5- 096
6- 694
1-000
1-091
1-200
1-333
1-500
1- 714
2- 000
2- 400
3- 000
4- 000
6-000
8-000
1-000
1-076
1-183
1-303
1-472
1- 659
1-900
2- 241
2- 793
3- 631
5- 297
6- 835
There appears in these experiments to be sufficient grounds
for calling in question the Boylean law ; and the writer of
this article thought it incumbent on him to repeat them
with some precautions, which probably had not been at¬
tended to by Mr. Sulzer. He was particularly anxious to
have the air as free as possible from moisture. For this
purpose, having detached the short leg of the syphon, which
was 34 inches long, he boiled mercury in it, and filled it
with mercury boiling hot. He took a tinplate vessel of suf¬
ficient capacity, and put into it a quantity of powdered
quicklime just taken from the kiln ; and having closed the
mouth, he agitated the lime through the air in the vessel,
and allowed it to remain there all night. He then emptied
the mercury out of the syphon into this vessel, keeping the
open end far within it. By this means the short leg of the
syphon was filled with very dry air. The other part was
now joined, and boiled mercury put into the bend of the
syphon ; and the experiment was then prosecuted with mer¬
cury which had been recently boiled, and was the same
with which the barometer had been carefully filled.
The results of the experiments are expressed in the fol¬
lowing table:
First set.
Second set.
Third set.
1-000
2-000
3- 000
4- 000
5- 500
6- 000
7-620
E
1-000
1- 957
2- 848
3- 737
4- 930
5- 342
6- 490
1-000
2-000
3- 000
4- 000
5- 500
6- 000
7-620
1-000
1-920
3-839
3-726
5-000
5- 452
6- 775
1-000
2-000
3- 000
4- 000
5- 500
6- 000
7-620
1-000
1- 909
2- 845
3- 718
5-104
5- 463
6- 812
Here it appears again in the clearest manner that the elas¬
ticities do not increase as fast as the densities, and the dif¬
ferences are even greater than in Mr. Sulzer’s experiments.
The second set contains the results of experiments which
54
PNEUMATICS.
Mode ofex-
were made on very damp air in a warm summer’s morning.
In these it appears that the elasticities are almost precisely
proportional to the densities + a small constant quantity,
nearly Oil, deviating from this rule chiefly between the
densities 1 and OS, within which limits we have very nearly
D=E1'0017. As this air is nearer to the constitution of at¬
mospheric air than the former, this rule may be safely fol¬
lowed in cases where atmospheric air is concerned, as in
measuring the depths of pits by the barometer.
The third set shows the compression and elasticity of
air strongly impregnated with the vapours of camphire.
Here the Boylean law appears pretty exact, or rather the
elasticity seems to increase a little faster than the density.
Dr. Hooke examined the compression of air by immers¬
ing a bottle to great depths in the sea, and weighing the
water which got into it without any escape of air. But
this method was liable to great uncertainty, on account of
the unknown temperature of the sea at great depths.
Hitherto we have considered only such air as is not
amining the rarer t]lan what we breathe; we must take a very diffe-
elasticity of rent method for examining the elasticity of rarefied air.
rarefied a,r.Let gh (fig. 67,) be a long tube,
formed a-top into a cup, and of suf- Fig. 67. Fig. 68.
ficient diameter to receive another ,c
smaller tube af, open at first at both
ends. Let the outer tube and cup
be filled with mercury, which will
rise in the inner tube to the same
level. Let af now be stopped at a.
It contains air of the same density
and elasticity with the adjoining at¬
mosphere. Note exactly the space
a b which it occupies. Draw it up
into the position of fig. 68, and let
the mercury stand in it at the height
de, whilst ce is the height of the
mercury in the barometer. It is
evident that the column cl e is in
equilibrio between the pressure of the
atmosphere and the elasticity of the
air included in the space a d. And
since the weight of ce would be in
equilibrio with the whole pressure of
the atmosphere, the weight of c e? is
equivalent to the elasticity of the in¬
cluded air. Whilst therefore ce is
the measure of the elasticity of the
surrounding atmosphere, c d will be
the measure of the elasticity of the
included air; and since the air originally occupied
the space a b, and has now expanded into a d, Fig. 69*
ab
we have ^ for the measure of its density. N.B.
c e and c d are measured by the perpendicular
heights of the columns, but a b and a d must be
measured by their solid capacities.
By raising the inner tube still higher, the mer¬
cury will also rise higher, and the included air
will expand still farther, and we obtain another
c d, and another —and in this manner the re-
ad
lation between the density and elasticity of rare¬
fied air may be discovered.
This examination may be managed more easi¬
ly by means of the air-pump. Suppose a tube
ae (fig. 69) containing a small quantity of air a b,
set up in a cistern of mercury, which is support¬
ed in the tube at the height e b, and let e c be
the height of the mercury in the barometer. Let
this apparatus be set under a tubulated receiver
!Jc/
/?L.
3
i„ tc
67
An easier
method.
LD
on the pump-plate, and let g n be the pump-gage, and m n Experi-
be made equal to c e. ments on
Then, as has been already shown, c 6 is the measure of alr-
the elasticity of the air in a b, corresponding to the bulk a
Now let some air be abstracted from the receiver. The
elasticity of the remainder will be diminished by its expan¬
sion ; and therefore the mercury in the tube a e will de¬
scend to some point d. For the same reason, the mercury
in the gage will rise to some point o, and m o will express
the elasticity of the air in the receiver. This would sup¬
port the mercury in the tube a e at the height e r, if the
space a r were entirely void of air. Therefore t- c? is the ef¬
fect and measure of the elasticity of the included air when it
has expanded to the bulk ad; and thus its elasticity, under a
variety of other bulks, may be compared with its elasticity
when of the bulk ab. When the air has been so far abstract¬
ed from the receiver that the mercury in a e descends to e,
then in o will be the precise measure of its elasticity.
In all these cases it is necessary to compare its bulk a b
with its natural bulk, in which its elasticity balances the
pressure of the atmosphere. This may be clone by laying
the tube a c horizontally, and then the air will collapse in¬
to its ordinary bulk.
Another easy method may be taken for this examination. Another
Let an apparatus a b c d ef (fig. 70,) be made, consisting method.
Fig. 70.
of a horizontal tube a e of even bore, a ball dgeofa, large
diameter, and a swan-neck tube h f. Let the ball and part
of the tube <7 e ft be filled with mercury, so that the tube
may be in the same horizontal plane with the surface d e
of the mercury in the ball. Then seal up the end a, and
connect f with an air-pump. When the air is abstracted
from the surface d e, the air in a ft will expand into a larger
bulk a c, and the mercury in the pump-gage will rise to
some distance below the barometric height. It is evident
that this distance, without any farther calculation, will be
the measure of the elasticity of the air pressing on the sur¬
face d e, and therefore of the air in a e.
The most exact of all methods is to suspend in the re- The most
ceiver of an air-pump a glass vessel, having a very narrow exact mode
mouth, over a cistern of mercury, and then abstract the air
till the gage rises to some determined height. The differ¬
ence e between this height and the barometric height de¬
termines the elasticity of the air in the receiver and in the
suspended vessel. Now, lower down that vessel by the slip-
wire till its mouth is immersed into the mercury, and admit
the air into the receiver ; it will press the mercury into the
little vessel. Lower it still further down, till the mercury
within it is level with that without; then stop its mouth,
take it out and weigh the mercury, and let its weight be w.
Subtract this weight from the weight v of the mercury,
which would completely fill the whole vessel; then the natural
bulk of the air will be v—w, whilst its bulk, when of the
elasticity e in the rarefied receiver, was the bulk or capacity
w of the vessel. Its density therefore, corresponding to
qj ID
this elasticity e, was ~~w~- And thus may the relation be¬
tween density and elasticity in all cases be obtained.
A great variety of experiments to this purpose have been Various ex-
made, with different degrees of attention, according to the periments
interest which the philosophers had in the result. Those to
made by M. de Luc, General Roy, Mr. Trembley, and Sir (^epur“
George Shuckburgh, are by far the most accurate; but they
are all confined to very moderate rarefactions. The gene-
PNEUMATICS.
55
Boylean ral result has been, that the elasticity of rarefied air is very
Lavv nearly proportional to its density. We cannot say with con-
fidence that any regular deviation from this law has been
observed, there being as many observations on one side as
on the other; but we think that it is not unworthy the at¬
tention of philosophers to determine it with precision in the
cases of extreme rarefaction, where the irregularities are
most remarkable. The great source of error is a certain ad¬
hesive sluggishness of the mercury when the impelling forces
are very small; and other fluids can hardly be used, because
they either smear the inside of the tube and diminish its
capacity, or they are converted into vapour, which alters the
law of elasticity.
The Boy- Let us, upon the vrhole, assume the Boylean law, viz.
lean law that the elasticity of the air is proportional to its density,
may be as- ]aw deviates not in any sensible degree from the truth
sumed. jn those cases which are of the greatest practical importance,
that is, when the density does not much exceed or fall short
of that of ordinary air.
Investiga- Let us now see what information this gives us with re-
tion. spect to the action of the particles on each other. The
investigation is extremely easy. We have seen that a
force eight times greater than the pressure of the atmos¬
phere will compress common air into the eighth part of its
common bulk, and give it eight times its common density;
and in this case we know, that the particles are at half their
former distance, and that the number which are now act¬
ing on the surface of the piston employed to compress them
is quadruple of the number which act on it when it is of the
common density. Therefore, when this eightfold com¬
pressing force is distributed over a fourfold number of
particles, the portion of it which acts on each is double. In
like manner, when a compressing force 27 is employed, the
air is compressed into of its former bulk, the particles are
at ^ of their former distance, and the force is distributed
among 9 times the number of particles; the force on each
is therefore 3. In short, let be the distance of the par¬
ticles, the number of them in any given vessel, and there¬
fore the density will be as ar3, and the number pressing by
their elasticity on its whole internal surface will be as x1.
Experiment shews, that the compressing force is as a?3, which
being distributed over the number as x1, will give the force
on each as x. Now, this force is in immediate equilibrium
with the elasticity of the particle immediately contiguous to
the compressing surface. This elasticity is therefore as x ;
and it follows from the nature of perfect fluidity, that the
particle adjoining to the compressing surface presses with
an equal force on its adjoining particles on every side.
Hence we must conclude, that the corpuscular repulsions
exerted by the adjoining particles are inversely as their dis¬
tances from each other, or that the adjoining particles tend
to recede from each other with forces inversely proportional
to their distances.
Sir Isaac Sir Isaac Newton was the first who reasoned in this man-
Newton pg,. from the phenomena. Indeed he was the first who had
ed properly. patience to reflect on the phenomena with any precision.
His discoveries in gravitation naturally gave his thoughts
this turn, and he very early hinted his suspicions that all the
characteristic phenomena of tangible matter were produced
by forces which were exerted by the particles at small and
insensible distances. And he considers the phenomena of
air as affording an excellent example of this investigation,
and deduces from them the law which we have now demon¬
strated ; and says, that air consists of particles which avoid
the adjoining particles with forces inversely proportional to
their distances from each other. From this he deduces (in the
second book of his Principles) several beautiful propositions,
determining the mechanical constitution of the atmosphere.
Limits. But it must be noticed that he limits this action to the
adjoining particles; and this is a remark of immense con¬
sequence, though not attended to by the numerous experi¬
menters who adopt the law.
It is plain that the particles are supposed to act at a dis¬
tance, and that this distance is variable, and that the forces
diminish as the distances increase. A very ordinary air-
pump will rarefy the air 125 times. The distance of the par¬
ticles is now 5 times greater than before ; and yet they still
repel each other ; for air of this density will still support the
24
mercury in a syphon-gage at the height of 0*24, or of
an inch ; and a better pump will allow this air to expand
twice as much, and still leave it elastic. Thus we see that
whatever is the distance of the particles of common air, they
can act five times further off. The question comes now to
be, Whether, in the state of common air, they really do act
five times further than the distance of the adjoining parti¬
cles ? Whilst the particle a acts on the particle b with the
force 5, does it also act on the particle c with the force 2’5,
on the particle e?with the force L667, on the particle e with
the force L25, on the particle ^with the force 1, on the
particle g with the force 0.833, &c.
Sir Isaac Newton shows in the plainest manner, that this
is by no means the case ; for if this were the case, he makes
it appear that the sensible phenomena of condensation would
be totally different from that we observe. The force ne¬
cessary for a quadruple condensation would be eight times
greater, and for a nonuple condensation the force must be
27 times greater. Two spheres filled with condensed air
must repel each other, and two spheres containing air that
is rarer than the surrounding air must attract each other,
&c. &c. All this will appear very clearly, by applying to
air the reasoning which Sir Isaac Newton has employed in
deducing the sensible law of mutual tendency of two spheres,
which consist of particles attracting each other with forces
proportional to the square of the distance inversely.
If we could suppose that the particles of air repelled each
other with invariable forces at all distances within some
small and insensible limit, this would produce a compressi¬
bility and elasticity similar to what we observe. For if we
consider a row of particles, within this limit, as compressed
by an external force applied to the two extremities, the ac¬
tion of the whole row on the extreme points would be pro¬
portional to the number of particles, that is, to their distance
inversely and to their density : and a number of such par¬
cels, ranged in a straight line, would constitute a row of any
sensible magnitude having the same law of compression.
But this law of corpuscular force is unlike every thing we
observe in nature, and to the last degree improbable.
We must therefore continue the limitation of this mutual
repulsion of the particles of air, and be contented for the
present with having established it as an experimental fact,
that the adjoining particles of air are kept asunder by forces
inversely proportional to their distances; or perhaps it is
better to abide by the sensible law, that the density of air is
proportional to the compressing force. This law is abun¬
dantly sufficient for explaining all the subordinate pheno¬
mena, and for giving us a complete knowledge of the me¬
chanical constitution of our atmosphere.
And, in the first place, this view of the compressibility The height
of the air must give us a very different notion of the height of the air
of the atmosphere from what we deduced on a former oc- investi-
casion from our experiments. It is found, that when the®ate^‘
air is of the temperature 32° of Fahrenheit’s thermometer,
and the mercury in the barometer stands at 30 inches, it
will descend one-tenth of an inch if we take it to a place
87 feet higher. Therefore, if the air were equally dense
and heavy throughout, the height of the atmosphere would
be 30 X 10X87 feet, or 5 miles and 100 yards. But the
loose reasoning adduced on that occasion was enough to
Height of
the atmos¬
phere.
56
PNEUMATICS.
Height
of the at¬
mosphere.
Fig. 71.
Experi¬
ment fixes
no limit to
the air’s ex¬
pansibility.
Farther oh
servations.
show us that it must be much higher; because every stratum
as we ascend must be successively rarer as it is less com¬
pressed by incumbent weight. Not knowing to what degree
air expanded when the compression was diminished, we
could not tell the successive diminutions of density and con¬
sequent augmentation of bulk and height; we could only
say, that several atmospheric appearances indicated a much
greater height. Clouds have been seen much higher; but
the phenomenon of the twilight is the most convincing proof
of this. There is no doubt that the visibility of the sky or
air is owing to its want of perfect transparency, each particle,
whether of matter purely aerial or heterogeneous, reflect¬
ing a little light.
Let b (fig. 71) be the last particle of illuminated air
which can be seen in the hori¬
zon by a spectator at A. This
must be illuminated by a ray
SD 6, touching the earth’s sur¬
face at some point D. Now
it is a known fact, that the de¬
gree of illumination called twi¬
light is perceived when the sun
is 18° below the horizon of the
spectator, that is, when the an¬
gle E 6 S or ACD is 18 de¬
grees ; therefore 6 C is the secant of 9 degrees (it is less,
viz. about 8^ degrees, on account of refraction). We know
the earth’s radius to be about 3970 miles: hence we con¬
clude 6 B to be about 45 miles ; nay, a very sensible illu¬
mination is perceptible much farther from the sun’s place
than this, perhaps twice as far, and the air is sufficiently dense
for reflectinga sensible light at the height of nearly 200 miles.
We have now seen that air is prodigiously expansible.
None of our experiments have distinctly shown us any limit-
But it does not follow that it is expansible without end;
nor is this at all likely. It is much more probable that there
is a certain distance of the parts in which they no longer
repel each other ; and this would be the distance at which
they would arrange themselves if they were not heavy. But
at the very summit of the atmosphere they will be a very
small matter nearer to each other, on account of their gra¬
vitation to the earth. Till we know precisely the law of
this mutual repulsion, we cannot say what is the height of
the atmosphere.
But if the air be an elastic fluid whose density is always
proportionable to the compressing force, we can tell what
is its density at any height above the surface of the earth:
and we can compare the density so calculated with the
density discovered by observation : for this last is measured
by the height at which it supports mercury in the barome-
rer. This is the direct measure of the pressure of the ex¬
ternal air ; and as wre know the law of gravitation, we can
tell what would be the pressure of air having the calculat¬
ed density in all its parts.
Let us therefore suppose a prismatic or cylindric column
of air reaching to the top of the atmosphere. Let this be
divided into an indefinite number of strata of very small
and equal depths or thickness; and let us, for greater sim¬
plicity, suppose at first that a particle of air is of the same
weight at all distances from the centre of the earth.
The absolute weight of any one of these strata will on
these conditions be proportional to the number of particles
or the gravity of air contained in it; and since the depth of
each stratum is the same, this quantity of air will evi¬
dently be as the density of the stratum. But the density of
any stratum is as the compressing force ; that is, as the
pressure of the strata above it; that is, as their weight; that
is, as their quantity of matter: therefore the quantity of air
in each stratum is proportional to the quantity of air above it.
The quantity in each stratum, however, is the difference be¬
tween the column incumbent on its bottom and on its top ;
therefore these differences are proportional to the quantities Height
of which they are the differences. But when there is a of the at-
series of quantities which are proportional to their own dif-
ferences, both the quantities and the differences are in con-
tinual or geometrical progression: for let a, b, c, be three
such quantities that b: c=a—b: b—c, then by alterna¬
tion and composition a : b=b : c, therefore the densities of
these strata decrease in a geometrical progression ; that is,
when the elevations above the centre or surface of the earth
increase, or their depths under the top of the atmosphere
decrease, in an arithmetical progression, the densities de¬
crease in a geometrical progression.
Let ARQ (fig- 72), represent
the section of the earth by a plane
through its centre O, and let
wOAM be a vertical line, and
AE perpendicular to OA will be
a horizontal line through A, a
point on the earth’s surface. Let
AE be taken to represent the
density of the air at A ; and let
DH, parallel to AE, be taken to
AE as the density at D is to the
density at A : it is evident, that
if a logistic or logarithmic curve
EHN be drawn, having AN for
its axis, and passing through the
points E and H, the density of
the air at any other point C, in
this vertical line, will be repre¬
sented by CG, the ordinate to
the curve in that point: for it is
the property of this curve, that if
portions AB, AC, AD, of its axis
to be taken in arithmetical pro¬
gression, the ordinates AE, BF,
CG, DH, will be in the geometrical progression.
It is another fundamental property of this curve, that if
EK or HS touch the curve in E or H, the subtangent AK
or DS is a constant quantity.
And a third fundamental property is, that the infinitely
extended area MAEN is equal to the rectangle KAEL of
the ordinate and subtangent; and, in like manner, the area
MDHN is equal to SDxDH, or to KAxDH; conse¬
quently the area lying beyond any ordinate is proportional to
that ordinate.
These geometrical properties of this curve are all analo¬
gous to the chief circumstances in the constitution of the at¬
mosphere, on the supposition of equal gravity. The area
MCGN represents the whole quantity of aereal matter
which is above C. For CG is the density at C, and CD is
the thickness of the stratum between C and D ; and there¬
fore CGHD will be as the quantity of matter or air in it;
and in like manner of all the others, and of their sums, or
the whole area MCGN; and as each ordinate is propor¬
tional to the area above it, so each density, and the quan¬
tity of air in each stratum, is proportional to the quantity of
air above it; and as the whole area MAEN is equal to the
rectangle KAEL, so the whole air of variable density above
A might be contained in a column KA, if, instead of being
compressed by its own weight, it were without weight, and
compressed by an external force equal to the pressure of
the air at the surface of the earth. In this case, it would
be of the uniform density AE, which it has at the surface
of the earth, making what we have repeatedly called the
homogeneous atmosphere.
Hence we derive this important circumstance, that the
height of the homogeneous atmosphere is the subtangent of
that curve, the ordinates of which are as the densities of the
air at different heights, on the supposition of equal gravity.
This curve may with propriety be called the atmospherical
Fig. 72.
PNEUMATICS.
57
Height logarithmic ; and as the different logarithmics are all cha-
of the at- racterised by their subtangents, it is of importance to de-
mosphere. termine this one,
It may be done by comparing the densities of mercury
and air. ^ For a column of air of uniform density, reaching
to the top of the homogeneous atmosphere, is in equilibrio
with the mercury in the barometer. Now, it is found, by
the best experiments, that when mercury and air are of the
temperature of 32° of Fahrenheit’s thermometer, and the
barometer stands at 30 inches, the mercury is nearly 10440
times denser than air. Therefore the height of the homo¬
geneous atmosphere is 10440 times 30 inches, or 26100
feet, or 8700 yards, or 4350 fathoms, or 5 miles wanting
100 yards.
Or it may be found by observations on the barometer. It
is found, that when the mercury and air are of the above
temperature, and the barometer on the sea-shore stands at
30 inches, if we carry it to a place 884 feet higher it will
fall to 29 inches. Now, in all logarithmic curves having
equal ordinates, the portions of the axes intercepted be¬
tween the corresponding pairs of ordinates ai'e proportional
to the subtangents. And the subtangents of the curve be¬
longing to our common tables is 0,4342945, and the differ¬
ence of the logarithms of 30 and 29, (which is the portion
of the axis intercepted between the ordinates 30 and 29),
or 0-0147233, is to 0-4342945 as 883 is to 26068 feet, or
8686 yards, or 4343 fathoms, or 5 miles wanting 114 yards.
This determination is 14 yards less than the other, and it is
uncertain which is the more exact. It is extremely difficult
to measure the respective densities of mercury and air ; and
in measuring the elevation which produces a fall of one inch
in the barometer, an error of l-20th of an inch would pro¬
duce all the difference. We prefer the last, as depending
on fewer circumstances.
But all this investigation proceeds on the supposition of
equal gravity, whereas we know that the weight of a parti¬
cle of air decreases as the square of its distance from the
Centre of the earth increases. In order, therefore, that a
superior stratum may produce an equal pressure at the sur¬
face of the earth, it must be denser, because a particle of it
gravitates less. The density, therefore, at equal elevations,
must be greater than on the supposition of equal gravity,
and the law of diminution of density must be different.
Make OD : OA=OA : Od;
OC : OA=OA : Oc;
OB : OA=OA : Ob; &c.j
so that Od, Oc, Ob, OA, may be reciprocals to OD, OC,
OB, OA; and through the points, A, b, c, d, draw the per¬
pendiculars AE, bf, eg, dh, making them proportional to the
densities in A, B, C, D : and let us suppose CD to be ex¬
ceedingly small, so that the density may be supposed uni¬
form through the whole stratum. Thus we have
OD x Od=OA2,=OC x Oc
and Oc : Od=OD : OC;
and Oc : Oc—Od =OD : OD—OC,
or Oc : ctf=OD : DC ;
and cd: CD=0 c : OD ;
or, because OC and OD are ultimately in the ratio of
equality, we have
cd: CD=Oc : OC=OA2 : OC2,
and cd= C D x
OA2
OC2’
and
cd X c#—CD X eg x
OA2 ,
oc2 5 but
CD XcgX ,^2 is as ttie pressure at C arising from the ab-
solute weight of the stratum CD. For this weight is as the
bulk, as the density, and as the gravitation of each particle
jointly. Now CD expresses the bulk, eg the density, and
Height
of the at¬
mosphere.
OA2
OC2’
the gravitation of each particle.
Therefore, cdxcg
is as the pressure on C arising from the weight of the stra¬
tum DC ; but cdxcg is evidently the element of the cur-
vilineal area AmnE, formed by the curve Efg h n and the
ordinates AE, bf, eg, ah, &c. mn. Therefore the sum of all
the elements, such &s c d h g, that is, the area c m n g be¬
low eg, will be as the whole pressure on C, arising from the
gravitation of all the air above it; but, by the nature of air,
this whole pressure is as the density which it produces, that
is, as eg. Therefore the curve E^ is of such a nature that
the area lying below or beyond any ordinate eg is propor¬
tional to that ordinate. This is the property of the loga¬
rithmic curve, and E <7 w is a logarithmic curve.
But farther, this curve is the same with EGN. For let
B continually approach to A, and ultimately coincide with
it. It is evident that the ultimate ratio of BA to Ab, and
of BF to bf, is that of equality ; and if EFK, Efk, be drawn,
they will contain equal angles with the ordinate AE, and
will cut off equal subtangents AK, Ah. The curves EGN,
Egn are therefore the same, but in opposite positions.
Lastly, if OA, Ob, Oc, Od, &c. be taken in arithmetical
progression decreasing, their reciprocals OA, OB, OC, OD,
&c. will be in harmonical progression increasing, as is well
known ; but, from the nature of the logarithmic curve, when
OA, Ob, Oc, Od, &c. are in arithmetical progression, the
ordinates AE, bf, eg, dh, &c. are in geometrical progression.
Therefore when OA, OB, OC, OD, &c. are in harmonical
progression, the densities of the air at A, B, C, D, &c. are
in geometrical progression ; and thus may the density of the
air at all elevations be discovered. Thus, to find the den¬
sity of the air at K the top of the homogeneous atmosphere,
make OK : OA = OA : Od, and draw the ordinate dh, dh
is the density at K.
The celebrated Dr. Halley was the first who observed the
relation between the density of the air and the ordinates of
the logarithmic curve, or common logarithms. This he did
on the supposition of equal gravity : and his discovery is ac¬
knowledged by Sir Isaac Newton in his Principia, n.prop. 22,
schol. Halley’s dissertation on the subject is in No. 185 of
the Philosophical Transactions. Newton, with his usual
sagacity, extended the same relation to the true state of the
case, where gravity is as the square of the distance inverse¬
ly ; and showed that when the distances from the earth’s
centre are in harmonic progression, the densities are in geo¬
metric progression. He shows, indeed, in general, what pro¬
gression of the distance, on any supposition of gravity, will
produce a geometrical progression of the densities, so as to
obtain a set of lines OA, Ob, Oc, Od, &c. which will be lo¬
garithms of the densities.1
From these principles a corollary is deducible, viz., that the Probable
air has a finite density at an infinite distance from the centre limit to ap-
of the earth, which will be represented by the ordinate OP plication of
drawn through the centre. But from this corollary it would ^ e 8
follow, that our moon must attract and acquire to itself a por¬
tion of this atmosphere, bearing an approximate relation to tbe
gravity at its surface. Astronomy pronounces this highly im¬
probable, and thus sets a practical limit to the law of com¬
pression equal to elasticity, on which our reasoning is founded.
1 The subject was afterwards treated in a more familiar manner by Cotes in his Hydrostatic Lectures, and in his Harmonia Mensurarum;
by Dr. Brook Taylor, in his Methodus Increment.: by Wolf in his Aerometria; by Herman in his Phororwmia ; and by Horsley in the Ph\-
losophical Transactions, tom. Ixiv.
VOL. XVIII.
H
58
PNEUMATICS.
Air in
motion.
We have thus given an elementary account of the dis¬
tinguishing properties of air as a heavy and compressible
fluid, and of the general phenomena which are immediate
consequences of these properties. This we have done in a
set of propositions analogous to those which form the doc¬
trines of hydrostatics. It remains to consider it in another
point of view, namely, as moveable and inert. The phe¬
nomena consequent on these properties are exhibited in the
velocities which air acquires by pressure, in the resistance
which bodies meet with to their motion through the air,
and in the impression which air in motion gives to bodies
exposed to its action.
Doctrine of We shall first consider the motions of which air is suscep-
air acted on tible when the equilibrium of pressure, whether arising
by equal from its wreight or its elasticity, is removed; and, in the
and parallel next p]acej we consider its action on solid bodies ex-
Klavlfy* posed to its current, and the resistance which it makes to
their motion through it. In this consideration we shall avoid
the extreme of generality, which renders the discussion too
abstract and difficult, and adapt our investigation to the cir¬
cumstances in which compressible fluids, of which air is
taken for the representative, are most commonly found. We
shall consider air therefore as it is commonly found in ac¬
cessible situations, as acted on by equal and parallel gra¬
vity ; and we shall consider it in the same order in which
water is treated in a system of hydraulics.
In that science the leading problem is to determine with
what velocity the water will move through a given orifice
when impelled by some known pressure; and it has been
found, that the best form in which this most difficult and
intricate proposition can be put, is to determine the velocity
of water flowing through this orifice when impelled by its
weight alone. Having determined this, we can reduce to
this case every question which can be proposed, for in place
of the pressure of any piston or other mover, we can always
substitute a perpendicular column of water or air whose
weight shall be equal to the given pressure.
The veioci- The first problem, therefore, is to determine with what
ty with velocity air will rush into a void when impelled by its weight
which air alone. This is evidently analogous to the hydraulic prob¬
rushes intolem of water flowing out of a vessel. And here we must
be contented with referring our readers to the solutions
which have been given of that problem, and the demon¬
stration that it flows with the velocity which a heavy body
would acquire by falling from a height equal to the depth
of the hole under the surface of the water in the vessel.
In whatever way we attempt to demonstrate that proposi¬
tion, every step, nay, every word, of the demonstration ap¬
plies equally to the air, or to any fluid whatever. Or, if
our readers should wish to see the connexion or analogy of
the cases, we only desire them to recollect an undoubted
maxim in the science of motion, that “ when the moving
force and the matter to be moved vary in the same propor¬
tion, the velocity will be the same.” If therefore there be
similar vessels of air, water, oil, or any other fluid, all of the
height of a homogeneous atmosphere, they will all run
through equal and similar holes with the same velocity; for
in whatever proportion the quantity of matter moving through
the hole be varied by a variation of density, the pressure
which forces it out, by acting in circumstances perfectly
similar, varies in the same proportion by the same variation
of density. We must therefore assume it as the leading
proposition, that “ air rushes from the atmosphere into a
void with the velocity which a heavy body would acquire
by falling from the top of a homogeneous atmosphere.”
It is known that air is about 840 times lighter than wa¬
ter, and that the pressure of the atmosphere supports water
at the height of 33 feet nearly. The height therefore of a
homogeneous atmosphere is nearly 33 X 840, or 27,720 feet.
Moreover, to know the velocity acquired by any fall, recol¬
lect that a heavy body by falling one foot acquires the ve-
Air 5a
motion.
a void.
locity of 8 feet per second ; and that the ve-A.cities acquired
by falling through different heights are as the square roots
of the heights. Therefore to find the velocity correspond¬
ing to any height, expressed in feet per second, multiply
the square root of the height by 8. We have therefore in
the present instance V = 8>/27,^20 = 8 x 166’493 = 1332
feet per second. This therefore is the velocity with which
common air will rush into a void ; and this may be taken
as a standard number in pneumatics, as 16 and 32 are
standard numbers in the general science of mechanics,
expressing the action of gravity at the surface of the
earth.
It is easy to see that greater precision is not necessary
in this matter. The height of a homogeneous atmosphere
is a variable thing, depending on the temperature of the air.
If this reason seems any objection against the use of the
number 1332, we may retain S-s/H in place of it, where H
expresses the height of a homogeneous atmosphere of the
given temperature. A variation of the barometer makes
no change in the velocity, nor in the height of the homo¬
geneous atmosphere, because it is accompanied by a pro¬
portional variation in the density of the air. When it is
increased T'5, for instance, the density is also increased ^ ;
and thus the expelling force and the matter to be moved
are changed in the same proportion, and the velocity re¬
mains the same. Observe, we do not here consider the ve¬
locity which the air acquires after its issuing into the void
by its continual expansion. This may be ascertained by
the 39th proposition of Newton’s Prmcijam, book first. Nay,
which appears very paradoxical, if a cylinder of air, com¬
municating in this manner with a void, be compressed by
a piston loaded with a weight, which presses it down as the
air flows out, and thus keeps it of the same density, the ve¬
locity of efflux will still be the same, however great the
pressure may chance to be ; for the first and immediate
effect of the load on. the piston is to reduce the air in the
cylinder to such a density that its elasticity shall exactly
balance the load ; and because the elasticity of air is pro¬
portional to its density, the density of the air will be in¬
creased in the same proportion with the load, that is, with
the expelling power, for we are neglecting at present the
weight of the included air as too inconsiderable to have
any sensible effect. Therefore, since the matter to be
moved is increased in the same proportion with the pres¬
sure, the velocity will be the same as before.
It is equally easy to determine the velocity with which The velo-
the air of the atmosphere will rush into a space containing city with
rarer air. Whatever may be the density of this air, its winch air
elasticity, which follows the proportion of its density, willrus es int0
balance a proportional part of the pressure of the atmos- taja-n
phere ; and it is the excess of this last only which is the rarer ajr.
moving force. The matter to be moved is the same as be¬
fore. Let D be the natural density of the air, and S the
density of the air contained in the vessel into which it is
supposed to run, and let P be the pressure of the atmos¬
phere, and therefore equal to the force which impels it in¬
to a void ; and let tt be the force with which this rarer air
would run into a void. We have D : 8=P : tt, and n—
P§
jy. Now the moving force in the present instance is P—t,
PS
or P— Lastly, let V be the velocity of air rushing in¬
to a void, and v the velocity with which it will rush into
this rarefied air.
It is a theorem in the motion of fluids, that the pressures
are as the squares of the velocities af efflux.
Therefore P : P -
PS
~D
=V2.
Hence we derive t?2=V2
»
PNEUMATICS.
59
Air m
motion
X 1—and v x V = ^/1—
We do not here con¬
sider the resistance which the air of the atmosphere will
meet with from the inertia of that in the vessel which it
must displace in its motion.
Here we see that there will always be a current into the
vessel while d is less than D.
We also learn the gradual diminution of the velocity as
the vessel fills; for S continually increases, and therefore
1 — continually diminishes.
It remains to determine the time t expressed in seconds,
in which the air of the atmosphere will flow into this ves¬
sel from its state of vacuity till the air in the vessel has ac¬
quired any proposed density 8.
For this purpose let H, expressed in feet, be the height
through which a heavy body must fall in order to acquire
the velocity V, expressed also in feet per second. This
we shall express more briefly in future, by calling it the
height producing the velocity V. Let C represent the ca¬
pacity of the vessel, expressed in cubic feet, and O the area
or section of the orifice, expressed in superficial or square
feet; and let the natural density of the air be D.
Since the quantity of aerial matter contained in a vessel
depends on the capacity of the vessel and the density of
the air jointly, we may express the air which would fill this
vessel by the symbol CD when the air is in its ordinary
state, and by C§ when it has the density 8. In order to
obtain the rate at which it fills, we must take the fluxion
of this quantity C8. This is C8; for C is a constant quan¬
tity, and 8 is a variable or flowfing quantity.
But we also obtain the rate of influx by our knowledge
of the velocity, and the area of the orifice, and the density.
The velocity is V, or S-y/H, at the first instant; and when
the air in the vessel has acquired the density 8, that is, at
the end of the time t, the velocity is Sy/Hy/1—or
By/Hy^n.8, or 8y/H*/D—
V D VD
The rate of influx therefore (which may be conceived as
measured by the little mass of air which will enter during the
time t with this velocity) will be 8-l, or
y/D
The motion ceases when the air in the vessel has ac- Air in
quired the density of the external air; that is, when 8=D, motion.
or when *=^5— X‘/T>, Therefore the
time of completely filling the vessel is
C
4 v^HO’
Let us illustrate this by an example in numbers.
Supposing then that air is 840 times lighter than water,
and the height of the homogeneous atmosphere 27,720
feet, we have 4VH=666. Let us further suppose the ves¬
sel to contain 8 cubic feet, which is nearly a wine hogs¬
head, and that the hole by which the air of the ordinary
density, which we shall make =1, enters, is an inch square,
or T¥ 4 °f a square foot. Then the time in seconds of corn¬
s' 1152"
pletely filling it will be —or-^-^r 1.7297'’- If
boo
the hole is only Ti5 of a square inch, that is, if its side is
tV °f an inch, the time of completely filling the hogshead
will be 173" very nearly, or something less than three mi¬
nutes.
If we make the experiment with a hole cut in a thin plate,
we shall find the time greater nearly in the proportion of
63 to 100, for reasons obvious to all who have studied hy¬
draulics. In like manner we can tell the time necessary for
bringing the air in the vessel tooths of its ordinary density. The
only variable part of our fluent is the coefficient —y/D 8.
or —S' Let 8 be=f, then V1—8= y/|=^, and
y/1—S=^ ; and the time is 86^" very nearly when the
hole is ^ of an inch wide.
Let us now suppose that the air in the vessel ABCD
(fig. 73.) is compressed by a weight acting on
the cover AD, which is moveable down the Fig. 73.
vessel, and is thus expelled into the external A D
air.
The immediate effect of this external pres¬
sure is to compress the air and give it ano¬
ther density. The density D of the external
air corresponds to its pressure P. Let the
additional pressure on the cover of the vessel c
be p, and the density of the air in the vessel B
bed. We shall have P : P-{-j»=:D : d; and
Fig. 73.
The velo¬
city of air
with the
impulse of
a weight
moving
down the
vessel.
therefore p—T? X
d—D
D *
Then, because the pressure
Sy/HOVD^/l)—81, multiplying the velocity by the ori¬
fice and the density.
Here then we have two values of the rate of influx. By
stating them as equal we have a fluxionary equation, from
which we may obtain the fluents, that is, the time t in se¬
conds necessary for bringing the air in the vessel to the
density 8, or the density 8 which will be produced at the
end of any time t. We have the equation 8y/HOy/D
Vn-8 *=C8. Hencewe derive ^i^HOVD *
Of this the fluent is 1= X A, in which
A is a conditional constant quantity. The condition which
determines it is, that t must be nothing when 8 is nothing,
that is, when ^/D—Srr^/D; for this is evidently the case
at the beginning of the motion. Hence it follows, that the
constant quantity is JV), and the complete fluent, suited
to the case, is
C __   
4y/HOy/D X -v/D—*/L>—8*
which expels the air is the difference between the force
which compresses the air in the vessel and the force which
compresses the external air, the expelling force is p. And
because the quantities of motion are as the forces which simi¬
larly produce them, we shall have P : » X = MV :
D
mv ; w here M and m express the quantities of matter ex¬
pelled, V expresses the velocity with which air rushes into
a void, and v expresses the velocity sought. But because
the quantities of aerial matter which issue from the same
orifice in a moment are as the densities and velocities joint¬
ly, we shall have MV : t/mj^DW : diw = DV2 : dv1.
Therefore P: p - — = DV2 : dv. Hence we deduce
V=Vv/^=lE .
d
We may have another expression of the velocity with¬
out considering the density. We had P : P-f-p=D :
therefore <7= ^ and d—D—  H, sas
r
60
Air in DxP+P—DP ,d-
motion.   r)  , and —
_ Z
PNE UM
-D _ D x~P+/>—DP _ P +/>—P
P+P
D x P+i?
, which is a very sim-
- V+p> therefore «=VX J
pie and convenient expression.
Hitherto we have considered the motion of air as pro¬
duced by its weight only. Let us now consider the effect
of its elasticity.
The effect Let ABCD (fig. 73) be a vessel containing air of any
of the air s density D. This air is in a state of compression ; and if
elasticity the compressing force be removed, it will expand, and its
■onsidered. e]asticity will diminish along with its density. Its elasti¬
city in any state is measured by the force which keeps it
in that state. The force which keeps common air in its
ordinary density is the weight of the atmosphere, and is
the same with the weight of a column of water 33 feet
high. If therefore we suppose that this air, instead of being
confined by the top of the vessel, is pressed down by a
moveable piston carrying a column of water 33 feet high,
its elasticity will balance this pressure as it balances the
pressure of the atmosphere ; and as it is a fluid, and pro¬
pagates through every part the pressure exerted on any
one part, it will press on any little portion of the vessel by
its elasticity in the same manner as when loaded with this
column.
The consequence of this reasoning is, that if the small
portion of the vessel be removed, and thus a passage be
made into a void, the air will begin to flow out with the
same velocity with which it would flow when impelled by
its weight alone, or with the velocity acquired by falling
from the top of a homogeneous atmosphere, or 1332 feet in
a second nearly.
But as soon as some air has come out, the density of the
remaining air is diminished, and its elasticity is diminished ;
therefore, the expelling force is diminished. But the matter
to be moved is diminished in the very same proportion, be¬
cause the density and elasticity are found to vary according
to the same law; therefore the velocity will continue the
same from the beginning to the end of the efflux.
This may be seen in another way. Let P be the pres¬
sure of the atmosphere, which being the counter-balance
and measure of the initial elasticity, is equal to the expell¬
ing force at the first instant. Let D be the initial density,
and V the initial velocity. Let d be its density at the end
of the time t of efflux, and v the contemporaneous velocity.
It is plain that at the end of this time we shall have the ex¬
pelling force 7r= ^; for " " ^
D—D^P-(=!>)■
A T I C S.
has been said above) the bulk 8VHO* (for the velocity V
is constant); and therefore the quantity SVllQdt. On the
other hand, the quantity of air at the beginning was CD, C
being the capacity of the vessel; and when the air has ac*-
quired the density d, the quantity is Cd; therefore the
quantity which has run out in the time t must be the flux¬
ion of CD Cd, or —Cd. Therefore we have the equation
A', —C ^
SVllOdt = —Cd, and t —
Air in
motion.
The fluent of this is t—
8VHOd’
C
X
8VHO '' d
log. <7. This fluent must
8VHO
be so taken that t may be =0 when </—D. Therefore the
C , D . . D ,
correct fluent will be *=8v>p[Q Iog- ^ for log- jJ = log-
], =0. We deduce from this, that it requires an infinite
time for the whole air of a vessel to flow out of it into a
void. N.B. By log. d, &c. is meant the hyperbolic logarithm
of d, See.
Let us next suppose that the vessel, instead of letting out W}len t^e
its air into a void, emits it into air of a less density, which re- vessei emits
mains constant during the efflux, as we may suppose to be it into rarei
the case when a vessel containing condensed air emits it air.
into the surrounding atmosphere. Let the initial density
of the air in the vessel be 8, and that of the atmosphere D.
PD
Then it is plain that the expelling force is P —, and
that after the time t it is
Vd
PD
8
We have therefore P
PD Pd PD
 : —   =MV: mv,=8Y2; dv2. Whence we
8 8 8
8 d—D
derive r=V /
V rfS—D
From this equation we learn that the motion will be at
an end when d=D: and if &=D there can be no efflux.
To find the relation between the time and the density, Re]atj0I1
let H, as before, be the height producing the velocity V. between
The height producing the velocity of efflux v must be H the time
and density.
X
8d—D
d8—D
and the little parcel of air which will flow out
in the time t will —SYdOdt
J.
8d—D
d8—DI
On the other
—d
X
J dl—cxi
These forces are proportional to the quantities of motion
which they produce ; and the quantities of motion are pro¬
portional to the quantities of matter M and m and the ve-
Pd
locities V and v jointly: therefore we have P : — MV :
mv. But the quantities of matter which escape through a when d—8, is t—
given orifice are as the densities and velocities jointly; that
Vd
is, M : m=D V : dv: therefore P : -jj- = D V2 : dv2, and P
hand, it is = —Cd.
Cj'8-D
Hence we deduce the fluxionary equation t=
„ PcZDV2
X dv = —^— = PcZV2, and Y2=v2, and Y=v, and the
velocity of efflux is constant. Hence follows, what appears
very unlikely at first sight, that however much the air in
the vessel is condensed, it will always issue into avoid with
the same velocity.
Quantity ln order to find the quantity of aerial matter which will
ingfincTa' ^ssue durjng anY £, and consequently the density of
void, and l^e rema'rhng ah at the end of this time, we must get the
density. rate of efflux. In the element of time t there issues (by what
The fluent of this corrected so as to make t= 0
CVS—D /S—iD + */s2—Dj\
8VHOVS X
And the time of completing the efflux, when d=C>, is < =
CVS—D
X l0£
s—ID + Vs2—DS>
8VHOVS'
Lastly, let ABCD,CFGH (fig.
74) be two vessels containing ains
of different densities, and commu¬
nicating by the orifice C, there
will be a current from the vessel
containing the denser air into that
containing the rarer; suppose from
ABCD intoCFGH.
Let P be the elastic force of
Fig. 74.
When issu¬
ing from
denser into
rarer air.
PNEUMATICS.
61
Air in the air in ABCD, Q its density, and V its velocity, and D
motion, the density of the air in CFGH. And, after the time t,
—^T^let the density of the air in ABCD be 9, its velocity
v, and the density of the air in CFGH be 8. The ex-
PD
pelling force from ABCD will be P at the first in¬
stant, and at the end of the time t it will be^ —
Therefore we shall have p— -q •' ~ =QVJ:yv ,
which gives v=V X y and the motion will
when 8—q. , r> ,
Let A be the capacity of the first vessel, and 15 that ot
the second. We have the second equation AQ + BD=
A9+BS, and therefore 8= Substituting
this value of 8 in the former value of v, we have v=Vx
cease
'—D)—A(Q—9)]
— - x , which gives the relation be-
qB(Q—D) 6
tween the velocity v and the density q.
In order to ascertain the time when the air in ABCD
has acquh'ed the density q, it will be convenient to abridge
the work by some substitutions. Therefore make Q.(B -f-A)
=M, BQD + BQ2=N, BQ—BD=R and Then,
proceeding as before, we obtain the fluxionary equation
i=^Q—q = —Aq, whence i =
X ^ — of which the fluent, complet-
8\/HOVM ' V q1—mq
ed so that t—0 when q = Q, is (=
( Q—\m + G2 ^ G)\
AVR
Sv'HOV'M
X log.
V q—^m-\-V(q^mq) )
When air Some of these questions are of difficult solution, and they
is expelled are n°l: frequent use in the more important and usual ap-
by force, plications of the doctrines of pneumatics, at least in their
present form. The cases of greatest use are when the air
is expelled from a vessel by an external force, as when bel¬
lows are worked, whether of the ordinary form or consisting
of a cylinder fitted with a movement piston. This last case
merits a particular consideration ; and, fortunately, the inves¬
tigation is extremely easy.
Let AD (fig. 73) be considered as a piston moving down¬
ward with the uniform velocity f, and let the area of the
piston be n times the area of the hole of efflux, then the ve¬
locity of efflux arising from the motion of the piston be nf.
Add this to the velocity V produced by the elasticity of the
air in the first question, and the whole velocity will beV -\-nf.
It will be the same in the other. The problem is also freed
from the consideration of the time of efflux. For this depends
now on the velocity of the piston. It is still, however, a very
intricate problem to ascertain the relation between the time
and the density,even though the piston is moving uniformly;
for at the beginning of the motion the air is of common density.
As the piston descends, it both expels and compresses the
air, and the density of the air in the vessel varies in a vqry
intricate manner, as also its resistance or reaction on the
piston. For this reason, a piston which moves uniformly by
means of an external force, will never make an uniform blast
by successive strokes ; it will always be weaker at the be¬
ginning of the stroke. The best way for securing an uniform
blast is to employ the external force only for lifting up the
piston, and then to let the piston descend by its own weight.
Air in
motion.
In this way it will quickly sink down, compressing the air,
till its density and corresponding elasticity exactly balance,
the weight of the piston. After this the piston will descend _ Y ~
equably, and fhe blast will be uniform. These observations
and theorems Will serve^ to determine the initial velocity of
the air in all important case,S'qf its expulsion. The philoso¬
pher will learn the rate of iti .efflux out of one vessel into
another ; the chemist will be able to calculate the quantities
of the different gases which are employed in the curious ex¬
periments of the ingenious but unfortunate Lavoisier on
combustion, and will find them extremely different from
what he supposed; the engineer will learn how to propor¬
tion the motive force of his machine to the quantity of serial
matter which his bellows must supply. But it is not enough,
for this purpose, that the air begin to issue in the proper
quantity ; we must see whether it be not affected by the cir¬
cumstances of its subsequent passage.
All the modifications of motion which are observed inPassageof
water conduits take place also in the passage of air through ai.r thr°u^
pipes and holes of all kinds. There is the same diminution pipes’ c‘
of quantity passing through a hole in a thin plate that is ob¬
served in water. We know that, abating the small effect
of friction, water issues with the velocity acquired by fall¬
ing from the surface ; and yet if we calculate by this velocity
and by the area of the orifice, we shall find the quantity of
water deficient nearly in the proportion of 63 to 100. This
is owing to the water pressing towards the orifice from all
sides, which occasions a contraction of the jet. The same
thing happens in the efflux of air. Also the motion of water
is greatly impeded by all contractions of its passage. These
oblige it to accelerate its velocity, and therefore require an
increase of pressure to force it through them, and this in
proportion to the squares of the velocities. Thus, if a ma¬
chine working a pump causes it to give a certain number of
strokes in a minute, it will deliver a determined quantity of
water in that time. Should it happen that the passage of
the water is contracted to one half in any part of the ma¬
chine, a thing which frequently happens at the valves, the
water must move through this contraction with twice the
velocity that it has in the rest of the passage. This will re¬
quire four times the force to be exerted on the piston. Nay,
if no part of the passage is narrower than the barrel of the
pump, but on the contrary a part much wider, and if the con¬
duit be again contracted to the width of the barrel, an addi¬
tional force must be applied to the piston to drive the water
through this passage, which would not have been necessary
if the passage had not been widened in any part. It will
require a force equal to the weight of a column of water of the
height necessary for communicating a velocity, the square of
which is equal to the difference of the squares of the velocities
of the water in the wide and the narrow part of the conduit.
The same thing takes place in the motion of air, and there¬
fore all contractions and dilatations must be carefully avoid¬
ed, when we want to preserve the velocity unimpaired.
Air also suffers the same retardation in its motion along A'r suffers
pipes. By not knowing, or not attending to that, engineers retardation
of the first reputation have been prodigiously disappointed14 onsplpes,
in their expectations of the quantity of air which will be de¬
livered by long pipes. Its extreme mobility and lightness
hindered them from suspecting that it would suffer any sen¬
sible retardation. Dr. Papin, a most ingenious man, pro¬
posed this as the most effectual method of transferring the
rction of a moving power to a great distance. Suppose, for
instance, that it was required to raise water out of a mine
by a water-machine, and that there was no fall of water
nearer than a mile’s distance. He employed this water to
drive a piston, which should compress the air in a cylinder
communicating, by a long pipe, with another cylinder at the
mouth of the mine. This second cylinder had a piston in
it, whose rod was to give motion to the pumps at the mine.
He expected, that as soon as the piston at the water-machine
62 P N E D M
Air in had compressed the air sufficiently, it would cause the air in
motion, the cylinder at the mine to force up its piston, and thus work
the pumps. Dr. Hooke made many objections to the me¬
thod, when laid before the Royal Society, and it was much
debated there. But dynamics was at this time an infant
science, and very little understood. Newton had not then
taken any part in the business of the society, otherwise the
true objections would not have escaped his sagacious mind.
Notwithstanding Papin’s great reputation as an engineer and
mechanic, he could not bring his scheme into use in Eng¬
land ; but afterwards, in France and in Germany, where he
settled, he got some persons of great fortunes to employ him
in this project; and he erected great machines in Auvergne
and Westphalia for draining mines. But, so far from being
effective machines, they would not even begin to move. He
attributed the failure to the quantity of air in the pipe of
communication, which must be condensed before it can con¬
dense the air in the remote cylinder. This indeed is true,
and he should have thought of this earlier. He therefore
diminished the size of this pipe, and made his water-machine
exhaust instead of condensing, and had no doubt but that
the immense velocity with which air rushes into a void would
make a rapid and effectual communication of power. But
he was equally disappointed here, and the machine at the
mine stood still as before.
Nearly a century after this, a very intelligent engineer
attempted a much more feasible thing of this kind at an iron-
foundery in Wales. He erected a machine at a powerful fall
of water, which worked a set of cylinder bellows, the blow¬
pipe of which was conducted to the distance of a mile and
a half, where it was applied to a blast furnace. But not¬
withstanding every care to make the conducting pipe very
air-tight, of great size, and as smooth as possible, it would
hardly blow out a candle. The failure was ascribed to the
impossibility of making the pipe air-tight. But, what was
surprising, above ten minutes elapsed after the action of the
pistons in the bellows before the least wind could be per¬
ceived at the end of the pipe; whereas the engineer ex¬
pected an interval of six seconds only.
No very distinct theory can be delivered on this subject;
but we may derive considerable assistance in understanding
the causes of the obstruction to the motion of water in long
pipes, by considering what happens to air. The elasticity
of the air, and its great compressibility, have given us the
distinctest notions of fluidity in general, shewing us, in a
way that can hardly be controverted, that the particles of a
fluid are kept at a distance from each other, and from other
bodies, by the corpuscular forces.
How fluids The writers on hydrodynamics have always considered the
are ob- obstruction to the motion of fluids along canals of any kind,
moving ^ aS ow.inS t0 something like the friction by which the motion
along ca- so^ bodies on each other is obstructed ; but we cannot
nals. f°rm to ourselves any distinct notion of resemblance, or even
analogy between them. The fact is, however, that a fluid
running along a canal has its motion obstructed ; and that
this obstruction is greatest in the immediate vicinity of the
solid canal, and gradually diminishes to the middle of the
stream. It appears, therefore, that the parts of fluids can no
more move among each other than among solid bodies, with¬
out suffering a diminution of their motion. The parts in phy¬
sical contact with the sides and bottom are retarded by these
immoveable bodies. The particles of the next stratum of
fluid cannot preserve their initial velocities without over¬
passing the particles of the first stratum; and it appears from
the fact that they are by this means retarded. They retard
in the same manner the particles of the third stratum, and
so on to the middle stratum or thread of fluid. It appears
from the fact, therefore, that this sort of friction is not a
consequence of rigidity alone, but that it is equally compe¬
tent to fluids. Nay, since it is a matter of fact in air, and
is even more remarkable there than in any other fluid, as we
A T I C S.
shall see by the experiments which have been made on the Aii;111
subject; and as our experiments on the compression of air motlon-
shew us the particles of air ten times nearer to each other
in some cases than in others (viz. when we see air a thousand
times denser in these cases), and therefore force us to ac¬
knowledge that they are not in contact; it is plain that this
obstruction has no analogy to friction, which supposes rough¬
ness or inequality of surface. No such inequality can be
supposed in the surface of an aerial particle; nor would it
be of any service in explaining the obstruction, since the
particles do not rub on each other, but pass each other at
some small and imperceptible distance. We must therefore
have recourse to some other mode of explication. We shall
apply this to air only in this place; and, since it is proved
by the incontrovertible experiments of Canton, Zimmerman,
and others, that water, mercury, oil, &c., are also compres¬
sible and perfectly elastic, the argument from this principle,
which is conclusive in air, must equally explain the similar
phenomenon in hydraulics.
«The most highly polished body which we know must be Particles
conceived as having an uneven surface when we compare it of air resisi
with the small spaces in which the corpuscular forces area
exerted ; and a quantity of air moving in a polished pipe may fr1oni a rec'
be compared to a quantity of small shot sliding down a chan- anumlula
nel with undulated sides and bottom. The row of particles ting mo-*
immediately contiguous to the sides will therefore have an tion.
undulated motion: but this undulation of the contiguous
particles of air will not be so great as that of the surface
along which they glide ; for not only every motion requires
force to produce it, but also every change of motion. The
particles of air resist this change from a rectilineal to an un¬
dulating motion; and, being elastic, that is, repelling each
other and other bodies, they keep a little nearer to the sur¬
face as they are passing over an eminence, and their path is
less incurvated than the surface. . The difference between
the motion of the particles of air and the particles of a fluid
quite unelastic is, in this respect, somewhat like the differ¬
ence between the motion of a spring-carriage and that of a
common carriage. When the common carriage passes along
a road not perfectly smooth, the line described by the cen¬
tre of gravity of the carriage keeps perfectly parallel to that
described by the axis of the wheels, rising and falling along
with it. Now let a spring body be put on the same wheels
and pass along the same road. When the axis rises over an
eminence perhaps half an inch, sinks down again into the
next hollow, and then rises a second time, and so on, the
centre of gravity of the body describes a much straighter
line ; for upon the rising of the wheels, the body resists the
motion, and compresses the springs, and thus remains lower
than it would have been had the springs not been inter¬
posed. In like manner, it does not sink so low as the axle
does when the wheels go into a hollow. And thus the mo¬
tion of spring-carriages becomes less violently undulated
than the road along which they pass. This illustration will,
we hope, enable the reader to conceive how the deviation
of the particles next to the sides and bottom of the canal
from a rectilineal motion is less than that of the canal itself.
It is evident that the same reasoning will prove that the
undulation of the next row of particles will be less than that
of the first, that the undulation of the third row will be less
than that of the second, and so on, „
as is represented in fig. 75. And rig. /5.
thus it appears, that whilst the mass
of air has a progressive motion
along the pipe or canal, each par-
tide is describing a waving line, of which a line parallel to
the direction of the canal is the axis, cutting all these un¬
dulations. This axis of each undulated path will be straight
or curved as the canal is, and the excursions of the path on
each side of its axis will be less and less as the axis of the
path is nearer to the axis of the canal.
PNEUMATICS.
63
Air in Let us now see what sensible effect this will have ; for all
motion, the motion which we here speak of is imperceptible. It is
demonstrated in mechanics, that if a body moving with any
velocity be deflected from its rectilineal path by a curved
and perfectly smooth channel, to which the rectilineal path
is a tangent, it will proceed along this channel with undi¬
minished velocity. Now the path, in the present case, may
be considered as perfectly smooth, since the particles do not
touch it. It is one of the undulations which we are consi¬
dering, and we may at present conceive this as without any
subordinate inequalities. There should not, therefore, be
any diminution of the velocity. Let us grant this of the ab¬
solute velocity of the particle ; but what we observe is the
velocity of the mass, and we judge of it perhaps by the mo¬
tion of a feather carried along by it. Let us suppose a sin¬
gle atom to be a sensible object, and let us attend to two
such particles, one at the side, and the other in the middle :
although we cannot perceive the undulations of these parti¬
cles during their progressive motions, we see the progressive
motions themselves. Let us suppose, then, that the middle
particle has moved without any undulation whatever, and
that it has advanced ten feet. The lateral particle will also
have moved ten feet; but this has not been in a straight
line. It will not be so far advanced, therefore, in the direc¬
tion of the canal; it will be left behind, and will appear to
us to have been retarded in its motion; and in like manner
each thread of particles will apparently be more and more
retarded, as it recedes farther from the axis of the canal, or
what is usually called the thread of the stream.
The undu- And thus the observed fact is shewn to be a necessary
ktory m°-consequence of what we know to be the nature of a com-
rea? ob ^ possible or elastic fluid; and that without supposing any
struction. diminution in the real velocity of each particle, there will
be a diminution of the velocity of the sensible threads of the
general stream, and a diminution of the whole quantity of
air which passes along it during a given time.
Let us now suppose a parcel of air impelled along a pipe,
which is perfectly smooth, out of a larger vessel, and issuing
from this pipe with a certain velocity. It requires a certain
force to change its velocity in the vessel to the greater ve¬
locity which it has in the pipe. This is abundantly demon¬
strated. How long soever we suppose this pipe, there will
be no change in the velocity, or in the force to keep it up.
But let us suppose that about the middle of this pipe there
is a part of it which has suddenly got an undulated surface,
however imperceptible. Let us further suppose that the
final velocity of the middle thread is the same as before.
In this case it is evident that the sum total of the motions
of all the particles is greater than before, because the abso¬
lute motions of the lateral particles is greater than that of
the central particle, which we suppose the same as before.
This absolute increase of motion cannot be without an in¬
crease of propelling force: the force acting now, therefore,
must be greater than the force acting formerly. Therefore,
if only the former force had continued to act, the same mo¬
tion of the centra] particle could not have been preserved,
or the progressive motion of the whole stream must be di¬
minished. And thus we see that this internal insensible
undulatory motion becomes a real obstruction to the sen¬
sible motion which we observe, and occasions an expense
of power.
An addi- Let us see what will be the consequence of extending
tional force this obstructing surface further along the canal. It must
necessary evidently be accompanied by an augmentation of the mo¬
tor preserv- tion produced, if the central velocity be still kept up ; for
progressive the Particles wllich are now in contact with the sides do not
motion. continue to occupy that situation. The middle particles
moving faster forward get over them, and in their turn come
next the side ; and as they are really moving equally fast,
but not in the direction into which they are now to be forced,
force is necessary for changing the direction also ; and this
is in addition to the force necessary for producing the un- Air in
dulations so minutely treated of. The consequence of this motion,
must be, that an additional force will be necessary for pre-
serving a given progressive motion in a longer obstructing
pipe, and that the motion produced in a pipe of greater length
by a given force will be less than in a shorter one, and the
efflux will be diminished.
There is another consideration which must have an in¬
fluence here. Nothing is more irrefragably demonstrated
than the necessity of an additional force for producing an
efflux through any contraction, even though it should be
succeeded by a dilatation of the passage. Now both the
inequalities of the sides and the undulations of the motions
of each particle are equivalent to a succession of contrac¬
tions and dilatations ; although each of these is next to in¬
finitely small, their number is also next to infinitely great,
and therefore the total effect may be sensible.
We have hitherto supposed that the absolute velocity of There are
the particles was not diminished; this we did, having as- other ob-
sumed that the interval of each undulation of the sides was 8tructioiis,
without inequalities. But this was gratuitous; it was also“®an?u ar
gratuitous that the sides were only undulated. We have
no reason for excluding angular asperities. These will pro¬
duce, and most certainly often produce, real diminutions in
the velocity of the contiguous particles; and this must ex¬
tend to the very axis of the canal, and produce a diminu¬
tion of the sum total of motion; and in order to preserve
the same sensible progressive motion, a greater force must
be employed. This is all that can be meant by saying that
there is a resistance to the motion of air through long pipes.
There remains another cause of diminution, viz. the want
of perfect fluidity, whether arising from the dissemination
of solid particles in a real fluid, or from the viscidity of the
fluid. We shall not insist on this at present, because it
cannot be shown to obtain in air, at least in any case which
deserves consideration. It seems of no importance to de¬
termine the motion of air hurrying along with it soot or
dust. The effect of fogs on a particular modification of the
motion of air will be considered under another head. What
has been said on this subject is sufficient for our purpose, as
explaining the prodigious and unexpected obstruction to
the passage of air through long and narrow pipes. We are
able to collect an important maxim from it, viz. that all
pipes of communication should be made as wide as circum¬
stances will permit; for it is plain that the obstruction de¬
pends on the internal surface, and the force to overcome it
must be in proportion to the mass of matter which is in mo¬
tion. The first increases as the diameter of the pipe, and
the last as the square. The obstruction must therefore bear
a greater proportion to the whole motion in a small pipe
than in a large one.
It were very desirable to know the law by which the re- The law of
tardation extends from the axis to the sides of the canal, retardation
and the proportion which subsists between the lengths 0funknown.
the canal and the forces necessary for overcoming the ob¬
structions when the velocity is given ; as also whether the
proportion of the obstruction to the whole motion varies
with the velocity; but all this is unknown. It does not,
however, seem a desperate case in air ; we know pretty dis¬
tinctly the law of action among its particles, viz. that their
mutual repulsions are inversely as their distances. This
promises to enable us to trace the progress of undulation
from the sides of the canal to the axis.
We can see that the retardations will not increase so fastTlie rate
as the square of the velocity. Were the fluid incompres-a’c^ase not
sible, so that the undulatory path of a particle were invari-®*uar® of
able, the deflecting forces by which each individual particle ihe veloei-
is made to describe its undulating path would be precisely ties,
such as arise from the path itself and the motion in it; for
each particle would be in the situation of a body moving
along a fixed path. But in a very compressible fluid, such
64 PNEUMATICS.
BosshUs
experi¬
ments on
pipes and
eanals.
Wind.
as air, each particle may be considered as a solitary body,
actuated by a projectile and a transverse force, arising from
the action of the adjoining particles. Its motion must de¬
pend on the adjustment of these forces, in the same man¬
ner as the elliptical motion of a planet depends on the ad¬
justment of the force of projection, with a gravitation in¬
versely proportional to the square of the distance from the
focus. The transverse force in the present case has its ori¬
gin in the pressure on the air which is propelling it along
the pipe ; this, by squeezing the particles together, brings
their mutual repulsion into action. Now it is the property
of a perfect fluid, that a pressure exerted on any part of it
is propagated equally through the whole fluid; therefore
the transverse forces which are excited by this pressure are
proportional to the pressure itself; and we know that the
pressures exerted on the surface of a fluid, so as to expel
it through any orifice, or along any canal, are proportional
to the squares of the velocities which they produce. There¬
fore, in every point of the undulatory motion of any par¬
ticle, the transverse force by which it is deflected into a
curve is proportional to the square of its velocity. When
this is the case, a body would continue to describe the same
curve as before; but, by the very compression, the curva¬
tures are increased, supposing them to remain similar. This
would require an increase of the transverse forces ; but this
is not to be found; therefore the particle will not describe
a similar curve, but one which is less incurvated in all its
parts ; consequently the progressive velocity of the whole,
which is the only thing perceivable by us, will not be so
much diminished; that is, the obstructions will not increase
so fast as they would otherwise do, or as the squares of the
velocities.
This reasoning is equally applicable to all fluids, and is
abundantly confirmed by experiments in hydraulics, as we
shall see when considering the motion of rivers. We have
taken this opportunity of delivering our notions on this sub¬
ject ; because, as we have often said, it is in the avowed
discrete constitution of air that we see most distinctly the
operation of those natural powers which constitute fluidity
in general.
We would beg leave to mention a form of experiment
for discovering the law of retardation with considerable ac¬
curacy. Experiments have been made on pipes and canals.
M. Bossut, in his Hydrodynamique, has given a very beauti¬
ful set made on pipes of an inch and two inches in diameter,
and 200 feet in length ; but although these experiments are
very instructive, they do not give us any rule by which we
can extend the result to pipes of greater length and differ¬
ent diameters.
Let a smooth cylinder be set upright in a very large ves¬
sel or pond, and be moveable round its axis ; let it be turn¬
ed round by means of a wheel and pulley with an uniform
motion and determined velocity. It will exert the same
force on the contiguous water which would be exerted on it
by water turning round it with the same velocity ; and as
this w'ater would have its motion gradually retarded by the
fixed cylinder, so the moving cylinder will gradually com¬
municate motion to the surrounding water. We should ob¬
serve the water gradually dragged round by it; and the
vortex would extend farther and farther from it as the mo¬
tion is continued, and the velocities of the parts of the vor¬
tex will be less and less as we recede from the axis. Now,
we apprehend, that when a point of the surface of the cy¬
linder has moved 200 feet, the motion of the water at dif¬
ferent distances from it will be similar and proportional to,
if not precisely the same with, retardations of water flow¬
ing 200 feet at the same distance from the side of a canal;
at any rate, the two are susceptible of an accurate compari¬
son, and the law of retardation may be accurately deduced
from observations made on the motions of this vortex.
Air in motion is a very familiar object of observation ; and
it is interesting. In all languages it has got a name ; we Velocity of
call it wind; and it is only upon reflection that we consider w‘n(f
air as wind in a quiescent state. Many persons hardly know
what is meant when air is mentioned; but they cannot re¬
fuse that the blast from a bellows is the expulsion of what
they contained ; and thus they learn that wind is air in mo¬
tion.
It is of consequence to know the velocity of wind; but The velo-
no good and unexceptionable method has been contrived for c’ty of vyiiv
this purpose. The best seems to be by measuring the space ^covered
passed over by the shadow of a cloud ; but this is extremely w
fallacious. In the first place, it is certain, that although we
suppose that the cloud has the velocity of the air in which
it is carried along, this is not an exact measure of the cur¬
rent on the surface of the earth ; we may be almost certain
that it is greater; for air, like all other fluids, is retarded by
the sides and bottom of the channel in which it moves. But,
in the next place, it is very gratuitous to suppose, that the
velocity of the cloud is the velocity of the stratum of air
between the cloud and the earth ; we are almost certain that
it is not. It was clearly proved by Dr. Hutton of Edin¬
burgh, that clouds are always formed when two parcels of
air of different temperatures mix together, each containing
a proper quantity of vapour in the state of chemical solu¬
tion. We know that different strata of air will frequently
flow in different directions for a long time. In 1781, whilst
a great fleet rendezvoused in Leith Roads during the Dutch
war, there was a brisk easterly wind for about five weeks ;
and, during the last fortnight of this period, there was a brisk
westerly current at the height of about three-fourths of a
mile. This was distinctly indicated by frequent fleecy clouds
at a great distance above a lower stratum of these clouds,
which were driving all this time from the eastward. A gen¬
tleman who was present at the siege of Quebec in 1759, stat¬
ed that one day whilst there blew a gale from the west, sc
hard that the ships at anchor in the river were obliged to
strike their topmasts, and it was with the utmost difficulty
that some wTell-manned boats could row against it, carrying
some artillery stores to a post above the town, several shells
were thrown from the town to destroy the boats; one of the
shells burst in the air near the top of its flight, which was
about half a mile high. The smoke of this bomb remained
in the same spot for above a qaarter of an hour, like a great
round ball, and gradually dissipated by diffusion, without re¬
moving many yards from its place. When, therefore, two
strata of air come from different quarters, and one of them
flows over the other, it will be only in the contiguous sur¬
faces that a precipitation of vapour will be made. This will
form a thin fleecy cloud; and it will have a velocity and di¬
rection which neither belongs to the upper nor to the lower
stratum of air which produced it. Should one of these strata
come from the east and the other from the west with equal
velocities, the cloud formed between them will have no mo¬
tion at all; should one come from the east, and the other
from the north, the cloud will move from the north-east with
a greater velocity than either of the strata. So uncertain
then is the information given by the clouds either of the
velocity or the direction of the wind. A thick smoke from
a furnace will give us a much less equivocal measure ; and
this, combined with the effects of the wind in impelling bo¬
dies, or deflecting a loaded plane from the perpendicular, or
other effects of this kind, may give us measures of the dif¬
ferent currents of wind with a precision sufficient for all
practical uses.
The celebrated engineer, Mr. John Smeaton, has given, The resul
in the 51st volume of the Philosophical Transactions, the of Smea-
velocities of wind corresponding to the usual denominations tori’s ob"
in our language. These are founded on a great number 0f
observations made by himself in the course of his practice
in erecting wind-mills. They are contained in the follow¬
ing table:—
PNEUMATICS.
65
Miles
per hour.
1
2
3
4
5
10
15
20
25
30
35
40
45
50
60
80
100
1-67)
/
Names.
Light airs.
Breeze.
Brisk gale.
Fresh gale.
Strong gale.
Hard gale.
Storm.
J Hurricane, tearing up trees,
I overturning buildings, &c.
Fig. 76.
Velocity of Miles Feet
wind. per hour. per second.
1- 47
2- 93 \
4- 40 J
5- 87 \
7-33 f
14-i
oo.
29-34 \
36-57 J
44-01 )
51-34 J
58-68 )
66-01 J
73-35 \
88-02 J
117-36
146-70
Account of One of the most ingenious and convenient methods for
Dr. Lind’s measuring the velocity of the wind is to employ its pressure
anemome- in supporting a column of water, in the same way as Mr.
ter- Pitot measures the velocity of a current of water. We be¬
lieve that it was first proposed by Dr. James Lind of Wind¬
sor, a gentleman eminent for his great knowledge in all the
branches of natural science, and for his ingenuity in every
matter of experiment or practical application.
His anemometer consists of a glass tube of
the form ABCD (fig. 76), open at both ends,
and having the branch AB at right angles
to the branch CD. This tube contains a few
inches of water or any fluid (the lighter the
better) ; it is held with the part CD upright,
and AB horizontal and in the direction of the
wind ; that is, with the mouth A fronting the
wind. The wind acts in the way of pressure ;
on the air in AB, compresses it, and causes it
to press on the surface of the liquor ; forcing
it down to F, whilst it rises to E in the other
leg. The velocity of the wind is concluded from
the difference E/" between the heights of the liquor in the
legs. As the wind does not generally blow with uniform
velocity, the liquor is apt to dance in the tube, and render
the observation difficult and uncertain; to remedy this, it is
proper to contract very much the communication at C be¬
tween the two legs. If the tube has half an inch of diameter,
and it should not have less, a hole of l-50th of an inch is
large enough ; indeed the hole can hardly be too small, nor
the tubes too large.
This instrument is extremely ingenious, and will undoubt¬
ed! y give the proportions of the velocities of different cur¬
rents with the greatest precision; for in whatever way the
pressure of wind is produced by its motion, we are certain
that the different pressures are as the squares of the veloci¬
ties ; if, therefore, we can obtain one certain measure of the
velocity of the wind, and observe the degree to which the
pressure produced by it raises the liquor, we can at all other
times observe the pressures and compute the velocities from
them, making proper allowances for the temperature and the
height of the mercury in the barometer; because the velo¬
city will be in the subduplicate ratio of the density of the
air inversely when the pressure is the same.
It is usually concluded, that the velocity of the wind is
that which would be acquired by falling from a height which
is to E/as the weight of water is to that of an equal bulk
_/• 'Thug, supposing air to be 840 times lighter than
of air.
water, and that Ey is 9-10ths of an inch, the velocity will
be about 63 feet per second, which is that of a very hard
gale, approaching to a storm. Hence we see by the bye,
that the scale of this instrument is extremely short, and that Velocity of
it would be a great improvement of it to make the leg CD wind,
not perpendicular, but very much sloping ; or perhaps the
following form of the instrument will give it all the perfec¬
tion of which it is capable. Let
the horizontal branch AB (fig. Fig. 77.
77) be contracted at B, and con¬
tinued horizontally for several
inches BG of a much smaller
bore, and then turned down
for two or three inches GC, e
and then upwards with a wide
bore. To use the instrument, /
hold it with the part DC per¬
pendicular ; and (having shel¬
tered the mouth A from the
wind) pour in water at D till it
advances along GB to the point B, which is made the be¬
ginning of the scale ; the water in the upright branch stand¬
ing at f in the same horizontal line with BG. Now, turn
the mouth A to the wind ; the air in AB will be compress¬
ed and will force the water along BG to F, and cause it to
rise from/to E ; and the range/E will be to the range BF
on the scale as the section of the tube BG to that of CD.
Thus, if the width of DC be half an inch, and that of BG
l-10th, we shall have 25 inches in the scale for one inch of
real pressure E /
But it has not been demonstrated in a very satisfactory
manner, that the velocity of the wind is that acquired by
falling through the height of a column of air whose weight
is equal to that of the column of water E/ Experiments
made with Pitot’s tube in currents of water show that seve¬
ral corrections are necessary for conducting the velocity of
the current from the elevations in the tube : these correc¬
tions may however be made, and safely applied to the pre¬
sent case; and then the instrument will enable us to con¬
clude the velocity of the wind immediately, without any
fundamental comparison of the elevation, with a velocity ac¬
tually determined upon other principles.1 The chief use
which we have for this information is in our employment of
wind as an impelling power, by which we can actuate ma¬
chinery or navigate ships. These are very important appli¬
cations of pneumatical doctrines, and merit a particular con¬
sideration ; and this naturally brings us to the last part of
our subject, viz. the consideration of the impulse of air on
bodies exposed to its action, and the resistance which it op¬
poses to the passage of bodies through it.
This is a subject of the greatest importance, being the This sab-
foundation of that art which has done the greatest honourject impor-
to the ingenuity of man, and the greatest service to humantant *,ut
society, by connecting together the most distant inhabitants
of this globe, and making a communication of benefits which
would otherwise have been impossible ; we mean the art of
Navigation or Seamanship. Of all the machines which hu¬
man art has constructed, a ship is not only the greatest and
most magnificent, but also the most ingenious and intricate ;
and the clever seaman possesses a knowledge founded on
the most difficult and abstruse doctrines of mechanics. The
seaman probably cannot give any account of his own sci¬
ence ; and he possesses it rather by a kind of intuition than
by any process of reasoning ; but the success and efficiency
of all the mechanism of this complicated engine, and the
propriety of all the manoeuvres which the seaman practises,
depend on the invariable laws of mechanics ; and a thorough
knowledge of these would enable an intelligent person not
only to understand the machine and the manner of working
it, but to improve both.
Unfortunately this is a subject of verygreatdifficulty; and
although it has employed the genius of Newton, whohas con-
VOL. XVIII.
1 See, on the subject of Anemometry, article Meteorology, paragraphs 81 to 83.
1
66
PNEUMATICS.
Velocity of sidered it with great care, and his followers have added more
wind. hjg lal30urs on tbis subject than on any other, it still remains
in a very imperfect state. A minute discussion of this subject
cannot therefore be expected in a work like this ; we must
content ourselves with such a general statement of the most
.approved doctrine on the subject as shall enable our readers
to conceive it distinctly, and judge with intelligence and con¬
fidence of the practical deductions which may be made from it.
Suppose then a plane sur¬
face, of which aC (fig. 78) is
the section, exposed to the ac¬
tion of a stream of wind blow¬
ing in the direction Q.C, per¬
pendicular to aC. The motion
of the wind will be obstructed,
and the surface aC pressed for¬
ward. And as all impulse or
pressure is exerted in a direc¬
tion perpendicular to the sur¬
face, and is resisted in the opposite direction, the surface
will be impelled in the direction CD, the continuation of
QC. And as the mutual actions of bodies depend on their
relative motions, the force acting on the surface aC will be
the same, if we shall suppose the air at rest, and the surface
moving equally swift in the opposite direction. The resis¬
tance of the air to the motion of the body will be equal to
the impulse of the air in the former case. Thus resistance
and impulse are equal and contrary.
Air moving If the air be moving twice as fast, its particles will give a
with a dou- double impulse ; but in this case a double number of parti¬
ble velocity c]es w;]| exert their impulse in the same time. The impulse
generally wjji therefore be fourfold, and in general it will be as the
the square square 0f the velocity; or if the air and body be both in
of that ve- motion, the impulse and resistance will be proportional to
locity. the square of the relative velocity. This is the first propo¬
sition on the subject, and it appears very consistent to rea¬
son. There will therefore be some analogy between the
force of the air’s impulse or the resistance of a body, and
the weight of a column of air incumbent on the surface;
for it is a principle in the action of fluids, that the heights
of the columns of fluid are as the squares of the velocities
which their pressures produce. Accordingly, the second
proposition is, that the absolute impulse of a stream of air,
blowing perpendicularly on any surface, is equal to the
weight of a column of air which has that surface for its base,
and for its height the space through which a body must fall in
order to acquire the velocity of the air.
Thirdly, Suppose the surface AC equal to aC no longer
to be perpendicular to the stream of air, but inclined to it
in the angle ACD, which we shall call the angle of inci¬
dence ; then, by the resolution of forces, it follows, that the
action of each particle is diminished in the proportion of ra¬
dius to the sine of the angle of incidence, or of AC to AL,
AL being perpendicular to CD.
Again : Draw AK parallel to CD. It is plain that no
air lying farther from CD than KA is will strike the plane.
The quantity of impulse therefore is diminished still farther
in the proportion of «C to KC, or of AC to AL. There¬
fore, on the whole, the absolute impulse is diminished in
the proportion of AC2 to AL2 : hence the proposition, that
the impulse and resistance of a given surface are in the pro-
poruon of the square of the sine of the angle of incidence.
Fourthly, This impulse is in the direction PL, perpendi¬
cular to the impelled surface, and the surface tends to move
in this direction : but suppose it moveable only in some other
direction PO that we wish to employ this impulse, its action
is therefore oblique ; and if we wish to know the intensity
of the impulse in this direction, it must be diminished still
farther in the proportion of radius to the cosine of the angle
LPO or sine of CPO. Hence the general proposition : The
effective impulse is as the surface, as the square of the velo¬
city of the wind, as the square of the sine of the angle 0/Velocity ol
incidence, and as the sine of the obliquity jointly, which we wind,
may express by the symbol R=S-V3- sin?' I* sin. O ; andv^Y^’
as the impulse depends on the density of the impelling fluid,
we may take in every circumstance by the equation R=S-
D-V2, sin?' I* sin. O. If the impulse be estimated in the
direction of the stream, the angle of obliquity ACD is the
same with the angle of incidence, and the impulse in this
direction is as the surface, as the square of the velocity, and
as the cube of the angle of incidence jointly.
It evidently follows from these premises, that if ACA' be
a wedge, of which the base AA' is perpendicular to the
wind, and the angle ACA' bisected by its direction, the
direct or perpendicular impulse on the base is to the oblique
impulse on the sides as radius to the square of tlie sine of
half the angle ACA'.
The same must be affirmed of a pyramid or cone ACA',
of which the axis is in the direction of the wind.
If ACA' (fig. 79,) represent the section of a solid, pro¬
duced by the revolution of a curve line
APC round the axis CD, which lies in the Fig. 79.
direction of the wind, the impulse on this
body may be compared with the direct im¬
pulse on this base, or the resistance to the
motion of this body through the air may
be compared with the direct resistance of
its base, by resolving its surface into ele¬
mentary planes P/>, which are coincident
with a tangent plane PR, and comparing
the impulse on P /? with the direct impulse
on the corresponding part K h of the base.
In this way it follows that the impulse on a sphere is one
half of the impulse on its great circle, or on the base of a
cylinder of equal diameter.
We shall conclude, this sketch of the doctrine with a very
important proposition to determine the most advantageous
position of a plane surface, when required to move in one
direction while it is impelled by the wind blowing in a dif¬
ferent direction. Thus,
Let AB (fig. 80) be the sail of a ship, CA the direction Inference
Fig. 80.
in which the wind blows,
and AD the line of the
ship’s course. It is requir¬
ed to place the yard AC
in such a position that the
impulse of the wind upon
the sail may have the
greatest effect possible in
impelling the ship along AD.
Let AB, Kb, be two positions of the sail very near the
best position, but on opposite sides of it. Draw BE, b e,
perpendicular to CA, and BF, b f perpendicular to AD,
calling AB radius ; it is evident that BE, BF, are the sines
of impulse and obliquity, and that the effective impulse is
BE2 x BF, or b e2 xbf. This must be a maximum.
Let the points B, b, continually approach and ultimately
coincide ; the chord b B will ultimately coincide with a
straight line CBD touching the circle in B ; the triangles
CBE, C b e are similar, as also the triangles DBF, D b f:
therefore BE2: b e2=BC2: bC2, and BF : b /=BD : b t)
and BE2xBF : b e2xb/=CB2xBD :Cb2xbD. There¬
fore when AB is in the best position, so that BE2 X BF is
greater than b e2 x b f wo shall have CB x BD greater than
Cb2 x &D, orCB2 x BD is also a maximum. This we know
to be the case when CB=2BD : therefore the sail must be
so placed that the tangent of the angle of incidence shall
be double of the tangent of the angle of the sail and keel.
In a common windmill the angle CAD is necessarily a
right angle ; for the sail moves in a circle to which the wind
is perpendicular: therefore the best angle of the sail and
axle will be 54° 44' nearly.
from this
doctrine.
PNEUMATICS.
67
Velocity of Such is the theory of the resistance and impulse of the
wind- air. It is extremely simple and of easy application. In all
physical theories there are assumptions which depend on
other principles, and those on the judgment of the natur¬
alist ; so that it is always proper to confront the theory with
experiment. There are even circumstances in the present
case which have not been attended to in the theory. When
a stream of air is obstructed by a solid body, or when a
solid body moves along in air, the air is condensed before it
and rarefied behind. There is therefore a pressure on the
anterior parts arising from this want of equilibrium in the
elasticity of the air. This must be superadded to the force
arising from the impetus or inertia of the air. We cannot
tell with precision what may be the amount of this conden¬
sation ; it depends on the velocity with which any conden¬
sation diffuses itself. Also, if the motion be so rapid that
the pressure of the atmosphere cannot make the air im¬
mediately occupy the place quitted by the body, it will sus¬
tain this pressure on its fore part to be added to the other
forces.
The prin- Experiments on this subjects are by no means numerous ;
opal expe- at jeagt experiments as can be depended on for the
this subject f°nnc*at*on any Practical application. The first that have
this character are those published by Mr. Robins in 1742,
in his Treatise on Gunnery. They were repeated with some
additions by the Chevalier Borda, and some account of them
published in the Memoirs of the Academy of Sciences in
1763. In the Philosophical Transactions of the Royal
Society of London, vol. Ixxiii., there are some experi¬
ments of the same kind on a larger scale by Mr. Edge-
worth. These were all made in the way described in our
account of Mr. Robins’s improvements in gunnery. Bo¬
dies wrere made to move with determined velocities, and
the resistances were measured by -weights. In all these ex¬
periments the resistances were found very exactly in the
proportion of the squares of the velocities; but they were
found considerably greater than the weight of the column
of air, whose height would produce the velocity in a fall¬
ing body. Mr. Robins’s experiments on a square of 16
inches, describing 25.2 feet per second, indicate the resis¬
tance to be to this weight nearly as 4 to 3. Borda’s ex¬
periments on the same surface state the disproportion still
greater.
The resistances are found not to be in the proportion of
the surfaces, but increase considerably faster. Surfaces of
9, 16, 36, and 81 inches, moving with one velocity, had re¬
sistances in the proportion of 9, 17^, 42f, and 104f.
Now as this deviation from the proportion of the surfaces
increases with great regularity, it is most probable that it
continues to increase in surfaces of still greater extent; and
these are the most generally to be met with in practice in
the action of wind on ships and mills.
Borda’s experiments on 81 inches show that the impulse
of wind moving one foot per second is about of a pound
on a square foot. Therefore to find the impulse on a foot
corresponding to any velocity, divide the square of the ve¬
locity by 500, and we obtain the impulse in pounds. Mr.
Rouse of Leicestershire made many experiments, which are
mentioned with great approbation by Mr. Smeaton. His
great sagacity and experience in the erection of windmills,
oblige us to pay a considerable deference to his judgment.
These experiments confirm our opinion, that the impulses
increase faster than the surfaces. The following table was
calculated from Mr. Rouse’s observations, and may be con¬
sidered as pretty near the truth :
Velocity
in feet.
0
10
20
Impulse on a
foot in pounds.
0,000
0,229
0,915
Velocity
in feet.
30
40
50
Impulse on a
foot in pounds.
2,059
3,660
5,718
Velocity Impulse on a
in feet. foot in pounds.
60 8,234
70 11,207
80 14,638
90 18,526
100 22,872
Velocity
in feet.
110
120
130
140
150
Impulse on a
foot in pounds
27,675
32,926
38,654
44,830
51,462
Velocity of
wind.
If we multiply the square of the velocity in feet by 16,
the product wall be the impulse or resistance on a square
foot in grains, according to Mr. Rouse’s numbers.
The greatest deviation from the theory occurs in the
oblique impulses. Mr. Robins compared the resistance of
a wedge, whose angle was 90°, with the resistance of its
base; and instead of finding it less in the proportion of
a/2 to 1, as determined by the theory, he found it greater
in the proportion of 55 to 68 nearly ; and when he formed
the body into a pyramid, of which the sides had the same
surface and the same inclination as the sides of the wedge,
the resistance of the base and face were now as 55 to 39
nearly ; so that here the same surface with the same incli¬
nation had its resistance reduced from 68 to 39 by being
put into this form. Similar deviations occur in the experi¬
ments of the Chevalier Borda; and it may be collected from
both, that the resistances diminish more nearly in the pro¬
portion of the sines of incidence than in the proportion of
the squares of those sines.
The irregularity in the resistance of curved surfaces is as
great as in plane surfaces. In general, the theory gives the
oblique impulses on plane surfaces much too small, and the
impulses on curved surfaces too great. The resistance of a
sphere does not exceed the fourth part of the resistance of
its great circle, instead of being its half; but the anomaly
is such as to leave hardly any room for calculation. It
would be very desirable to have the experiments on this
subject repeated in a greater variety of cases, and on larger
surfaces, so that the errors of the experiments may be of
less consequence. Till this matter is reduced to some rule,
the art of working ships must remain very imperfect, as
must also the construction of windmills.
The case in which we are most interested in the know- r s-
ledge of the resistance of the air is the motion of bullets tanee'of'aii
and shells. Writers on artillery have long been sensible in the mo-
of the great effect of the air’s resistance. It seems to have tion of pro-
been this consideration that chiefly engaged Sir Isaac New-jectfies-
ton to consider the motion of bodies in a resisting medium.
A proposition or two would have sufficed for showing the
incompatibility of the planetary motions with the supposi¬
tion that the celestial spaces were filled with a fluid mat¬
ter ; but he has with great solicitude considered the motion
of a body projected on the surface of the earth, and its de¬
viation from the parabolic track assigned by Galileo. He
has bestowed more pains on this problem than any other in
his whole work; and his investigation has pointed out al¬
most all the improvements which have been made in the
application of mathematical knowledge to the study of na¬
ture. Nowhere does his sagacity and fertility of resource
appear in so strong a light as in the second book of the
Principia, which is almost wholly occupied by this problem.
The celebrated mathematician John Bernoulli engaged in
it as the finest opportunity of displaying his superiority. A
mistake committed by Newton in his attempt to a solution
was matter of triumph to him ; and the whole of his per¬
formance, though a piece of elegant and elaborate geometry,
is greatly hurt by his continually bringing this mistake, which
is a mere trifle, into view. The difficulty of the subject is
so great, that subsequent mathematicians seem to have kept
aloof from it; and it has been entirely overlooked by the
many voluminous writers who have treated professedly on
military projectiles. They have supposed that the resist¬
ance of air was not so great as to render their theories erro-
68
PNEUMATICS.
Undulation neons ; hut as this will be found discussed under the article
of air. Gunnery, nothing more shall be said of it here.
There is another motion of which air and other elastic
fluids are susceptible, viz. an internal vibration of their par¬
ticles, or undulation, by which any extended portion of air
is distributed into alternate parcels of condensed and rare¬
fied air, which are continually changing their condition
without changing their places. By this change the con¬
densation which is produced in one part of the air is gradu¬
ally transferred along the mass of air to the greatest distan¬
ces in all directions. It is of importance to have some dis¬
tinct conception of this motion. It is found to be by this
means that distant bodies produce in us the sensation of
sound. Sir Isaac Newton treated this subject with his ac¬
customed ingenuity, and has given us a theory of it in the
end of the second book of his Principia. This theory has
been objected to with respect to the conduct of the argu¬
ment, and other explanations have been given by the most
eminent mathematicians. Though they appear to differ
from Newton s, their results are precisely the same ; but,
on a close examination, they differ no more than John Ber¬
noulli’s theorem of centripetal forces differs from Newton’s,
viz. the one being expressed by geometry and the other by
literal analysis. The celebrated Lagrange reduces New¬
ton’s investigation to a tautological proposition or identical
equation ; but Dr M. Young of Trinity College, Dublin, has
by a different turn of expression, freed Newton’s method
from this objection.
This has But since Newton published this theory of aerial undula-
been used tions, and of their propagation along the air, and since the
to explain t]ieory iias Been so corrected and improved as to be receiv-
naturaly ^ ed by the most accurate philosophers as a branch of natu-
phenomena. ral philosophy susceptible of rigid demonstration, it has been
freely resorted to by many writers on other parts of natural
science, who did not profess to be mathematicians, but made
use of it for explaining phenomena in their own line on the
authority of the mathematicians themselves. Learning from
them that this vibration, and the quaquaversum propagation
of the pulses, were the necessary properties of an elastic
fluid, and that the rapidity of this propagation had a certain
assignable proportion to the elasticity and density of the
fluid, they freely made use of these concessions, and have
introduced elastic vibrating fluids into many facts, where
others would suspect no such thing, and have attempted to
explain by their means many abstruse phenomena of na¬
ture. iLthers are everywhere introduced, endued with
great elasticity and tenuity. Vibrations and pulses are sup¬
posed in this aether, and these are offered as explanations.
The doctrines of animal spirits and nervous fluids, and the
whole mechanical system of Hartley, by which the opera¬
tions of the soul are said to be explained, have their foun¬
dation in this theory of aerial undulations. If these fancied
fluids, and their internal vibrations, really operate in the
phenomena ascribed to them, any explanation that can be
given of the phenomena from this principle must be nothing
else then showing that the legitimate consequences of these
undulations are similar to the phenomena ; or, if we are no
more able to see this last step than in the case of sound,
(which we know to be one consequence of the aerial undu¬
lations, although we cannot tell how), we must be able to
point out, as in the case of sound, certain constant relations
between the general laws of these undulations and the ge¬
neral laws of the phenomena. It is only in this way that we
think ourselves entitled to say that the aerial undulations
are causes, though not the only causes, of sound; and it is
because there is no such relation, but, on the contrary, a
total dissimilarity, to be observed between the laws of elas¬
tic undulations and the laws of the propagation of light, that
we assert with confidence that ethereal undulations are not
the causes of vision.
Explanations of this kind suppose, therefore, in the first
place, that the philosopher wLo proposes them understands Undulation
precisely the nature of these undulations ; in the next place, of a^;
that he makes his reader sensible of those circumstances ofv'^“Y*^''
them which are concerned in the effect to be explained ;
and, in the third place, that he makes the reader understand
how this circumstance of the vibrating fluid is connected
with the phenomenon, either by showing it to be its me¬
chanical cause, as when the philosopher explains the re¬
sounding of a musical chord to a flute or pipe which gave
the same tone ; or by showing that this circumstance of the
undulation always accompanies the phenomenon, as when
the philosopher shows that 233 vibrations of air in a second,
in whatever manner or by whatever cause they are produced,
always are followed by the sensation of the tone C in the
middle of the harpsichord.
We propose now to give some account of the motion ofHowelas-
elastic fluids ; and the first thing incumbent on us is to showtic differ
how these fluids differ from the unelastic in the propagation fluid*
of any agitation of their parts. When a long tube is filled ‘
with water, and any one part of it pushed out of its place,
the whole is instantly moved like a solid mass. But this
is not the case with air. If a door be suddenly shut, the
window at the farther end of a long and close room will rat¬
tle ; but some time will elapse between the shutting of the
door and the motion of the window. If some light dust be
lying on a braced drum, and another be violently beat at a
little distance from it, an attentive observer will see the dust
dance up from the parchment; but this will be at the in¬
stant he hears the sound of the stroke on the other drum,
and a sensible time after the stroke. Many such familiar
facts show that the agitation is gradually communicated
along the air; and therefore that wrhen one particle is agi¬
tated by any sensible motion, a finite time, however small,
must elapse before the adjoining particle is agitated in the
same manner. This would not be the case in water if wa¬
ter be perfectly incompressible. We think that this may
be made intelligible with very little trouble.
A a B 6 C D
Let A, B, C, D, &c. be a row of aerial particles, at such
distances that their elasticity just balances the pressure
of the atmosphere; and let us suppose (as is deducible
from the observed density of air being proportional to
the compressing force) that the elasticity of the particles, by
which they keep each other at a distance, is as their dis¬
tances inversely. Let us farther suppose that the particle
A has been carried, with an uniform motion, to a by some
external force. It is evident that B cannot remain in its
present state ; for being now nearer to a than to C, it is
propelled towards C by the excess of the elasticity of A
above the natural elasticity of C. Let E be the natural elasti¬
city of the particles, or the force corresponding to the distance
BC or BA, and let F be the force which impelsB towards C,
and let fbe the force exerted by A when at a. We have
E :/=Ba : BC=Ba, BA;
and E E=Ba : BA—Ba=Ba : Aa;
or E : F=Ba : Aa.
Nowr, in fig. 81, let ABC be the
line joining three particles, to which
draw FG, PH parallel, and IAF,
HBG perpendicular. Take IF or
FIG to represent the elasticity cor¬
responding to the distance AB. Let
the particle A be supposed to have
been carried with an uniform mo¬
tion to a by some external force,
and draw RaM perpendicular to
RG; and make FI: RM=Ba : BA.
We shall then have FI : PM=Ba :
Aa; and PM will represent the force
PNEUMATICS.
69
Undulation with which the particle B is urged towards C. Suppose
of air. this construction to be made for every point of the line AB,
>-*"V"w'and that a point M is thus determined for each ot them,
mathematicians know that all these points M he in the curve
of a hyperbola, of which FG and GH are the asymptotes.
It is also known by the elements of mechanics, that since
the motion of A along AB is uniform, Aa or IP may be
taken to represent the time of describing Aa ; and that the
area IPM represents the whole velocity which B has ac~
quired in its motion towards C when A has come to a, the
force urging B being always as the portion PM of the or¬
dinate.
Take GX of any length in HG produced, and let GX
represent the velocity which the uniform action of the na¬
tural elasticity IF could communicate to the particle B du¬
ring the time that A would uniformly describe AB. Make
GX to GY as the rectangle IFGH to the hyperbolic space
IFRM, and draw YS cutting MR produced in S, and draw
FX cutting MR in T. It is known to the mathematicians
that the point S is in a curve line FS.?, called the logarith¬
mic curve i of which the leading property is, that any line
RS parallel to GX is to GX as the rectangle IFGH is to
the hyperbolic space IFRM, and that FX touches the curve
in F.
This being the case, it is plain, that because RT increases
in the same proportion with FR, or with the rectangle
IFRP, and RS increases in the proportion of the space
IFRM, TS increases in the proportion of the space IPM.
Therefore TS is proportional to the velocity of B when A
has reached a, and RT is proportional to the velocity which
the uniform action of the natural elasticity would commu¬
nicate to B in the same time. Then since FT is as the
time, and TS is as the velocity, the area FTS will be as the
space described by B, urged by the variable force PM;
while A, urged by the external force, describes Aa ; and
the triangle FRT will represent the space which the uni¬
form action of the natural elasticity would cause B to de¬
scribe in the same time.
And thus it is plain that these three motions can be com¬
pared together : the uniform motion of the agitated particle
A, the uniformly accelerated motion which the natural elas¬
ticity would communicate to B by its constant action, and
the motion produced in B by the agitation of A. But this
comparison, requiring the quadrature ot the hyperbola and
logarithmic curve, would lead us into most intricate and te¬
dious computations. Of these we need only give the re¬
sult, and make some other comparisons which are palpable.
Let Aa be supposed indefinitely small in comparison of
AB. The space described by A is therefore indefinitely
small; but in this case we know that the ratio of the space
FRT to the rectangle IFRP is indefinitely small. There
is therefore no comparison between the agitation of A by
the external force, and the agitation which natural elasti¬
city would produce on a single particle in the same time,
the last being incomparably smaller than the first. And
this space FRT is incomparably greater than FTS; and
therefore the space which B would describe by the uniform
action of the natural elasticity is incomparably greater than
what it would describe in consequence of the agitation of A.
From this reasoning we see evidently that A must be
sensibly moved, or a finite or measurable time must elapse
before B acquires a measurable motion. In like manner,
B must move during a measurable time before C acquires
a measurable motion, &c.; and therefore the agitation of
A is communicated to the distant particles in gradual suc¬
cession.
By a further comparison of these spaces we learn the
time in which each succeeding particle acquires the very
agitation of A. If the particles B and C only are consi¬
dered, and the motion of C neglected, it will be found that
B has acquired the motion of A a little before it has de¬
scribed one-third of the space described by A ; but if the Undulation
motion of C be considered, the acceleration of B must be a'n
increased by the retreat of C, and B must describe a greater
space in proportion to that described by A. By computa¬
tion it appears, that when both B and C have acquired the
velocity of A, B has described nearly one-half of A’s mo¬
tion, and C more nearly one-third. Extending this to D,
we shall find that D has described still more nearly one-
fourth of A’s motion. And from the nature of the compu¬
tation it appears that this approximation goes on rapidly ;
therefore, supposing it accurate from the very first particle,
it follows from the equable motion of A, that each succeed¬
ing particle moves through an equal space in acquiring the
motion of A.
The conclusion which we must draw from all this is, that
when the agitation of A has been fully communicated to a
particle at a sensible distance, the intervening particles, all
moving forward with a common velocity, are equally com¬
pressed as to sense, except a very few of the first particles ;
and that this communication, or this propagation of the ori¬
ginal agitation, goes on with an uniform velocity.
These computations need not be attended to by such as
do not wish for an accurate knowledge of the precise agi¬
tation of each particle. It is enough for such readers to
see clearly that time must escape between the agitation ot
A and that of a distant particle ; and this is abundantly ma¬
nifest from the incomparability (excuse the term) of the
nascent rectangle IFRP with the nascent triangle FRT,
and the incomparability of FRT with FTS.
What has now been shown of the communication of any Newton’s
sensible motion A a must hold equally with respect to any demonstra-
change of this motion. Therefore if a tremulous motion ofd°n.0,1 this
a body, such as a spring or bell, should agitate the adjoin-subJect’
ing particle A by pushing it forward in the direction AB,
and then allowing it to come back again in the direction
BA, an agitation similar to this will take place in all the
particles of the row one after the other. Now if this body
vibrate according to the law of motion of a pendulum vi¬
brating in a cycloid, the neighbouring particle of air will
of necessity vibrate in the same manner ; and then Newton’s
demonstration in the article Acoustics needs no apology.
Its only deficiency was, that it seemed to prove that this
icould be the way in which every particle would of neces¬
sity vibrate ; which is not true, for the successive parcels of
air will be differently agitated according to the original
agitation. Newton only wants to prove the uniform pro¬
pagation of the agitations, and he selects that form which
renders the proof easiest. He proves, in the most unex¬
ceptionable manner, that if the particles of a pulse of air
are really moving like a cycloidal pendulum, the forces
acting on each particle, in consequence of the compression
and dilatation of the different parts of the pulse, are pre¬
cisely such as are necessary for continuing this motion, and
therefore no other forces are required. Then since each
particle in a certain part of its path, is moving in a cer¬
tain direction, and with a certain velocity, and urged by a
determined force, it must move in that very manner. The
objection started by John Bernoulli against Newton’s de¬
monstration of the elliptical motion of a body urged by a
force in the inverse duplicate ratio of the distance from the
focus, is precisely the same with the objection against New¬
ton’s demonstration of the progress of aerial undulations, and
is equally futile.
It must, however, be observed, that Newton’s demonstra¬
tion proceeds on the supposition that the linear agitations
of a particle are incomparably smaller than the extent of
an undulation. This is not strictly the case in any instance,
and in many it is far from being true. In a pretty strong
twang of a harpsichord wire, the agitation of a particle may
be near the 50th part of the extent of the undulation. This
must disturb the regularity of the motion, and cause the
70
PNEUMATICS.
Confirmed
by experi¬
ments on
sounds.
Undulation agitations in the remote undulations to differ from those
of air. in thg pU]se. jn explosion of a cannon, the break¬
ing of an exhausted bottle, and many instances which may
be given, the agitations are still greater. The commenta¬
tors on Newton’s Priticipia, Le Sueur and Jacquier, have
shown, and Euler more clearly, that when the original agi¬
tations are very violent, the particles of air will acquire a
subordinate vibration compounded with the regular cycloi¬
dal vibration, and the progress of the pulses will be some¬
what more rapid; but the intricacy of the calculus is so
great, that they have not been able to determine with any
tolerable precision what the change of velocity will be.
All this, however, is fully confirmed by experiment on
sounds. The sound of a cannon at 10 or 20 miles distance
does not in the least resemble its sound when near. In
this case it is a loud instantaneous crack, to which we can
assign no musical pitch. At a distance, it is a grave sound,
of which we can tell the note ; and it begins softly, swells
to its greatest loudness, and then dies away growling. The
same may be said of a clap of thunder, which we know to
be a loud snap Of still less duration. It is highly probable
that the appreciable tones which those distant sounds afford
are produced by the continuance of these subordinate vibra¬
tions which are added together and fortified in the succes¬
sive pulses, though not perceptible in the first, in a way
somewhat resembling the resonance of a musical chord.
Newton’s explanation gathers evidence therefore from this
circumstance. And we must further observe, that all elas¬
tic bodies tremble or vibrate almost precisely as a pendu¬
lum swinging in a cycloid, unless their vibrations are un¬
commonly violent; in which case they are quickly reduced
to a moderate quantity by the resistance of the air. The
only very loud sounds which we can produce in this way
are from great bells; and in these the utmost extent of the
vibration is very small in comparison with the breadth of
the pulse. The velocity of these sounds has not been com¬
pared with that of cannon, or perhaps it would be found less,
and an objection against Newton’s determination removed.
He gives 969 feet per second, (experiment 1142.)
The agita- But it is also very probable, that in the propagation
tion in the through the air, the agitation gradually and rapidly ap-
SulsesS1ro Proaches to tnis regular cycloidal form in the successive
bably8 as-° Pu^ses’ ^ie same way as we observe that whatever is the
sumes a ey- h)rm agitation in the middle of a smooth pond of water,
cloidalibnn. the spreading circles are always of one gentle form without
asperities. In like manner, into whatever form we throw a
stretched cord by the twang which we give it, it almost im¬
mediately makes smooth undulations, keeping itself in the
shape of an elongated trochoid. Of this last we can de¬
monstrate the necessity, because the case is simple. In the
wave, the investigation is next to impossible; but we see
the fact. We may therefore presume it in air. And ac¬
cordingly we know that any noise, however abrupt and jar¬
ring near at hand, is smooth at a distance. Nothing is
more rough and harsh than the scream of a heron ; but at
half a mile’s distance it is soft. The ruffle of a drum is also
smooth at a distance.
Fig. 82, shows the successive situations of the particles
of a row. Each line of the figure shows the same parti¬
cles marked with the same letters ; the first particle a being
supposed to be removed successively from its quiescent
situation and back to it again. The mark X is put on that
part of each line where the agitated particles are at their
natural distances, and the air is of the natural density. The
mark | is put where the air is most of all compressed, and :
where it is most of all dilated; the curve line drawn through
the lowest line of the figure is intended to represent the
density in every point, by drawing ordinates to it from the
straight line. 1 he ordinates below the line indicate a rarity,
and those above the line a density, greater than common.
It appears that when a has come back to its natural situa¬
tion, the part of greatest density is between the particles i Undulation
and k, and the greatest rarity between c and d. of air.
Fig. 82.
f g h
f g k
k
S £ h
S
iff £ h
e,f g h
-X-
4 * ff£ h i
d .. e f g,h
-X
-X
f g l,
- S k-.L
We have only to add, that the velocity of this propaga¬
tion depends on the elasticity and density of the fluid. If
these vary in the same proportion, that is, if the fluid has
its elasticity proportional to its density, the velocity will re¬
main the same. If the elasticity or density alone be changed,
the velocity of the undulations will change in the direct sub¬
duplicate ratio of the elasticity and the inverse subduplicate
ratio of the density ; or should the elasticity be quadrupled,
the quantity of motion produced by it in any given time
will be quadrupled. This will be the case if the velocity
be doubled ; for there would then be double the number of
particles doubly agitated. Should the density be quadru¬
pled, the elasticity remaining the same, the quantity of mo¬
tion must remain the same. This will be the case if the
velocity be reduced to one half; for this will propagate half
the agitation to half the distance, which will communicate
it to twice the number of particles, and the quantity of mo¬
tion will remain the same. The same may be said of other
proportions, and therefore V=——. Therefore a change
in the barometer wall not affect the velocity of the undula¬
tions in air; but they will be accelerated by heat, which
diminishes its density, or increases its elasticity. The velo¬
city of the pulses in inflammable air must be at least thrice
as great, because its density is but one-tenth of that of air
when the elasticity of both are the same.
Let us now attend a little to the propagation of aerial Further
pulses as they really happen ; for this hypothesis of a single considera-
row of particles is nowhere to be observed. Suppose a*-'.000^6-
sphere A, fig. 83, filled with condensed air, and that thella P11^6**
vessel which contains it is suddenly an¬
nihilated. The air must expand to its
natural dimensions, suppose BCD. But
it cannot do this without pressing aside
the surrounding air. We have seen that
in any single row of particles this can¬
not be at once diffused to a distance,
but must produce a condensation in the
air adjoining ; which will be gradually
propagated to a distance. Therefore
this sphere BCD of the common density will form round
it a shell, bounded by EFG, of condensed air. Suppose
that at this instant the inner air BCD becomes solid. The
shell of condensed air can expand only outwards. Let it
expand till it is of the common density, occupying the shell
HIK. This expansion must, in like manner, produce a
shell of condensed air without it; and at this instant let HIK
become solid. The surrounding shell of condensed air can
expand only outward, condensing another shell without it.
It is plain that this must go on continually, and the central
agitation will be gradually propagated to a distance in ail
directions. But, in this process, it is not the same numeri¬
cal particles that go to a distance. Those of the original
Fig. 83.
PNEUMATICS.
Undulation sphere go no further than BCD, those of the next shall go
©fair, no further than HIK, Sec. Further, the expansion outwards
of any particle will be more moderate as the diffusion ad¬
vances ; for the whole motion of each shell cannot exceed
the original quantity of motion ; and the number of particles
in each successive shell increases as the surface, that is, as
the square of the distance from the centre ; therefore the
agitation of the particles will decrease in the same ratio, or
will be in the inverse duplicate ratio of the distance from
the centre. Each successive shell, therefore, contains the
same quantity of motion, and the successive agitations of
the particles of any row out from the centre will not be
equal to the original agitation, as happens in the solitary
row. But this does not affect the velocity of the propaga¬
tion, because all agitations are propagated equally fast.
We supposed the air A to become solid as soon as it ac¬
quired the common density ; but this was to facilitate the
conception of the diffusion. It does not stop at this bulk ;
for while it was denser it had a tendency to expand. There¬
fore each particle has attained this distance with an accel¬
erated motion. It will, therefore, continue this motion like
a pendulum that has passed the perpendicular, till it is
brought to rest by the air without it; and it is now rarer
than common air, and collapses again by the greater elasti¬
city of the air without it. This outward air, therefore, in
regaining its natural density, must expand both ways. It
expands towards the centre, following the collapsing of the
air within it; and it expands outwards, condensing the air
beyond it. By expanding inwards, it will again condense
the air within it, and this will again expand ; a similar mo¬
tion happens in all the outward shells; and thus there is
propagated a succession of condensed and rarefied shells of
air, which gradually swell to the greatest distance.
.Applica- It may be demonstrated, that when the central air has
tion of the for the second time acquired the natural density, it will be
fact of drop-at rest, and be disturbed no more ; and that this will happen
ble^irUo^6 *^° s^e^s succession. But the demonstration is
water. much too intricate for this place ; and we must be contented
with pointing out a fact perfectly analogous. When we
drop a small pebble into water, we see it produce a series
of circular waves, which go along the surface of smooth
water to a great distance, becoming more and more gentle
as they recede from the centre ; and the middle, where the
agitation was first produced, remains perfectly smooth, and
this smoothness extends continually; that is, each wave
when brought to a level remains at rest. Now these waves
are produced and propagated by the depression and eleva¬
tion made at the centre. The elevation tends to diffuse it¬
self ; and the force with which each particle of water is ac¬
tuated is a force acting directly up and down, and is propor¬
tional to the elevation or depression of the particle. This
hydrostatical pressure operates precisely in the same way
as the condensation and rarefaction of the air; and the
mathematical investigation of the propagation of the circu¬
lar undulations on smooth water is similar in every step to
that of the propagation of the spherical waves in still air.
For this we appeal to Newton’s Principia, or to Euler’s
Opuscula, where he gives a very beautiful investigation of
t ie velocity of the aerial pulses; and to some memoirs of
Lagrange in the collections of the academies of Berlin
and I urin. 1 hese two last authors have made the inves¬
tigation as simple as seems possible, and have freed it from
every objection which can be stated against the geometri¬
cal one of their greater teacher Newton.
The waves Having said this much respecting the similarity between
are uspfnl the WaVeS ^ water and the aerial undulations, we shall have
in explain- recourse to them> as affording us a very sensible object to
ing those rePiesent many affections of the other which it would be
of air. extremely difficult to explain. We neither see nor feel the
aerial undulations; and they behoved, therefore, to be de¬
scribed very abstractedly and imperfectly. In the watery
71
wave there is no permanent progressive motion of the water Undulation
from the centre. Throw a small bit of cork on the surface, of air-
and it will be observed to popple up and down without the
least motion outwards. In like manner, the particles of air
are only agitated a very little outwards and inwards, which
motion is communicated to the particles beyond them, whilst
they themselves come to rest, unless agitated afresh ; and
this agitation of the particles is inconceivably small. Even
the explosion of a cannon at no great distance will but
gently agitate a feather, giving it a single impulse out¬
wards, and immediately after another inwards or towards the
cannon. When a harpsichord wire is forcibly twanged at
a few feet distance, the agitation of the air is next to
insensible. It is not, however, nothing; and it differs
from that in a watery wave by being really outwards and
inwards. In consequence of this, when the condensed shell
reaches an elastic body, it impels it slightly. If its elasti¬
city be such as to make it acquire the opposite shape at the
instant that the next agitation and condensed shell of air
touches it, its agitation will be doubled, and a third agita¬
tion will increase it, and so on, till it acquire the agitation
competent to that of the shell of air which reaches it, and
it is thrown into sensible vibration, and gives a sound ex¬
tremely faint indeed, because the agitation which it acquires
is that corresponding to a shell of air considerably removed
from the original string. Hence it happens that a musical
chord, pipe, or bell, will cause another to resound, whose
vibrations are isochronous with its own ; or if the vibra¬
tions of the one coincides with every second, or third, or
fourth, &c. of the other ; just as we can put a very heavy
pendulum into sensible motion by giving it a gentle puff
with the breath at every vibration, or at every second, third,
or fourth, &c. A drum struck in the neighbourhood of
another drum will agitate it very sensibly ; for here the
stroke depresses a very considerable surface, and produces
an agitation of a considerable mass of air ; it will even agi¬
tate the surface of stagnant water. The explosion of a
cannon will even break a neighbouring window. The shell
of condensed air which comes against the glass has a great
surface and a great agitation ; the best security in this case
is to throw up the sash ; this admits the condensed air into
the room, which acts on the inside of the window, balanc¬
ing part of the external impulse.
It is demonstrated in every elementary treatise of natural Waves of
philosophy, that when a wave on water meets any plane air and of
obstacle, it is reflected by it from a centre equally removed water )I1
behind the obstacle ; that waves radiating from the focussome
of a parabola are reflected in waves perpendicular to its
axis ; that waves radiating from one focus of an ellipse are
made to converge to the other focus, &c. All this may be
affirmed of the aerial undulations ; that when part of a wave
gets through a hole in the obstacle, it becomes the centre
of a new series of a waves ; that waves bend round the ex¬
tremities of an obstacle ; all this happens in the aerial un¬
dulations. And lastly, that when the surface of water is
thrown into regular undulations by one agitation, another
agitation in another place will produce other regular waves,
which will cross the former without disturbing them in the
smallest degree. The same thing happens in air ; and ex¬
periments may be made on water which will illustrate in
the most perfect manner many other affections of the aerial
pulses, which we should otherwise conceive very imperfect¬
ly. We would recommend to our curious readers to make
some of these experiments in a large vessel of milk. Take
a long and narrow plate of lead, which, when set on the
bottom of the vessel, will reach above the surface of the
milk; bend this plate into a parabola, elliptical, or other
curve. Make the undulations by dropping milk on the
focus from a small pipe, which will cause the agitations
to succeed with rapidity, and then all that we have said
will be most distinctly seen, and the experiment will be
72
PNEUMATICS.
Effects of very amusing and instructive, especially to the musical
ireofeh reader-
BUrea°.4 e We shall now proceed to explain a number of natural
- appearances, depending on the pressure and the elasticity of
the air; appearances not sufficiently general, or too compli¬
cated for the purposes of argument, whilst we were em¬
ployed in the investigation of these properties, but too im¬
portant to be passed over in silence.
The pres- It is owing to the pressure of the atmosphere that two
sure of the surfaces which accurately fit each other cohere with such
sionTthe ^orce* This is a fact familiarly known to the glass-grind-
cohesion ofers’ P°^s^ers °f marble, &c. A large lens or speculum,
two sur- ground on its tool till it becomes very smooth, requires
faces, &c. more than any man’s strength to separate it directly from
the took If the surface is only a square inch, it will re’
quire fifteen pounds to separate them perpendicularly, though
a very moderate force will make them slide along each other.
But this cohesion is not observed unless the surfaces are
wetted or smeared with oil or grease; otherwise the air
gets between them, and they separate without any trouble.
That this cohesion is owing to the atmospheric pressure, is
evident from the ease with which the plates may be separ¬
ated in an exhausted receiver. To the same cause we
must ascribe the very strong adhesion of snails, periwinkles,
limpets, and other univalve shells, to the rocks. The ani¬
mal forms the rim of its shell, so as to fit the shape of the
rock to which it intends to cling. It then fills its shell, if
not already filled by its own body, with water. In this
condition it is evident that we must act with a force equal
to fifteen pounds for every square inch of touching surface
before we can detach it. This may be illustrated by filling
a drinking-glass to the brim with water, and having cover¬
ed it with a piece of thin wet leather, invert it on a table,
and then try to pull it straight up ; which will require a con¬
siderable force. But if we expose a snail adhering to a
stone in the exhausted receiver, we shall see it drop off by
its own weight. In the same manner do the remora, the
polypus, the lamprey, and many other animals, adhere with
such firmness. Boys frequently amuse themselves by pull¬
ing out large stones from the pavement by means of a cir¬
cle of stiff wetted leather fastened to a string. It is owing
to the same cause that the bivalve shell fishes keep them¬
selves so firmly shut. We think the muscular force of an
oyster prodigious, because it requires such force to open it;
but if we grind off a bit of the convex shell, so as to make
a hole in it, though without hurting the fish in the smallest
degree, it opens with great ease, as it does also in vacuo.
Other ef- The pressure of the air, operating in this way, contri-
feets of thebutes much to the cohesion of bodies, where we do not
pressure of suspect its influence. The tenacity of our mortars and ce-
e alr' ments would frequently be ineffectual without this assis¬
tance. It is owing to the pressure of the atmosphere that
a cask will not run by the cock unless a hole be opened in
some other part of the cask. If the cask is not quite full,
some liquor indeed will run out, but it will stop as soon as
the diminished elasticity of the air above the liquor is in
equilibrio, together with the liquor, with the atmospheric
pressure. In like manner, a teapot must have a small hole
in its lid to ensure its pouring out the tea. If indeed the
hole in the cask is of large dimensions, it will run without
any other, because air will get in at the upper side of the
hole while the liquor runs out by the lower part of it. On
the same principle depends the performance of an instru¬
ment used by the spirit-dealers for taking out a sample of
their spirits. It consists of a long tinplate tube AB (fig. 84,)
open a-top at A, and ending in a small hole at B. The
end B is dipped into the spirits, which rises into the tube;
then the thumb is clapt on the mouth A, and the whole is
lifted out of the cask. The spirit remains in it till the
thumb be taken off; it is then allowed to run into a glass
for examination.
It seems principally owing to the pressure of the air Effects of
Fig. 84.
tlie pres¬
sure of the
Why frosta
instantly
occasion a
scarcity of
water.
that frosts immediately occasion a scantiness
of water in our fountains and wells. This
is erroneously accounted for, by supposing
that the water freezes in the bowels of the
earth. But this is a great mistake. The most
intense frost of a Siberian winter would not
freeze the ground two feet deep ; but a very
moderate frost will consolidate the whole sur¬
face of a country, and make it impervious to
the air; especially if the frost has been pre¬
ceded by rain, which has soaked the surface.
When this happens, the water which was
filtering through the ground is all arrested
and kept suspended in its capillary tubes by
the pressure of the air, in the very same man¬
ner as the spirits are kept suspended in the in¬
strument just now described by the thumb’s
shutting the hole A. A thaw melts the su¬
perficial ice, and allows the water to run in the same man¬
ner as the spirits run when the thumb is removed.
Common air is necessary for supporting the lives of most ^eceg.
animals. If a small animal, such as a mouse or bird, be putsity ofcom-
under the receiver of an air-pump, and the air be exhaust- mon air to
ed, the animal will quickly be thrown into convulsions andailimal life,
fall down dead ; if the air be immediately readmitted, the
animal will sometimes revive, especially if the rarefaction
has been briskly made, and has not been very great. We
do not know that any breathing animal can bear the air to
be reduced to one-fourth of its ordinary density, nor even
one-third ; nor have we good evidence that an animal will
ever recover if the rarefaction is pushed very far, although
continued for a very short time.
But the mere presence of the air is by no means suffi¬
cient for preserving-the life of the animal; for it is found,
that an animal shut up in a vessel of air cannot live in it
for any length of time. If a man be shut up in a box, con¬
taining a wine hogshead of air, he cannot live in it much
above an hour, and long before this he will find his breath¬
ing very unsatisfactory and uneasy. A gallon of air will
support him about a minute. A
box EF (fig. 85,) may be made,
having a pipe AB inserted into
its top, and fitted with a very
light valve at B, opening up¬
wards. This pipe sends off a
lateral branch d D d C, which
enters the box at the bottom,
and is also fitted with a light
valve at C opening upwards. If
a person breathe through the
pipe, keeping his nostrils shut, it
is evident that the air which he
expires will not enter the box by
the hole B, nor return through
the pipe CT)d; and by this con¬
trivance he will gradually em¬
ploy the whole air of the box.
W ith this apparatus experiments can be made without any
risk or inconveniency, and the quantity of air necessary for
a given time of easy breathing maybe accurately ascertained.
How the air of our atmosphere produces this effect is
not a question for mechanical philosophy to determine.
While a certain amount of atmospheric pressure and elasti¬
city is necessary to balance the mechanical impulse of the
blood, and to maintain a sufficient supply of air in the lungs ;
these play but a subordinate part to the subtle agency more
immediately concerned in maintaining the animal functions.
Quito in Peru, and the country round Gondar in Abyssi¬
nia, are so far elevated above the surface of the ocean, that
the pressure and the elasticity of the air are one-third less
PNEUMATICS.
73
inspired,
altered.
Hales’s ex
periments.
Effects of than in the low countries ; yet these are populous and heal-
tlie pres- places. And, on the other hand, we know, that when
sure of the an anjmai pas breathed in any quantity of air for a certain
time without renewal, it will not only be suffocated, but an-*
other animal put into this air will die immediately. And we
do not find either the pressure or elasticity of the air re¬
markably diminished ; it is indeed diminished, but by a very
small quantity. Restoring the former pressure and elasti¬
city has not the smallest tendency to prevent the death of
the animal; for an animal will live no longer under a receiver
that hasits mouth inverted on water, than in one setupon the
pump-plate covered with leather. Now when the receiver is
set on water, the pressure of the atmosphere acts completely on
the included air,andpreservesitinthe samestateofelasticity.
The nature In short, it is known that the air which has already serv-
of air that e(j t0 maintain the animal functions has its chemical and
has been a]imentary properties completely changed, and is no longer
fit for this purpose. So much of any mass of air as has really
been thus employed is changed into what is called fixed air
by Dr. Black, or carbonic acid by the chemists of the school
of Lavoisier. Any person may be convinced of this by
breathing or blowing through a pipe immersed in lime wa¬
ter. Every expiration w ill produce white clouds on the wa¬
ter, till all the lime which it contains is precipitated in the
form of pure chalk. In this case wre know that the lime has
combined with the fixed air.
The celebrated Dr. Stephen Hales made many experi¬
ments, with a view to clear the air from the noxious vapour
which he supposed to be emitted from the lungs. He made
use of the apparatus which we have been just now mention¬
ing ; and he put several diaphragms ^ fif, &c. of thin wooll¬
en stuff into the box, and moistened them with various li¬
quids. He found nothing so efficacious as a solution of po¬
tash. We now understand this perfectly. If the solution
is not already saturated with fixed air, it will take it up as
fast as it is produced, and this will purify the air : a solu¬
tion of caustic alkali therefore will have this effect till it is
rendered quite mild.
These experiments have been repeated, and varied in
comes to be many circumstances, in order to ascertain whether this fix-
cbanged. eci air was real]y emitted by the lungs, or whether the in¬
spired air was in part changed into fixed air by its combi¬
nation wdth some other substance. This is a question which
comes properly in our way, and which the doctrines of pneu¬
matics enable us to answer. If the fixed air be emitted in
substance from the lungs, it does not appear how a renewal
of the air into which it is emitted is necessary, for this does
not hinder the subsequent emission ; and the bulk of the
air would be increased by breathing in it, viz. by the bulk
of all the fixed air emitted; but, on the contrary, it is a
little diminished. We must therefore adopt the other opi¬
nion ; and the discoveries in modern chemistry enable us
to give a pretty accurate account of the whole process.
Fixed air is acknowledged to be a compound, of which one
ingredient is found to constitute nearly one-fourth of the
whole atmospheric fluid, we mean vital air or the oxygen
of Lavoisier. When this is combined with phlogiston, ac¬
cording to the doctrine of Stahl, or with carbon, accord¬
ing to Lavoisier, the result is fixed air or carbonic acid.
1 he change therefore which breathing makes on the air is
the solution of this matter by vital air; and the use of air
in breathing is the carrying off this noxious principle in the
way of solution. When therefore the air is already so far
saturated as not to dissolve this substance as fast as it is se¬
creted, or must be secreted in the lungs, the animal suffers
the pain of suffocation, or is otherwise mortally affected.
Suffocation is not the only consequence ; for we can remain
for a number of seconds without breathing, and then we be¬
gin to feel the true pain of suffocation ; but those who have
been instantaneously struck down by an inspiration of fixed
air, and afterwards recovered to life, complained of no such
VOL. XVIII.
How it
pain, and seemed to have suffered chiefly oy a nervous af- Effects o(
fection. It is said, but we will not vouch for the truth of d16 Pres*
it, that a person may safely take a full inspiration of fixedsure ?f the
air, if the passages of the nose be shut; and that unless these air’
nerves are stimulated by the fixed air, it is not instantane-
ously mortal. But these are questions out of our present
line of inquiry. They belong to physiology, and are treat¬
ed of in other places of this work. Our business is to ex¬
plain in what manner the pressure and elasticity of the air,
combined with the structure and mechanism of the body,
operate in producing this necessary secretion and removal
of the matter discharged from the lungs in the act of breath¬
ing. _
It is well ascertained, that the secretion is made from the
mass of blood during its passage through the lungs. The
blood delivered into the lungs is of a dark blackish colour,
and is there changed into a florid red. In the lungs it is
exposed to the action of the air in a prodigiously extended
surface ; for the lungs consist of an inconceivable number
of small vessels or bladders, communicating w ith each other
and with the windpipe. These are filled with air in every
inspiration. These vessels are everywhere in contact with
minute blood-vessels. The blood does not in toto come
into immediate contact with the air ; and it would seem that
it is only the thin serous part of it which is acted on by the
air at the mouths of the vessels or pores, where it stands by
capillary attraction. Dr. Priestley found, that venous blood
inclosed in thin bladders and other membranes was render¬
ed florid by keeping the bladders in contact with abundance
of pure vital air. We know also, that breath is moist or
damp, and must have acquired this moisture in the lungs.
It is immaterial whether this secretion of water or lymph, as
the anatomists call it, be furnished by mere exudation
through simple pores, or by a vascular and organic secre¬
tion ; in either case, some ingredient of the blood comes in
contact with air in the lungs, and there unites with it. This
is farther confirmed, by observing, that all breathing animals
are warmer than the surrounding medium, and that by every
process in which fixed air is formed from vital air, heat is
produced. Hence the formation of this gas by the union
of atmospheric oxygen with carbon in the blood is generally
assigned as the source of animal heat. We touch on these
things in a very transitory way in this place, only to prove
that, for the support of animal life, there must be a very
extensive application of the air to the blood, and that this
is made in the lungs.
The question under consideration here is, How is this
brought about by the weight and elasticity of the air? The
answer is, it is done in two ways ; by the action of the muscles
of the ribs, and by the action of the diaphragm and other mus¬
cles of the abdomen. The thorax or chest is a great cavity,
completely filled by the lungs. The sides of this cavity are
formed by the ribs. These are crooked or arched, and each
is moveable round its two ends, one of them being inserted
into the vertebra of the back, and the other into the ster¬
num or breast-bone. The rib turns in a manner resem¬
bling the handle of a draw er.
The inspection of fig. 86 Fig. 86.
will illustrate this matter a
little. Suppose the curves
a c e, b kf, clg, &c.to re¬
present the ribs moveable
round the extremities. Each
succeeding rib is more bent
than the one above it, and
this curvature is both in the
vertical and horizontal direction.
as to project a little over its inferior like the tiles of a roof.
It is evident, that if we take the lower one by its middle,
and draw it out a little, moving it round the line np, it will
bring out the next dmh along with it. Also, because the dis-
K
Suppose each so broad
74
PNEUMATICS.
Effects of tance of the middle point o from the axis of motion np is
the pres- greater than the distance of m from the axis dh, and be-
sure o the cause 0 wpj therefore describe a portion of a larger circle
a strong muscular partition called the diaphragm, which is Effects of
attached to firm parts all around. In its quiescent or re- the Prfes-
laxed state it is considerably convex upwards, that is, to-sure the
than m does, the rib nop will slide up a little under the rib inwards the thorax, rising up into its cavity like the bottom
of an ordinary quart bottle, only not so regular in its shape.
Many of its fibres tend from its middle to the circumfer¬
ence, where they are inserted into firm parts of the body.
Now suppose these fibres to contract. This must draw
down its middle, or make it flatter than before, and thus
enlarge the capacity of the thorax.
Physiologists are not well agreed as to the share which
each of these actions has in the operation of enlarging the
thorax. Many refuse all share of it to the intercostal mus¬
cles, and say that it is performed by the diaphragm alone.
But the fact is, that the ribs are really observed to rise
even while the person is asleep ; and this cannot possibly
be produced by the diaphragm, as these anatomists assert.
Such an opinion shows either ignorance or neglect of the
laws of pneumatics. If the capacity of the thorax were
enlarged only by drawing down the diaphragm, the pres¬
sure of the air would compress the ribs, and make them de¬
scend. And the simple laws of mechanics make it as evi¬
dent as any proposition in geometry, that the contraction
of the intercostal muscles must produce an elevation of the
ribs and enlargement of the thorax ; and it is one of the
most beautiful contrivances of nature. It depends much on
the will of the animal what share each of these actions
shall have. In general, the greatest part is done by the
diaphragm ; and any person can breathe in such a manner
that his rib shall remain motionless; and, on the contrary,
he can breathe almost entirely by raising his chest. In the
first method of breathing, the belly rises during inspiration,
because the contraction of the diaphragm compresses the
upper part of the bowels, and therefore squeezes them out¬
wards ; so that an ignorant person would be apt to think
that the breathing was performed by the belly, and that the
belly is inflated with the air. The strait lacing of the wo¬
men impedes the motion of the ribs, and changes the natur¬
al habit of breathing, or brings on an unnatural habit. When
the mind is depressed, it is observed that the breathing is
more performed by the muscles of the thorax ; and a deep
sigh is always made in this way.
These observations on the manner in which the capacity
of the chest can be enlarged were necessary, before we can
acquire a just notion of the way in which the mechanical
properties of air operate in applying it to the mass of blood
during its passage through the lungs. Suppose the thorax
quite empty, and communicating with the external air by
means of the trachea or windpipe, it would then resemble
a pair of bellows. Raising the boards corresponds to the
raising of the ribs ; and we might imitate the action of the
diaphragm by forcibly pulling outwards the folded leather
which unites them. Thus their capacity is enlarged, and
the air rushes in at the nozzle by its weight in the same
manner as water would do. The thorax differs from bel¬
lows only in this respect, that it is filled by the lungs, which
is a vast collection of little bladders, like the holes in a piece
of fermented bread, all communicating with the trachea,
and many of them with each other. When the chest is
enlarged, the air rushes into them all in the same manner
as into the single cavity of an empty thorax. It cannot be
said with propriety that they are inflated ; all that is done
dmh, or the rib dmh will overlap nop a little more than be¬
fore ; the distance om will therefore be diminished. The
same must happen to all the superior ribs ; but the change
of distance will be less and less as we go upwards. Now,
instead of this great breadth of the ribs overlapping each
other, suppose each inferior rib connected with the one
above it by threads or fibres susceptible of contraction at
the will of man. The articulations e, a, of the first or up¬
per rib with the spine and sternum are so broad and firm,
that this rib can have little or no motion round the line ae ;
this rib therefore is as a fixture for the ends of all the con¬
tracting fibres: therefore, whenever the fibres which con¬
nect the second rib with the first rib contract, the second
must rise a little, and also go outward, and will carry the
lower ribs along with it; the third rib will still rise farther
by the contraction of the muscles which connect it with
the second, and so on ; and thus the whole ribs are raised
and thrown outward (and a little forward, because the arti¬
culation of each with the spine is considerably higher than
that with the sternum), and the capacity of the thorax is
enlarged by the contraction of its muscular covering. The
direction of the muscular fibres is very oblique to the direc¬
tion of the circular motion which itproduces; from which cir¬
cumstance it follows, that a very minute contraction of the
muscles produces all the motion which is necessary. This in¬
deed is not great; the whole motion of the lowest ribs is less
than an inch in the most violent inspiration, and the whole
contraction of the muscles of the twelve ribs does not ex¬
ceed the eighth part of an inch, even supposing the inter¬
costal muscles at right angles to the ribs; and being oblique,
the contraction is still less. It would seem, that the inten¬
sity of the contractive power of a muscular fibre is easily ob¬
tained, but that the space through which it can be exerted is
very limited ; for in most cases nature places the muscles
in situations of great mechanical disadvantage in this re¬
spect, in order to procure other conveniences.
But this is not the whole effect of the contraction of the
intercostal muscles; since the compound action of the two
sets of muscles, which cross each other from rib to rib like
the letter X, is nearly at right angles to the rib, but is ob¬
lique to its plane, it tends to push the ribs closer on their
articulations, and thus to press out the two pillars on which
they are articulated. Thus, supposing a f (fig. 87) to re¬
present the section of one of the verte¬
brae of the spine, and c d a. section of
the sternum, and a b c, f e d, two oppo¬
site ribs, with a lax thread b e connect¬
ing them. If this thread be pulled up¬
wards by the middle g till it is tight,
it will tend to pull the points b and e
nearer to each other, and to press the
vertebra a f and the sternum c d outwards,
ing the chief pillar of the body, may be considered as im¬
moveable in the present instance. The sternum is suffi¬
ciently susceptible of motion for the present purpose. It
remains almost fixed a-top at its articulation with the first
rib, but it gradually yields below; and thus the capacity
of the thorax is enlarged in this direction also. The whole
Fig. 81
The spine be-
enlargement of the diameters of the thorax during inspir- is the allowing the air to come in. At the same time, as
ation is very small, not exceeding the fiftieth part of an their membranous covering must have some thickness, how-
inch in ordinary cases. This is easily calculated. Its quies- ever small, and some elasticity, it is not unlikely that, when
cent capacity is about two cubic feet, and we never draw compressed by expiration, they tend a little to recover
in more than fifteen inches. Two spheres, one of which holds their former shape, and thus aid the voluntary action of the
two cubic feet and the other two feet and fifteen inches, muscles. It is in this manner that a small bladder of ca-
will not differ in diameter above the fiftieth part of an inch, outchouc swells again after compression, and fills itself with
The other method of enlarging the capacity of the tho- air or water. But this cannot happen except in the most
rax is very different. It is separated from the abdomen by minute vesicles ; those of sensible bulk have not elasticity
PNEUMATICS.
75
external
pressure.
Effects of enough for this purpose. The lungs of birds, however,
the pres- have some very large bladders, which have a very consi-
sure of the <jerakle elasticity, and recover their shape and size with
l air, i great force after compression, and thus fill themselves with
Y -*_ air. The respiration of these animals is considerably dif¬
ferent from that of land animals, and their muscles act chief¬
ly in expiration. This will be explained by and by as a
curious variety in the pneumatic instrument.
Air taken This account of the manner in which the lungs are filled
in, not by ajr Jogg not seem agreeable to the notions we enter-
ourovvnac-tajn jt> We seem to suck in the air; but although it
PYfp’rri:!^ itc true that we act, and exert force, in order to get air in¬
to our lungs, it is not by our action, but by external pressure,
that it does come in. If we apply our mouth to the top of a
bottle filled with water, we find that no draught, as we call it,
of our chest will suck in any of the water, but if we suck in the
very same manner at the end of a pipe immersed in water, it
follows immediately. Our interest in the thing makes us con¬
nect in imagination our own action with the effect, without
thinking on the many steps which may intervene in the train
of natural operations ; and we consider the action as the im¬
mediate cause of the reception of the air into the lungs. It is
as if we opened the door, and took in by the hand a person
who was really pushed in by the crowd without. If an inci¬
sion be made into the side of the thorax, so that the air can
get in by that way, when the animal acts in the usual man¬
ner, the air will really come in by this hole, and fill the
space between the lungs and the thorax ; but no air is suck¬
ed into the lungs by this process, and the animal is as com¬
pletely suffocated as if the windpipe were shut up. And,
on the other hand, if a hole be made into the lungs without
communicating with the thorax, the animal will breathe
through this hole, though the windpipe be stopped. This
is successfully performed in cases of patients whose trachea
is shut up by accident or by inflammation; only it is neces¬
sary that this perforation be made into a part of the lungs
where it may meet with some of the great pulmonary pas¬
sages ; for if made into some remote part of a lobe, the air
cannot find its way into the rest of the lungs through such
narrow passages, obstructed too by blood, &c.
Nature of We have now explained, on pneumatical principles, the
expiration, process of inspiration. The expiration is chiefly performed
by the natural tone of the parts. In the act of inspiration
the ribs were raised and drawn outwards in opposition to
the elasticity of the solids themselves ; for although the
ribs are articulated at their extremities, the articulations
are by no means such as to give a free and easy motion
like the joints of the limbs. This is particularly the case
in the articulations with the sternum, which are by no
means fitted for motion. It would seem that the motion
really produced here is chiefly by the yielding of the car¬
tilaginous parts and the bending of the rib ; when there¬
fore the muscles which produced this effect are allowed to
relax, the ribs again collapse. Perhaps this is assisted a
little by the action of the long muscles which come down
across the ribs without being inserted into them. These
may draw them together a little, as we compress a loose
bundle by a string. In like manner, when the diaphragm
was drawn down, it compressed the abdomen in opposition
to the elasticity of all the viscera contained in it, and to the
elasticity and tone of integuments and muscles which sur¬
round it. When therefore the diaphragm is relaxed, these
parts push it up again into its natural situation, and in doing
this expel the air from the lungs.
If this be a just account of the matter, expiration should
be performed without any effort. This accordingly is the
case. We feel that, after having made an ordinary easy
inspiration, it requires the continuance of the effort to keep
the thorax in this enlarged state, and that all that is neces¬
sary for expiration is to cease to act. No person feels any
difficulty in emptying the lungs; but weak people often
It requires
no effort.
feel a difficulty of inspiration, and compare it to the feeling Effects of
of a weight on their breast; and expiration is the last mo- tlle Pres-
tion of the thorax in a dying person. But nature has alsosure the
given us a mechanism by which we can expire, namely, the
abdominal muscles ; and when we have finished an ordi¬
nary and easy expiration, we can still expel a considera¬
ble bulk of air—nearly half the contents of the lungs—by
contracting the abdominal muscles. These, by compress¬
ing the body, force up its moveable contents against the
diaphragm, and cause it to rise further into the thorax, act¬
ing in the same manner as when we expel the faeces per
anum. When a person breathes out as much air as he can
in this manner, he may observe that his ribs do not collapse
during the whole operation.
There seems then to be a certain natural unconstrained A certain
state of the vesicles of the lungs, and a certain quantity of quantity of
air necessary for keeping them of this size. It is probable ail'neces-
that this state of the lungs gives the freest motion to ^ie the^u^s6 f
blood. Were they more compressed, the blood-vessels a
would be compressed by the adjoining vesicles ; were they size>
more lax, the vessels would be more crooked, and by this
means obstructed. The frequent inspirations gradually
change this air by mixing fresh air with it, and at every
expiration carrying off some of it. In catarrhs and inflam¬
mations, especially when attended with suppuration, the
small passages into the remote vessels are obstructed, and
thus the renewal of air in them will be prevented. The
painful feeling which this occasions, causes us to expel the
air with violence, shutting the windpipe, till we have ex¬
erted strongly with the abdominal muscles, and made a
strong compression on the lower part of the thorax. We
then open the passage suddenly, and expel the air and ob¬
structing matter by violent coughing.
We have said, that birds exhibit a curious variety in the Process of
process of breathing. The muscles of their wings being so breathing
very great, required a very extensive insertion, and this is in birds,
one use of the great breast bone. Another use of it is, to
form a firm partition to hinder the action of these muscles
from compressing the thorax in the act of flying; there¬
fore the form of their chest does not admit of alternate en¬
largement and contraction to that degree as in land ani¬
mals. Moreover, the muscles of their abdomen are also
very small; and it would seem that they are not sufficient
for producing the compression on the bowels which is ne¬
cessary for carrying on the process of concoction and di¬
gestion. Instead of aiding the lungs, they receive help
from them.
In the ostrich, the lungs consist of a fleshy part A, A, (fig. 88)
composed of vesicles like those of
land animals, and, like theirs, serv- Fig. 88.
ing to expose the blood to the ac¬
tion of the air. Besides these,
they have on each side, four large
bags, B, C, D, E, each of which
has an orifice G, communicating
with the trachea; but the ‘se¬
cond, C, has an orifice, H, by
which it communicates with an¬
other bag F, situated below the
rest in the abdomen. Now, when
the lungs are compressed by the
action of the diaphragm, the air
in C is partly expelled by the tra¬
chea through the orifice G, and
partly driven through the orifice
H into the bag F, which is then
allowed to receive it, because the same action which com¬
presses the lungs enlarges the abdomen. When the tho¬
rax is enlarged, the bag C is partly supplied with fresh air
through the trachea, and partly from the bag F. As the
lungs of other animals resemble a common bellows, the
76 P N E U M
Effects of lungs of birds resemble the smith’s bellows with a partition ;
the pres- an(j anatomists have discovered passages from this part of
,urea“r t*,ethe lungs into their hollow bones and quills. We do not
know all the uses of this contrivance; and only can ob-
serve, that this alternate action must assist the muscles of
the abdomen in promoting the motion of the food along the
alimentary canal, See. We can distinctly observe in birds
that their belly dilates when the chest collapses, and vice
versa, contrary to what we see in the land animals. An¬
other use of this double passage may be to produce a cir¬
culation of air in the lungs, by which a compensation is
made for the smaller surface of action on the blood ; for the
number of small vesicles, of equal capacity with these large
bags, give a much more extensive surface.
If we try to raise mercury in a pipe by the action of the
chest alone, we cannot raise it above two or three inches ;
and the attempt is both painful and hazardous. It is pain¬
ful chiefly in the breast, and it provokes coughing. Pro¬
bably the fluids ooze through the pores of the vesicles by
the pressure of the surrounding parts. On the other hand,
we can by expiration support mercury about five or six
inches high ; but this also is very painful, and apt to pro¬
duce extravasation of blood. This seems to be done en¬
tirely by the abdominal muscles.
The opera- The operation properly termed sucking, is totally differ-
tion of ent from breathing, and resembles exceedingly the action of
sucking. a C0mm0n pump. Suppose a pipe held in the mouth, and
its lower end immersed in water. We fill the mouth with
the tongue, bringing it forward, and applying it closely to
the teeth and to the palate ; we then draw it back, or bend
it downwards from the palate behind, thus leaving a void.
The pressure of the air on the cheeks immediately depresses
them, and applies them close to the gums and teeth ; and
its pressure on the water in the vessel causes it to rise
through the pipe into the empty part of the mouth, which
it quickly fills. We then push forward the tip of the
tongue, below the water, to the teeth, and apply it to them
all round, the water being above the tongue, which is kept
much depressed. We then apply the tongue to the palate,
beginning at the tip, and gradually going backward in this
application. By this means the water is gradually forced
backward by an operation similar to that of the gullet in
swallowing. This is done by contracting the gullet above,
and relaxing it below, just as we would empty a gut of its
contents, by drawing our closed hand along it. By this
operation the mouth is again completely occupied by the
tongue, and we are ready for repeating the operation. Thus
the mouth and tongue resemble the barrel and piston of a
pump ; and the application of the tip of the tongue to the
teeth, performs the office of the valve at the bottom of the
barrel, preventing the return of the water into the pipe.
Although usual, it is not absolutely necessary, to withdraw
the tip of the tongue, making a void before the tongue.
Sucking may be performed by merely separating the tongue
gradually from the palate, beginning at the root. If we
withdraw the tip of the tongue a very minute quantity, the
water flows back above the tongue.
The action of the tongue in this operation is very pow¬
erful ; some persons can raise mercury 25 inches; but this
strong exertion is very fatiguing, and the soft parts are
prodigiously swelled by it. It causes the blood to ooze
plentifully through the pores of the tongue, fauces, and pa¬
late, in the same manner as if a cupping-glass and syringe
were applied to them ; and, when the inside of the mouth
is excoriated or tender, as is frequent with infants, even a
very moderate exertion of this kind is accompanied with
extravasation of blood. When children suck the nurse’s
breast, the milk follows their exertion by the pressure of
the air on the breast; and a weak child, or one that with¬
holds its exertions on account of pain from the above men¬
tioned cause, may be assisted by a gentle pressure of the
A T I C S.
hand on the breast. The infant pupil of nature, without Effects of
any knowledge of pneumatics, frequently helps itself by the re¬
pressing its face to the yielding breast. ^^air 6
In the whole of this operation the breathing is perform-
ed through the nostrils; and it is a prodigious distress to
an infant when this passage is obstracted by mucus. We
beg to be forgiven for observing by the way, that this ob¬
struction may be almost certainly removed for a little while,
by rubbing the child’s nose with any liquid of quick evapo¬
ration, or even with water.
The operation in drinking is not very different from that Of drink-
in sucking. We have indeed little occasion here to suck,ing.
but we must do it a little. Dogs, and some other animals,
cannot drink, but only lap the water into their mouths with
their tongues, and then swallow it. The gallinaceous birds
seem to drink very imperfectly. They seem merely to dip
their head into the water, up to the eyes, till their mouth is
filled with water, and then holding up the head, it gets in¬
to the gullet by its weight, and is then swallowed. The
elephant drinks in a very complicated manner. He dips
his trunk into the water, and fills it by making a void in
his mouth. This he does in the contrary way to man.
After having depressed his tongue, he begins the applica¬
tion of it to the palate at the root, and by extending the
application forward, he expels the air by the mouth which
came into it from the trunk. The process here is not very
unlike that of the condensing syringe without a piston
valve, in which the external air, corresponding to the air
in the trunk, enters by the hole in the side, and is ex¬
pelled through the hole in the end of the barrel; by this
operation the trunk is filled with water ; then he lifts his
trunk out of the water, and bringing it to his mouth, pours
the contents into it, and swallows it. On considering this
operation, it appears that, by the same process by which
the air of the truhk is taken into the mouth, the water
could also be taken in, to be afterwards swallowed; but
we do not find, upon inquiry, that this is done by the ele¬
phant ; we have always observed him to drink in the man¬
ner now described. In either way it is a double operation,
and cannot be carried on any way but by alternately suck¬
ing and swallowing, and while one operation is going on,
the other is interrupted; whereas man can do both at the
same time. Nature seems to delight in exhibiting to ra¬
tional observers her inexhaustible variety of resource ; for
many insects which drink with a trunk, drink without in¬
terruption ; yet we do not call in question the truth of the
aphorism, Natura maxime simplex et semper sibi consona,
nor doubt but that, if the whole of her purpose were seen,
we should find that her process is the simplest possible ; for
Nature, or Nature’s God, is wise above our wisest thoughts,
and simplicity is certainly the choice of wisdom ; but, alas!
it is generally but a small and the most obvious part of her
purpose that we can observe or appreciate. We seldom
see this simplicity of nature stated to us, except by some
system-maker, who has found a principle which somehow
tallies with a considerable variety of phenomena, and then
cries out, Frustra sit per plura quod fieri potest per pan¬
dora.
There is an operation similar to that of the elephant, which Mode of
many find a great difficulty in acquiring; namely, keepingupakeeping up
continued blast with a blow-pipe. We would desire our che-^ con^I||1®a
mical reader to attend minutely to the gradual action of his a
tongue in sucking, andhe will find it such as we have described.
Let him attend particularly to the way in which the tip of
the tongue performs the office of a valve, preventing the
turn of the water into the pipe ; and the same position of the
tongue would hinder air from coming into the mouth. Next
let him observe, that in swallowing what water he has now
got lodged above his tongue, he continues the tip of the
tongue applied to the teeth ; now let him shut his mouth,
keeping his lips firm together, the tip of the tongue at the
PNEUMATICS.
77
Nature of
the land
and sea-
breeze in
warm
countries.
Effects of teeth, and the whole tongue forcibly kept at a distance from
the pres- tiie palate; bring up the tongue to the palate, and allow
sure of the tpe tjp to separate a little from the teeth, this will expel
air,_ the air into the space between the fauces and cheeks, and
will blow up the cheeks a little ; then, acting with the tip
of the tongue as a valve, hinder this air from getting back,
and depressing the tongue again, more air from the nos¬
trils will get into the mouth, which may be expelled into
the space without the teeth as before, and the cheeks will
be more inflated. Continue this operation, and the lips will
no longer be able to retain it, and it will ooze through as
long as the operation is continued. When this has become
familiar and easy, take the blow-pipe, and there will be no
difficulty in maintaining a blast as uniform as a smith’s bel¬
lows, breathing all the while through the nostrils. The
only difficulty is the holding the pipe. This fatigues the
lips; but it may be removed by giving the pipe a conve¬
nient shape, a pretty flat oval, and wrapping it round wdth
leather or thread.
Another phenomenon depending on the principles al¬
ready established, is the land and sea-breeze in the warm
countries. We have seen that air expands exceedingly by
heat; therefore heated air, being lighter than an equal bulk
of cold air, must rise in it. If we lay a hot stone in the
sunshine in a room, we shall observe the shadow of the
stone surrounded with a fluttering shadow of different de¬
grees of brightness, and that this flutter rises rapidly in a
column above the stone. If we hold an extinguished candle
near the stone, we shall see the smoke move towards the
stone, and then ascend from it. Now, suppose an island
receiving the first rays of the sun in a perfectly calm morn¬
ing ; the ground will soon be warmed, and will warm the
contiguous air. If the island be mountainous, this effect
will be more remarkable ; because the inclined sides of the
hills will receive the light more directly. The midland air
will therefore be most warmed. The heated air will rise,
and that in the middle will rise fastest; and thus a current
of air upwards will begin, wdiich must be supplied by air
coming in from all sides, to be heated and to rise in its
turn; so that the morning sea-breeze is produced, and
continues all day. This current will frequently be revers¬
ed during the night, by the air cooling and gliding down
the sides of the hills, and we shall have the land-breeze.
Circulation It is owing to the same cause that we have a circulation
of air in 0f air in mines which have the mouths of their shafts of un-
mmos. equal heights. The temperature under ground is pretty
constant through the whole year, while that of the atmos¬
phere is extremely variable. Now, suppose a mine having
a long horizontal drift, communicating between two pits or
shafts, and that one of these shafts terminates in a valley,
while the other opens on the brow of a hill perhaps 100 feet
higher. Let us further suppose it summer, and the air
heated to 65°, while the temperature of the earth is but
45° ; this last will be also the temperature of the air in the
shafts and the drift. Now, since air expands nearly 24 parts
in 10,000 by one degree of heat, we shall have an odds of
pressure at the bottom of the two shafts equal to nearly the
20th part of the weight of a column of air 100 feet high
(100 feet being supposed the difference of the heights of
the shafts.) This will be about six ounces on every square
foot of the section of the shaft. If this pressure could be
continued, it would produce a prodigious current of air
down the long shafts, along the drift, and up the short shaft.
The weight of air acting through 100 feet would commu-
nicatejo it the velocity of 80 feet per second : divide this
by x/20, that is, by 4-5, and we shall have 18 feet per se¬
cond for the velocity : this is the velocity of what is called
a brisk gale. This pressure would be continued, if the
warm air which enters the long shaft w^ere cooled and con¬
densed as fast as it comes in ; but this is not the case. It
is however cooled and condensed, and a current is produced
sufficient to make an abundant circulation of air along the Effects of
whole passage ; and care is taken to dispose the shafts and the pres-
conduct the passages in such a manner that no part of thesure th8
mine is out of the circle. When any new lateral drift is air'_
made, the renewal of air at its extremity becomes more im-
perfect as it advances: and when it is carried a certain
length, the air stagnates and becomes suffocating, till either
a communication can be made with the rest of the mine, or
a shaft be made at the end of this drift.
As this current depends entirely on the difference of
temperature between the air below and that above, it must
cease when this difference ceases. Accordingly, in the
spring and autumn, the miners complain much of stagna¬
tion ; but in summer they never want a current from the
deep pits to the shallow, nor in the winter a current from
the shallow pits to the deep ones. It frequently happens
also, that in mineral countries the chemical changes which
are going on in different parts of the earth occasion differ¬
ences of temperature sufficient to produce a sensible current.
And this naturally leads us to consider a very important The nature
effect of the expansion and consequent ascent of air by heat,
namely, the drawing, as it is called, of chimneys. The air ^ ^ ^ fn
which has contributed to the burning of fuel must be in- chimneys,
tensely heated, and will rise in the atmosphere. This will
also be the case with much of the surrounding air which
has come very near the fire, although not in contact with
it. If this heated air be made to rise in a pipe, it will be
kept together, and therefore will not soon cool and collapse :
thus we shall obtain a long column of light air, which will
rise with a force so much the greater as the column is long¬
er or more heated. Therefore the taller we make the chim¬
ney, or the hotter we make the fire, the more rapid will be
the current, or the draught or suction, as it is injudiciously
called, will be so much the greater. The ascensional force
is the difference between the weight of the column of heat¬
ed air in the funnel and a column of the surrounding at¬
mosphere of equal height. We increase the draught, there¬
fore, by increasing the perpendicular height of the chimney.
Its length in a horizontal direction gives no increase, but,
on the contrary, diminishes the draught by cooling the air
before it gets into the effective part of the funnel. We in¬
crease the draught also by obliging all the air which enters
the chimney to come very near the fuel; therefore a low
mantle-piece will produce this effect; also filling up all the
spaces on each side of the grate. When much air gets in
above the fire, by having a lofty mantle-piece, the general
mass of air in the chimney cannot be much heated. Hence
it must happen that the greatest draught wall be produced
by bringing down the mantle-piece to the very fuel; but
this converts a fire-place into a furnace, and by thus send¬
ing the whole air through the fuel, causes it to burn with
great rapidity, producing a prodigious heat; and this pro¬
ducing an increase of ascensional force, the current becomes
furiously rapid, and the heat and consumption of fuel im¬
mense. If the fire-place be a cube of a foot and a half, and
the front closed by a door, so that all the air must enter
through the bottom of the grate, a chimney of fifteen or
twenty feet high, and sufficiently wide to give passage to
all the expanded air which can pass through the fire, wdll
produce a current which will roar like thunder, and a heat
sufficient to run the whole inside into a lump of glass.
All that is necessary, however, in a chamber fire-place,
is a current sufficiently great for carrying up the smoke and
vitiated air of the fuel. And as we want also the enliven¬
ing light and flutter of the fire, we give the chimney-piece
both a much greater height and width than what is merely
necessary for carrying up the smoke, only wishing to have
the current sufficiently determinate and steady for counter¬
acting any occasional tendency which it may sometimes
have to come into the room. By allowing a greater quan¬
tity of air to get into the chimney, heated only to a mode-
78 P N E U M
Effects of rate degree, we produce a more rapid renewal of the air of
the pres- room ; we oblige it to come so much nearer the fire
sure of the as projuce the same renewal of the air in consequence
v * .of a more rapid current, we should produce an inconveni-
ent heat. But in this country, where pit-coal is in general
so very cheap, we carry this indulgence to an extreme; or
rather we have not studied how to get all the desired ad¬
vantages with economy. A much smaller renewal of air
than we commonly produce is abundantly wholesome and
pleasant, and we may have all the pleasure of the light and
flame of the fuel at much less expense, by contracting greatly
the passage into the vent. The best way of doing this is
by contracting the brick-work on each side behind the man¬
tle-piece, and reducing it to a narrow parallelogram, having
the back of the vent for one of its long sides. Make an
iron plate to fit this hole, of the same length, but broader,
so that it may lie sloping, its lower edge being in contact
with the foreside of the hole, and its upper edge leaning on
the back of the vent. In this position it shuts the hole en¬
tirely. Now let the plate have a hinge along the front or
lower edge, and fold up like the lid of a chest. We shall
thus be able to enlarge the passage at pleasure. In a
fire-place fit for a room of 24 feet by 18, if this plate be
about 18 inches long from side to side, and folded back
within an inch or an inch and a half of the wrall, it will
allow passage for as much air as will keep up a very cheer¬
ful fire ; and by raising or lowering this register, the fire
may be made to burn more or less rapidly. A free passage
of half an inch will be sufficient in weather that is not im¬
moderately cold. The principle on which this construction
produces its effect is, that the air which is in the front of
the fire, and much warmed by it, is not allowed to get into
the chimney, where it would be immediately hurried up
the vent, but rises up to the ceiling and is diffused over the
wrhole room. This double motion of the air may be dis¬
tinctly observed by opening a little of the door and holding
a candle in the way. If the candle be held near the floor,
the flame will be blown into the room ; but if held near the
top of the door, the flame will be blown outward.
Descrip- But the most perfect method of warming an apartment
tion of a in the temperate climates, where we can indulge in the
stove-grate cheerfulness and sweet air produced by an open fire, is what
or chapelle- we caj] a st0ve-grate, and our neighbours on the Continent
call a chapelle, from its resemblance to the chapels or ora¬
tories in the great churches.
In the great chimney-piece, which, in this case, may be
made even larger than ordinary, is set a smaller one fitted
up in the same style of ornament, but of a size no greater
than is sufficient for holding the fuel. The sides and back
of it are made of iron (cast iron is preferable to hammered
iron, because it does not so readily calcine), and are kept
at a small distance from the sides and back of the main
chimney-piece, and are continued down to the hearth, so
that the ash-pit is also separated. The pipe or chimney of
the stove grate is carried up behind the ornaments of the
mantle-piece till it rises above the mantle-piece of the main
chimney-piece, and is fitted with a register or damper-plate
turning round a traverse axis. The best form of this re¬
gister is that which we have recommended for an ordinary
fire-place, having its axis or joint close at the front; so that
when it is open or turned up, the burnt air and smoke strik¬
ing it obliquely, are directed wuth certainty into the vent,
without any risk of reverberating and coming out into the
room. All the rest of the vent is shut up by iron-plates or
brick-work out of sight.
The effect of this construction is very obvious. The
fuel, being in immediate contact with the back and sides of
the grate, heats them to a great degree, and they heat the
air contiguous to them. This heated air cannot get up the
vent, because the passages above these spaces are shut up.
It therefore comes out into the room; some of it goes into
A T I C S.
the real fire-place and is carried up the vent? and the rest Effects of
rises to the ceiling and is diffused over the room. the pres.
It is surprising to a person who does not consider it with sul-e °r the
skill, how powerfully this grate warms a room. Less than
one-fourth of the fuel consumed in an ordinary fire-place
is sufficient; and this with the same cheerful blazing hearth its con_
and salutary renewal of air. It even requires attention tostruction.
keep the room cool enough. The heat communicated to
those parts in contact with the fuel is needlessly great; and
it will be a considerable improvement to line this part with
very thick plates of cast-iron, or with tiles made of fire-clay
which will not crack with the heat. These, being very bad
conductors, will make the heat, ultimately communicated
to the air, very moderate. If, with all these precautions,
the heat should be found too great, it may be brought un¬
der perfect management by opening passages into the vent
from the lateral spaces. These may be valves or trap-doors
moved by rods concealed behind the ornaments.
Thus we have a fire-place under the most complete re¬
gulation, where we can always have a cheerful fire without
being for a quarter of an hour incommoded by the heat;
and we can as quickly raise our fire, when too low, by hang¬
ing on a plate of iron on the front, which shall reach as low
as the grate. This in five minutes will blow up the fire
into a glow; and the plate may be sent out of the room,
or set behind the stove-grate out of sight.
The propriety of inclosing the ash-pit is not so obvious ;
but if this be not done, the light ashes, not finding a ready
passage up the chimney, will come out into the room along
with the heated air.
Under this head we shall next give a general account Mode of
and description of the method of warming apartments by warming
stoves. A stove in general is a fire-place shut up on all apartments
sides, having only a passage for admitting the air to support^ stoves-
the fire, and a tube for carrying oft' the vitiated air and
smoke ; and the air of the room is warmed by coming into
contact with the outside of the stove and flue. The gene¬
ral principle of construction, therefore, is very simple. The
air must be made to come into as close contact as possible
with the fire, or even to pass through it, and this in such
quantities as just to consume a quantity of fuel sufficient
for producing the heat required; and the stove must be so
constructed, that both the burning fuel and the air which
has been heated by it shall be applied to as extensive a sur¬
face as possible of furnace, all in contact with the air of the
room; and the heated air within the stove must not be al¬
lowed to get into the funnel which is to carry it off till it
is too much cooled to produce any considerable heat on the
outside of the stove.
In this temperate climate no great ingenuity is necessary
for warming an ordinary apartment; and stoves are made
rather to please the eye as furniture than as economical
substitutes for an open fire of equal calorific power. But
our neighbours on the Continent, and especially towards
the north, where the cold of winter is intense and fuel very
dear, have bestowed much attention on their construction,
and have combined ingenious economy with every elegance
of form. Nothing can be handsomer than the stoves of
Fayencerie that are to be seen in French Flanders, or the
Russian stoves at St. Petersburg, finished in stucco. Our
readers will not, therefore, be displeased with a description
of them. In this place, however, we shall only consider a
stove in general as a subject of pneumatical discussion, and
refer our readers to the article Stove for stoves as articles
of domestic accommodation.
The general form, thereftne, of a stove, and of which General
all others are only modifications adapted to circumstan-form of a
ces of utility or taste, is as follows:—MIKL (fig. 79-) isstove.
a quadrangular box of any size in the directions MILK.
The inside width from front to back is pretty constant,
never less than 10 inches, and rarely extending to 20;
1
PNEUMATICS.
Fig. 79-
Effects of the included space is divided by a great many partitions,
the pres- -phe lowest chamber B is the
surea-)r> 1 e receptacle for the fuel, which
lies on the bottom of the stove
without any grate ; this fire¬
place has a door AO turning
on hinges, and in this door
is a very small wicket P : the
roof of the fire-place extends
to within a very few inches of
the farther end, leaving a nar¬
row passage B for the flame.
The next partition c C is about
eight inches higher, and reaches
almost to the other end, leaving
a narrow passage for the flame a
at C. The partitions are re¬
peated above, at the distance
of eight inches, leaving pass-
79
Aim and
effects of
this con¬
struction.
ages at the ends, alternately disposed as in the figure ; the
last of them H communicates with the room vent. This
communication may be regulated by a plate of iron, which
can be slid across it by means of a rod or handle which
comes through the side. The more usual way of shutting
up this passage is by a sort of pan or bowl of earthen ware,
which is inverted over it with its brim resting in sand con¬
tained in a groove formed all round the hole. This dam¬
per is introduced by a door in the front, which is then shut.
The whole is set on low pillars, so that its bottom may be
a few inches from the floor of the room. It is usually placed
in a corner, and the apartments are so disposed that their
chimneys can be joined in stacks as with us.
Some straw or wood shavings are first burnt on the hearth
at its farther end. 1 his warms the air in the stove, and
creates a determined current. The fuel is then laid on
the hearth close by the door, and pretty much piled up.
It is now kindled; and the current being already directed
to the vent, there is no danger of any smoke coming out
into the room. Effectually to prevent this, the door is shut,
and the wicket P opened. The air supplied by this, being
directed to the middle or bottom of the fuel, quickly kindles
it, and the operation goes on.
The aim of this construction is very obvious. The flame
and heated air are retained as long as possible within the
body of the stove by means of the long passages ; and the
narrowness of these passages obliges the flame to come in
contact with every particle of soot, so as to consume it com¬
pletely, and thus convert the whole combustible matter of
the fuel into heat. For want of this, a very considerable
portion of our fuel is wasted by our open fires, even under
the very best management. The soot which sticks to our
vents is very inflammable, and a pound weight of it will
give as much if not more heat than a pound of coal. And
what sticks to our vents is very inconsiderable in compari¬
son with what escapes unconsumed at the chimney top. In
fires of green wood, peat, and some kinds of pit-coal, nearly
one-fifth of the fuel is lost in this way ; but in these stoves
there is hardly ever any mark of soot to be seen ; and even
this small quantity is produced only after lighting the fires.
The volatile inflammable matters are expelled from parts
much heated indeed, but not so hot as to burn; and some
of it charred or half-burnt cannot be any further consumed,
being enveloped in flame and air already vitiated and unfit
for combustion. But when the stove is well heated, and the
current brisk, no part of the soot escapes the action of the air.
The hot air retained in this manner in the body of the
stove is applied to its sides in a very extended surface. To
inciease this still more, the stove is made narrower from
front to back in its upper part; a certain breadth is neces¬
sary below, that there may be room for fuel. If this breadth
were preserved all the way up, much heat would be lost,
because the heat communicated to the partitions of the Effects of
stove does no good. By diminishing their breadth, the pro- the pres-
portion of useful surface is increased. The whole body ofsure of tlie
the stove may be considered as a long pipe folded up, and air*
its effect would be the greatest possible if it really were so;
that is, if each partition cC, c/D, &c. were split into two,
and a free passage allowed between them for the air of the
room. Something like this will be observed afterwards in
some German stoves.
It is with the same view of making an extensive applica¬
tion of a hot surface to the air, that the stove is not built
in the wall, not even in contact with it, nor with the floor;
for by its detached situation, the air in contact with the
back, and with the bottom, where it is hottest, is warmed,
and contributes at least one-half of the whole effect; for
the great heat of the bottom makes its effect on the air of
the room at least equal to that of the two ends. Sometimes
a stove makes part of the wall between two small rooms,
and is found sufficient.
It must be remarked, on the whole, that the effect of a
stove depends much on keeping in the room the air already
heated by it. This is so remarkably the case, that a small
open fire in the same room will be so far from increasing
its heat, that it will greatly diminish it; it will even draw
the warm air from a suite of adjoining apartments. This
is distinctly observed in the houses of the English mer¬
chants in St. Petersburg; their habits of life in Britain
make them uneasy without an open fire in their sitting
rooms ; and this obliges them to heat all their stoves twice
a-day, and their houses are cooler than those of the Russians,
who heat them only once. In many German houses, es¬
pecially of the lower class, the fire-place of the stove does
not open into the room, but into the yard or a lobby, where
all the fires are lighted and tended ; by this means is avoid¬
ed the expense of warm air which must have been carried
off by the stove ; but it is evident, that this must be very
unpleasant, and cannot be wholesome. We must breathe
the same quantity of stagnant air loaded with all the va¬
pours and exhalations which must be produced in every in¬
habited place. Going into -one of these houses from the
open air, is like putting one’s head into a stew-pan or under
a pie-crust, and quickly nauseates us who are accustomed to
fresh air and cleanliness. In these countries it is a matter
almost of necessity, to fumigate the rooms with frankincense
and other gums burnt. The censer in ancient worship was
in all probability an utensil introduced by necessity for
sweetening or rendering tolerable the air of a crowded
place ; and it is a constant practice in the Russian houses
for a servant to go round the room after dinner, waving a
censer with some gums burning on bits of charcoal.
I he account now given of stoves for heating rooms, and Of hot
of the circumstances which must be attended to in theirvvalls in
construction, will equally apply to hot walls in gardening, j?ar(tening,
whether within or without doors. The only new circum- e‘
stance which this employment of a flue introduces, is the
attention which must be paid to the equability of the heat,
and the gradation which must be observed in different parts
of the building. The heat in the flue gradually diminishes
as it recedes from the fire-place, because it is continually
giving out heat to the flue. It must therefore be so con¬
ducted through the building by frequent returns, that in
every part there may be a mixture of warmer and cooler
branches of the flue, and the final chimney should be close
by the fire-place. It would, how'ever, be improper to run
the flue from the end of the floor up to the ceiling, where
the second horizontal pipe would be placed, and then re¬
turn it downward again and make the third horizontal flue
adjoining to the first, &c. This would make the middle of
the wall the coldest. If it is the flue of a greenhouse, this
would be highly improper, because the upper part of the
wall can be very little employed ; and in this case it is bet-
80
PNEUMATICS.
ces.
Effects of ter to allow the flue to proceed gradually up the wall in its
the pres- different returns, by which the lowest part would be the
sure of the warmest, and the heated air will ascend among the pots
air' (and plants; but in a hot wall, where the trees are to re¬
ceive heat by contact, some approximation to the above
method may be useful. In the hypocausta and fudaria
of the Greeks and Romans, the flue was conducted chiefly
under the floors.
Malt-kilns Malt-kilns are a species of stove which merit our atten •
a species of tion. Many attempts have been made to improve them on
stove. the principle of flue stoves ; but they have been unsucess-
ful, because heat is not what is chiefly wanted in malting;
it is a copious current of very dry air to carry off the moisture.
Of the cur- All that is to be attended to in the different kinds of
rent of air melting furnaces is, that the current of air be sufficiently
in melting rapid, and that it be applied in as extensive a surface as
furnaces, possible to the substance to be melted. The more rapid
the current it is the hotter, because it is consuming more
fuel; and therefore its effect increases in a higher propor¬
tion than its rapidity. It is doubly effectual if twice as hot;
and if it then be twice as rapid, there is twice the quantity
of doubly hot air applied to the subject; it would therefore
be four times more powerful. This is procured by raising
the chimney of the furnace to a greater height. The close
application of it to the subject can hardly be laid down in
general terms, because it depends on the precise circum¬
stances of each case.
Current in In reverberatory furnaces, such as refining furnaces for
reverbera- gold, silver, and copper, the flame is made to play over the
tory furna- surface of the melted metal. This is produced entirely by
the form of the furnace, by making the arch of the furnace
as low as the circumstances of the manipulation will allow.
See Furnace. Experience has pointed out in general the
chief circumstances of their construction, viz. that the fuel
should be at one end on a grate, through which the air en¬
ters to maintain the fire; and that the metal should be
placed on a level floor between the fuel and the tall chim¬
ney which produces the current. But there is no kind of
furnace more variable in its effect, and almost every place
has a small peculiarity of construction, on which its pre¬
eminence is rested. This has occasioned many whimsical
varieties in their form. This uncertainty seems to depend
much on a circumstance rather foreign to our present pur¬
pose ; but as we do not observe it taken notice of by mi-
neralogical writers, we beg leave to mention it here. It is
not heat alone that is wanted in the refining of silver by
lead, for instance. We must make a continual application
to its surface of air, which has not contributed to the com¬
bustion of the fuel. Any quantity of the hottest air, al¬
ready saturated with the fuel, may play on the surface of
the metal for ever, and keep it in the state of most perfect
fusion, but without refining it in the least. Now, in the
ordinary construction of a furnace, this is much the case.
If the whole air has come in by the grate, and passed
through the middle of the fuel, it can hardly be otherwise
than nearly saturated with it; and if air be also admitted
by the door, which is generally done or something equiva¬
lent, the pure air lies above the vitiated air, and during the
passage along the horizontal part of the furnace, and along
the surface of the metal, it still keeps above it, at least there
is nothing to promote their mixture. Thus the metal does
not come into contact with air fit to act on the base metal
and calcine it, and the operation of refining goes on slowly.
Trifling circumstances in the form of the arch or canal may
tend to promote the jumbling of the airs together, and thus
render the operation more expeditious; and as these are
but ill understood, or perhaps this circumstance not attend¬
ed to, no wonder that we see these considered as so many
nostrums of great importance. It were therefore wmrth
wdfile to try the effect of changes in the form of the roof
directed to this very circumstance. Perhaps some little
prominence down from the arch of the reverberatory would Effects of
have this effect, by suddenly throwing the current into con- tje pres-
fusion. If the additional length of passage do not cool the air
air too much, we should think that if there were interposed
between the fuel and the refining floor a passsage twisted
like a cork-screw, making just half a turn, it would be most
effectual ; for we imagine, that the two airs, keeping each
to their respective sides of the passage, wmuld by this means
be turned upside down, and that the pure stratum would
now be in contact with the metal, and the vitiated air would
be above it. . . .
The glass-house furnace exhibits the chief variety in the Current in
management of the current of heated air. In this it is ne- the glass-
cessary that the hole at which the workman dips his pipehouse fur-
into the pot shall be as hot as any part of the furnace. Thisnaces‘
could never be the case, if the furnace had a chimney situ¬
ated in a part above the dipping-hole ; for in this case cold
air would immediately rush in at the hole, play over the
surface of the pot, and go up the chimney. To prevent
this the hole itself is made the chimney ; but as this would
be too short, and would produce very little current and very
little heat, the whole surface is set under a tall dome. Thus
the heated air from the real furnace is confined in this dome,
and constitutes a high column of very light air, which will
therefore rise with great force up the dome, and escape at
the top. The dome is therefore the chimney, and will pro¬
duce a draught or current proportioned to its height. Soirm
are raised above a hundred feet. When all the doors of ^
this house are shut, and thus no supply given except through
the fire, the current and heat become prodigious. This,
however, cannot be done, because the workmen are in this
chimney, and must have respirable air. But notwithstand¬
ing this supply by the house-doors, the draught of the real
furnace is vastly increased by the dome, and a heat produced
sufficient for the work, and which could not have been pro¬
duced without the dome.
This has been applied with great ingenuity and effect to Cotterel’s
a furnace for melting iron from the ore, and an iron finery, improve-
both without a blast. The common blast iron furnace
well known. It is a tall cone with the apex undermost..^ fi£m
The ore and fluxes are thrown into this cone mixed inti- the ore-
mately with the fuel till it is full, and the blast of most
powerful bellows is directed into the bottom of this cone
through a hole in the side. The air is thrown in with such
force, that it makes its way through the mass of matter,
kindles the fuel in its passage, and fluxes the materials,
which then drop down into a receptacle below the blast-
hole, and thus the passage for the air is kept unobstructed.
It was thought impossible to produce or maintain this cur¬
rent without bellows ; but Mr.Cotterel, an ingenious foun¬
der, tried the effect of a tall dome placed over the mouth
of the furnace, and though it was not half the height of
many glass-house domes it had the desired effect.
The last application which we shall make of the currents Currents of
produced by heating the air is to the freeing mines, ships, air applied
prisons, &c. from the damp and noxious vapours which &c.
quently infest them. As a drift or work iscarried on in fhe^.aeos^oug
mine, let a trunk of deal boards, about six or eight inches ajr>
square, be laid along the bottom of the drift, communicating
with a trunk carried up in the corner of one oi the shafts. Let
the top of this last trunk open into the ash-pit of a small fur¬
nace, having a tall chimney. Let fire be kindled in the fur¬
nace; and when it is well heated, shut the fire-place and ash¬
pit doors. There being no other supply for the current pro¬
duced in the chimney of this furnace, the air will flow into
it from the trunk, and will bring along with it all the offen¬
sive vapours. This is the most effectual method yet found
out. In the same manner may trunks be conducted info
the ash-pit of a furnace from the cells of a prison or the
wards of an hospital.
In the account which we have been giving of the manage-
PNEUMATICS.
Pneumatic ment of air in furnaces and common fires, we have frequently
engines- mentioned the immediate application of air to the burning
as necessary for its combustion. This is a general fact,
a\t neces- jn or(jer t}lat any inflammable body may be readily inflamed,
sary for the ancj ^ comkustib]e matter consumed and ashes produced,
of fuel-11011 ifc is not enough that the body be made hot. A piece of
charcoal inclosed in a box of iron may be kept red hot for
ever, without wasting its substance in the smallest degree.
It is further necessary that it be in contact with a particu¬
lar species of air, which constitutes nearly one-fourth of
the air of the atmosphere, viz. the vital air or oxygen of
Lavoisier. It was called empyreal air by Scheele, who first
observed its indispensable use in maintaining fire ; and it
appears, that, in contributing to the combustion of an in¬
flammable body, this air combines with some of its ingredi¬
ents, and becomes fixed air, suffering the same change as
by the breathing of animals. Combustion may therefore be
considered as a union of the inflammable body with oxygen.
This doctrine was first promulgated by the celebrated Dr.
Hooke in his Micrographia, published in 1660, and after¬
wards improved in his Treatise on Lamps. It is now com¬
pletely established, and considered as a new discovery. It
is for this reason, that in fire-places of all kinds we have
directed the construction, so as to produce a close applica¬
tion of the air to the fuel. It is quite needless at this day
to enter into the discussions which formerly occupied phi¬
losophers about the manner in which the pressure and elas¬
ticity of the air promoted combustion. Many experiments
„ were made in the seventeenth century by the first members
of the Royal Society, to discover the office of air in com¬
bustion. It was thought that the flame was extinguished
in rare air for want of a pressure to keep it together ; but
this did not explain its extinction when the air was not re¬
newed. These experiments were long retained in courses
of experimental philosophy, as they were judiciously styled;
but they neither gave information, nor tended to the illustra¬
tion of any pneumatical doctrine : they are of course omit¬
ted in this place. In short, it is now fully established, that
it is not a mechanical but a chemical phenomenon. We
can only inform the chemist, that a candle will consume
faster in the low countries than in the elevated regions of
Quito and Gondar, because the air is nearly one half denser
below, and will act proportionally faster in decomposing the
candle.
Curious We shall conclude this part of our subject with the ex-
fffect of the planation of a curious phenomenon observed in many pla-
pressure of ces. Certain springs or fountains are observed to have
the air. periods of repletion and scantiness, or seem to ebb and flow
at regular intervals; and some of these periods are of a
complicated nature. Thus a well will have several returns
of high and low water, the difference of which gradually
increases to a maximum, and then diminishes, just as we
observe in the ocean. A very ingenious and probable ex¬
planation of this has been given in No. 424 of the Philo¬
sophical Transactions, by Mr. Atwell.
Let ABCD (fig, 90,) represent a cavern, into which
water is brought by the subterraneous passage Of. Let
Fig. 90.
it have an outlet MNP, of a crooxed form, with its highest
VOL. XVIII.
8!
part N considerably raised above the bottom of the cavern, Pneumatic
and thence sloping downwards into lower ground, and terl en$k'es«
minating in an open well at P. Let the dimensions of this
canal be such that it will discharge much more water than
is supplied by TO. All this is very natural, and may be
very common. The effect of this arrangement will be a
remitting spring at P ; for when the cavern is filled higher
than the point N, the canal MNP will act as a syphon ; and,
by the conditions assumed, it will discharge the water faster
than TO supplies it; it will therefore run it dry, and then
the spring at P will cease to furnish water. After some
time the cavern will again be filled up to the height N, and
the flow at P will recommence.
If, besides this supply, the well P also receive water from
a constant force, we shall have a reciprocating spring. The
situation and dimensions of this syphon canal, and the
supply of the feeder, may be such, that the efflux at P
will be constant. If the supply increase in a certain de¬
gree, a reciprocation will be produced at P with very short
intervals j if the supply diminishes considerably, we shall
have another kind of reciprocation with great intervals and
great differences of water.
If the cavern have another simple outlet R, new varie¬
ties will be produced in the spring P, and R will afford a
copious spring. Let the mouth of R, by which the water
enters into it from the cavern, be lower than N, and let the
supply of the feeding spring be no greater than R can dis¬
charge, we shall have a constant spring from R, and P will
give no water. But suppose that the main feeder increases
in winter or in rainy seasons, but not so much as will sup¬
ply both P and R, the cavern will fill till the water gets
over N, and R will be running all the while ; but soon
after P has begun to flow, and the water in the cavern
sinks below R, the stream from R will stop. The cavern
will be emptied by the syphon canal MNP, and then P will
stop. The cavern will then begin to fill, and when near
full R will give a little water, and soon after P will run
and R stop as before, &c. Desaguliers shows (vol. ii. p. 177,
Sec.) in what manner a prodigious variety of periodical
ebbs and flows may be produced by underground canals,
which are extremely simple and probable.
We shall conclude this article with the descriptions of Account of
some pneumatical machines or engines which have not been SOITie PTie,L
particularly noticed under their names in the former vol- ltIC e,!-
umes of this work. gmes.
Bellows are of most extensive and important use ; and it
will be of service to describe such as are of uncommon con¬
struction and power, sufficient for the great operations in
metallurgy.
It is not the impulsive force of the blast that is wanted
in most cases, but merely the copious supply of air, to pro¬
duce the rapid combustion of inflammable matter; and the
service would be better performed in general if this could
be done with moderate velocities, and an extended surface.
What are called air-furnaces, where a considerable surface
of inflammable matter is acted on at once by the current
which the mere heat of the expended air has produced, are
found more operative in proportion to the air expended than
blast furnaces animated by bellows ; and we doubt not but
that the method proposed by Mr. Cotterel, which we have
already mentioned, of increasing this current in a melting
furnace by means of a dome, will in time supersede the
blast furnaces. There is indeed a great impulsive force re¬
quired in some cases ; as for blowing off the scoriae from
the surface of silver or copper in refining furnaces, or for
keeping a clear passage for the air in the great iron fur¬
nace.
In general, however, we cannot procure this abundant
supply of air any other way than by giving it a great velo¬
city by means of a great pressure, so that the general con¬
struction of bellows is pretty much the same in all kinds.
L
82
PNEUMATICS.
Pneumatic The air is admitted into a very large cavity, and then ex-
engines. pelled from it through a small hole.
The furnaces at the mines having been greatly enlarged,
it was necessary to enlarge the bellows also ; and the lea¬
thern bellows becoming exceedingly expensive, wooden ones
were substituted in Germany about the beginning of the
seventeenth century, and from them became general through¬
out Europe. They consistof awoodenbox ABCPFE,fig.91,
Fig. 91.
which has its top and two sides flat or straight, and the end
BAE formed into an arched or cylindrical surface, of
which the line FP at the other end is the axis. This box
is open below, and receives within it the shallow box
KHGNML, fig. 92, which exactly fills it. The line FP
Fig. 92.
of the one coincides with FM of the other, and along this
line is a set of hinges on which the upper box turns as it
rises and sinks. The lower box is made fast to a frame fix¬
ed in the ground. A pipe OQ proceeds from the end of it,
and terminates at the furnace, where it ends in a small pipe
called the tewer or tuyere. This lower box is open above,
and has in its bottom two large valves V, V, fig. 93, opening
Fig. 93.
jecting over the outside of the box. By this
the laths are pressed close to the sides and
curved end of the moveable box, and the
spring wires yield to all their inequalities.
A bar of wood RS, fig. 91, is fixed to the
upper board, by which it is either raised by
machinery, to sink again by its own weight,
having an additional load laid on it, or it is
forced downward by a crank or wiper of the / ||
machinery, and afterwards raised.
The operation here is precisely similar to that of blow¬
ing with a chamber-bellows. When the board is lifted up,
the air enters by the valves Y, V, fig. 93, and is expelled
at the pipe OG by depressing the boards. There is there¬
fore no occasion to insist on this point.
These bellows are made of a very great size, AD being
16 feet, AB five feet, and the circular end AE also five
feet. The rise, however, is but about 3 or 3^ feet. They
expel at each stroke about 90 cubic feet of air, and they
make about 8 strokes per minute.
Such are the bellows in general use on the continent.
We have adopted a different form in this kingdom, which
seems much preferable. We use an iron or wooden cylin¬
der, with a piston sliding along it. This may be made with
much greater accuracy than the wooden boxes, at less ex¬
pense, if of wood, because it may be of cooper’s work, held
together by hoops ; but the great advantage of this form is
its being more easily made air-tight. The piston is sur¬
rounded with a broad strap of thick and soft leather, and it
has around its edge a deep groove, in which is lodged a
quantity of wool. This is called the packing or stuffing,
and keeps the leather very closely applied to the inner sur¬
face of the cylinder. Iron cylinders may be very neatly
bored and smoothed, so that the piston, even when very
tight,' will slide along it very smoothly. To promote this,
a quantity of black lead is ground very fine with water, and
a little of this is smeared on the inside of the cylinder from
time to time.
The cylinder has a large valve, or sometimes two, in the
bottom, by which the atmospheric air enters when the pis¬
ton is drawn up. When the piston is thrust down, this air
is expelled along a pipe of great diameter, which termin¬
ates in the furnace with a small orifice.
This is the simplest form of bellows which can be con¬
ceived. It differs in nothing but size from the bellows used
by the rudest nations. The Chinese smiths have a bellows
very similar, being a square pipe of wood ABODE, fig. 95,
contrivance Pneumatic
engines.
Fig. 94.
CIO
CjO
inwards. The conducting pipe is sometimes furnished with
a valve opening outwards, to prevent burning coals from
being sucked into the bellows when the upper box is drawn
up. The joint along PF is made tight by thin leather nail¬
ed along it. The sides and ends of the fixed box are made
to fit the sides and curved end of the upper box, so that
this last can be raised and lowered round the point FP with¬
out sensible friction, and yet without suffering much air to
escape ; but as this would not be sufficiently air-tight by
reason of the shrinking and warping of the wood, a farther
contrivance is adopted. A slender lath of wood, divided
into several joints, and covered on the outer edge with very
soft leather, is laid along the upper edges of the sides and
ends of the lower box. This lath is so broad, that when
its inner edge is even with the inside of the box, its outer
edge projects about an inch. It is kept in this position by
a number of steel wires, which are driven into the bottom
of the box, and stand up touching the sides, as represented
in fig. 94, where abc are the wires, and e the lath, pro-
Fig. 95.
T*
JS
with a square board G which exactly fits it, moved by the
handle FG. At the farther end is the blast pipe CK, and
on each side of it a valve in the end of the square pipe,
opening inwards. The piston is sufficiently tight for their
purposes without any leathering.
The piston of this cylinder bellows is moved by machi¬
nery. In some blast engines the piston is simply raised by
the machine, and then let go, and it descends by its own
weight, and compresses the air below it to such a degree,
that the velocity of efflux becomes constant, and the piston
descends uniformly; for this purpose it must be loaded
with a proper weight. This produces a very uniform blast,
except at the very beginning, whilst the piston falls sudden¬
ly and compresses the air ; but in most engines the piston
rod is forced down the cylinder with a determined motion,
by means of a beam, crank, or other contrivance. This
PNEUMATICS.
83
1
mD
Pneumatic gives a more unequal blast, because the motion of the pis-
engines. ton js necessarily slow in the beginning and end of the
stroke, and quicker in the middle.
But in all it is plain that the blast must be desultory.
It ceases while the piston is rising; for this reason it is
usual to have two cylinders, as it was formerly usual to have
two bellows which worked alternately. Sometimes three
or four are used, as at the Carron iron-works. This makes
a blast abundantly uniform.
But an uniform blast may be made with a single cylin¬
der, by making it deliver its air into another cylinder, which
has a piston exactly fitted to its bore, and loaded with a suf¬
ficient weight. The blowing cylinder ABCD, fig. 96, has
its piston P worked by a rod NP,
connected by double chains with Big’ 96.
the arched head of the working
beam NO, moving round a gud¬
geon at R. The other end O of
this beam is connected by the
rod OP, with the crank PQ, of a
wheel machine; or it may be
connected with a piston of a steam-
engine, &c. &c. The blowing cy¬
linder has a valve or valves E
in its bottom, opening inwards.
There proceeds from it a large
pipe CF, which enters the regu¬
lating cylinder GHKI, and has
a valve at top to prevent the air
from getting back into the blowing cylinder. It is evidenl
that the air forced into this cylinder must raise its piston L.
and that it must afterwards descend, while the other piston
is rising. It must descend uniformly, and make a perfect¬
ly equable blast.
Observe, that if the piston L be at the bottom when the
machine begins to work, it will be at the bottom at the end
of every stroke if the tuyere T emits as much air as the
cylinder ABCD furnishes ; nay, it will lie a while at the
bottom, for, while it was rising, air was issuing through T
This would make an interrupted blast. To prevent this,
the orifice T must be lessened; but then there will be a
surplus of air at the end of each stroke, and the piston L
will rise continually, and at last get to the top, and allow
air to escape. It is just possible to adjust circumstances,
so that neither shall happen. This is done easier by put¬
ting a stop in the way of the piston, and putting a valve on
the piston, or on the conducting pipe KST, loaded with a
w eight a little superior to the intended elasticity of the air
in the cylinder. Therefore, when the piston is prevented
by the stop from rising, the sniffing valve, as it is called, is
forced open, the superfluous air escapes, and the blast pre¬
serves its uniformity.
It may be of use to give the dimensions of a machine
o this kind, which worked for many years at a very great
furnace, and given satisfaction.
i T!f ^ia™eter ^6 blowing cylinder is 5 feet, and the
length of the stroke is 6. Its piston is loaded with 3^ tons.
It is worked by a steam-engine whose clyinder is 3 feet 4
inches wide, with a six-feet stroke. The regulating cylin¬
der is 8 feet wide, and its piston is loaded with tons,
making about 2.63 pounds on the square inch ; and it is
very nearly in equilibrio with the load on the piston of the
blowing cylinder. The conducting p.pe KST is 12 inches
in diameter, and the orifice of the tuy< re was fths of an inch
when the engine was erected, but it has gradually enlarged
by reason of the intense heat to whit h it is exposed. The
smfting valve is loaded with 3 pounds on the square inch.
When the engine worked briskly, it made 18 strokes per
minute, and there was always much air discharged bv the
smtting valve. When the engine made 15 strokes per mi
mite, the snifting valve opened but seldom, so that things
weie nearly adjusted to this supply. Each stroke of the Pneumatic
blowing cylinder sent in 118 cubic feet of common air. engines.
The ordinary pressure of the air being supposed 14| pounds
on an inch, the density of the air in the regulation- cvlinder
_ 14.75 + 2.63 „ 8 '
must be — ’ =1.1783, the natural density be-
ingL
This machine gives an opportunity of comparing the ex¬
pense of air with the theory. It must, at the rate of 15
strokes, expel 30 cubic feet of air in a second through a
hole of If- inches in diameter. This gives a velocity of
near 2000 feet per second, and of more than 1600 feet for
the condensed air. This is vastly greater than the theory
can give, or is indeed possible ; for air does not rush into a
void with so great velocity. It shows with great evidence,
that a vast quantity of air must escape round the two pis¬
tons. Their united circumferences amount to above 40
feet, and they move in a dry cylinder. It is impossible to
prevent a very great loss. Accordingly, a candle held near
the edge of the piston L has its flame very much disturbed.
This case, therefore, gives no hold for a calculation ; and it
suggests the propriety of attempting to diminish this great
waste.
This has been very ingeniously done, in part at least, at
some other furnaces. At a certain foundery, near Glasgow,
the blowing cylinder, also worked by a steam-engine, de¬
livers its air into a chest without a bottom, which is im¬
mersed in a large cistern of water, and supported at a small
height from the bottom of the cistern, and has a pipe from
its top leading to the tuyere. The water stands about five
feet above the lower brim of the regulating air-chest, and
by its pressure gives the most perfect uniformity of blast,
without allowing a particle of air to get off by any other
passage besides the tuyere. This is a very effectual regu¬
lator, and must produce a great saving of power, because a
smaller blowing cylinder will thus supply the blast. We
must observe, that the loss round the piston of the blowing
cylinder remains undiminished.
A blowing machine was erected many years ago at Chas-
tillon in France on a principle considerably diflerent, and
which must be perfectly air-tight throughout. Two cylin¬
ders A, B, (fig. 97)loaded with great weights, weresuspended
Fig. 97.
at the ends of the lever CD, moving round the gudgeon E.
From the top F, G of each there was a large flexible pipe
which united in H, from whence a pipe KT led to the
tuyere T. There were valves at F and G opening out¬
wards, or into the flexible pipes ; and other valves M, M,
adjoining to them in the top of each cylinder, opening in¬
wards, but kept shut by a slight spring. Motion was given
to the lever by a machine. The operation of this blowing-
machine is evident. When the cylinder A was pulled down,
or allowed to descend, the water, entering at its bottom,
compressed the air, and forced it along the passage FHKT.
In the mean time, the cylinder B was rising, and the air
entered by the valve M. We see that the blast will be very
unequal, increasing as the cylinder is immersed deeper. It
is needless to describe this machine more particularly, be¬
cause we shall give an account of one which we think per-
84 P N E U M
Pneumatic feet in its kind, and which leaves hardly any thing to be
engines desired in a machine of this sort.
A BCD (fig. 98) is an iron cylinder, truly bored within, and
Fig. 98.
evasated a-top like a cup. EFGH is another, truly turned
both without and within, and a small matter less than the in¬
ner diameter of the first cylinder. This cylinder is close
above and hangs from the end of a lever moved by a machine.
It is also loaded with weights at N. KILM is a third cy¬
linder, whose outside diameter is somewhat less than the
inside diameter of the second. This inner cylinder is fixed
to the same bottom with the outer cylinder. The middle
cylinder is loose, and can move up and down between the
outer and inner cylinders without rubbing on either of them.
The inner cylinder is perforated from top to bottom by
three pipes OQ, SV, PR. The pipes OQ, PR have valves
at their upper ends O, P, and communicate with the ex¬
ternal air below. The pipe SV has a horizontal part VW,
winch again turns upwards, and has a valve at top X. Ihis
upright part WX is in the middle of a cistern of water fh kg.
Into this cistern is fixed an air-chest a YZ 6, open below,
and having at top a pipe cde terminating in the tuyere at
the furnace.
When the machine is at rest, the valves X, O, P, are
shut by their own weights, and the air-chest is full of wa¬
ter. When things are in this state, the middle cylinder
EFGH is drawn up by the machinery till its lower brims
F and G are equal with the top KM of the inner cylinder.
Now pour in water or oil between the outer and middle cy¬
linders ; and it will run down and fill the space between the
outer and inner cylinders. Let it come to the top of the
inner cylinder.
Now, let the loaded middle cylinder descend. It can¬
not do this without compressing the air which is between
its top and the top of the inner cylinder. This air being
compressed, will cause the water to descend between the
inner and middle cylinders, and rise between the middle and
outer cylinders, spreading into the cup ; and as the middle
cylinder advances downwards, the water will descend far¬
ther within it, and rise farther without it. When it has got
so far down, and the air has been so much compressed, that
the difference between the surface of the water on the in¬
side and outside of this cylinder is greater than the depth
of water between X and the surface of the water f g, air
will go out by the pipe SVW, and will lodge in the air-
chest, and will remain there if c be shut, which we shall
suppose for the present. Pushing down the middle cylin¬
der till the partition touch the top of the inner cylinder, all
the air which was formerly between them will be forced in¬
to the air-chest, and will drive out water from it. Draw up
the middle cylinder, and the external air will open the
valves O, P, and again fill the space between the middle
and inner cylinders ; for the valve X will shut, and prevent
the regress of the condensed air. By pushing down the
A T I C S.
middle cylinder a second time, more air will be forced into Pneumatic
the air-chest, and it will at last escape by getting out be- engines
tween its brims Y, Z, and the bottom of the cistern ; or if^r~
we open the passage c, it will pass along the conduit cde
to the tuyere, and form a blast.
The operation of this machine is similar to Mr. Haskins’s
rviimn. described by Desaguliers.1 The force
quicksilver pump,  , * _ - „ ...
which condenses the air is the load on the middle cylinder.
The use of the water between the inner and outer cylin¬
ders, is to prevent this air from escaping; and the inner
cylinder thus performs the office of a piston, having no fric¬
tion. It is necessary that the length of the outer and mid¬
dle cylinders be greater than the depth of the regulator-
cistern, that there may be a sufficient height for the water
to rise between the middle and outer cylinders, to balance
the compressed air, and oblige it to go into the air-chest.
A large blast-furnace will require the regulator-cistern five
feet deep, and the cylinders about six or seven feet long.
It is in fact a pump without friction, and is perfectly air¬
tight. The quickness of its operation depends on the small
space between the middle cylinder and the two others ; and
this is the only use of these two. Without these it would
be similar to the engine at Chastillon, and operate more
unequally and slowly. Its only imperfection is, that if the
cylinder begin its motion of ascent or descent rapidly, as it
wall do when worked by a steam engine, there will become
danger of water dashing over the top of the inner cylinder,
and'getting into the pipe SV ; but should this happen, an
issue can easily be contrived for it at V, covered with a
loaded valve v. This will never happen if the cylinder is
moved by a crank. One blowing cylinder only is repre¬
sented here, but two may be used.
We do not hesitate in recommending this form of bel¬
lows as the most perfect of any, and fit for all uses where
standing bellows are required. They will be cheaper than
any other sort for common purposes. For a common smith’s
forge they may be made with square wooden boxes instead
of cylinders. They are also easily repaired. They are
perfectly tight; and they may be made with a blast almost
perfectly uniform, by making the cistern in which the air-
chest stands, of considerable dimensions. When this is the
case, the height of water, which regulates the blast, will
vary very little.
This may suffice for an account of blast machines. The
leading parts of their construction have been described as
far only as was necessary for understanding their opera¬
tion, and enabling an engineer to erect them in the most
commodious manner. Views of complete machines might
have amused, but they would not have added to our read¬
er’s information.
But the account is imperfect unless we show how their
parts may be so proportioned that they shall perform what
is expected from them. The engineer should know what
size of bellows, and what load on the board or piston, and
what size of tuyere, will give the blast which the service
requires, and what force must be employed to give them
the necessary degree of motion. We shall accomplish these
purposes bv considering the efflux of the compressed air
through the tuyere. The propositions formerly delivered
will enable us to ascertain this.
That we may proportion everything to the power em¬
ployed, we must recollect, that if the piston of a cylinder
employed for expelling air, be pressed down with any force
p, it must be considered as superadded to the atmospheric
pressure P on the same piston, in order that we may com¬
pare the velocity v of efflux with the known velocity V with
which air rushes into a void. By what has been formerly
delivered, it appears that this velocity v=.V x ^
F + P
Experimental Philosophy, vol. ii. p. 491 ; and Philosophical Transactions, 1728, vol. xxxii. p. 5.
PNEUMATICS.
85
Pneumatic where P is the pressure of the atmosphere on the piston,
engines, ^nd p the additional load laid on it. This velocity is ex-
pressed in feet per second; and, when multiplied by the
area of the orifice (also expressed in square feet) it will give
us the cubical feet of condensed air expelled in a second ;
but the bellows are always to be filled again with common
air and therefore we want to know the quantity of common
air which will be expelled; for it is this which determines
the number of strokes which must be made in a minute, in
order that the proper supply may be obtained. Therefore
recollect that the quantity expelled from a given orifice
with a given velocity, is in the proportion of the density; and
that when D is the density of common air produced by the
pressure P, the density d produced by the pressure P+J3,
is D X —5^" 5 or if D be made 1, we have d=.—p—.
Therefore, calling the area of the orifice expressed in
square feet O, and the quantity of common air, or the
cubic feet expelled in a second Q, we have Q=V X O X
p+?
^v+p p
It will be sufficiently exact for all practical purposes, to
suppose P to be 15 pounds on every square inch of the pis¬
ton ; and p is then conveniently expressed by the pounds
of additional load on every square inch. We may also take
V=1332 feet.
As the orifice through which the air is expelled is gene¬
rally very small, never exceeding three inches in diameter,
it will be more convenient to express it in square inches ;
which being the -j-^jth of a square foot, we shall have the
cubic feet of common air expelled in a second, or Q=
!332 0/ 
144 P+Jof
P
V+p
=0x9 25 X
y:
p
p+p.
and this seems to be as simple an expression as we can obtain.
This will perhaps be illustrated by taking an example in
numbers. Let the area of the piston be four square feet,
and the area of the round hole through which the air is ex¬
pelled, be two inches, its diameter being 1.6, and let the
load on the piston be 1728 pounds; this is three pounds
on every square inch. We have P=15, p=3, P-}-/)=
18, and 0=2; therefore we will have Q=2x9-25x
X —, =9-053 cubic feet of common air expelled in
15
a second. This will however be diminished at least one-
third by the contraction of the jet; and therefore the sup¬
ply will not exceed six cubic feet per second. Supposing
therefore that this blowing machine is a cylinder or prism
of this dimension in its section, the piston so loaded would,
after having compressed the air, descend about 15 inches
in a second. It would first sink one-fifth of the whole
length of the cylinder pretty suddenly, till it had reduced
the air to the density ^|, and would then descend uniform¬
ly at the above rate, expelling six cubic feet of common
air in a second.
The computation is made much in the same way for bel¬
lows of the common form, with this additional circumstance,
that as the loaded board moves round a hinge at one end,
the pressure of the load must be calculated accordingly.
The computation, however, becomes a little intricate, when
the form of the loaded board is not rectangular. It is al¬
most useless when the bellows have flexible sides, either
like smith’s bellows or like organ bellows, because the change
of figure during their motion makes continual variation on
the compressing powers. It is therefore chiefly with re¬
spect to the great wooden bellows, of which the upper
board slides down between the sides, that the above calcu¬
lation is of service.
The propriety, however, of this piece of information is
yii
v 18
evident: we do not know precisely the quantity of air ne- Pneumatics
cessary for animating a furnace ; but this calculation tells engines.
us what force must be employed for expelling the air that
may be thought necessary. If we have fixed on the strength
of the blast, and the diameter of the cylinder, we learn the
weight with which the piston must be loaded ; the length
of the cylinder determines its capacity, the above calcula¬
tion tells the expense per second ; hence we have the time
of the piston’s coming to the bottom. This gives us the
number of strokes per minute. The load must be lifted up
by the machine this number of times, making the time of
ascent precisely equal to that of descent; otherwise the
machine will either catch and stop the descent of the pis¬
ton, or allow it to lie inactive for a while of each stroke.
These circumstances determine the labour to be performed
by the machine, and it must be constructed accordingly.
Thus the engineer will not be affronted by its failure, nor
will he expend needless power and cost.
In machines which force the piston or bellows board witn
a certain determined motion, different from what arises from
their own weight, the computation is extremely intricate.
When a piston moves by a crank, its motion at the begin¬
ning and end of each stroke is slow, and the compression
and efflux is continually changing. We can however ap¬
proximate to a statement of the force required.
Every time the piston is drawn up, a certain space of the
cylinder is filled again with air of the common density ;
and this is expelled during the descent of the piston. A
certain number of cubic feet of common air is therefore ex¬
pelled with a velocity which perhaps continually varies;
but there is a medium velocity with which it might have
been uniformly expelled, and a pressure corresponding to
this velocity. To find this, divide the area of the piston
by the area of the blast-hole (or rather by this area multi¬
plied by 0613, in order to take in the effect of the con¬
tracted jet), and multiply the length of the stroke perform¬
ed in a second by the quotient arising from this division ;
the product is the medium velocity of the air (of the natu¬
ral density). Then find by calculation the height through
which a heavy body must fall in order to acquire this velo¬
city ; this is the height of a column of homogeneous air
which would expel it with this velocity. The weight of
this column is the least force that can be exerted by the
engine : but this force is too small to overcome the resist¬
ance in the middle of the stroke, and it is too great even
for the end of the stroke, and much too great for the begin¬
ning of it. But if the machine is turned by a very heavy
water-wheel, this will act as a regulator, accumulating in
itself the superfluous force during the too favourable posi¬
tions of the crank, and exerting it by its vis insita during
the time of greatest effort. A force not greatly exceeding
the weight of this column of air will therefore suffice. On
the other hand, if the strength of the blast be determined,
which is the general state of the problem, this determines
the degree of condensation of the air, and the load on the
square inch of the piston, or the mean force which the ma¬
chine must exert on it. A table, which will be given pre¬
sently, determines the cubic feet of common air expelled
in a second, corresponding to this load. This combined
with the proposed dimensions of the cylinder, will give the
descent of the piston or the length of the stroke.
These general observations apply to all forms of bellows ;
and without a knowledge of them no person can erect a
machine for working them without total uncertainty or ser¬
vile imitation. In order, therefore, that they may be use¬
ful to such as are not accustomed to the management of
even these simple formulae, we insert the following short
table of the velocity and quantity of air discharged from a
cylinder whose piston is loaded with the pounds contained
in the first column on every square inch. The second co¬
lumn contains the velocity with which the cbndemed air
86
PNEUMATICS.
Pneumatic rushes out through any small hole ; and the third column
entries, is the cubic feet discharged from a hole whose area is a
square inch ; column fourth contains the mean velocity of
air of the common density ; and column fifth is the cubic
*eet of common air discharged; the sixth column is the
height in inches at which the force of the blast would sup¬
port a column of water if a pipe were inserted into the side
of the cylinder. This is an extremely proper addition to
such machines, showing at all times the power of the ma¬
chines, and teaching us what intensity of blast is employed
for different purposes. The table is computed from the
supposition that the ordinary pressure of the air is 15 pounds
on a square inch. This is somewhat too great, and there¬
fore the velocities are a little too small; but the quantities
discharged will be found about one-third too great, without
affecting the velocities, on account of the convergency of
the stream.
This table extends far beyond the limits of ordinary use,
very few blast-furnaces having a force exceeding 60 inches
of water.
We shall conclude this account of blowing machines with
a description of a small one for a blow-pipe. ABCD, (fig.
99) is a vessel containing water, about
two feet deep. EFGH is the air-box of
the blower open below, and having a pipe
ILK rising up from it to a convenient
height; an arm ON which grasps this
pipe carries the lamp N: the blow-pipe
LM comes from the top of the upright
pipe. PKQ is the feeding-pipe reaching
near to the bottom of the vessel.
Water being poured into the vessel be¬
low, and its cover being put on, which
fits the upright pipe, and touches two
studs a, a, projecting from it, blow in a
quantity of air by the feeding pipe PO ;
this expels the water from the air-box,
and occasions a pressure which produces
the blast through the blow-pipe M.
In a preceding part of this article, we mentioned an appli¬
cation which has been made of Hero’s fountain, at Chemnitz
in Hungary, for raising waterfrom the bottom of a mine. We
shall now give an account of this very ingenious contrivance.
In fig. 100, B represents the source of* water elevated
above the mouth of the pit 136 feet. From this there is
led a pipe BCD, four inches diameter. This pipe enters
the top of a copper cylinder c d e, feet high, five feet
diameter, and two inches thick, and it reaches to within four
inches of the bottom ; it has a cock at C. This cylinder
has a cock at F, and a very large one at E. From the top CF
proceeds a pipe GHH' two inches in diameter, which goes
down the pit 96 feet, and is inserted into the top of another
brass cylinderyi/Ae,which is 6^ feet high, four feet diame¬
ter, and two inches thick, containing 83 cubic feet, which is
very nearly one-half of the capacity of the other, viz. of 170
Fig. 99-
cubic feet. There is anotherpipe NI of four inches diameter, Pneumatic
which rises from
within four inches
of the bottom of
this lower cylin¬
der, is soldered in¬
to its top, and rises
to the trough NO,
which carries off
the water from
the mouth of the
pit. This lower
cylinder commu¬
nicates at the bot¬
tom with the wa¬
ter L which col¬
lects in the drains
of the mine. A
large cock K
serves to admit or
exclude this wa¬
ter; another cock
M, at the top of
this cylinder,com¬
municates with
the external air.
Now, suppose the cock C shut, and all the rest open ; the
upper cylinder will contain air, and the lower cylinder will
be filled with water, because it is sunk so deep that its top
is below the usual surface of the mine-waters. Now, shut
the cocks F, E, M, K, and open the cock C. The water of
the source B must run in by the orifice D, and rise in the
upper cylinder, compressing the air above it and along the
pipe GHH', and thus acting on the surface of the water
in the lower cylinder. It will therefore cause it to rise
gradually in the pipe IN, where it will always be of such
a height that its weight balances the elasticity of the com¬
pressed air. Suppose no issue given to the air from the
upper cylinder, it would be compressed into one-fifth of
its bulk by the column of 136 feet high ; for a column of
34 feet nearly balances the ordinary elasticity of the air.
Therefore, when there is an issue given to it through the
pipe GHH', it will drive the compressed air along this pipe,
and it will expel water from the lower cylinder. When
the upper cylinder is full of water, there will be 34 cubic
feet of water expelled from the lower cylinder. If the
pipe IN had been more than 136 feet long, the water would
have risen 136 feet, being then in equilibrio with the wa¬
ter in the feeding pipe BCD, by the intervention of the
elastic air ; but no more water would have been expelled
from the lower cylinder than what fills this pipe. But the
pipe being only 96 feet high, the water will be thrown out
at N with a very great velocity. If it were not for the great
obstructions which water and air must meet with in their
passage along pipes, it would issue at N with a velocity of
more than 50 feet per second. It issues much more slow¬
ly, and at last the upper cylinder is full of water, and the
water would enter the pipe GH and enter the lower cylin¬
der, and without displacing the air in it, would rise through
the discharging pipe IN, and run off to waste. To prevent
this there hangs in the pipe HG a cork ball or double cone,
by a brass wire which is guided by holes in two cross pieces
in the pipe HG. When the upper cylinder is filled with
water, this cork plugs up the orifice G, and no water is
wasted ; the influx at D now stops. But the lower cylin¬
der contains compressed air, which would balance water in
a discharging pipe 136 feet high, whereas IN is only 96.
Therefore the water will continue to flow at N till the air
has so far expanded as to balance only 96 feet of water, that
is, till it occupies one-fourth of its ordinary bulk, that is,
one-fourth of the capacity of the upper cylinder, or 42^
cubic feet. Therefore 42|- cubic feet will be expelled, and
engines.
PNEUMATICS.
87
Pneumatic the efflux at N will cease ; and the lower cylinder is about
engines, one-half full of water. When the attending workman ob-
'-"’■"V"*6-’' serves this, he shuts the cock C. He might have done this
before, had he known when the orifice G was stopped ; but
no loss ensues from the delay. At the same time the at¬
tendant opens the cock E, the water issues with great vio¬
lence, being pressed by the condensed air from the lower
cylinder. It therefore issues with the sum of its own weight
and of this compression. These gradually decrease toge¬
ther, bv the efflux of the water and the expansion of the
air; but this efflux stops before all the water has flowed
out; for there is 42^ feet of the lower cylinder occupied by
air. This quantity of water remains, therefore, in the up¬
per cylinder nearly; the workman knows this, because the
discharged water is received first of all into a vessel con¬
taining three-fourths of the capacity of the upper cylinder.
Whenever this is filled, the attendant opens the cock E
by a long rod which goes down the shaft; this allows
the water of the mine to fill the lower cylinder, allows
the air to get into the upper cylinder, and this allows the
remaining water to run out of it. And thus every thing
is brought into its first condition; and when the attendant
sees no more water come out at E, he shuts the cock
E and M, and opens the cock C, and the operation is re¬
peated.
There is a very surprising appearance in the working of
this engine. When the efflux at N has stopped, if the cock
F be opened, the water and air rush out together with pro¬
digious violence, and the drops of water are changed into
hail or lumps of ice. It is a sight usually shown to stran¬
gers, who are desired to hold their hats to receive the blast
of air: the ice comes out with such violence as frequently
to pierce the hat like a pistol bullet. This rapid congela¬
tion is a remarkable instance of the general fact, that air
by suddenly expanding, generates cold, its capacity for heat
being increased. Thus the peasant cools his broth by
blowing over the spoon, even from warm lungs ; a stream
of air from a pipe is always cooling.
The above account of the procedure in working this en¬
gine shows that the efflux both at N and E becomes very
slow near the end. It is found convenient therefore not to
wait for the complete discharges, but to turn the cocks when
about 30 cubic feet of water have been discharged at N :
more work is done in this way. A gentleman of great ac¬
curacy and knowledge of these subjects took the trouble, at
our desire, of noticing particularly the performance of the
machine. He observed that each stroke, as it may be call¬
ed, took up about three minutes and one-eighth ; and that
32 cubic feet of water were discharged at N, and 66 were
expended at E. The expense, therefore, is 66 feet of water
falling 136 feet, and the performance is 32 raised 96, and
they are in the proportion of 66 x 136 to 32x96, or of 1
to 0-3422, or nearly as 3 to 1. This is superior to the per-
formance of the most perfect undershot mill, even when all
friction and irregular obstructions are neglected, and is not
much inferior to any overshot pump-mill that has yet been
erected. When we reflect on the great obstructions which
water meets with in its passage through long pipes, we
may be assured that, by doubling the size of the feeder and
discharger, the performance of the machine will be greatly
improved ; we do not hesitate to say, that it would be in¬
creased one-third : it is true that it will expend more wra-
ter, but this will not be nearly in the same proportion, for
most of the deficiency of the machine arises from the need¬
less velocity of the first efflux at N. The discharging pipe
ought to be 110 feet high, and not give sensibly less water.
I hen it must be considered how inferior in original ex¬
pense this simple machine must be to a mill of^any kind
which would raise 10 cubic feet 96 feet high in a minute,
and how small the repairs on it need be, when compared
with a mill. And, lastly, let it be noticed, that such a Pneumatic
machine can be used where no mill whatever can be put engines,
in motion. A small stream of water, which would not
move any kind of wheel, will here raise one-third of its
own quantity to the same height, working as fast as it is
supplied.
For all these reasons, we think that the Hungarian ma¬
chine eminently deserves the attention of mathematicians
and engineers, to bring it to its utmost perfection, and into
general use. There are situations where this kind of ma¬
chine may be very useful. Thus, where the tide rises 17
feet, it may be used for compressing air to seven-eighths of
its bulk ; and a pipe leading from a very large vessel in¬
verted in it, may be used for raising the water from a ves¬
sel of one-eighth of its capacity 17 feet high ; or if this ves¬
sel has only one-tenth of the capacity of the large one set
in the tide-way, two pipes may be led from it, one into the
small vessel and the other into an equal vessel 16 feet higher,
which receives the water from the first. Thus one-sixteenth
of the water may be raised 34 feet, and a smaller quantity
to a still greater height, and this with a kind of power that
can hardly be applied in any other way. Machines of this
kind are described by Schottus, Sturmius, Leupold, and
other old writers; and they should not be forgotten, because
opportunities may offer of making them highly useful. A
gentleman’s house in the country may thus be supplied with
water by a machine that will cost little, and hardly go out
of repair.
The last pneumatical engine which we shall speak of at
present is the common fanners, used for winnowing grain,
and for drawing air out of a room ; and we have but few
observations to make on them.
The wings of the fanners are enclosed in a cylinder or
drum, whose circular sides have a
large opening BDE, (fig. 101),
round the centre, to admit the air.
By turning the wings rapidly round,
the air is hurried round along with
them, and thus acquires a centrifu¬
gal tendency, by which it presses
strongly on the outer rim of the
drum : this is gradually detached
from the circle as at KI, and ter¬
minated in a trunk IHGF, which
goes off in a tangential direction ;
the air therefore is driven along
this passage.
If the wings were disposed in planes passing through the
axis C, the compression of the air by the anterior surface
would give it some tendency to escape in every direction,
and would obstruct in some degree the arrival of more air
through the side holes. They are therefore reclined a little
backward, as represented in the figure. It may be shown
that their best form would be that of a hyperbolic spiral
a b c ; but the straight form approaches sufficiently near to
the most perfect shape.
Much labour is lost, however, in carrying the air round
those parts of the drum where it cannot escape. The fan¬
ners would either draw or discharge almost twice as much
air if an opening were made all round one side. This could
be gradually contracted, where required for winnowing, by
a surrounding cone, and thus directed against the falling
grain ; as has been verified by actual trial. When used
for drawing air out of a room for ventilation, it would b.
much better to remove the outer side of the drum entirely,
and let the air fly freely off on all sides ; but the flat sides
are necessary, in order to prevent the air from arriving at
the fanners any other way but through the central holes, to
which trunks should be fitted leading to the anartment
which is to be ventilated. (j.
Fig. 101.
88
P 0
Po PO, the largest river in Italy, called by the ancients
II Padus or Eridanus, rises on the E. side of Monte Viso,
ocock. one 0f j.]ie highest summits of the Alps, between Italy and
France; N. Lat. 44. 40., E. Long. 7. At first a mere
mountain torrent, it flows eastward down the deep Val
d’Oro ; and being augmented by other streams like itself,
turns to the left, and sweeps round the northern edge of
the Monferrato hills. After describing nearly a semicircle,
it emerges at Valenza into the broad plain of Lombardy,
through which it flows eastward to the Adriatic, fed by the
rivers that flow on the one side from the Alps and on the
other from the Apennines. Its great volume, supplied from
the everlasting snows of the Alps, renders the country
liable to those destructive floods which have furnished the
Latin poets with some of their finest comparisons. From
Piacenza downwards, the river is confined by artificial em¬
bankments of very ancient origin ; but these do not always
prevent the danger. The constant deposits of soil tend to
raise the bed of the stream above the surrounding country,
so that at Ferrara the Po is on a level with the tops of
the houses. For the last 200 miles of its course the breadth
of the river varies from 400 to 600 yards, and the depth
from 2 to 6 fathoms. Near its mouth it divides itself into
two arms, each falling into the sea by several mouths, one
belonging to each arm being accessible to small ships.
Formerly the Po followed a different course to the sea,
south of Ferrara, and its old channel is now filled partly by
canals from the main river, and partly by the Reno from
the Apennines. Considerable changes seem to have taken
place on the coast-line, from the gradual deposit of sand
and mud by the river; and indeed the whole lower part of
the Lombard plain seems to have been gradually formed
in this way, But these processes must have been accom¬
plished for the most part ages before the historic period.
The whole length of the Po is estimated at 420 miles; and
it is navigable for barges and river steamers to a distance
of 60 miles from its source. The upper part of its course
lies entirely in the Sardinian territories; but after its con¬
fluence with the Ticino it separates Austrian Italy from the
duchies of Parma and Modena on the north, and from
the Papal States on the south. The principal affluents of
the Po are,—on the north, the Dora Baltea from Mont
Blanc, the Sesia from Monte Rosa, the Ticino from lake
Maggiore, the Adda from the lake of Como, and the Mincio
from the lake of Garda; and on the south, the Tanaro in
Piedmont, the Trebbia and Taro in Parma, and the Secchia
in Modena. The Po abounds in fish of various kinds, espe¬
cially shad, salmon, and sturgeon. It imparts great fertility
to the adjacent country. The free navigation of the Po
is secured by a treaty concluded between Austria, Parma,
and Modena in July 1850.
POCHETTI. See Barbatetxi.
POCKLINGTON, a town of England, in the E. Riding
of Yorkshire, 12 miles E.S.E. of York, and 212 N. by W.
of London, It stands in a flat region, near the western
edge of the Yorkshire wolds, and is a pretty, well-built
town, with a convenient market-place. Near the centre
stands the plain old church, in the form of a cross, with a
fine tower rising from its W. end. The town has churches
for Dissenters, several schools, a literary institute, and a
temperance hall. There are no manufactures here, the
people being mostly engaged in farming; but some trade
is carried on in cattle, corn, flour, timber, coal, &c. Pop.
(1851) 2546.
POCOCK, Edward, a learned English divine, and the
first oriental scholar of his time, was the eldest son of
Edward Pocock, and born in November 1604, at Oxford,
where he was also educated. In 1628 he was admitted
probationer-fellow of his college ; and about the same time
he had prepared an edition of the second Epistle of St Peter,
the second and third of St John, and the Epistle of St Jude,
P O C
in Syriac and Greek, with a Latin translation and notes. Pocock.
In 1629 he was ordained priest, and appointed chaplain to ^—
the English merchants at Aleppo, where he arrived in Oc¬
tober 1630, and continued for five or six years, during
which he distinguished himself by his zeal and fortitude,
particularly whilst the plague raged there in 1634. At
length returning to England, he was in 1639 appointed
reader of the Arabic Lectures founded by Archbishop Laud.
Three years afterwards he went to Constantinople, where
he prosecuted his studies of the eastern tongues, and pro¬
cured many valuable manuscripts. After a residence of
nearly four years in that city, he embarked in 1640; and
taking Paris in his way, visited Gabriel Sionita, the famous
Maronite, and also Hugo Grotius. In 1643 he was pre¬
sented to the rectory of Childrey in Berkshire ; and about
three years afterwards married the daughter of Mr Thomas
Burdett. About the middle of 1647 he obtained the res¬
titution of the salary of his Arabic Lecture, which had been
detained from him about three years. In 1648 Charles
L, being then a prisoner in the Isle of Wight, nominated
Pocock to the professorship of Hebrew, and the canonry
of Christ Church annexed to it; but in 1650 he was ejected
from his canonry for refusing to take the engagement, and
soon afterwards a vote passed for depriving him of his He¬
brew and Arabic professorships. But several governors of
houses, and others, having presented a petition in his favour,
he was suffered to enjoy both these places. He had some
years before published his Specimen Historice Arabum, a
very learned work, and now appeared his Porta Mosis; and
soon afterwards the English polyglot edition of the Bible,
to which he had largely contributed, and also Eutychius’
Annals, with a Latin version, gave evidence of his industry
and learning. At the Restoration he was reinstated in the
canonry of Christ Church, and also received the degree of
Doctor of Divinity. He then published his Arabic version
of Grotius’ Treatise of the Truth of the Christian Religion ;
and an Arabic poem entitled Carmen Abu-lsmaelis To-
grai, with a Latin translation and notes. Soon afterwards
he published Gregory Abulfaragius’ Historia Dynastia-
rum ; but this work did not meet with much encourage¬
ment from the public, a circumstance which his biographer
accounts for in a manner not very creditable to the reign
of Charles II. as compared with the Protectorate, when
solid learning was appreciated and rewarded. The fact
seems to be, that the love of Arabic learning was now
growing cold; and Pocock himself, in his correspondence
with Greaves, appears to be not only sensible that
such was the case, but very much hurt by the decline of
sound literary taste. The same circumstance also may in
some measure account for this distinguished scholar not
having obtained higher preferment at the period of the Re¬
storation, when such numbers of vacant dignities were con¬
ferred on far inferior men. Perhaps he was almost the only
instance of a clergyman, then at the highest pitch of emi¬
nence for learning and every other merit proper to his
profession, who lived throughout the reign of Charles II.
without the least regard from the court, except the favour
sometimes done him of being called upon to translate Ara¬
bic letters from the princes of the Levant, or the credentials
of ambassadors coming from thence; a service for which we
do not find that he obtained any recompense besides fair
words and hollow compliments. But his modesty equalled
his merit; and after presenting Abulfaragius to the king,
he ceased to obtrude his claims on the attention of royalty.
In 1674 he published an Arabic version of the principal parts
of the Liturgy of the Church of England ; and a few years
afterwards appeared his Commentary on the Prophecies of
Micah, Malachi, Hosea, and Joel. This truly great man
died in 1691, after having been for many years confessedly
the first orientalist in Europe; and he was no less worthy
of admiration for his uncommon modesty and humility, and
Pococke all the virtues which can adorn a Christian. His theo-
II logical works were republished at London in 1740, in 2
Podolia. vojs p0]j0> by Leonard Twells, M.A., with some account of
his life and writings. , _ , . _ Tl
Pocock’s son Edward published the works ot Ibn
Tofayl, the same which Ockley afterwards translated into
English. He translated also the work of Abn-l-latif on
Egypt, published for the first time at Oxford in 1800.
Another of Pocock’s sons translated into English the De
Termino Vita of Manasses Ben Israel, London, 1699.
POCOCKE, Richard, distantly related to the preceding,
was the son of Mr Richard Pococke, head master of the
free school at Southampton, where he was born in the year
1704. He received his school learning under his father,
and his academical education at Corpus Christi College,
Oxford, where he took his various degrees. He commenced
his travels in the East in 1737, and returned in 1742. In
1743 he published his Observations on Egypt, under the
general title of A Description of the East and some other
Countries. In 1744 he was made precentor of Waterford;
and in 1745 he printed the second volume of his Travels,
under the title of Observations on Palestine, or the Holy
Land, Syria, Mesopotamia, Cyprus, and Candia, which he
dedicated to the Earl of Chesterfield, then lord-lieutenant
of Ireland, whom he attended in the capacity of domestic
chaplain. In 1756 Dr Pococke was promoted to the
bishopric of Ossory, vacant by the death of Dr Edward
Maurice; in July 1765 he was translated to the see of
Meath, which had been originally intended for the Bishop
of Elphin, who, however, declined taking out his patent;
and he died suddenly in September following, having been
carried off by apoplexy, whilst engaged in visiting his dio¬
cese. As a traveller, Dr Pococke was equally distinguished
for research, learning, and accuracy, to which ample justice
has indeed been done by Jablonski, in the Preface to part
third of his Pantheon JEgyptiorum. He penetrated far¬
ther up the Nile than the island of Philae, called by the
Arabs the Temple Island; whereas Norden, in 1737, pro¬
ceeded as far as Derre, between the first and second cata¬
racts. The two travellers are supposed to have met on the
Nile, in the neighbourhood of Esneh, in January 1738;
but, according to another account, they passed in the night
without recognition.
Bishop Pococke visited other parts besides the East, and
described some remarkable objects both in Scotland and
Ireland. A French translation of his Travels appeared at
Paris, 1771, in 7 vols. 12mo.
PODGORITZA, a town of European Turkey, in Alba¬
nia, near the frontier of Montenegro, 38 miles N. of Scu¬
tari. It stands at the confluence of the rivers Moratsha and
Chicuna, the latter of which is here crossed by a long wooden
bridge. A short distance to the north lie the ruins of the
ancient Dioclea, now called Dickla. They consist of tem¬
ples, palaces, and isolated pillars; but they are gradually
diminishing, as the people of Podgoritza make free use of
the remains for building materials. Pop. 6000.
PODOLIA, or Podolsk, a government of European
Russia, lying between N. Lat. 47. 25. and 49. 45., E. Long.
26. 20. and 30.55.; and bounded on the N. by the govern¬
ments of Volhynia and Kiev, E. by that of Kherson, S. by
those of Kherson and Bessarabia, and W. by the Austrian
province of Galicia; length, from N.E. to S.W., 240 miles;
greatest breadth, 80 miles; area, 16,449 square miles. The
surface is generally level, slightly sloping from the Carpa¬
thians towards the S.E.; and a chain of hills, scarcely rising
500 feet above the sea, extends in that direction between
the Dniester and the Bug. These two are the principal rivers
of Podolia, and, with their affluents, water the entire country.
The former only bounds the government on the S.W.; and
the latter, rising on its northern confines, flows through it
in a S.E. direction. The south-eastern part of the go¬
vern. xvm.
vernment is occupied with flat and sandy steppes. There
are no lakes of any size in the country. Podolia enjoys a
salubrious climate, an exceedingly rich soil, and contains
much picturesque scenery. The principal mineral products
are, saltpetre, lime, building-stone, and alabaster. Vines
and mulberries grow here in the open air. Besides corn,
the crops chiefly raised in the government are hemp, flax,
hops, and tobacco. There are wide and rich meadows
and pastures, on which large herds of excellent cattle are
raised. A great part of the country is likewise occupied
with forests, which produce excellent timber for ship-build¬
ing. The extent of arable land in Podolia in 1849 was
5,577,736 acres; of meadow-land, 1,276,508 acres; of
wood, 1,145,824 acres; and of waste land, 1,104,997 acres.
The quantity of corn raised in the same year was 34,394,675
bushels; and that of potatoes, 2,454,880 bushels. The go¬
vernment contained in that year 96,436 horses, 353,864
horned cattle, 664,107 sheep, 160,086 swine, and 9933
goats. Hares, wolves, foxes, bustards, and other wild
animals are found in Podolia; and the rivers are well sup¬
plied with fish. There is little manufacturing industry in
the government; it contained, however, in 1849, in all
186 manufactories of various kinds, employing 2811 hands.
Among the former, there were 10 tanneries, 15 manufac¬
tories of tobacco, 18 of tallow and candles, 85 of cloth, 12
of tiles, and 22 of beet-root sugar. The trade of the
country, almost entirely carried on by Jews, consists mainly
in exportation of corn to Odessa, and of cattle to Galicia.
Most of the people belong to the Greek Church; but
there are considerable numbers of Roman Catholics and
of Jews, and a few Protestants and Mohammedans. The
educational interests of the government are under the
control of the university of Kiev; but they are in a low
condition; and there are few schools in the country. Podolia
is divided into twelve circles. The capital of the government
is Kamenez Podolsk. Like the other governments in West
Russia, Podolia once belonged to Poland, but has formed
since 1772 a part of the Russian empire. Pop. (1851)
1,577,966.
POE, Edgar Allan, author of the Haven, was born
at Baltimore in the United States, in January 1811. His
father, David Poe, while a student of law at Baltimore,
had become enamoured of Elizabeth Arnold, an English
actress, with whom he eloped. He married her, gave up
his studies, and took to the stage. After a few years, they
both died, leaving behind them three children in a state of
utter destitution. The eldest, Edgar, a child of remarkable
beauty and precocious wit, was then about six years old;
and a Mr John Allan, a wealthy merchant, adopted him.
In 1816 he visited Great Britain in company with Mr and
Mrs Allan, and subsequently passed from four to five years
with the Rev. Dr Barnsby, in a school kept at Stoke-New-
ington, near London. On his return to the United States
he entered the university at Charlottesville, and there gave
evidence of feats of hardihood, reckless wildness, and con¬
siderable genius. Gambling and intemperance induced
his expulsion from the university. He quitted the place
much in debt; and on Allan’s refusal to accept some of the
drafts, he wrote him an abusive letter, quitted the place,
and sailed for Greece, then engaged in a struggle with the
Turks. We know but little of his adventures for a year;
at the end of which time he broke in upon the slumbers of
the American minister in St Petersburg, to save him from
penalties incurred in a drunken debauch. Through the am¬
bassador’s intercession, he was enabled to return to the
United States. He became a cadet in the military aca¬
demy, and, after passing ten months there, he was cashiered
for dissipation and neglect of duty. He returned to Allan,
who was still disposed to treat him as a son; but ownng to
a quarrel with the future Mrs Allan, he and his patron
parted for ever. He published a small volume of verses,
M
90 r 0 E
Poe. enlisted as a private soldier, was recognised by officers at
v ^^ the military academy, who were forming measures for his
release, with prospects of success, when it was discovered
that he had deserted. Two prizes were now offered hy the
proprietor of the Baltimore Saturday Visitor for the best
tale and poem suited to his magazine. Poe competed, and
was successful. This award was published 12th Octobei
1833. He obtained, through the exertions of this com¬
mittee, the editorship of a magazine published at Rich¬
mond, Virginia; but after the lapse of a few months, he
fell into a state of brutish drunkenness, which resulted in
his dismissal. While at Richmond, in January 1837, he
had married his cousin, Virginia Clemm, a very amiable
and lovely girl, who was as poor as himself. He went
from Richmond to Baltimore, from Baltimore to Phila¬
delphia, and from Philadelphia to New York. Towards the
end of 1838 he settled in Philadelphia, and became editor
of a magazine which Burton the comedian had recently
established. Here he stayed for more than a 5ear. his
works were appreciated; his fame was increasing; when, be¬
fore the summer was over, he relapsed into his former
habits, and was for weeks regardless of everything. This
led to his dismissal. Some months afterwards he became
editor of Graham's Magazine. His connection with this
periodical, which continued about a year and a half, was
one of the most active and brilliant periods of his literary
life. He wrote for it some of his finest tales and most
charming criticisms. During his residence at Philadelphia
his manner was usually very quiet and gentlemanly; he
was generally dressed with simplicity and elegance; and
there was a singular neatness and air of refinement about
his home. For this he was mainly indebted to his mother-
in-law, who loved him with more than maternal devotion
and constancy. In 1844 he removed to New York, where
he was received into circles accustomed to the appreciation
as well as to the production of literature. It was here, dur¬
ing the outset of his career, that he published his poem of
the Haven, of which Mr Willis justly observed, “It is
the most effective single example of fugitive poetry ever
published in America.” His reputation as a magazinist
rose rapidly; and his tales and critical articles set him on
the high road to fame. In 1846 Poe’s constancy again
gave way, and he was reduced to quite an alarming desti¬
tution. He was ill; his wife was dying; and his mother-
in-law, with his manuscript in her hand, was wandering the
streets of New York. In 1848 he advertised several lec¬
tures, with the view of obtaining money to start a long-
contemplated monthly journal. They were subsequently
published as Eureka, a Prose Poem, on the cosmogony of
the universe, to the composition of which he brought his
subtlest and highest gifts in their fullest power. From this
period Poe did not write much; he had quarrelled with
most of the chief magazines for which he had formerly
written. His name was associated about this time with one
of the most brilliant women of New England ; and he has
immortalized her by the poem, “ I saw thee once—once only
—years ago.” They were not married, however; and the
breaking "of the engagement seems entirely owing to his
own wilful caprice. After a temporary absence from New
York in the autumn of 1849, he arrived in Baltimore. He
met acquaintances who induced him to drink, and, after a
night of insanity and exposure, he was borne to an hospital,
where he died the same evening at the age of thirty-eight.
POE
In person, Poe was below the middle height, slenderly Poelem*
but compactly formed, and in his better moments was ^urg.
gentlemanly in an eminent degree. His voice was modu-  
fated with astonishing skill, and his elocution was at times
wellnigh supra-mortal. He was at all times a dreamer,
dwelling in ideal realms peopled with the creatures and
accidents of his brain. His harsh experience had apparently
deprived him of all faith in man and woman. His poetry
is characterized by great originality and sweetness. He
was a master of rythm; and put nothing out of his hand
that did not bear the stamp of his genius. He wrote but
little; but that little was in general of the highest mark.
No American poet has reached the poetical heights which
were familiar to Poe. His verses have all a dreamy, un¬
worldly grandeur about-them ; sufficiently real to awaken
an interest in the reader, and sufficiently ideal to carry
him beyond himself and the things of sense and time. For
a perfect mastery over language, and that subtle harmony
which constitutes the very highest music, Poe knew but
few equals. His versification was liquid and musical; and his
entire composition was constructed with the design of being
as near perfection as possible. His prose tales aie veiy much
like his poetry; but with this difference, that in general he
chooses for his poetry subjects fitted to awaken melancholy,
or at most exquisite sorrow; while in his prose he harrows
up to the foundation the very roots of one’s nature, and
seems to take a positive pleasure in the exercise. A number
of his pieces, to be sure, mainly address themselves to out
curiosity, without involving the reader in any fit of feverish
anxiety; yet so masterly is this executed, that one might
safely say, no one, of any measure of culture, began a story
of Poe’s without completing it with breathless interest.
The style is so simple and yet so accurate, so smooth and
yet so highly finished, that it is only on reflection that one
perceives the charming vehicle on which he has been cai-
ried along. He had a most subtle and delicate intellect,
and an imagination singularly weird and unworldly. His
works, and especially his poems, were more or less a reflec¬
tion of his life. He wrote with fastidious difficulty, and in
a style too high to be well paid. His works have been pub¬
lished in 4 vols., 1857.
POELEMBURG, Cornelius, an eminent Dutch land¬
scape-painter, was born at Utrecht in 1586, and after re¬
ceiving the first principles of his art from Bloemart, repaired
to Rome to study the works of Raphael. He formed in
course of time a style of his own. His custom was, to re¬
present on a small canvas, with a light and delicate touch,
a well-selected landscape. Neat figures and imposing ruins
were introduced to add to the picturesque effect. Jhe
whole scene was finished with a delicate colouring which
equalled the suavity of enamel. I his artistic excellence
soon introduced Poelemburg to a brilliant career of popu¬
larity. During a residence of several years at Rome, his
studio was the resort of cardinals and other dignitaries.
On his vvay home, the Grand Duke of Florence would fain
have retained him at court. After his return to Utrecht,
he was summoned in 1637 to England to paint for Charles
I. and the nobility. Nor did prosperity desert him when
he sought again his native city. He continued to amass a
large fortune, and to see his pictures imitated by many ris¬
ing artists, till his death in 1660. rlhe pictures of Poelem¬
burg are scarce. Many of his figures may be seen in the
landscapes of Claude, Jan Both, and Kiering.
91
POETRY.
Poetry. The difficulty of giving a definition of poetry, which shall
v—-y-—' include all that essentially belongs to it, and exclude all that
Definition. jg forejgn or accidental to it, has been long felt and admit¬
ted. The definition of the ancients, which makes poetry
“ an imitative art,” is obviously exposed to the double ob¬
jection of being at once too comprehensive, since it would
equally apply to the other imitative arts of painting and
sculpture; and too limited, since it would exclude many
departments of poetry, in which, as in the lyrical, the art is
not properly imitative, but expressive ; not copying in any
sense the thoughts and actions of others, but presenting to
the sympathy of the reader the emotions of the poet him¬
self. Not less objectionable is the definition, that poetry
is “ the art of expressing our thoughts by fiction which,
while it is equally applicable to the novel and the romance,
is, in fact, not necessarily true of poetry at all, except in
this sense, that in all high poetry a certain transforming and
beautifying power of imagination is excited, which in some
measure transmutes the forms of things from their actual pro¬
saic aspect,
Clothing the palpable and the familiar
With golden exhalations of the dawn.
Still less can verse or metrical form be regarded as con¬
stituting the essence, or even one of the essentials, of poetry.
It no doubt heightens its effect; it increases its charm and
power of pleasing, by enlisting the aid of musical sound and
cadence on the side of imaginative language or touching
sentiment; but it must yet be regarded as amongst the exter¬
nals of poetry,—something which will never make poetry of
itself, and without which poetry is not only conceivable, but
has in fact existed, and that in very striking and impres¬
sive forms.
Object of Poetry may perhaps be defined to be an art which has
poetry the creation of intellectual pleasure for its object, which attains
communi- its end by the use of language natural in an excited state
intellectual °* imag'nati°n and the feelings, and generally, though
pleasure n0" necessarily, formed into regular numbers. The proper
antithesis, therefore, to poetry, as Mr Coleridge has remark¬
ed, is not prose, but science. The proper antithesis to prose
is verse. Science seeks to instruct, to discover and to com¬
municate truth; “ the proper and immediate object of poe¬
try is the communication of immediate pleasure.” Poetry
may indeed incidentally instruct, as science may indirectly
communicate pleasure; but the object of each must be ga¬
thered from its main direction and bearing, and in this sense
the production of intellectual enjoyment is unquestionably
the aim and the proper province of poetry.
This a plea- 80 closely are the intellectual and refined pleasures
sure con- of man connected with his moral qualities ; so much does
ducive to his relish for the higher and more spiritual pleasures of the
uior y. imagination depend on a sound and healthy state of mora¬
lity in the first instance, and so much is this state in turn
promoted and encouraged by stimulating and keeping alive
the activity of the imagination and the sensibilities of the
heart, that poetry, though generally avoiding the form of
direct instruction, may yet be said, with justice, to be the
most important handmaid and assistant of moral education,
by its appeals to those affections which are apt to become
indolent and dormant amidst the commerce of the world,
and the revival of those purer and more enthusiastic feel¬
ings which are associated with the earlier and least selfish
period of our existence. Immersed in business, which, if
it sharpen the edge of intellect, leaves the heart barren;
toiling after material wealth or power, or struggling with
fortune tor existence; seeing selfishness reflected all around
us from the hard and glittering surface of society, as from Poetry,
a cold and polished mirror ; it would go hard with man inv*—v—<
adversity, perhaps still more in prosperity, if some resource
were not provided for him, which, under the form of an
amusement and a recreation, administered a secret but
powerful balm in the one case, and an antidote in the other.
This resource is afforded us by the influences of poetry.
“ Whatever withdraws us from the power of the senses;
whatever makes the past, the distant, and the future, pre¬
dominate over the present, advances us in the dignity of
human beings.” Sometimes, no doubt, poetry openly as¬
sumes the garb of moral it}7, but it is generally least instruc¬
tive when most directly didactic, and practically attains the
end of instruction with most success when the instructor is
himself unconscious of the lesson he conveys. In an indi¬
rect form, however, and through the medium of the feel¬
ings and the imagination rather than the mere reason, its
efficiency as a moral agent is great and undeniable. And
as upon the intellectual worth and nobleness of individuals
depends the standard of a national morality, it may with
truth be said that the fame and character of nations,—those
qualities the presence of which makes the smallest state
conspicuous in the world’s eye, and the absence of which
renders the widest empire, on which the sun never sets, in¬
significant ; namely, national pride, honour, fidelity to en¬
gagements, courage to act, fortitude to sufter, a generous
and far-seeing policy, disdaining all mean or questionable
advantages; are to some extent derived, and, at all events,
continually cherished and fostered, by the influence of a
pure and ennobling national poetry. If Plato had succeed¬
ed in banishing poets from his ideal republic, he would as¬
suredly have conferred no benefit upon morals. He would
have created a hard and utilitarian frame of society, inac¬
cessible to generous feeling, and incapable of those great
efforts, either of action or of endurance, which have their
source only in enthusiasm, and cannot be suggested by any
principle of expediency, however enlarged may be the ba¬
sis of calculation.
It is the conviction of this intimate though indirect con-No poetry
nection between poetry and morality, and the consequentpermanent¬
bearing of the former upon human welfare, that explains^ P°Palar’
the veneration which mankind have always felt for those'v. 13 °.
poets who, acting under an impression or the sacredness oi:nature>
the task committed to them, and of the power of the talisman
which genius has placed in their hands, have devoted their
labours to the purest forms of poetry, and to the excitement
of emotions, either virtuous in themselves, or conducive to
virtue. It is this conviction which accounts for the aver¬
sion which they have never failed in the end to manifest
against all those who have made the fascinations of poetry
and wit subservient to the gratification of baser feelings or
meaner propensities. For men taken in the mass judge
rightly, even when they act wrongly; and moral opinion, so
variable and wavering when applied to our own case or that
of our friends, is found a safe and steady guide when ap¬
plied to the mere representation of human thought and ac¬
tion in the forms with which they are invested by the poet.
Hence the feelings of all men are enlisted and warmly ex¬
cited on the side of virtue in fictitious composition, and still
more in the most fascinating form of fictitious composition,
poetry. For here the tendency of the poem is felt to be no
mere speculative question, but a real dispute “ pro aris et
focisa contest whether, as is said to be often the case in
India, poison is to be conveyed into the wells from which
pure and refreshing water ought to be drawn. And this
practical bearing upon important interests, of the abuse of
92
POETRY.
Poetry, a fine art, is more felt, and justly, in poetry than in any
other. In painting, for instance, Parrhasius, Julio Roma¬
no, Annibal Caracci, and Titian, have ministered by their
pictures to the promotion of vice; in sculpture, some have
even endeavoured to pervert the pure marble into a vehicle
of impure representations; but the circle of their operation
is limited ; to the mass of men their iniquities of this nature
are even unknown: but poetry, multiplied indefinitely by
printing, finding its way into every quarter of the globe,
and penetrating into the humblest as well as the highest
class of society, has a sphere of operation bounded only by
the globe itself, and a practical influence, through their
sympathies, upon men’s habits of thought, and consequently
upon their morality and their happiness, which is not the
less certain and extensive, that its limits do not admit of
any precise or distinct determination.
Hence it is a remarkable fact in the history of poetry, that
no work essentially immoral, or even exhibiting a manifest
indifference to moral feeling, has ever maintained a perma¬
nent popularity. The low ribaldry which deforms the splen¬
did talents of Aristophanes will always render the perusal of
his plays a painful task; the witty licentiousness of the Pu-
celle is already all but forgotten ; and the next generation,
while they treasure the better parts of Byron, will assuredly
consign to oblivion much of his gloomy reasonings, his con¬
tempt for human nature, and his ridicule of generous feel¬
ings. The poets who are found to retain their hold over all
hearts, and whose influence even appears to extend with
the progress of ages, Homer, Shakspeare, Milton, Spenser,
Calderon, Tasso, are those who have done their utmost to
elevate rather than to depress the spirit and the hopes of
men ; to make existence brighter about us, and to embody
in their strains the principles of faith and hope, of purity
and universal charity. For it need hardly be observed, that
we are not to condemn a work as immoral on account of
a few brief passages, in which the poet, led away by a too
lively imagination, has admitted scenes or images of an ob¬
jectionable kind. Such, indeed, are to be found in Shak¬
speare, and in the pure and religious poems of Spenser; more
ra> ely also in Tasso; but the general strain of the poem, and
the obvious aim of the poet, being to promote the cause of
virtue, the few objectionable particulars are lost in the ge¬
neral effect, and cease to be dangerous from their proximity
to so much that is calculated to purify and to elevate the
mind.
Painting If it be difficult to give an accurate definition of poetry, it
and poetry;is still more difficult to describe the precise combination of
conlinon to^e men*:a^ant^ morai qualities which are required for its pro-
s;:,0n Auction, so as to distinguish these from the qualities requisite
for perfection in the other imitative arts. The sensibility
to natural and moral beauty ; the study both of the outward
world and of the mind of man; imagination and fancy to
furnish the materials ; judgment and taste to select and ar¬
range them ; these are common to the great poet and the
great painter. What determines these energies and capa¬
bilities to the one direction more than to the other, and
makes one man paint to the bodily eye in colours, the other
to the eye of the mind in w^ords, is that secret undefinable
instinct which we call genius, which it is impossible to re¬
solve into any mere result of the force of circumstances,
and which, all experience teaches us, is born with the artist,
and, like an instinct, directs his after-course. A genius for
poetry or for painting is as certainly dependent on an or¬
ganization mental and physical, with which wre come into
the world, as a musical ear; no education can give them;
no general superiority of intellect wall enable a man to turn
with equal success to either; nature made him with the
elements of a poet or a painter, and what she has so framed,
art and education will never alter.
But though it is difficult to enumerate any quality requi¬
site to form a great poet which is not necessary also to form
a great painter, it is easy to see, that from the nature of the Poetry,
materials with which they deal, as well as their modes of
operation; the one producing its effects by a momentary
impression, the other by a continuous exertion; the degree
in which the different component qualities of mind are em¬
ployed in these respective arts is materially different.
Foremost amongst the qualities that constitute the poet is imacjna.
imagination, that creative principle of the mind which forms tion.
new conceptions out of previously existing materials; “ con¬
ceptions not absolutely justifiable by the rules of logic, but
quite intelligible to the mind when duly elevated; intelligible
through our sympathies or sensibilities, though not sufficient¬
ly definite nor strictly coherent to stand the cold survey of
our reason.” This is indeed the most essential gift of the
poet, “ where either he must live or have no life ;” with it, he
may triumph over every other defect; without it, no combi¬
nation of qualities will ever render him a great poet. This
is the pow'er which emancipates the poet from the trammels
of space and time; carries him back into the spirit of past
ages; enables him to create and to endow with coherent
attributes beings of a nature different from our own, and
yet having for us a real existence, so far as our sympathies
are concerned: to conceive and consistently to follow out the
thoughts, and words, and passions of imaginary actors, and
all this not by a metaphysical analysis of the emotions or
passions, nor by a course of induction from actual observa¬
tion in the world about him, but by a secret consciousness,
flashing upon his mind, in a concentrated shape, the result
of all philosophy, embodying all which conception, abstrac¬
tion, and judgment would have separately furnished. It
supersedes the necessity of observation in every special case,
because it furnishes him with those primary elements of our
nature which give the formula for the solution of all. The
value of patient observation and study of life and character,
in addition to the suggestions of the imagination, we do not
dispute; we shall afterwards see, that within certain limits,
and for certain departments of poetry, they are indispensable.
But we may be assured, that for those elemental concep¬
tions of character which are unmodified by mere manners,
local position, or age; the conception, for instance, of a Lear
or a Miranda, a Caliban, an Ariel, or a Hamlet; no obser¬
vation of human character in the actual world, nor dissec¬
tion of the component passions and sympathies that make
up character, would have sufficed. We have but to look at
the range of Shakspeare’s characters to be at once satisfied
of this. Pre-eminent amongst these are his characters of wo¬
men ; and yet from what analysis of character, or observa¬
tion of society, could these have been drawn ? Where
could a youth, whose chief companions had been deer-stalk¬
ers, actors, or play-writers of no high repute, and to whom
female society, at least in its most refined form, must have
been unknown, have gleaned the materials which enable
him to pourtray, with equal mastery, the fierce overbearing
spirit of Lady Macbeth and Constance, the tranquil regal
dignity of Hermione and Katharine of Aragon, or the totally
dissimilar aspect of temale character presented in the pas¬
sion of Juliet, the purity of Miranda, the simplicity of Ophe¬
lia, or the tender submission and wife-like confidence of
Imogen and Desdemona ? No prototypes existed in the
society around him from which these could be drawn. The
streets and taverns of London might indeed furnish him
with Bardolphs and Pistols; his acquaintance with Lord
Southampton, or with the other gallants of the court, might
afford the outlines of his Prince Henry or Hotspur; but
his female creations are obviously drawn from no other
sphere but his own breast. They are the offspring of an
imagination “ all compact,” not elaborately constructing,
but almost unconsciously creating.
The power of imagination is shown in its most imposing
form in the conception of character, incident, situation, and
scenery,—-in the general scope and design of the poem; but
POE
Poetry, its value and importance as an element of poetry is scarce-
ly less felt in the details, in the manner in which it informs
and transforms the whole language of the poem; studding
it with imagery, simple or complex, often making a single
word act like a spell, and conjure up a host of magical as¬
sociations. Its province in this respect is not to be con¬
founded with that lower department of the poetical art
which is called diction, and which, when the idea is form¬
ed, simply dictates the selection of the word most appro¬
priate to express the precise idea to be conveyed. Imagi¬
nation supplies the idea itself, or fasciculus of ideas, to be
embodied in the word; and in the number, novelty, and
judicious selection of associations which can be suggested
to the mind within any equal space, lies the chief difference
between the work of a great poet and an inferior one, be¬
tween an original or an imitative mind.
The images suggested by the imagination, we have said,
are frequently complex. It seems to fuse many in one, to
divide one into many, and to present the mass to the mind
in a form which suggests all the particulars of which it is
composed. It is certain, too, that many of the images which
it suggests, and the effect of which upon the mind is imme¬
diately felt by all lovers of poetry to be beautiful, can by no
means be justified upon the principles of logic, or their co¬
herence made clear to the understanding. “ When Milton
tells us of4 darkness visible,’ ” says a writer on poetry, “ we
feel that he has uttered a fine paradox ; we feel its truth, but
cannot prove it. And when in that appalling passage where
the poet stands face to face with Night and Chaos in their
dark pavilion, ‘ spread wide on the wasteful deep,’ and says
that
By them stood
Orcus and Ades, and the dreaded name
Of Demogorgon,
how is it possible to reconcile such expressions to a mere
prosaic understanding ? Darkness is, strictly speaking, ab¬
sence of light. How then shall we say that it is visible,
when we see only by the aid of light ? And with respect
to the ‘ name’ of Demogorgon, which stands by Orcus and
Ades, how can such a phrase be justified by the rules of
reason ? Nevertheless it is as magnificent as words can
make it. It is clothed in a dark and spectral grandeur, and
presses upon our apprehensions like a mighty dream.”1 Take
another instance also from Milton, where he speaks of music
At every fall smoothing the raven down
Of darkness till it smiled.
Here also it is impossible to perceive the mere logical con¬
nection of the images; for, allowing darkness to be em¬
bodied under the notion of some bird with glossy and raven
plumage, it would certainly puzzle any critic to show how
musical sounds could smooth such plumage; and yet we
should have little hesitation in putting this passage to any
one as a test whether he possessed a feeling or sense of
poetry, or whether his mind was entirely of a prosaic cha¬
racter. In these, and a thousand similar instances, particu¬
larly in Shakspeare, it is clear that the poetical effect can
be explained upon no ordinary principle of reason. The
metaphors are what are called broken; they cannot logi¬
cally be united, and yet they have a sufficient poetical co¬
herence. How this result is produced we shall only be en-
ab ed to explain when the whole laws which govern the fa¬
culty of imagination, as yet most imperfectly understood,
shall be discovered.
. It is somewhat difficult to establish a plain and practical
distinction between fancy and imagination, so far as regards
the imagery or ornaments of poetry; though, as we have
already said, the higher efforts of conception, and the gene¬
ral design, fall almost entirely, in serious and heroic poetry,
TRY.
93
under the province of imagination. From Milton’s line,
“ Sweetest Shakspeare, Fancy’s child,” it would seem that
the words fancy and imagination had then been used as
having the same meaning; for certainly any one now endea¬
vouring to describe the most remarkable of Shakspeare’s
qualities would refer to his imagination rather than his fancy!
Yet fancy may perhaps‘be said to be imagination at a lower-
point of excitement; not dealing with passions, or creating
character; nor pouring out unconsciously, under the influ¬
ence of strong feeling, images as they arise massed and
clustered; but going in search of comparisons and illustra¬
tions, and when it invests them with personality as in meta¬
phors, still adhering much more closely to the logical fit¬
ness and sequence which govern similar ornaments in prose.
It seems to act like a colder and weaker species of imagi¬
nation, furnishing the thoughts which “ play round the head,
but do not touch the heartpleasing the eye and the ear,
creating or heightening the idea of the beautiful, much more
than of the sublime. It is not careful, like imagination, to
make the whole bear on the general design, and heighten the
main impression sought to be produced, but rather strives to
excite our pleasure, and to bespeak our admiration for the
images which it suggests. Its natural field, so far as re¬
gards the general design, is in poems like the Rape of the
Lock, or the Lutrin, where the object is to give a poetical
dress to a subject essentially prosaic, and excluding passion
or high imagination. To these it lends an airy machinery, in¬
genious comparisons, imagery of a lively and pleasing cast in
harmony with the level tone of the subject, and thus brings
them within the domain of poetry. Some have represented
the distinction between the effects of imagination and fancy
to consist in this, “ that the former altogether changes and
remodels the original idea, impregnating it with something
extraneous ; the latter leaves it undisturbed, but associated
with things to which, in some view or other, it bears a re¬
semblance.” But this distinction cannot be admitted; fancy,
though in a less degree, does create, or change and remodel
ideas; the difference between them must be sought more
in the sort of ideas on which they operate, and the purposes
to which they apply them, than in the plastic power sup¬
posed to be exercised in the one case and not in the other.
“ Fancy,” says Mr Wordsworth, in a fine passage in his pre¬
face, “ depends upon the rapidity and profusion with which
she scatters her thoughts and images, trusting that their
number, and the felicity with which they are linked together,
will make amends for the want of individual value; or she
prides herself upon the curious subtilty and the successful
elaboration with which she can detect their lurking affini¬
ties. If she can win you over to her purpose, and impart
to you her feelings, she cares not how mutable and transi¬
tory may be her influence, knowing that it will not be out
of her power to resume it upon an apt occasion. But the
imagination is conscious of an indestructible dominion ; the
soul may fall away from it, not being able to sustain its
grandeur; but if once felt and acknowledged, by no act of
any other faculty of the mind can it be relaxed, impaired,
or diminished. Fancy is given to quicken and to beguile
the temporal part of our nature, imagination to incite and
support the eternal. Yet it is not the less true, that fancy,
as she is an active, is also, under her own laws and in her
own spirit, a creative faculty. In what manner fancy am¬
bitiously aims at a rivalship with the imagination, and ima¬
gination stoops to work with the materials of fancy, might
be illustrated from the compositions of all eloquent writers,
whether in prose or verse, and chiefly from those of our own
country. Scarcely a page of the impassioned parts of Bishop
Taylor’s works can be opened that shall not afford examples.
Referring the reader to these inestimable volumes, we will
content ourselves with placing a conceit, ascribed to Lord
Poetry.
1 Edinburgh Review, 1825.
%
94
POETRY.
Poetry. Chesterfield, in contrast with a passage from the Paradise
Lost.
The dews of the evening most carefully shun ;
They are tears of the sky for the loss of the sun.
After the transgression of Adam, Milton, with other appear¬
ances of sympathizing nature, thus marks the immediate
consequence.
Sky lowered, and, muttering thunder, some sad drops
Wept at completion of the mortal sin.
The associating link is the very same in each instance ; dew
and rain, not distinguishable from the liquid substance of
tears, are employed as indications of sorrow. A flash of
surprise is the effect in the former case ; a flash of surprise
and nothing more ; for the nature of things does not sustain
the combination. In the latter, the effects of the act, of
which there is this immediate consequence and visible sign,
are so momentous, that the mind acknowledges the justice
and reasonableness of the sympathy in nature so manifest¬
ed ; and the sky weeps drops of water, as if with human eyes,
as earth had before trembled from her entrails, and nature
given a second groan.” It is evident, that in the parallel
passages thus opposed to each other by Wordsworth, the
creative or remodelling operation produced by fancy in the
former case, and by imagination in the latter, is the same;
in both the sky is endowed with personality and human
feeling ; it is the propriety of the action attributed to the
imaginary being in the one case, and its unreasonableness
in the other, which makes the former merely fanciful, the
latter highly imaginative.
Danger of It will readily be perceived, from what has here been said
an excess ()f t]ie nature of fancy, that when unregulated by a strong
o amy. judgmentj and unwarmed by strong passion, it is one of the
most dangerous qualities which a poet can possess. To the
predominance of this quality, indeed, to the consciousness
of a facility of finding ingenious analogies or subtile dis¬
tinctions, of conjuring up a multitude of fantastic resem¬
blances, pleasing in themselves, but in no way heightening
the leading impression sought to be conveyed, are to be
ascribed many of the errors of taste by which modern poe¬
try has been deformed. To this must be ascribed those
conceits, from which scarcely a single Italian writer prior to
the eighteenth century is free, and which reached their con¬
summation in Marino; to this the similar extravagancies of
Gongora, Quevedo, and their followers in Spain ; the affect¬
ed taste introduced by Voiture and Balzac in France, and
exploded by the good sense of Moliere ; and the similar ex¬
travagancies of our own metaphysical poets. An excess of
imagination cannot lead to bad taste in style; an excess of
fancy is but too apt to produce that effect.
Judgment. Of judgment, which is the regulating and controlling
power by which the active and creative faculties of imagi¬
nation and fancy are guided, checking the too daring flight
of the one, and priming the excesses of the other, it is
needless to speak ; since it is a quality not more peculiarly
requisite in poetry than in oratory, or any of those depart¬
ments of intellectual exertion which depend not on demon¬
stration, but on the balance of probabilities. In fact, the
highest range of imagination has invariably been found to
be accompanied by a corresponding depth and comprehen¬
siveness of judgment; or rather, perhaps, it would be more
philosophical to say, that judgment is involved and consti¬
tutes one of the component parts of high imagination. For
the imagination, as is justly remarked by Mr Stewart, is a
complex power. “ It includes conception or simple appre¬
hension, which enables us to form a notion of those former
objects of perception or knowledge, out of which we are to
make a selection (in the fine arts) ; abstraction, which se¬
parates the selected materials from the qualities and cir¬
cumstances which are connected with them in nature ; and
judgment or taste, which selects the materials, and directs
their combination.” It is only in minds where imagination is Poetry,
limited, and where its possessor tries by effort and straining v’—V—^
to enlarge it beyond its appointed bounds, that the judg¬
ment is generally found defective. Homer and Shakspeare,
the most inventive and imaginative of poets, are also the
most sagacious, the most practical, the most abounding in
wisdom, both of a worldly and of a higher kind.
But, in addition to the natural gifts of sensibility to feel, Study ne-
memory to retain impressions, imagination and fancy to cesstiry to
fashion new conceptions, and judgment to blend in harmony tormapoel»
all the materials which have been thus accumulated, study
is just as essential for the formation of the poet as for the
acquisition and practice of the most mechanical art. That
study regards both the materials of poetry and the language
by which they are to be communicated in a sensible form to
others. Study of men in the different conditions of life, and
the habit of observing and systematising these observations ;
study of external nature, so as to mark the peculiarities which
escape common eyes ; the accustoming the mind to search
for resemblances among things different, and to lay them up
in the memory as in a treasury; these are assistances which
no poet can overlook, and without which the imaginative
faculty is deprived of its due nourishment, and of half its
power. For even imagination does not strictly create out
of nothing; it must be quickened and set in motion by
something external, and demands materials on which it can
try its processes of change or recombination. All great
poets, therefore, have steadily pursued this course of study
of nature, both moral and physical; though, after the ha¬
bit is once formed, these mental operations are carried on
almost unconsciously, and the treasures of poetical observa¬
tion grow upon their possessor, w ithout his being conscious
of any effort in their accumulation. A remarkable instance
of the attention paid by great poets to the minutest peculi-
' arities of external nature, and of course equally applicable
to the study of mental phenomena, is afforded by the case
of Sir Walter Scott. Every one knows the graphic truth
as well as the wonderful variety of his descriptions of scenery,
which, by their selection of every thing that is charac¬
teristic, embody the very spirit of the place, and call back
to our minds the impression wdth which we had first view¬
ed it, and which had faded awTay and become forgotten. It
is evident that in such descriptions Scott trusted little to
the imagination, as able to compensate the observation of
reality. Mr Morritt mentions, that whilst he was engaged
in the composition of Rokeby, he observed him noting down
even the peculiar little wild flowers and herbs that acciden¬
tally grew round and on the side of a crag near his intend¬
ed cave of Guy Denzil; and on his saying that he need not
have taken the trouble, since daisies, violets, and primroses,
would have suited his purpose as well as the humble plants
he was examining, the poet replied, “ that in nature herself
no two scenes are exactly alike, and that whoever copied
truly what was before his eyes, would possess the same va¬
riety in his descriptions, and exhibit apparently an imagina¬
tion as boundless as the range of nature in the scenes he re¬
corded ; whereas, whoever trusted to imagination would soon
find his own mind circumscribed and contracted to a few fa¬
vourite images, and the repetition of these would, sooner or
later, produce that very monotony and barrenness which had
always haunted descriptive poetry in the hands of any but
the patient worshippers of truth.”
The other department of the poet’s study relates to the use Diction,
of the medium through which his ideal creations are to be con¬
veyed to others; in other words, diction, or the choice and
arrangement of the words most appropriate to convey the
precise shade of meaning, and to convey it divested of all
those associations of a low or ludicrous character, which
usage sometimes connects with words, and assisted by all the
charms of musical sound. All men who seek to command
the minds of others through speech must by study learn to
’oetry. apprehend the power and perfect force, as affecting thought,
imagination, and passion, of every word which his fellow-
men have used for ages as the vivid image of some con¬
ception of the soul. They must acquire a perception of
the value of words, at once exact, delicate, and passion¬
ate. This careful and fond study of language, however,
is peculiarly requisite to the poet, and has been carried
to higher perfection by them than by prose writers ; “ be¬
cause in the composition of poetry, the mind, attempered
to delight, feels more rensitively the exquisite form into
which the materia expression of its conception is wrought.”
The very shackles imposed by metre and rhyme, though
they may occasionally tempt an inferior poet into the use
of a word which is not the one most apt to express his
conception, unquestionably only operate as a stimulus to
the great poet to make himself master of all the resources
of words which the language supplies, so as to comply
with the necessities of rhyme and musical sound without
sacrificing any portion of the substance of his conception.
Without this thorough command of the whole armament
of language, and the utmost patience and perseverance
in its use, we may be assured that no poet has ever suc¬
ceeded in attaining a general and permanent popularity.
Verse cannot leap full armed from the brain of the poet.
The steps which lead from the rudeness of the first con¬
ception to the elegance of the last, though they cannot
be seen, are undoubtedly many. The ideas must be pa¬
tiently wrought into shape; words weighed and rejected ;
shades of meaning of the nicest kind discriminated ; asso¬
ciations foreseen and guarded against; and an arrangement
of words throughout preserved, which, while it differs from
that of prose, never allows the inversions which are ad¬
mitted in poetry to obscure the meaning. The practice
of the greatest poets we know to have been in conformity
to these rules. We find Virgil dictating a number of
verses in the morning, spending the day in revising, cor¬
recting, and reducing them, and comparing himself, as
Aulus Gellius mentions, to a she-bear licking her mis¬
shapen offspring into shape. We see Petrarch returning
day after day to his sonnets, to alter some single word,
or make some apparently trifling change in the arrange¬
ment of a line. The manuscripts of Ariosto, whose style
appears the very perfection of ease, and an almost sponta¬
neous emanation, still exist at Ferrara, and show that many
of the favourite passages in the Orlando w;ere written eight
times over. Scarcely less attention was bestowed upon the
stanzas of the Gerusalemme by Tasso. Milton’s study of
English speech, and mastery of the artifice of language, as
well as the critical care with which he built up “ the lofty
rhyme,” are well known :
“ He with difficulty and labour hard
Moved on ; with difficulty and labour he.”
The specimens of Pope’s Iliad given in Johnson’s Life, ex¬
hibiting the successive changes which the lines underwent
before they assumed that compact and harmonious form in
which they appeared before the public, must be in the re¬
collection of every reader. And we see from the letters of
Lord Byron that the same laborious process of polishing
was not disdained even by his impetuous mind. It is indeed
scarcely too much to say, that no composition of any length
which has obtained a permanent popularity was ever thrown
off at a heat; and that the nearer the work approaches to
the appearance of spontaneity, the greater has in general
been the extent of the labour which has been employed
upon it.
Q Hties Such being the qualities and habits of mind that make
co mon to' the poet, it may be asked what are the common qualities to
al food
p( rjr>      
be found in all poetry which has permanently commanded Poetry,
the admiration of mankind. Milton has endeavoured to
condense these into a sentence. Poetry, he says, must be
“ simple, sensuous, passionate.”
By the first quality, simplicity, which applies both to Poetry
the matter and the language, he seems to indicate themustbe
necessity of dealing in poetry with the simple elements
of human nature ; keeping the broad highways of feeling,
avoiding affectation of sentiment, over-refinement, or mor¬
bid peculiarity of any kind. “ It distinguishes poetry from
the arduous processes of science labouring towards an
end not yet arrived at, and supposes a smooth and finished
road on which the reader is to walk onward easily, with
streams murmuring by his side, and trees, and flowers,
and human dwellings, to make his journey as delightful
as the object of it is desirable, instead of having to toil
with the pioneers, and painfully to make the road on
which others are to travel.”1 And unquestionably it is
the fact, that the works of the greatest poets are the sim¬
plest, the most level to ordinary apprehension, the most
adapted to ordinary sympathies. Homer, in whose works
nature is reflected without change, is understood and
relished equally by the youth and the man, by nations
the most distant from each other both in space and time.
Shakspeare, in like manner, in whose works we can de¬
tect no subjective influence produced by his own mind,
and who seems to range like the universal sun over the
provinces of emotion, enlightening all alike, produces the
same deep impression on the learned and the unlearned.
Both concur in this, that they do not paint the excep¬
tional, but the customary; not the peculiarities, but the
common features of humanity; and that they paint these
broadly and simply, instead of endeavouring, by a complex
apparatus of singular traits and colours, to display their own
artistic skill.
The second of the qualities enumerated by Milton is, Sensuous,
that poetry must be “ sensuous that is, that it shall have
that character of sensible reality which shall prevent its
degenerating into mere dreams and abstractions; that it
shall be so far connected with the world about us, and
with our actual interests and pursuits as not to appear
altogether the creature of another sphere, and this both
as to the nature of the subject and the definite nature
of the imagery employed upon it. The right under¬
standing and^ application of this rule would have saved
the world from many of those hazy poetical abstractions,
or attempts to transmute political or metaphysical theo¬
ries into poetry, with which, in the present age in parti¬
cular, the public has been inundated. It is the neglect of
it which renders the metaphysical poetry of the sixteenth
century, with all its grandeur and force of thought, so often
unreadable.
The third requisite of poetry is that it be passionate. It Passionate,
is not enough that thought and imagery be sensuous, or
objective and definite; the passio vera of humanity, as
Coleridge remarks, must animate both. It is by our sym¬
pathies that poetry lays its strongest hold on us ; and it is
by the representation of passion that these must be set in
motion. Even the lower and more level departments of
poetry must be warmed by it; of the epic, and still more
the dramatic, it constitutes the mainspring. Didactic and
descriptive poetry would become wearisome were they not
enlivened by the occasional introduction of scenes awaken¬
ing the feelings of love or pity. In lyric poetry, the song
constantly exhibits its condensed expression; in fact, so
powerful is its influence, that genuine passion will often
support a poem which has but slender claims to fancy or
imagination. The mere literal and truthful exhibition of
1 Coleridge’s Literary Rmains) vol. ii. p. 10.
1
96
POETRY.
Poetry.
Poetry
changes
with so¬
ciety.
the greater passions of our nature so stirs within us the
sense of the sublime or the terrible, so rouses our curiosity
and suspense, that for a time we are willing to dispense
with the more ethereal colouring which imagination might
impart to them. We say, however, for a time only; for a
literal picture of human passions, if prolonged through a
whole drama, and unrelieved by imagery or the expression
of calmer thought, is felt to be painful and harrowing to
the mind. Such is the effect produced by the Newgate
Calendar dramas of Lido, George Barnwell, Arden of Fe-
versham, and the Fatal Curiosity, and by the similar Ger¬
man tragedy of Werner, the Twenty-Ninth of February.
So great was the effect produced by the scene in Lillo’s play
representing the murder of Arden, that the audience, unable
to endure the excitement of the representation, rose up with
one accord and interrupted it. Appeals to our passions,
presented in this bleak and naked reality, have the same
painful effect upon the mind which exhibitions of crime and
suffering have in real life. To make them produce a pleas¬
ing effect in poetry, at least for any length of time, they
must be blended with associations of a less vulgar and less
agitating kind; and the pain which attends our sympathy
must be tempered by the soothing imagery suggested by
the imaginative and reflective faculties.
The qualities enumerated by Milton may be considered
as fixed and inherent in all good poetry ; beyond these it is
difficult to point out any which are of permanent and uni¬
versal necessity. That poetry which seeks to please through
our sympathies must shift and vary, both in its themes and
in the manner of treating them, with the changes of society,
is a truism on which it is needless to enlarge. If the opinions
of men change, if their habits and the objects and associa¬
tions which interest them alter, poetry must adapt itself to
this altered state of things. It does so indeed unconsciously
it cannot avoid doing so; for the poet’s own nature has
partaken of the change.
It is a more important question, whether the progress of
society, the advancement in civilization, and the moral
civilization haj3j£S an(j intellectual constitution which accompany it,
on poetry. 0perate favourably or unfavourably on poetry; in other
words, is there reason to believe that the imaginative faculty
in poets, and the sensibilities of their readers, decline with
the progress of refinement in the arts; or that the imagina¬
tion no longer finds the same materials in actual life on
which its plastic power can be excited?
The tendency of most of the late inquiries into the ques¬
tion has been towards the opinion of its unfavourable influ¬
ence. The faculty of imagination is supposed to decline
as knowledge becomes more exact; the turn for analysis,
which is the characteristic of advancing civilization, and
w hich shows itself in the philosophical character which lan¬
guage assumes, is maintained to be destructive of that in¬
dividuality and distinctness which is the life of poetry ; sub¬
stituting general abstractions for particulars, vague phrases
instead of images, and personified qualities instead of men.
In a half-civilized state of society, too, life is a romance, a
tissue of adventures, powerfully exciting the feelings of fear,
wonder, and enthusiasm. In more refined periods these
sources of excitement cease; and, even where they exist,
they are veiled by the caution which the fear of ridicule pro¬
duces, a restraint which in the ruder periods of society is
comparatively unknown. Hence both the imagination of
the poet and the sensibilities of the reader of poetry are
chilled. “ Poetry,” says one of the ablest exponents of this
unfavourable view of the effects of civilization on the arts,
“ produces an illusion on the eye of the mind, as a magic
lantern produces an illusion on the eye of the body. And
as the magic lantern acts best in a dark room, poetry elfects
its purpose most completely in a dark age. As the light
of knowledge breaks in upon its exhibitions—as the outlines
of certainty become more and more definite, and the shades
Effect of
increased
of probability more and more distinct the hues and linea- ^ Poetry,
ments of the phantoms which it calls up grow fainter and ^
fainter. We cannot unite the incompatible advantages of
reality and deception, the clear discernment of truth and the
exquisite enjoyment of fiction.
Yet these observations, though true to some extent, must
be received also with some qualification. If language loses
something in picturesqueness, it becomes far more pliant,
far better adapted to convey the exact idea intended; if
phrases which originally conveyed images have by long use
ceased to be metaphorical, we see that genius is constantly
creating and giving currency to new combinations. Know¬
ledge and learning and mechanical improvements, if they
tend to repress enthusiastic feeling, at least supply poetry
with a host of illustrations unknown to earlier periods; but,
above all, it may be doubted whether the enthusiastic and
imaginative faculties within us can ever be materially affected
by the changes of society, however their outward manifes¬
tations may be repressed. Whilst men feel that they are
connected with eternity, mysteriously surrounded by influ¬
ences which they feel and acknowledge though they cannot
account for them ; whilst love still holds a place in the heart,
and carries the spirit of romance into the barest realities of
existence ; whilst men have a country to honour and de¬
fend ; whilst they can still be animated to enthusiastic con¬
cert in the cause of humanity; whilst the strange accidents
by which even our decorous and conventional course of life
is at times broken, still present to them a thousand scenes of
joy or calamity ; there seems little reason to apprehend that
the imaginative faculty can ever be so impaired from w ant
of external nutriment or inward vigour, but that a truly
great poet will always find the means of speaking to the
hearts and sympathies of men, in different language it may
be, but with undiminished power.
Still less reason is there for the apprehension, that the
materials for description and illustration which external na¬
ture offers to the poet are likely to be in time exhausted,
or even materially encroached upon. Certainly the first
and the more obvious of its features are caught by the first
labourers in the field of poetry, with a truth and liveliness
which no subsequent efforts are likely to surpass ; and if
poetical imitation were, like literal landscape or portrait paint¬
ing, a mere transcript of the scene before us, there might
be reason to think that all the more striking aspects and
* points of view would, in the course of time, come to be ex¬
hausted, and the poet driven either to mere repetition in a
feebler form, or to seek for novelty by endeavouring to turn
to account the materials which his predecessors had thrown
aside as least fit for their purposes. But when it is recol¬
lected how infinite are the varieties and combinations of
which the objects of moral and material nature are suscep¬
tible, how largely, too, a creative and changing power is ex¬
ercised in poetical imitation; and in how many different lights,
independently of this process of imaginative change, the
objects around us are placed by natural differences of asso¬
ciations in the person who contemplates them; it may be
safely assumed that the materials of poetry are inexhaus¬
tible.
That poetry must have existed from the very earliest
periods is undoubted. As the expression in language, ot
that feeling of excitement and elevation produced either by
moral or material grandeur or beauty, it had its seat and
origin in human nature itself, and in its simplest form must
necessarily have existed as soon as man felt the desire of
recording his impressions, or communicating them to others.
In its first shape it may have been destitute either of rhythm
or metre ; although so close is the connection between that
state of the imagination -which gives birth to poetical con¬
ceptions, and a tendency to assist the effect of these by
certain intonations of the voice approaching to musical
sounds, that it is far more probable that even from the first
POE
Poetry, sometlnnsr of measure was imparted to it, probably without
effort or consciousness on the part of the reciter. At any
rate, the power of measure as an assistant to memory, and
as furnishing a species of gratification to the ear. apart from
the mere effect of the ideas upon the mind, could not fail to
be soon perceived and acted upon. At first, in fact, poetry
and music seem to have been constantly associated; for
the study of music, as something separate from the accom¬
paniment of words, is one which arises only at a later pe¬
riod ; and in all the poetical compositions which have de¬
scended to us, the elements of versification, or division of
lines into certain measures, are discernible.
Hebrew The poetry of the Hebrews is the oldest in the world. It
Poetry, stands apart from all the rest, in solitary grandeur, like a
pillar of fire in the poetical wilderness. The poetry of
Greece, for instance, only begins to exist centuries after the
noblest efforts of the Hebrew muse had been produced and
committed to writing. Even the oldest poetry of the Ara¬
bians, whose language is a kindred one to the Hebrew, is
of far more recent date than the Jewish Scriptures, in fact
not much older than the time of Mahommed. The He¬
brew poetry, as it has come down to us, seems limited in
its field, though within that field it has attained a mastery
never excelled. Almost all its compositions are lyrical,
and chiefly in the highest department cf the lyric, resem¬
bling, though in a less regular and artful form, the ode of
the classical poetry. Its characteristics appear to be un¬
equalled majesty of thought and expression, a fervour and
flow which, more than in any other poetry in existence, sug¬
gest the idea of an inspiration or divine afflatus, dictating,
through the poet as a mere organ, the sublimest ideas in
words of corresponding weight and grandeur; a profusion
of imagery and illustration, which, though it at first appears
excessive and overpowering to the critic of modern times,
and colder climes, is seen upon further study to be in the
cmsest harmony with the Hebrew character, and that of
all the oriental nations, and is remarkable for the absence
of any thing farfetched or elaborate ; a rapid desultory
movement from one train of thought or illustration to an¬
other, without formally supplying the links in the chain of
association which have led to the new topic,—as if the poet
relied upon a corresponding excitement in his readers or
hearers to supply that elevation and reach of poetical vision
necessary for tracing the chain of ideas from first to last.
It is certain, however, that to the Hebrews themselves there
was much less of abruptness and want of connection in
their lyrics than at first sight appears to us ; and that slight
hints were sufficient to awaken trains of associations to which,
from our altered circumstances and character of mind, we
have now no clue ; and this observation, in fact, applies
equally to the Hebrew and to great part of the classical
poetry of Greece and Rome.
lircum- When wre look to the Hebrew character and poetry, and
tances to the local situation and manners of the country, we per-
!; derived ce*ve a combination of circumstances highly favourable to
;s peculiar the growth and development of that department of poetry
haracter. in which alone they can be said to have attained distin¬
guished eminence. All the elements out of which a great
national lyric poetry is formed existed amongst the Hebrews,
both as regarded the impulses of the mind and the external
influences by which they were surrounded and daily acted
on. They had been selected as God’s peculiar people from
among the nations; they held as it were a commission from
heaven, giving them authority over the world; they looked
upon themselves as the race from which its Saviour was
to spring. They had triumphed, by the divine aid, over
the kings, and princes, and Pharaohs of the earth ; they
had the recollection of all their strange wanderings, their
miraculous deliverances, their acquisition of the promised
land, and their law given amidst audible thunders and vi-
VOL. XVIII.
T R Y.
sible smoke fiom Mount Sinai, in the presence of assembled Poetry.
myriads. They had a religion which, excluding the wor- v  -
ship of the Deity under visible symbols, only made the
image of the Deity more deeply and impressively worship¬
ped within the temple of the heart and the imagination :
while the connection of religion with all the affairs of life
the constant rites and ceremonies and festivals of rejoicing
or humiliation; the presence of the Deity, kept before their
thoughts by the ark, which was supposed to be his pecu¬
liar seat, and the sacredness of which had been more than
once guarded or avenged by prodigies; prevented that re¬
ligion from becoming a mere abstraction, and gave to their
conceptions of the Deity a warmth and life peculiarly suit¬
ed to the poetry of devotion, as blending the ideas of the
visible and the spiritual, without any admission of those
palpable, material, and degrading conceptions which mingle
with and deform, to our associations, the mythological or
religious poetry of Grecian polytheism. No commercial
pursuits tended to excite among the earlier Hebrews the
prosaic love of gain. They were shepherds, husbandmen,
or warriors, deriving subsistence from the soil, and attach¬
ed to it by a train of recollections. Frequent public cere¬
monies, festivals, jubilees, gave occasion for the assem¬
blage of the people in large masses, for a common purpose;
the occasion of all others most likely to call forth, by a
common sympathy, the enthusiasm which stimulates the
imagination into poetical activity. Add to these a climate
bright and cheerful, but admitting also of every variation
and interchange of serenity or tempest; a country, the
external aspect of which presented the strongest contrasts
of barrenness and luxuriance ; fertile plains, with moun¬
tain ranges of the most bleak and desolate grandeur; gar¬
dens like those of Damascus, with dreary lakes like the
Dead Sea, whose stagnant waters still spoke of the fall
of the cities of the plain, or wildernesses haunted by the
lion, the rhinoceros, and the serpent; and it w ould indeed
be matter of surprise if the Hebrew sacred poetry were
not characterized by a remarkable feeling of national pride,
of sublimity, simplicity, and natural pathos in its senti¬
ment, and by a peculiar freshness, truth, and boldness in
its pictures of nature, or illustrations derived from external
scenery. The parched plains of Judaea, the rocky top of
Sinai, the towers of Damascus, and the gardens of Lebanon
and Carmel, supply them with figures or allusions which
have an unspeakable charm of picturesqueness and beauty.
The climate is vividly brought before us in the allusions to
the wellsprings that water the desert, and to the shadow
of the great rock in a weary land. We see the simple
character of their life in their pastoral images, so constantly
derived from the tending of flocks and herds ; imagery so
congenial to their minds, that it is employed by the Author
of our faith in some of the most touching passages of the
New Testament. Such is the character of those books of
the Hebrew Scriptures which are on all hands admitted to
be poetical, though we know too little of the laws of He¬
brew prosody to be able to say whether they are written in
verse, though a species of rhythm, and apparent equality in
the divisions of portions of the sentences, appear to indi¬
cate that they are. Such are the Book of Psalms; one of
which (the ninetieth) is even ascribed to Moses, whilst seve¬
ral others were the production of predecessors or contempo¬
raries of David. It is certain, however, that those ascribed to
him are the finest and the most affecting of the whole, though
perhaps not the most magnificent in point of stateliness of
diction and imagery. “ Nor is it in tragic so much as in joyous
expression,” says Mr Campbell, “ that I conceive the pow er
of his genius to consist. Its most inspired aspect appears to
present itself when he looks abroad on the universe with the
eye of a poet and with the breast of a glad and grateful
worshipper. When he looks up to the starry firmament,
his soul assimilates to the splendour and serenity which he
N
POETRY.
however, are most powerfully impressive, such as the vision
of the four cherubims in the first chapter, and the resur¬
rection of the dry bones in the thirty-seventh, when there
was “ a noise and a shaking, and the bones came together,
bone unto his bone and the prophet calls unto the wind,
“ Come from the four winds, O breath, and breathe upon
these slain, that they may live; and they stood up on their
feet, an exceeding great army ” , . j .
jjut whilst the Hebrew poetry equals, and indeed far ex¬
cels, that of any other nation in the sacred lyric, it is singu-
contemplates. His lofty but bland spirit of devotion peculi¬
arly reigns in the eighth and in the nineteenth psalms. But,
above all, it expands itself in the 114th into a minute and
richly diversified picture of the creation. Verse after verse
in that psalm leads on the mind through the various objects
of nature, as through a mighty landscape ; and the atmo¬
sphere of the scene is coloured, not with a dim or mystic,
but with a warm and clear light of religious feeling. e
spreads his sympathies over the face of the world, and re¬
joices in the power and goodness of its protectmg^Hmy. the 0ther departments. The Song of Solo-
The impressions of that exquisi e described.”1 mon, laying aside its spiritual meaning, may be admitted to be
a pleasure too instinctive and s“P,e Xe'c e- “finespecimenofthepastoral: butofdramaticandnarrative
Such also are the Song of S,0»%">tbeJiXwhh toge poetry the Hebrews have left no specimens; for, though
pSs oCf *7 propStaoH and occasional passages the book of Job has to a certain extent a dramatic form, it
Poetry.
even in the narrative books, such as the Song of Moses
and Miriam, Jacob’s dying prophecies to his sons, the tri¬
umphal chant of Deborah, Balak’s involuntary blessing on
the people whom he came to curse, and, above all, the ex¬
quisitely pathetic and beautiful lamentation of David over
Saul and Jonathan. Amongst the Hebrew prophets, view¬
ing their writings apart from their divine inspiration, and
merely in the light of poetical compositions, the highest
rank is universally ascribed to Isaiah ; and that on account
of the union of excellencies which his sacred poetry exhi¬
bits. Deeply pathetic in some portions, as m those where
he paints the destruction which is about to fall upon Judah ;
awfully sublime in others, as where he describes the de¬
scent of the Assyrian king into the regions of hell, while
all the dead monarchs of the earth rise up to greet him
with reproaches; he rises with equal ease to themes of rap¬
turous exultation, or spreads out in minute portraiture all
the tranquil and soothing images of a coming millennium.
“ Joel ” says Mr Campbell, “ may be deemed to surpass him.
in continuity, and both Joel and Habakkuk are at moments
more sublime. But their compositions are much shorter
than his, and give us not the same conception of copious
and unwearied inspiration. Isaiah’s genius goes farther on
an even wing, and burns longer with an unwavering fire.
When he has merely to relate, his language has the utmost
plainness ; and his expositions are remarkably clear, consi¬
dering the nature of oracular poetry. He unites the same
simplicity with his rich and high visionary scenes, which are
neither meagre like Jeremiah’s, nor ambitiously overwrought
and complex like Ezekiel’s. A deliberate air, a divine self-
possession, turns the very scorn and wrath of his spirit into
movements of grace and beauty.” ^ „
Jeremiah and Ezekiel belong to the declining period of
Hebrew literature. They had fallen upon the evil days of
their country, and the influence wdiich its misfortunes and
degradation produced on the mind, is peculiarly visible in
the melancholy strains of Jeremiah. “ His genius seems
to bend, his voice to falter, under the burden of prophecy ;
and though sometimes pleasingly affecting, he generally
prolongs the accents of grief to monotony, and seldom
avoids tautology except where he abridges the works of other
prophets.” Ezekiel is the last great prophetic poet of the
Hebrew line; and opinions have been divided as to the
poetical rank to which he is entitled. Dr Lowth thinks
that he is not excelled in sublimity even by Isaiah himself;
Michaelis, on the contrary, that he displays more luxuriance
in amplifying and decorating his subject than is consistent
with true poetical fervour. Mr Campbell adopts the view
of Michaelis, but adds, that the fancy of Ezekiel is daring
and ingenious. Ingenious hardly appears to be the term
applicable to the imagination of Ezekiel, which revels with
peculiar pleasure in visions of a mystical, and, it must be
admitted, somewhat confused sublimity. Some passages,
has clearly nothing of the essential qualities of the drama.
This has been ascribed mainly to the theocratic nature of
the Jewish constitution, in which the Levites or priesthood
formed the sole and literary aristocracy; thus devoting
poetry exclusively to religious themes. But, considering
the ample field which the Jewish national religious history
afforded, it is not easy to see why, if the genius of the
people had inclined toward narrative or dramatic poetry,
the Exodus, the wanderings in the desert, the wars carried
on under the judges, and the many other striking events
which gave interest to their annals, should not have been
embodied in verse, as they were in prose, in the narrative
books of the Old Testament. .
But, though the poetry of the Hebrews is the first in the
order of time, it cannot properly be regarded as the foun¬
tain-head of that literature, the course and connection of
which we trace in an unbroken series of great works down
to the present time.
The sacred poetry of the Hebrews, no doubt, impressed
upon the literature of Christianity some strong and remark¬
able features ; but it was from the fountain of classical litera¬
ture that the genius of modern Europe first drew its inspi¬
ration. It is therefore to Greece that we must turn, as the
head of that great family of literature with which we feel
ourselves connected by relationship of thought and asso¬
ciation.
On turning from the poetry of the Hebrews to that ofOREis
Greece, we are immediately struck with one distinctive fea- I’oeirt
ture, which, as applicable to the whole of its poetry, we may
notice before adverting to the different departments into
which it is subdivided, viz. the more palpable, material, and
distinct character of all its conceptions and imagery. This
immaterial, vague, and spiritual character of the Hebrew
poetry, dwelling more on emotions of the mind than on ac¬
tions, and on the invisible rather than the outward and vi¬
sible, is unquestionably to be ascribed in a great measure
to the predominance, in the national mind, of a pure and
elevating religious creed. On the other hand, the Grecian
mind, formed under the influence of a mythology which
was in fact a mere deification of the material world, and
which certainly exercised no strong influence save on the
fancy, banished those themes and trains of thought which led
beyond the visible diurnal sphere, and, concentrating its
attention upon the present, gave to all its imagery a distinct¬
ness of outline, a simplicity and pellucid clearness in the
thought, which, if less suited than the Hebrew to the ex¬
citement of the evidences of the sublime, wTas certainly in
a corresponding degree favourable to the creation of beau¬
ty. The Hebrew poetry, therefore, is contemplative and
subjective ; the Grecian plastic and objective.
In an outline like the present, of the progress of poetry,
it is needless to dwell upon the subject of the ante-homenc
* Campbell’s Lectures on Poetry, i.
POE
Poetry, poets of Greece. That there were poets before Homer,
we know; and this is really the extent of what is known
on the subject. That the art of poetry had been cultivated
to a considerable extent, that its principles had been sub¬
jected to reflection and experiment, when Homer lived, is
as clear as internal evidence in any case can make it.
Poetry improves only as painting and sculpture rise to
perfection. “ In sculpture,” says Herder, “ what a track
must it have travelled over in passing from the figures on
the chest of Cypselus to the decorations of the Propyleia
and the Minerva of Phidias, or from the sculptures of Dae¬
dalus to the Olympic Jupiter. A like track was travelled
by poetry in advancing from the rude lays in honour of
gods and chiefs to the Homeric Epos.” We know, indeed,
that many of the minstrels before Homer had sung theogo-
nies and cosmogonies, the adventures of Titans and heroes,
of Hercules, Theseus, and the Argonauts; and in all proba¬
bility the legends of the siege of Troy, and the return of
the chiefs engaged in that enterprise, had formed the sub¬
ject of many a ballad or rhapsody, ere a Homer arose to
give them unity, proportion, and poetic life. All these
have faded and been forgotten, for the tablet of human
memory is narrow, and, to give room for the last and best,
the older and ruder inscriptions must be erazed. Not one
of these, accordingly, has descended to us in any authentic
form ; whilst the spuriousness of most of the Orphic poetry
is unquestionable. Whether even an Orpheus ever existed,
was doubted by Aristotle; and Herodotus distinctly states
his belief, that the poets given out as older than Homer
were in fact of more recent date.
We do not enter into the details of the question whether
the works which bear the name of Homer were the produc¬
tions of one man, and written in their present form at the
period commonly ascribed to them, namely, nine hundred
years before Christ, or whether they were originally the work
of many rhapsodists, in portions separate and distinct, and
afterwards woven together in a collected form about the
time of Solon and Pisistratus. The question is, in fact, of less
importance in reference to the history of poetry than might
at first sight appear. For whatever view may be adopted, it
is clear that the spirit, the tone, and the manners which are
described in the separate lays, supposed to have been ulti¬
mately incorporated in one, are those of the earlier and not
of the later period, and that the Iliad paints the Grecian
mind and character as it appeared three or four hundred
years before the time of Solon, and that from draughts made
at the time. If so, the only way in which the adoption of
the modern theory of Wolff affects the question is, that it
deprives Homer of the merit of one grand general design,
consistently followed out. It is certain, however, that what¬
ever difficulties may attend the supposition of the Iliad and
Odyssey being written by one man, in their present form,
and at the early date ascribed to them, and preserved in the
absence of writing by mere oral tradition, the difficulties on
the other side are infinitely greater. To suppose that a set of
scattered lays, composed by a number of unconnected min¬
strels, should ever have been made to cohere so smoothly
and compactly, evincing such perfect unity of plot and pur¬
pose ; that they should have been confined to so small a
portion of the Trojan legendary history, and have given
such prominence to a single Thessalian hero; seems a sup¬
position far more startling than any that attends the belief
that the Iliad is the work of a single author. For inspi¬
ration is a solitary creative spirit; and it is not to knots and
groups, or accidental fabricators, that she has ever intrust¬
ed those great conceptions in poetry or painting, or the fine
arts, that have commanded the permanent homage of man¬
kind.” Many smaller additions, by other hands, in the same
spirit and style, may have been afterwards superinduced
upon the original work of Homer. (See the article Ho¬
mer.)
TRY. 99
The two great poems of Homer are the first specimens of Poetry.
The Epic, or narrative poem. It is, in fact, from the Iliad ins '
particular that our conceptions of an epic poem have been de- Epic
rived, and its canons deduced. What Homer has done has poetry-
been consecrated as establishing inviolable rules to be ob¬
served by his successors. The epic is, upon the whole, the
noblest form of poetry; that which demands the highest and
most sustained power of imagination, combined with the
simplest and purest taste. The power of tragedy is greater
for the moment; for its presentations, assisted by action and
visible form, are more vivid; but the epic, possessing a wider
compass, and painting only by words to the eye of the mind,
has a more diversified, enduring, and tranquil operation. Ra¬
pidity, strength of passion, vehement and animated dialogue,
are the essential requisites of tragedy; a calm, sustained,
progressive, and sober majesty the characteristic of the
epic. “ Of dramatic pieces,” says Herder, “ we remember
sentences; the characters move before our eyes, we feel
their emotions with them. But this emotion being stronger,
is also briefer; it passes away. The epopee, with its more
quiet working, with its proportions too vast for any stage to
compass, fills the soxd, and there abides.” The other points
noticed by Aristotle, “ revolutions of fortune, recognitions,
characters, passions,” are common to both, as well as to fic¬
titious composition in prose. Every romance written on any
high principle is, in fact, a prose epic; the epopee in verse
merely adds to the other sources of interest the charm of
poetical diction, and of those elaborate ornaments of figures
and similes, which, though stately and appropriate in verse,
only produce a bombastic and ridiculous effect in the prose
of Fenelon, or still more in that of Macpherson.
An epic, then, is the poetical development, in narrative, Essentials
of some great and interesting event, or series of events, suf-°f the epic,
ficiently separate from what goes before or follows, to pos¬
sess the character of a whole ; having, therefore, a clear and
distinct beginning, middle, and end; an action simple at
first, leading into a complication of plot, and terminating in
a natural and soothing solution. These are its essentials ;
amongst its accidental features are the employment of super¬
natural agency as a medium either of heightening emotion
or of conducting the plot; the introduction of episodes, of
formal addresses, invocations, and similes ; matters which
have no essential connection with epic poetry, and the pro¬
priety of the introduction of which varies with the theme, the
age, and the national associations of the poet.
To the confusion of these accidental qualities, many ofHow far
which are certainly quite unsuited to the taste of modern suited to
times, with those essential features which must have an equal ^0<iem
interest for all time, must be ascribed the numerous failurestlmes‘
which in modern times have thrown a certain discredit and
air of ridicule upon the epic poem; as well as the belief
that appears to prevail, that the time for epic poetry is past.
Unquestionably any epic now written which deals with fa¬
bulous mythologies or exploded superstitions, and employs
in the nineteenth century the long elaborate speeches, the
minutely touched similes* the formal enumeration of ships,
and muster-rolls of regiments, which suited the primitive
times of Homer, when description was new, will probably
share the fate of the Leonidas of Glover, or the Epigoniad of
Wilkie. But in the hands of a poet selecting a theme of suffi¬
cient natural and human interest, remote enough to allow play
for the imagination, yet near enough to make us understand
and sympathize with his actors, and treating it, not in a slavish
spirit of imagination, but with the vigour and independence
of original thought, we are persuaded that the epic would be
found to have lost none of its power. It seems to be an en¬
tirely mistaken opinion, that the epic is only the production
of an early and comparatively simple state of society, and
therefore unlikely to harmonize with the more complex na¬
ture and critical taste of more advanced civilization. On
the contrary, the Jerusalem of Tasso, the Paradise Lost of
POETRY.
Milton, and the Lusiad of Camoens, the only three modem stantly reproduced. Adnll«,^ith_his^ummiofferocity and
epics which deserve the name, are the productions of what gent “"‘j?3’,.8™'™®1 characters of passion since, and re¬
may be termed the golden age in point of taste in each model of all our mived aiaracre ^ , A’„.  
Poetry.
Ttie Home¬
ric epics,
and their
characteris
tics.
^ rrv-    o- P°int  „
country, and of individuals uniting to poetical inspiration all
the stores which the widest reading and most sedulous cu
tivation of learning could supply.
The great poems of Homer are distinguished from all
modern epics, by their wonderful air of truth, their broad
clear portraiture of character, infinitely varied, and yet not
‘antithetically contrasted; their perfect absence of all attec-
tation, false sentiment, or exaggeration, either in character
or sentiment; their calm and impartial spirit; their serenity,
cheerfulness, and good sense. Such a union is indeed not
to be expected in a modern state of society ; after poetical
description has already traced all the leading outlines both
of moral and material nature, and when men, insensibly and
unavoidably subjecting the influences from things without
to a process of intellectual chemistry from within, and thus,
connecting them with peculiar associations, cease to have
either the power or the inclination of simply reflecting back
on their verses, as in a mirror, the impressions of nature as
they fall upon the mind. Neither, although the power or
delineation existed, can it ever be expected that such ma¬
terials for broad, simple, and effective painting can be found
in modern times, when differences of character are veiled,
if not in a great measure obliterated, by community ot edu¬
cation and habits, or are converted into mere humours or
peculiarities, to which the shades of distinction are too
minute for any grand poetical effect. . . ,
Even the greatest of our modern epic poets, in painting the
manners and the moral habitudes to which chivalry gave
birth, laboured under the disadvantages of pourtraymg feel¬
ings which, springing, as they had done, out of a visionary
and unreal, because exaggerated sentiment, had a tendency
to run into caricature, and to give a monotonous and hypers
bolical cast to their delineations of human character, i he
beings painted by Homer, who himself lived upon the out¬
skirts of the heroic times of Greece, were in their features
the men whom he saw around him; beings natural, open, and
mouei ui ciu uui -—r—. * , , . , .
appears in Turnus and Rinaldo ; just as the kingly Agamem¬
non, with his grave dignity, has formed the archetype of
those which represent the ascendency of reflection, and the
moral power of sustained and tranquil grandeur, as m the
Godfrey of Tasso’s poem. , . ,
The characters of the lhad are naturally the more varied, The Iliad,
because its subject was a great public event, and the actors
were the congregated princes and heroes of Greece and
Asia; the Odyssey is the poem of domestic life, the tale of
the fortunes of a single hero, to whom all the other per¬
sonages are purposely placed in subordination, but whose
character, by this isolation, gains a degree of distinctness
and natural truth absolutely unequalled in fiction, save in
some of the creations of Shakspeare. The remarks of Mr
Campbell on the characters of the Iliad are so just and beau¬
tiful, that we cannot deny ourselves the pleasure of quoting
th “"Achilles, in the centre, is of the order of spirits that
electrify and command mankind. His alarming and sensi¬
tive being is the soul of the Iliad, and his very absence and
repose are the causes of its disastrous action. He is un¬
questionably ferocious, but his quarrel is just; he is wrong¬
ed high minded, hating falsehood like the gates of hell,
young, beautiful, and predestined to fall. Casual glimpses
of his manners are also given, that interestingly soften our
conception of him. He is the only hero of the Iliad who
amuses himself with music and poetry. The deputies of
the army find him in his tent playing on his lyre, and
chanting heroic songs; and, though he knows their hate¬
ful errand, he receives them with a calm and manly benig¬
nity. Horace does him injustice when he calls him a dis¬
claimer of laws, and inexorable ; for he melts into tears at
the prostrate gray hairs of Priam, the father of the slayer of
his friend, though he had lately withstood all the eloquence
unsophisticated, both in their good and bad qualities: the
cimr-vld nrimitive. and homely, yet not withoi
of Nestor. . ,. . . - ± i
“ It shows the security of Homer in his inspiration to have
introduced such an opponent to Achilles as Hector. But
manners simple, homely, yet not^homa ^en he leads Troy. Je-kes^s Tr^s m our a-
virtues to contending parties. Conscious that Achilles could
shine by his own light, he fears not to show us his image
through tears for the fate of Hector. In delineating Hec¬
tor by the eulogies of his weeping country and friends, the
climax is exquisitely perfected by Helen. All others who
had bewailed him, she says, were bound to him by reci¬
procal ties ; but hers was the grief of gratitude for the un¬
deserved and gratuitous kindness of his mighty heart. He
had interposed when others had reproached her; he had
soothed her when her tears flowed at their reproaches.
“ /Eneas creates a less ardent, though still respectable in¬
terest ; and it is increased by a hint, which is thrown out
with an air of minute historical probability, that Priam was
iealous of his greatness, and that his virtues had been par¬
tially thrown into the shade. What expression in every
figure of this mighty tablet! What diversity even between
men incompetent to great actions ; as between the a ject
coward and vulgar braggart Thersit.es, and the gay good-
natured Paris, whose spirit, though sunk in luxury, still
shows some traces of his noble breed! 1 he stout heart and
arm of Ajax stand him in lieu of all piety, craft, or sensi i-
lity; whilst Sarpedon, bleeding in warfare not his own,
spends his last generous breath in exhorting the brave to
diluted from its original freshness and strength by meta¬
physical refinements, which diminish its picturesqueness
in proportion as they render it more complex and philoso¬
phical, affected the mind with all the distinctness of sounds
and colours, and stamped upon it an impression fiesh anu
immediate, as from the signet of nature.
The power of invention displayed by Homer in his two
great poems in the conception of character, can onl\ be
fully appreciated when we recollect, that the germ or out¬
line of almost every character which has since figured m
epic poetry is to be found in the Iliad. Now, though the
wonderful variety of his incidents, his battles, sieges, and
storms, his nocturnal adventures, his combats of gods and
men, and his scenes of enchantment, may have been a
considerable degree derived from his predecessors, and, in
fact, the hereditary and traditional properties of the ballad
minstrels of Greece, it is impossible to conceive that he
could have derived much aid from this source in giving in¬
dividuality and life to character. And yet, with the excep¬
tion of characters under the influence of the passion of
love, such as Dido, Armida, and Erminia, scarcely any sub¬
stantial addition has been made to the picture gallery of
Homer by later epic poets. His characters, in fact, have
been like stereotypes, from which new impressions are con-
POETRY.
101
Poetry, rally the battle. Homer is above all artificial antithesis in
^the painting of character; but in describing natures remote¬
ly different, he could not avoid exhibiting contrasts ; and
that which is visible between Achilles and Ulysses is as per¬
fect as heroic nature can afford.
“ The youthful Diomed is, among the Greeks, next to
Achilles, the apparent favourite of the poet: all spirit and
lustre, his valour burns like ‘ the unwearied fire that plays
on his shield and crest.’ Like Achilles, he is insulted by
Agamemnon, who charges him with cowardice on the eve
of battle ; but he is wise as well as -warlike, and it is not till
his actions have belied the imputation, that he retaliates
upon his commander. When the Greeks have been worst¬
ed, and when Agamemnon proposes abandoning the siege,
Diomed, the youngest of all the chiefs, rises in the coun¬
cil, and gives him a dignified rebuke. Agamemnon him¬
self is not without the virtues of fi’aternal affection, and
willingness to listen to able counsellors. He has also his
day of distinction in the field. But his importance alto¬
gether is more royal than personal, and his faults are made
conspicuous by his supremacy. Alternately presumptuous
and despondent, he is the readiest to tax others with defi¬
cient courage, and the first himself to despair under public
reverses. He is also unmerciful in victory. The cry for
quarter is addressed to him in vain, and he makes two of
the most atrocious refusals to spare that occur in the Iliad.
It has been remarked, that Homer speaks as a friend to
royal government; but still he describes it as too limit¬
ed, or rather as too undefined, to be despotic ; and the
chiefs in the councils of the Iliad present us with a sort of
Greek picture of Gothic feudalism. And if he shows re¬
spect for monarchy, he makes his kings no monopolists of
virtue. In poetical justice, he seems to have thought it
sufficient to give Agamemnon the diadem, and a few good
qualities, as his share of importance in the poem, leaving
brighter heroic endowments to chiefs subordinate in politi¬
cal power.
“ Amidst these forms which the Iliad exhibits in the bloom
or strength of heroism, the aged characters are no less
happily distinguished. Nestor looks back on a life of great¬
ness and wisdom : —he has no rival in venerable years ; his
powers have reached the last ripeness of experience, but
they have also something of the mellow tint that precedes
decay. He dwells on his own exploits with an egotism and
fulness that could only be endured in the most ancient of
men. Phoenix, the friend of Achilles, on the other hand,
is also old, but his youth had been embittered by misery
and vindictive passions ; and when he comes to exhort the
hero against excessive resentment, he confesses his early
errors in a tone very different from the self-complacency of
Nestor.
“ Priam is neither very wise nor energetic ; but his heart
is warm with natural affections, and his woes and years sus¬
tain our reverence and solicitude. When the wail of the
Trojans bursts from their walls, at the sight of Hector
dragged in triumph by his conqueror, when the frantic fa¬
ther implores his friends to let him go forth and implore
the pity of the destroyer, the struggle of his people to de¬
tain him, and the voice of his instinctive agony, surpass
almost everything in the pathos of poetry, and affect us
more like an event passing before our eyes, than a scene of
fictitious calamity. Never was the contrast of weakness
and strength more fearful, than when he throws himself at
the feet of Achilles, whilst his feeble perspicacity makes us
tremble at every moment, lest he should light up the in¬
flammable temper of Achilles, fluctuating between wrath
and compassion. Yet, hallowed by paternal sorrow, age
and weakness prevail. The old man accomplishes his point,
and the terrific victor condescends to the delicacy of even
veiling Hector’s corpse from his view.”
The Odyssey, with certain common resemblances to the
Iliad, is marked also by striking differences ; so great, in- Poetry.
deed, as to afford room for believing, not that it was the v -
work of several hands, brt that it may be the work of aThe 0<iy
different poet from the author of the Iliad. None of thesejT*
gods and goddesses who play a part both in the Iliad and
Odyssey appear the same in the latter poem as in the for¬
mer. Jupiter, the representative of force or power, and
the arbiter of all things in the Iliad, resigns the conduct ot
the hero to Minerva, the personification of wisdom. Mene-
laus, Helen, and Ulysses himself, leave a different impression
on the mind. Manners and morals have changed. There
is a perceptible advance in knowledge and the mechanical
arts. There seems a decline in physical strength. The
chivalrous spirit of the Iliad is exchanged for a more pru¬
dential and calculating one. Voyaging and wandering
come in place of warfare. The qualities most valued are
no longer the wild strength and energy of Achilles, but
the self-possession, energy, forecast, invention, and elo¬
quence of Ulysses. The agency of Magic, in room of a
purely divine agency, a power of which we have no hint in
the Iliad, finds a place. Wonders and prodigies are scat¬
tered with a profusion unknown to the Iliad. Many por¬
tions of the Odyssey have an air of resemblance to the
Arabian Nights ; and Sinbad would seem to have borrow ed
more than one of his adventures from Ulysses. It is not
even difficult to perceive that the vocabulary and syntax of
the language have in some measure altered. Each poem
seems, as Herder remarks, to have its peculiar atmosphere,
its sky, its panorama of objects in the upper, the middle,
and the nether world.
Ulysses, the hero of the latter poem, is a conception
more in harmony with ancient than modern views of hero¬
ism. Our ideas on the subject have been so strongly in¬
fluenced by those notions of the point of honour introduced
by chivalry, that we do not easily sympathize with a hero
who, though not deficient in bravery, is always more ready
to employ craft than courage, and only appeals to arms
when artifice is found to be ineffectual. The character embo¬
dies, as Mr Coleridge observes, the idea of an accomplished
man of the world, after the manner of ancient paganism ;
and it is therefore with some effort that we, whose ideal of
such a personage is so different, interest ourselves in his
fate. Yet he does make his way at last into our affections.
His character grows upon us like the gradual influence of
good sense. Human traits peep forth under the guise of
impassive constancy and caution. His home-sick longings
for Ithaca, his abandonment to the power of love under
the influence of Circe, remind us of our common humanity.
He bears his trials so firmly, he steers through difficulties
with such tact and skill, and meets danger, when it must
be met, with such self-reliance and courage, that he gra¬
dually acquires our admiration ; and when we become more
familiar with the kindly and warm affections which, after
all, burn on in his breast beneath the crust of stoicism, he at
last engages our sympathy and our love.
The poems of Homer are at once the first and the last Hesiod,
great specimens of heroic song in Grecian poetry ; for it
w ere out of place, in an outline like this, to allude to the
middle school of the epic, while even the attempt to revive
heroic poetry in the Alexandrian period only proved that
its life and soul was extinct. Even in the Odyssey, as al¬
ready mentioned, we perceive a decline of the enthusiastic
and chivalrous spirit, a tendency towards the commercial
and the peaceful. Imagination is gradually “ fading into
the light of common day.” This tendency appears, how¬
ever, far more remarkable in the works of Homer’s imme¬
diate successor, Hesiod. We say successor, because, although
some authorities represent him as older than Homer, and
Herodotus speaks of him as Homer’s contemporary, the
balance of evidence is clearly in favour of the superior an¬
tiquity of Homer. The precise date of his appearance,
102
POETRY.
Poetry, however, cannot be fixed with more precision than as hav-
—v   ingbeen betweeneight and nine hundred years before Christ.
The works which bear his name consist of the Weeks and
Days, the Theogony, and the Shield of Hercules, of which
the latter is generally regarded as spurious. Looking to
the subjects and character of his poems, which are of a do¬
mestic and peaceful character; to his style, which, though
highly natural and simple, is, in the main, flat, level, and
uninspired by high imagination ; we should almost ima¬
gine that a full century must have elapsed between the
Odyssey and the Weeks and Days. The time, adventures,
battles, moving accidents by flood and field, and expeditions
undertaken to recover some fair runaway “ that enchants
the world,” seem to be for ever gone. In their stead we
have an account how labour fell to the lot of man, the
story of Pandora, our gradual degeneracy from the gold to
the iron age, precepts of agriculture and commerce, moral
and religious admonitions, which have much the air of trite
proverbs and commonplaces of what deserves no. better
.name than cunning and worldly wisdom; every thing, in
short, indicates the triumph of the spirit of peace over that
of war. The Theogony is in a somewhat more ambitious
style ; and, as a catalogue or muster-roll of the Grecian
divinities, with a regular deduction of their genealogies, is
curious. Unfortunately, however, its finest passage, the
battle of the gods and Titans, a piece of genuine vigour
and sublimity, appears so different from the style of He¬
siod, that it would rather seem interpolated at a later time
by some scholar, whose work has in this case very far sur¬
passed his master’s. On the whole, Quinctilian has criti¬
cised Hesiod with judgment and fairness. “ Haro assur-
git Hesiodus, magnaque pars ejus in nominibus est occu-
pata; tamen utiles circa prsecepta sententise lenitasque ver-
borum et compositionis probabilis, daturque ei palma in
illo medio genere dicendi.”
The Homeric hymns, a series of compositions in praise
of the gods, and probably of a date a little later than the
age of Hesiod, seem to bridge over the passage frorn the
epic and heroic poetry to the lyrical. The steps of the
transition may even be in some measure traced, in the
gradual ascendency acquired by the musical accompani¬
ment which had from the first been employed in the recita¬
tion of the epic, but to which a greater prominence was
given in the hymns, thus leading on to the decided influence
of the lyre and pipe, and consequent accommodation both
of the form and character of the poetry to that lyric mould
in which it was thenceforward to be cast. Terpander him¬
self composed the music for these Homeric rhapsodies; and
Hesiod is said to have been denied admittance to the Py¬
thian games because he could not accompany his verses
on the harp. These hymns, strange, quaint, some almost
comic ; others, like that to Hermes (the finest of all), lull
of a wild and dancing gaiety; almost all treating the inha¬
bitants of Olympus with a free and easy familiarity; abound¬
ing in rapid transitions, invocations, and reflections or sen¬
timents of the writer; prepared the way for the more re¬
gular lyric, as it appeared in the strains of Archilochus
(about 700 b. c.), to whom is assigned the distinction ot
being the father of the Grecian lyric.
The perfection of the Greek lyric had grown out ot the
<• ,    mncirv fiisino* tbfi finest
The Ho
meric
hymns.
tests, assembling multitudes together, exciting the spirit of
rivalry, and gratifying the poet as it were with a fore-—v~
taste of his poetical immortality, the high honours and dis¬
tinctions everywhere paid to song, rapidly advanced the
art to perfection. It is probable, that if the whole mass of
the Greek lyric poetry could now be recovered, not only
would Horace, Catullus, and the Latin lyric writers, be un¬
questionably shorn of many of their finest plages, but, in
all probability, we should be presented with the noblest and
most varied collection that the world has ever produced.
For if the light luxurious Bacchanalian spirit ot the time be
imaged in the graceful trifling of Anacreon’s festive songs,
we know how the deeper and more gloomy sentiments ot a
genuine passion were embodied in the burning lines ot bap-
nho • the ardour of military enthusiasm in him who sang his
verses to the Spartan fife, Tyrtaeus; the inspiring themes
of patriotism in “ Alcaeus, fancy drest, singing the sword in
myrtles dressedthe touching tenderness of maternal af¬
fection in the Danae of Simonides, weeping over her child
in her frail and sea-beaten prison; and, above all, the lofti¬
est strains of religious fervour, the praises of demigods and
heroes, all the pride, pomp, and circumstance of human ex¬
istence, in the odes of the greatest master of the Grecian
lyre Pindar. But, unfortunately, of the works of the nine
who are enumerated by the ancients as forming the con¬
stellation of the lyric writers, and embracing the period
from the death of Hesiod down to the great era of the Per¬
sian war, viz. Pindar, Bacchylides, Sappho, Anacreon, Stesi-
chorus, Simonides, Ibycus, Alcieus, and Aleman, some
have completely perished, and of others only the most trifling
fragments remain. Anacreon and Pindar are the only two
of which we possess any considerable specimens.
Judmng from the few fragments we possess of Sappho, Sappho,
the loss of her works is particularly to be deplored ; for she
appears to have possessed not merely that wild fire and
hurry of passion which predominate in her celebrated ode
(with which every one is familiar in the version of Phillips),
but a tenderness of heart, a power of presenting imagery in
a line or a word, not surpassed by any of the ancient writers,
and iustly entitling her to the lofty title of the Tenth Muse,
bestowed upon her by antiquity. How exquisite, for instance,
is the fragment preserved by Demetrius Phalereus,
The lyric
1 lit* lyric JL lit; pciUJGLiuii ui me ' o
poetry of intimate connection of poetry with music, fusing the finest
Greece, 1 ,1 • , _  I 1 „ ovmir»nr* flip RPT1SPS
results of both into a whole, which, charming the senses
and the soul at once, hurried away the listener with an ir¬
resistible sweep of enthusiasm. Every thing in the circum¬
stances of Greece contributed to its rapid development
and unfailing effect. A spirit of gaiety and social enjoy¬
ment was the national characteristic, heightened by the
influence of a delightful climate, and by a religion whose
airy and fantastic character interposed no gloomy reflec¬
tion to check the enjoyment of the present. The public
und family festivals, sacrifices, games, and poetical con-
’Eirtrsfs vruvra
(Qz^zig olvoV) cciya
(pzpzig vrai^a..
Thus expanded, yet scarcely improved, by Lord Byron
O Hesperus, thou bringest all good things
Home to the weary, to the hungry cheer, _
To tho young bird the parent s brooding wings,
The welcome stall to the o’erlahoured steer;
Whate’er of peace about our hearthstone clings,
Whate’er our household gods protect of dear,
Are gathered round us by thy look of rest;
Thou bringst the child too to the mother s breast.
Pindar unquestionably occupied the highest place among Pindar,
the Greek lyrists ; and though it is certain that we are in
possession of only a small part of his works, for he appears
to have written on every variety of theme, enough remains
to satisfy us that the judgment of antiquity, which raised
him to the lyric throne, was well founded. Forty-five tri¬
umphal lays, in honour of the victors in the public games,
have descended to us, and the character and peculiar me¬
rits of these have been described with such eloquence, and
at the same time critical justice, by Sir Daniel Sandford, in
his able sketch of the rise and progress of literature, that we
quote the passage in preference to any remarks of our own.
“ The most careless reader of these odes must be struc
by the excessive admiration of wealth, magnificence, an
every species of greatness, to which we have alluded as a
characteristic of Pindar’s mind. Splendour was the passion
of his soul; splendour of achievement, splendour of renown,
POETRY.
103
Poetry,
lecline of
Ireek poe.
-y-
i-lexandri-
o school.
istoral.
tieocri-
splendour of station and outward circumstances. His very
^ pride seems to have suggested to him that nothing but splen¬
dour was worthy of his muse. His genius, to use a figure
of his own, was the eagle of Jove, that would not be severed
from the sceptre and the god. These aristocratic predilec¬
tions, this enthusiastic attachment to munificent monarchs
and chiefs of ancient fame, were in perfect unison with the
whole tenor of his destiny; born as he was in the midst of
the Pythian festival, living surrounded by shows of solemn
pomp, and dying, as he had lived, in the full blaze of pub¬
lic ceremony, in the centre of a theatre, and while rapt in
those emotions of rejoicing sympathy which such scenes
were sure to awaken in his bosom. To those, however, who
may deem apology requisite for the indulgence of so stately
a temper, it may be urged in behalf of Pindar, that, as in
the case of many remarkable poets, the abstract feeling of
veneration was predominant in his mental constitution, and
that it was called forth not merely by rank and opulence
among mankind, but even more powerfully.by the contem¬
plation of the divine attributes. Hence that glow of piety
which shines so brightly in his odes, sometimes breaking out
in expressions of the deepest awe, or in sublime pictures of
deity, and sometimes assuming an aspect of moral beauty,
adding force and lustre to the lessons of wisdom. The lat¬
ter modification of religious feeling has given birth to some
of the noblest passages in the poetry of Pindar. He was
well aware that emotion does not exclude sentiment; that
the ethics of the heart are not less sound than those of the
Drain ; and that nature is often hurried, in moments of ex¬
citement, into the innermost shrines of truth. But he knew
likewise, that the philosophy of such moments is prompt and
peremptory ; oracular, not syllogistic ; and this knowledge
has secured him from frequently offending against the ge¬
nuine character of lyric song by lengthened trains of moral
reflection.”
When the lyric poetry of Greece had reached its perfec¬
tion in Pindar, its drama rose into shape and grandeur in
the tragedies of iEschylus. But for the history of the pro¬
gress and decline of the Greek drama, tragic and comic, the
reader is referred to the article Drama in this work.
Little remains to be said of the declining portion of Greek
■poetry. General corruption, introduced by luxury, and the
evil principles of the sophists ; loss of liberty, when all the
powers of Greece had yielded to the sway of Alexander ;
the introduction of a tumid oriental taste into eloquence and
composition in general; such are the features which mark the
period from the rise of Alexander the Great to the extinc¬
tion of the poetical literature of Greece. After the death of
Alexander, indeed, a strong effort was made by the Ptole¬
mies to render Alexandria the rival of Athens, and to as¬
semble about their court poets, orators, and men of science.
In the latter point only their efforts were successful. Science
continued to flourish, and long after Greece had ceased to
produce any great works in the fine arts, we find geometrical
invention carried to a height by Euclid, whilst the wonder¬
working science of Archimedes struck the Romans at the
siege of Syracuse with terror and astonishment. But elo¬
quence remained, as before, hollow and pompous, whilst poe-
tiy was in a great measure wasted in the vain attempt to
give life and interest to the abstractions of science. This
was the period of the learned or didactic poetry. Mytholo¬
gy, astronomy, botany, were the favourite subjects to which
the art of the poet was devoted. One attempt, however, to
revive the epic taste is visible in the elegant Argonautics of
Apollonius Rhodius. He cannot indeed be regarded as an
epic poet, for he wants fire and originality; but he is a grace¬
ful compiler of traditions, the effect of which he heightens by
occasional touches of tenderness.
. The ™ost interesting, however, and by far the most ori¬
ginal, of the works of the decline of Greek poetry, are the
Idylls of Theocritus (270 b. c.). One is at first surprised
to find the appearance of the bucolic or pastoral poetrv, so Poet
late in comparison with the heroic, the lyrical, and the dra¬
matic. As it seems to paint a primitive period of human
nature, we are led to think that it would be one of the first
forms in which poetry would appear. The truth is, how¬
ever, that it has generally made its appearance, and has al¬
ways been most popular, in ages of great social refinement,
when excess of luxury in the life of cities drives the mind
back upon the supposed simplicity of rural life and its occu¬
pations. Such was the case with the Greek Idylls of Theo¬
critus, with the Bucolics of Virgil; with the pastoral dramas
of Tasso, Guarini, and Bonarelli ; and with the pastorals of
Pope and Phillips. They are all the growth of a period of
great literary refinement. Frederick Schlegel observes just¬
ly, however, that there is an essential error in isolating pas¬
toral poetry, as is generally done, and viewing the country
life abstracted from its due situation in that picture of the
world and of human life which it is the province of poetry
to unfold. “ Let us reflect for a moment on those passages
in the heroic poems of antiquity, or in the chivalric ro¬
mances of the moderns, which afford us glimpses of the
simplicity and repose of rural manners. Their simplicity ap¬
pears still more innocent, and their repose still more peace¬
ful, from the situation in which they are placed in the midst
of the guilty tumult of wars, and the fierce passions of he¬
roes. Here everything appears in its true and natural con¬
nexion, and the poetry is as varied as the world and the men
which it professes to represent.” It is certain that this treat¬
ment of the rural life as a department of life, by narrowing
within the most confined limits the materials of the poet, is
the cause of that monotony which is generally found to per¬
vade pastoral poetry. Nothing, in fact, becomes more weari¬
some than the repetition of Arcadian descriptions of the
golden age,
Lactis uberes
Cantare rivos atque truncis
Lapsa cavis iterare mella.
But this fault is more prominent amongst the modern, parti¬
cularly the Italian pastoral writings, than in Theocritus, who
has in general painted his shepherds and peasants with a na¬
tural and manly simplicity, approaching even, as it seems to
modern ideas, to coarseness. His Idylls, as indeed the name
implies, are little poetical pictures or representations in mi¬
niature, sometimes of mythological subjects, at other times
of matters of common life, but almost always amatory in
their purpose and termination. With Theocritus may be
classed, though far inferior to him in vigour, the “ showy
Bion and the delicate Moschus,” the last names of any note
which precede that period of exhaustion, when, the days of
high imagination and great works being over, those of mere
cleverness and neatness of execution, of slender trifles, epi¬
grams, and anthologies, commenced.
But as the genius of one nation, yielding to the force ofi^riN
circumstances, declines, nature seems to provide a principle Poetrv
of compensation in the development of that of another. The r^se*
course of literature and poetry appears to resemble an arctic
summer, in which the sun scarcely dips in one quarter of
the horizon before he re-appears in another. While the crea¬
tive energies of Greece either sink into barrenness or ex¬
pand into a rank and unwholesome luxuriance, as her mo¬
rals are corrupted, and her liberties impaired and at last ex¬
tinguished, we perceive in the Italian peninsula the rise of a
national character and a literature, destined, alike in arts and
arms, in polity or in literature, to give laws to the world.
Yet Italy, free and independent as she was, and animat-This not
ed by a consciousness of national pride and growing power, centu-
exhibits during the first five centuries of her history (735^esa^er
B. c. to 253 b. c.) a mere blank, so far as poetry is concern-
ed. That she may have possessed legendary ballads found- Rome,
ed on those various mythic or semi-historical traditions which
104 POE
Poetry, were afterwards interwoven by Livy into his history of Home,
v—is nut improbable ; but of the nature of these we know no¬
thing, of their existence at all we have no certain traces ;
and nothing can be more fanciful than the extent to which
Niebuhr, Schlegel, and other German writers have carried
their conjectures on this subject.
Living An- In fact, we know nothing of Roman poetry prior to the
dronicus. introduction of the Greek language and literature, through
the conquest of Tarentum (272 b. c.) and Magna Graecia;
soon after which the rude attempts of a Greek slave, Livius
Andronicus, to translate the Odyssey of Homer into Latin
(240 b. c.), first gave the victors some idea of the poetical
treasures of that nation, to which, though victors in the field
of warfare, the Romans felt their inferiority in the more
peaceful domain of literature. His preferring the wilder
and more homely of Homer’s poems to his more imposing,
elaborate, and dignified performance, only showed that he
rightly apprehended the tendencies of an infant taste. Chil¬
dren as they were in poetry, the power of the marvellous
had attractions for the Romans, which that of simple yet he¬
roic truth would probably not have possessed. The efforts
of Andronicus to diffuse a taste for Greek literature did not
stop here ; for he was the translator also of several speci¬
mens both of the tragic and the comic drama of Greece.
Ennius. He was succeeded by a Roman poet of original though
coarse and unequal genius, Ennius (239 b. c.). Yet, with
strong originality of mind, he was a worshipper of Greek
literature ; and his influence on his successors is probably
owing in a higher degree to what he transplanted from the
soil of Greece, than what he reared from the independent
stores of his mind. He attempted by turns, epic, tra¬
gic, satiric, epigrammatic, didactic, and even acrostic poe¬
try. He versified the Roman Historical Chronicles, a poem
of which few specimens survive, but these calculated to ex¬
cite much regret that a work, executed with so much force
and feeling in parts, should have been irrecoverably con¬
signed to oblivion. His vigorous and forcible style, with
all its rudeness, conceits, and ridiculous jingles, appears in
its better parts to have possessed great charms for the best
judges of diction at an after period; for we find that Vir¬
gil, Lucretius, and Ovid, and particularly the first, have
availed themselves most liberally, not only of the ideas, but
of the precise expressions, and frequemly whole lines, of
Ennius 51 while Horace, who seems to have had a warm
feeling of the poetical fire that lay under the rude crust of
the verses of Ennius, after citing two of his lines, says that
the “ disjecta membra poetse would appear visible,” however
their arrangement might be transposed; a result which, he
fairly admits, would not be the case with regard either to
the satirical works of Lucilius or his own.
Piautns Neither in Ennius, however, nor in his dramatic succes-
and Te- sors, Plautus (died 184 b. c.) or Terence (born 195, died
rence. 159 b. c.), do we meet with much that is truly national. In
all we are in fact perusing Greek compositions in Roman
forms ; for the plays of Plautus and Terence present to us,
not the aspect of Roman life, but the state of Greek so¬
ciety, pretty much as it had appeared in the days of Me¬
nander. In the former we perceive more vigour, more va¬
riety, broader humour, but at the same time more coarse¬
ness ; in the latter a limited invention, and characters re¬
ducing themselves to a few limited classes, generally an
over-indulgent father, a profligate son, a rapacious mistress,
and a knavish slave ; to which Plautus is fond of adding
some Bobadil or parasite, by way of relief. Yet in Terence’s
case we perceive the traces of genius, notwithstanding the
close imitation by which he is fettered. His characters
have a truthful air, his dialogue is always free from af¬
fectation, and sometimes touching and tender in the high-
T R Y.
est degree. In fact, a few of his best passages in this style Poetry.
are models of apparently artless and yet consummately art- v 
ful and beautiful expression.
Two other individuals of distinguished genius precede Lucretius
what is called the Augustan period of Roman poetry, Lu¬
cretius and Catullus ; the one the most distinguished of the
Roman didactic poets, the other unequalled in the short
and tender lyric. Lucretius contended with an absolutely
unmanageable subject; one which, from its unimaginative
character, from the dreary details, psychological, meteoro¬
logical, geological, which it necessitated, the inherent feel¬
ing of discomfort which it leaves behind, and the irreli¬
gious character of the opinions which it involves, neces¬
sarily interposed the most formidable difficulties in the way
of the poet, which it is no disgrace even to the most distin¬
guished genius, and such Lucretius possessed, not to have
entirely overcome. It is, in fact, the highest proof of the
ability and genuine inspiration of Lucretius, that he has in¬
fused a poetical vitality even into the dry bones of that phi¬
losophical mummy which he was attempting to animate ; that
he has treated with a feeling of poetical enthusiasm the
coldest and most heartless of all creeds, the Epicurean ; so
that the very strains which he has employed in combating
the belief of the immortality of the soul, bear upon their
face the stamp of immortality. “ In inspiration and in su¬
blimity,” says Frederick Schlegel, “ he is the first of Ro¬
man poets ; as a painter and worshipper of nature, he is the
first of all the poets of antiquity whose writings have come
down to us.”
In Catullus the Epicurean theory, which wears a majes- Catullus,
tic aspect in Lucretius, appears in a less dignified but more
probable form. Carpe diem is the motto which might be
inscribed over all his compositions ; yet with this enjoyment
of the present mingles not absolutely a melancholy, but a
pensive feeling, which gives a peculiar interest to them all.
For compositions of a higher mood and more extended plan,
Catullus apparently had as little ability as inclination ; his
taste was Grecian, and formed in the school of Alexandria;
slight performances, epigrams, elegies, little lyric effusions
expressive of individual feelings, like the charming lines to
Sirmio, or the lament for the sparrow, and polished with
the most exquisite felicity of diction, were the subjects to
which his talents were devoted. There is, in fact, every rea¬
son to believe that his more ambitious performances, such
as the Epithalamium of Peleus and Thetis, and the Atys,
were simply editions in a Latin form of Greek originals.
The poets hitherto mentioned belong to the period of
the republic ; in their successors, the poets of the Augustan
period, we perceive a considerable change both of spirit and
expression. Under the calm but firm sway of Augustus,
which had reduced all the contending parties under one
powerful dominion, and conferred upon the country the
blessings of peace, the art of poetry was peculiarly cultivat¬
ed and patronized. And it is at this period that the Roman
poetry first displays in its fullest extent that feature which
Frederick Schlegel considers its truly national and original
trait, namely, that exaltation of Rome and of the Roman
character ; that feeling of the unrivalled energies, the rapid
growth and ever-increasing dominion of their country, which
formed, to the imagination of the poet at least, an ample
compensation for the loss of that liberty which, since the com¬
mencement of the troubles of the Gracchi, or the contests
of Sylla and Marius, had been little better than a political
phantom, or a party watchword with no real meaning.
The great representatives of this Augustan period of Virgil
poetry are Virgil and Horace. No two poets could be more
dissimilar in the direction of their tastes, and yet it would
be difficult to say to whom the palm of greater genius
1 Dunlop, History of Roman Literature, vol. i. p. 21.
POETRY.
Poetry, ought justly to be assigned. Even in his Pastorals, though
'“■"'v'"—" an early work, the leading qualities of Virgil’s mind, his
exquisite taste and fine sensibility, are apparent, though
they can hardly be considered in any other light than as
graceful adaptations, and, it may be safely added, improve¬
ments, of the subjects and manner of Theocritus. In these
he was painting from a painting; he was copying a Greek
landscape in the colouring of the Latin tongue. But in his
Georgies he drew from his own observation of Italian na¬
ture ; and, bringing the native excellencies and qualities of
his mind to bear upon imagery and events and associations
which nature and experience had dictated, presenting us with
delicious landscapes varied by all the natural occupations
of the Italian agricultural life, gilded by sunshine, clouded
by storm, or darkened and disturbed by tempests ; combin¬
ing these in the most dexterous manner with striking allu¬
sions to well-known events and catastrophes of Roman his¬
tory, such as the prodigies which portend the death of Cjesar,
or with old mythological traditions; and making the driest
details of husbandry, such as the grafting of trees or the
breeding of bees, prolific of imagery or of fable consecrated
by early associations; the result is one of the most origi¬
nal and at the same time delightful poems which exists.
The iEneid was a great, but, it must be admitted, unsuc¬
cessful attempt to do that for Rome and the Roman people
which Homer had done for Greece, namely, to give the Ro¬
mans a great national poem. No one felt this failure more
than Virgil. His reluctance to give publicity to the ^Eneid
is well known. He could only be prevailed upon to read to
Augustus the first, second, fourth, and sixth books. Seve¬
ral causes may be obviously assigned for its want of suc-
1^, Not only did Virgil, from the intense admiration
105
cess.
he felt for Homer, copy in many respects his characters and
design; but he endeavoured to combine the distinct and
almost incompatible characters of the Iliad and the Odys¬
sey, the grand and warlike character of the former with the
wandering and adventurous character ot the latter poem.
2ef, Although the notion of grafting the adventures of iEneas
upon the origin of the Roman nation, was in itself a happy
one ; and the mythological traditions connected with it
might have been brought to bear with much effect upon
the subject; Virgil committed the great error from which
Tasso has also suffered, of making an epic poem a mere in¬
strument of political flattery, by identifying the character
of his hero with that of Augustus. By depriving himself of
the open and untrammelled field which the traditional cha¬
racter of .Eneas presented, and making that character a
mere portrait, en beau, of the cold-blooded, calculating, and
critical emperor, he lost at once all hold over the sympathies
of the reader in the fortunes of his hero, a cardinal point in
all poems that pretend to the character of epic. M, Nay,
he even enlisted those sympathies against him; for, as Vol¬
taire, who is seldom wrong in what may be called the logic
of poetry, observes, he represents him as a mere adven¬
turer, who in the first place is guilty of the most shameless
want of feeling in regard to Dido, whose sole object is to
acquire a setdement in Italy; who, in breaking off the
match of Turnus with Lavinia, is instigated, not by passion,
but by pohey; and who would in all probability have most
willingly surrendered the Latian princess to his brave and
generous though cruel rival, if he would have resigned the
kingdom of Old Latinus to a Trojan stranger, and taken La-
vinicij -like Cordelia, without a dower.
Only one substantial addition has been made by Virgil
to the characters of Homer, and for that character he may
have received some hints from the Ariadne of Catullus;
but it must be admitted to be one of the most deeply in¬
teresting in poetic fiction, we mean that of Dido The
great night-picture of the sack of Troy, and the episode of
Dido, are indeed the finest things in the Eneid. In the
character of the Carthaginian princess, we perceive the
VOL. XVIII.
infinite advance which the delineation of the passion of Poetry.
love has made since the time of Homer. Virgil has be v 
gun to comprehend that feeling, with the world of emo-
tions to which it gives birth. And if he has not painted it
wrth aH that purity and depth which was imparted to it
by Christianity, he has exhibited its leading traits with a
warmth and sensibility which make all the other classical
delineations of passion both cold and lifeless beside that of
Dido.
• Hl°r^Cf exhibits the singular specimen of a poet borrow-Horace
mg half his thoughts from the lyric writers of Greece, and
making his odes a mosaic formed from the gems of other
countries as well as his own, and yet imparting to the com¬
bination a high degree of unity, and a decided originality
of character. Calm wisdom, shrewd penetrating observa¬
tion of life, a sober enthusiasm, and most refined taste, are
the qualities which most distinguish him, imparting to all
his compositions extreme point, terseness, and occasionally,
in themes of a higher cast, particularly those connected
with the elder worthies of Rome, or the lofty position she
then occupied in the eye of the world, a stately and solemn
giandeur. This admirable balance of mind which distin¬
guishes Horace, and informs all his writings with such preg¬
nant good sense, renders him a peculiar favourite in a
country like our own, whose national character is marked
by not a few of those features that distinguished the mind
of the poet. Hence his odes are more read and quoted,
particularly by men of business and practical sagacity, than
the works of any of the classic poets.
But the merits of Horace, though most conspicuous as a
lyric poet, are great also as a satirist. Lucilius had indeed
niade the first approach to the regular form of Homan sa-
tire; but his rude and harsh effusions can no more be com¬
pared to the polished and graceful productions of Horace,
than the rugged verses of Donne can be compared with the
satires and epistles of Pope. In Horace all follies and lighter
vices of the day (for he seemed to think satire scarcely a fit
weapon when directed against the darker vices) are touched
on in a strain of the most urbane ridicule, which insinuates
reproof. As compared with those either of Lucilius who
preceded, or of Persius and Juvenal who succeeded him,
the tone of the Horatian satire is light and playful. It has
been correctly observed, that these satires filled up for Ro¬
man literature exactly the department which in our times
is occupied by the stage. For as the plays of Plautus and
Terence truly represented Greek and not Roman man¬
ners, it was in the light form of satire that all those humor¬
ous follies and oddities of Roman society, which properly
fall within the range of the comic, were displayed and ex¬
posed.
The elegiac poets of this period, Tibullus and Proper- The ele-
tius, wrote with purity and good taste; the former with giac poets,
more of tenderness, the latter with more of force and men¬
tal vigour. But in the extravagant luxuriance and frequent
conceits of Ovid, we perceive the commencement of that
decline of poetry, which, relieved only by the manly vigour
of Juvenal’s satires, goes on in rapidly-increasing progres¬
sion to the extinction of the Roman empire. For the ama¬
tory and elegiac poems of Ovid little can be said; they
want heart and passion as much as delicacy or propriety of
sentiment. But the praise of a teeming fancy cannot be
denied to him; he is a mine from which thoughts and
expressions may be dug without end; and his Metamor¬
phoses, as a graceful exposition of the finest mythological
tales of antiquity, will always retain their interest for modern
times.
We pass over the so-called tragedies of Seneca, the works Juvenal,
of a mere school rhetorician; and the satires of Persius, ob¬
scure and rugged, though not without a masculine energy.
But the name of Juvenal must be mentioned as the last
great poetical name that illustrates this period of decline.
POETRY.
Lucan.
In the finer portions of his satires, for it must be admitted
they contain a good deal that is level and prosaic enough,
he displays the highest talents for this species of poetry ;
the strength of his language, the fire of his invective, cor-
respond with the gigantic character of the vices which he
exposes. But a certain air of exaggeration mingles with and
alloys the effect of his censures; we are led to think of the
doubtful character of his own life, and to question the title
of the moralist to raise the scourge which he applies with
such severity to others. A tinge, in short, of that rhetorical
and formal character which his mind appears to have con¬
tracted in the schools of declamation attaches to his poetry,
and leaves an impression of hollowness and insincerity upon
the mind.
Lucan’s Pharsalia, it must be recollected, was a compa¬
ratively boyish effort; but it seems plain, from the charac¬
ter of his mind, that he wanted the highest of the poetical fa¬
culties, imagination. He uttered bold and striking thoughts
occasionally in the happiest words. No poems afford finer
specimens of single lines for quotation than Lucan. But
the whole is destitute of poetical warmth ; it blazes only
with a phosphoric fire. Quinctilian has, in fact, hit with ad¬
mirable tact the character of Lucan’s mind in the remark,
“ Si dicam quod sentio, oratoribus magis quam poetis annu-
merandus.” . . . ,
We shall not here touch upon the remaining writers who
feebly kept alive the vestal fire of poetry up to the period
of the overthrow of the Roman empire of the west; Statius,
Claudian, or Ausonius. Even the introduction of Christi¬
anity, much as it did towards improving morality, not only
among its votaries, but amongst the Pagan nations them¬
selves, could not re-animate to new life the worn out and
enervated frame of literature. That could only be effected
by sweeping away entirely the old landmarks, making a new
heaven and a new earth, creating new associations in all
the ideas of men, giving them new hopes, aspirations, and
pursuits, and thus restoring that elastic principle of moral
and mental vigour, of faith and enthusiastic feeling, out ot
which all high poetry must spring. From the rude but
warlike and uncorrupted nations of the North, was to come
that influence which was to give a new aspect to society ;
at first, like the descent of a deluge, sweeping the remains
of cultivation before it, but ultimately depositing and car¬
rying deep into the bosom of the soil the elements of a
reviving and healthy fertility.
„ From the fall of the Roman empire of the West, about
Modbrn0^!^ close of the fifth century after Christianity, to the ap-
Europe. pearance of the first great poet of modern Europe, Hante,
an interval of seven dreary centuries elapses, a period cha¬
racterized in popular language by the epithet of the daik
ages. During this period the chaos resulting from the
overthrow of the old Pagan constitution in religion, govern¬
ment, laws, and social institutions, was gradually settling
into shape; the new religion was incorporating itself with
and imparting a new form to social life ; new laws super¬
seding the subtile and complex jurisprudence of Rome, new
languages growing out of its ruins. During the greater
part of the period to which we have alluded, literature, m
any high sense of the word, did not exist; but the materials
of new literatures were accumulating, and the spirit wine 1
was to give them breath and vitality, when language should
be sufficiently settled for the purpose, was in the course ot
development, though manifesting itself in other fields and
departments than that of poetry. When poetry re-appeared
in the thirteenth century, the influence of the intermediate
changes which the human mind had undergone became
visible in certain marked traits, separating by the broadest
distinctive lines the character of the modern European from
the ancient classical poetry. A few of these, as applicable to all
the modern literatures of Europe, though with differences in
degree, may be indicated before proceeding to any notice v ^oc|r^
of these separate literatures. . _ .
1. The first and most important is the influence of the
Christian religion on the productions of the imagination.
The Pagan religions were mere religions of the fancy;
they were nothing but the poetry of humanity. They dealt
only with the palpable and the material; and by the combina¬
tion of the finest features of the actual, they produced an
ideal which each moulded to his own fancy. The concep¬
tions of the infinite and the immaterial they avoided. 1 he
solemn and the mournful found no place in their thoughts,
or, if such ideas did intrude, they were made use of as ar¬
guments for present enjoyment. Let us eat and drink,
seems the moral of paganism; let us eat and drink, for to¬
morrow we die.
From this materialism of the ancient mythology, and its
purely imaginative character, the results were, ls£, great
clearness in all its conceptions and its expressions, that
clearness which is imparted by the absence of all that is
not palpable to sense; 2d, a light and cheerful tone, the
natural product of that mental indifference, and absence ot
serious reflection, which the disbelief, or as least doubt of
immortality, would produce ; M, the feeling of beauty zs,
the object aimed at and accomplished, and the vital prin¬
ciple of all the classical creations.
Very different were the character and the influence of
Christianity. This was a revelation, not a creation of the
fancy. It spoke to the heart, to the hopes and fears of men,
not merely to their imaginations. The outlines of the
Christian theology were communicated in a fixed and settled
form, with which fancy could not deal at will, or mould
them in accordance with its notions ot beauty. It exclud¬
ed at once that plastic power which had formed the excel¬
lence of Greek art and literature, and banished mere beauty
as the aim of the poet, or the principle of modern inspi¬
ration. piii
To the clearness, the sunny lightness of touch, the cheer¬
ful levity of tone, which distinguish the classic poetry, it was
equally unfavourable. It made the mind familiar with the
ideas of infinity and eternity ; it accustomed it to abstract
conceptions beyond the pale of sense, or the scope of dis¬
tinct expression; it forced upon its consideration the im¬
material and the invisible, as constantly as the Pagan theo¬
logy had confined the attention of its votaries to the visible
and the actual. The Pagan clearness of portraiture, and
smiling lightness of tone, were incompatible with the de¬
scription of regions and states of being, sights and sounds,
which eye had not seen, nor ear heard, and which it had not
entered into the mind of man to conceive. The Christian
poet, before whom, instead of a natural and visible Olympus
and Acheron, there stretched out in dim but awful vision the
conception of heaven and hell, encompassed by an eternity on
this side and on that,—a conception impressed by the sense of
moral responsibility, and of eternal punishment or happiness,
and animated by a principle of faith based upon things not
seenj—could not but carry into the literature which was
the expression of his thoughts, and hopes, and fears, some
shadow of that solemnity and mystery with which human
life was now surrounded. He left this narrow spot of earth,
already in the possession of his predecessors, to open up the
new and undiscovered country of the abstract and the in¬
visible ; and the principle of poetical inspiration which they
sought in beauty, he found in grandeur and sublimity. Hence
earnestness and profundity are the means of effect in the
literature of Christianity; and elevation rather than beauty
may be said to be the aim of the higher poetry of the mo-
dernS.
2. The superstitions which grew out of the corruptions of
Christianity, and which assumed a systematic form after the
crusades had opened to Europe a communication with the
East; the belief in spectres, fairies, witchcrafts, and the di-
POETRY.
107
Poetry, rect interposition of evil spirits in the affairs of men ; gave
—~y ' a different character to the modern literature of Europe.
It is true, that in the Canidia of Horace, the Erichtho of Lu¬
can the Thessalian scenes of enchantment in the Golden
Ass of Apuleius, and occasionally in other passages of the
classical writers, we have allusions to popular superstitions
somewhat analogous to our own; but it is equally plain
that these are not matters of serious belief, but of poetical
embellishment. They could not, in fact, cohere with any
consistency with the framework of the antique materialism,
though they might be combined with a religion which as¬
sumed the existence of powers unknown to human sense,
and of a principle of evil, which, with limited powers, was
permitted to oppose the principle of good. These concep¬
tions of immaterial beings distinct from men, but influencing
their actions, assumed a reality and appearance of probability,
which soon rendered the belief in their existence one of
strong practical influence upon society, and of course upon
literature. Hence the gloomy and superstitious character
impressed upon many of the earlier productions of all nations ;
and which, during the fifteenth, sixteenth, and seventeenth
centuries, manifested itself in such fearful action in the atro¬
cities of the trials and executions for witchcraft.
3, Whilst the Pagan mythology affected only the imagi¬
nation, Christianity appealed to the conscience, and was
calculated to operate practically upon conduct. We see,
accordingly, in the history of the middle ages, that religion
was not, as it becomes in after ages, a mere profession,
often assumed from habit, but a principle of faith, of con¬
viction, and of serious action. We see, through this invi¬
sible but powerful agency, a spiritual throne established at
Rome, to which, weak and insignificant as it appeared in
physical and economical resources, the most powerful mo-
narchs in Europe were content to bow with implicit obe¬
dience. During the middle ages, the possession of the
keys of St Peter was found a more effectual instrument of
supremacy than the temporal sword. We perceive the
clergy looked upon as a superior race ; their persons and
possessions considered as sacred; the rudest and boldest
nobles of the time trembling at the thought of their ana¬
themas, courting absolution at their hands, soliciting dis¬
pensations, founding monasteries and cathedrals, undertak¬
ing penances, pilgrimages, and crusades ; and we see them
often, in the midst of the fierce career of warfare, as if
struck by some sudden inward but irresistible impression,
throwing down the sword, exchanging the helmet for the
cowl, and wearing out, as is told of our own Guy of War¬
wick, the evening of a stormy life in the peaceful cell of
the hermit. There was in all this much of error, much of
impure feeling and doubtful character ; but there was also
much of truth, much of earnestness; and hence faith and
devotion are as visibly stamped upon the literature of the
middle ages, as they unquestionably were influential upon
its life.
4. Apart from the influence of religion, although not un¬
connected with it, there were other social changes which
had strongly affected the course of feeling and opinion, and
could not fail to render themselves visible in literature as
soon as it began to assume a regular form. The most im¬
portant of these was the institution of chivalry, growing
out of, and affording an imperfect remedy for, the defects
and evils of feudalism ; an attempt, in fact, to create a spe¬
cies of police or constabulary, founded upon those prin¬
ciples of generosity and honour which were frequently
found associated in the human mind with cruelty or licen¬
tiousness, during those stormy days of feudal dominion.
It was not, however, on its warlike and serious side that
chivalry exhibited any very novel features; for, as far as
regarded merely its spirit of adventure, numerous parallels
might be found in ancient story to the exploits of its vota¬
ries. The feats of Theseus with the Minotaur, the story of
Perseus s deliverance of Andromeda, the Argonautic expe- Poetry.
dition of Jason in search of the golden fleece, the more ce-^'—^'v  
lebrated expedition against Troy, all closely resemble the
exploits which chivalry prescribed to the members of its
order. The true point of view in which chivalry gave a
new direction to the opinions of the age, and a new impulse
to literature, was in the altered position which it gave to
women. It is certain, that before chivalry was known, nay,
before Christianity was introduced, a peculiar reverence
for women had been shown by the Gothic nations. Taci¬
tus, in his treatise on the manners of the Germans, adverts
to this as one of their characteristic features. “ Inesse iis
etiam sanctum aliquid et providum putant.” The introduc¬
tion of Christianity ratified and consecrated this feeling of
respect. It made woman the equal and companion, not
the slave, of man. But chivalry went a step farther. It
reversed the relations in which the sexes had stood during
the classical times, and exalted, in theory at least, the softer
sex above the stronger and the more warlike. As the best
means of arming the helpless against the powerful, it sur¬
rounded them with an angelic atmosphere of sacredness,
and converted love into adoration, respect into religion.
Here, too, there was something affected, but much more
that was genuine. This feeling, exaggerated as it seems
to us, did unquestionably influence in a high degree the
opinions of the age, their tastes, their modes of expression.
Its effect upon modern literature has been most remark¬
able. It has rendered the principle of romantic love al¬
most the mainspring of modern poetry, and of imaginative
composition in general. It forms almost the sole subject
of the poems of the Troubadours, the minstrels of the south
of France, Spain, and Italy, with whose compositions the
history of modern poetry properly commences. Dante,
the father of the Italian language and poetry, finds the
source of the inspiration which dictates his sonnets and
canzoni, and at last the Divina Commedia itself, in ^ this
species of romantic adoration for a deceased mistress. Pe¬
trarch’s poetry, and his deification of Laura, are one and
the same thing. The lyric poets of the fifteenth and six¬
teenth centuries of Italy seem to have scarcely conceived
that any other course than that of imitating Dante and Pe¬
trarch in this chivalrous Platonism was open to them. The
principle of romantic love is carried by Pulci, Boiardo, and
Ariosto to an excess which communicates to it an air of the
ludicrous; a reproach, however, from which it is again re¬
deemed by the serious and enthusiastic Jerusalem of Tasso.
When in modern times the attempt was made to revive
tragedy, it proved totally unsuccessful, until this principle
was admitted into the drama to give it warmth and life.
Of that species of composition which in its proper sense is
peculiar to the moderns, viz. the novel and romance, it forms,
as we all know, the moving power. In short, it influences,
more or less, every department in which the imagination has
exerted itself with success since the revival of literature.
5. Another point in the social institutions of the time,
which affects in a considerable degree the spirit of the lite¬
rature of the European nations in the outset, is the rela¬
tion of feudal vassalage, the degraded condition of the mass
of the people, and the subdivision of the state into so many
separate baronies, within each of which its feudal lord ex¬
ercised supreme authority. This subdivision annihilates
that inspiration of patriotism, or attachment to country or
state, which is very visible in the Roman literature, and
more faintly in the Greek, and introduces in its stead the
principle of loyalty or implicit obedience to the individual
superior to whom fortune had given the right of disposing
of the destinies of his vassal. Submission to authority under
all circumstances, without remonstrance, is represented as >•“
the highest of virtues; and a violation of this principle cannot
be palliated by any exhibition of courage or self-devo¬
tion. A fine illustration of this principle in the moral code
108
POETRY.
Poetry, of the feudal times occurs in Schiller’s fine ballad of the
——Y-—' Fight with the Dragon, founded on a story given as authen¬
tic by Yertot, in his History of the Knights of Malta.
Rhodes was laid wTaste by a monsti'ous serpent, which has
already destroyed not a few of the knights of St John, who
had been rash enough to engage in combat with it. I he
grand-master, accordingly, had strictly prohibited any of
the order from engaging in the apparently hopeless attempt.
One young knight, unable to witness with patience the
spectacle of the misery and distress daily caused by the la¬
vages of the monster, ventured to despise the prohibition,
and, by dint of art and valour combined, delivers the island
from its persecutor. He was conducted in triumph to the
hall, where the knights were met in council. The grand¬
master received him in gloomy silence, reminded him that
obedience under the Christian creed was the first of virtues,
and banished him from the island. The knight, conscious
of his error, bowed in silence, divested himself of his knight¬
ly mantle, kissed the hand of the master, and was about to
go. The stern superior was softened; he called him back,
and, presenting him again with his swrord and mantle, in¬
formed him that his prompt submission and penitence has
restored him to the rank which his disobedience had for-
feited.
6. One other feature is strikingly characteristic of the
earlier literature of Europe, although good taste at a later
period has pretty well weeded out its traces, viz. the sin¬
gular and incongruous mixture of science with poetry.
The literary men of the time were learned men, familial
with theology and with the writings of the ancients, and de¬
lighted with the abstractions and refinements of a mystical
theology and a scholastic logic ; and that which interested
them in reality, they unconsciously incorporated with then
poetry. This tendency tinges the whole Italian poetry,
from Dante to Ariosto. Petrarch, even while singing of
love, cannot allow the subject to pass without some learned
and complimentary allusions to Aristotle. The Spanish
lyric poetry of Boscan, Garcilaso, and their successors, is a
sort of versified Platonism. The verses of Ronsard, and the
other worthies composing that poetical constellation which
arrogated to itself the name of the Pleiades, are so full of
learned allusions as to be absolutely unintelligible ; and the
influence of this somewhat pedantic exhibition of ancient
literature is undeniable even in our own Milton,
p ptrv Having premised these remarks on some of the charac-
duriJthe teristic features of distinction which separate the religious,
middle reflective, warlike, and mystic poetry of modern Europe,
from the airy, graceful, and transparent spirit of the classi¬
cal, we may observe, that although, as we mentioned, nearly
seven centuries elapsed before the appearance of any poet
of permanent European reputation, poetry was not entirely
idle during the intervening period; but, on the contrary,
towards its close at least, in a state of high activity and fer¬
tility of production. Scarcely, indeed, had the. different
languages of Europe begun to arrange themselves into form,
before poetry in a rude form made its appearance. Most
probably in Germany the cradle of the modern poetry of
Europe is to be found. By the time of Charlemagne, it is
certain that country contained a vast mass of legendary poe¬
try, which was carefully collected, committed to writing by
the directions of the emperor, with a view to preservation,
but of which scarcely a traditional fragment now remains.
Earlier than the time of Charlemagne (a. d. 740 to 814), in
all probability, were the lays of the Nibelungen and the Ilel-
denbuch composed, though they have descended to us only
in the altered form given to them when recast by Henry of
Afterdingen. The former carries back its scenes to the days
of Attila the Hun; and in truthful simplicity and vividness of
painting, its homely and nervous verses are even yet worthy
of admiration. A fund of bold and rich invention is, in like
manner, displayed in the Sagas of Scandinavia, the mytho-
ages.
logy of which, at a later date, came to exert a strong influ- Poetry,
ence over the poetry of Europe. "'y—-^
The Provencal language, the first-born of European Provenfal.
tongues, in which Thebaut afterwards sung, and Cceur de
Lion expressed his complaints in prison, we find moulded
into form about the close of the ninth century. The Pro¬
vencals had undoubtedly borrowed many things besides
rhyme from the Arabian literature of the Peninsula, for an
oriental spirit is visible in many of their compositions and
much of their imagery. But, on the other hand, they added
much from their independent stores; they widely extended
the domain of poetry, gave it spirit as well as refinement;
they even rendered it, as Villemain observes, a substitute for
the liberty of the press; while their forms of versification,
canzoni, sonnets, sestine, madrigals, &c. soon became the
patterns adopted by all the southern languages of Europe.
Their compositions, introduced into Germany through the
Hohenstauffen emperors, instantly communicated a marked
impulse to German poetry: the numerous band of the Min¬
nesingers of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries are, in fact,
the Proven9als of Germany.
In the north of France, again, arises, during the same pe- Trouveres.
riod, the literature of the Trouveres; a literature of satires
and legends, and tales of knavery, licentious gallantry and
adventure, destined afterwards strongly to influence the di¬
rection of the genius of Boccacio, and his successors the
Italian novelists, and to furnish the amplest materials for
later writers of fiction. Nor during this creative period were
fictions of a higher cast wanting.
Three leading cycles of romance may indeed be pointed Three
out, which owe their origin to this period. The first con-
sists of the legends of Gothic, Frankish, and Burgundian ro,nance_
heroes, during the times of the great northern emigrations,
of which the Nibelungen and the Heldenbuch are the de¬
positories ; legends breathing a purely northern spirit, and
generally having some foundation in history: the second,
those which embody the traditions as to Charlemagne’s
wars against the Saracens, the achievements of his court ot
Paladins, and the “ dolorosa rotta” at Roncesvalles, where he
is represented as perishing with all his peerage. In some of
these Charlemagne is strangely represented, not as a most
warlike and energetic monarch, but rather in the garb of
a lazy and luxurious eastern sultan; a perversion ot his¬
torical truth which, Frederick Schlegel thinks, must be ac¬
counted for by the poems which refer to the emperor hav¬
ing been chiefly written by Normans, who drew their no¬
tions of Charlemagne from some of those faineant monarchs
of their own days, whom they saw in possession of his
throne. It is certain, at all events, that the legends con¬
nected with Charlemagne soon became largely interwoven
with incidents of a comic cast, and with a mass of absurd
and fantastic machinery. The third class of romantic tradi¬
tions then first embodied in poetry are those relating to the
fabulous Arthur, “ begirt with British and Armoric knights
by far the most interesting of which is the celebrated le¬
gend of a pathetic and elegiac character, which bears the
name of Tristan or Tristram. “ Among all the great and
epic poems of love and chivalry in the middle ages,” says
Frederick Schlegel, “ the first place is given by all nations
to Tristram; but that we may not be fatigued with unifor¬
mity of fiction, the airy and lively legend of Launcelot is
placed by the side of its more grave and elegiac represen¬
tations.” He traces also in these legends of Arthur and the
Round Table a double purpose ; an allegorical character,
viz. an attempt to shadow forth the ideal of a spiritual and
Christian knighthood, imparting to them in general a higher
character than to the corresponding traditions of Charle¬
magne.
One other class of the compositions of the middle ages The Monk-
may be alluded to, their monkish hymns, written in Latin, is ymns.
that is to say, the bastard Latin of the period, and general-
POE
Poetry, ly in rhyme. They cannot indeed be praised for their no-
-V"-' velty of thought, or'high imagination ; but their earnestness
of purpose, whether in describing ideas of terror or pity, and
which was the expression of one belief and one heart per¬
vading many nations, give them a considerable hold over the
mind. No one can be insensible to the awful grandeur of
the Dies ircc, dies ilia, which Roscommon, who translated it
into English, is said to have died repeating; or the simple
pathos of the Stabat mater dolorosa, which, even divested
of the charms of Pergolesi’s music, speaks to the heart. Of
nearly equal beauty are the Jam mcesta quiesce querela of
Prudentius; and the Are Maris Stella, being an invocation
to the Virgin, which may still be traced in the songs of the
boatmen of the Mediterranean. The forcible impression
made by these simple sacred hymns on the mind of Dante
is obvious, from the manner in which lines or portions of
lines from them, are here and there woven into the terza
rima of his great poem.
It cannot therefore be said that the middle ages were an
unpoetical period. On the contrary, there was then a very
general diffusion of poetic feeling. But the poetry to which
it gave rise was not marked by any of those works of ex¬
cellence rising conspicuously above the rest, which attract
attention to the names of the authors. Its productions
are chiefly anonymous; its poets have died and made no
sign. A great genius was still wanting to form an epoch
in the annals of poetry; but that genius was found in Dante,
about a century after the Tuscan dialect had assumed a
predominance over the other dialects of Italy.
talian The Divine Comedy of Dante (born 1265, died 1321) is
)an™Y' ^le ^rsfc work of distinguished and original genius which
graces the literature of modern Europe; and it is in many
respects a most striking and remarkable production. It is
not, as the name would import, a drama ; as little does it re¬
semble an epic poem ; it is an allegorical pilgrimage through
heaven, hell, and paradise, which the poet has peopled with
human shapes, human passions and crimes. He has made
his poem an instrument through v$hich he vents his political
loves and hatreds, his vast and undigested learning, his
scholastic acuteness, his mystical philosophy, his reverence
for the ancients, his sympathy with the spirit of freedom,
the enterprise, the enthusiasm of the moderns. It resem¬
bles, in fact, the Homeric poems in its encyclopgediac cha¬
racter. The poet stands, as it were, on an isthmus, from
which he can cast back his glances across the tumultuous
and still heaving chaos of the middle ages, into the serener
regions of the past, and forward into a futurity of which he
foresees and foretells the coming glories. Many, no doubt,
had been the allegorical compositions which went before
him; the Roman de la Rose, indeed, still survives, in the
translation of which Chaucer wasted so much of his earlier
powers; but all have been thrown into shade, afid it may
be said effaced, by the grasp, magnificence, and sombre
powei’, combined writh deep human feeling, of the great
allegorical pageant of Dante. For in this last quality, quite
as much as in the attributes of sublimity and grandeur,
which are universally conceded to him, lies the secret of
that perennial charm of freshness which still gives interest
to the Divina Commedia. Amidst the darkest scenes of
inferna. punishment some soothing objects or images are
constantly introduced to lighten our pilgrimage, and flowers
are made to spring up beneath our feet, as if to freshen
the path ‘£ over the burning marie.” His wearisome me¬
taphysics have long ceased to please ; his mystic raptures,
his pictures of the celestial occupations of the saints, appear
almost ludicrous; his demons and his Satan grotesque rather
than impressive : but the deep pathos of the story of Fran¬
cesca of Rimini; the thrilling scenes in the tower of Hunger;
the few simple lines which tell the story of Madonna della
Pia, imbibing a slow but certain death among the swamps
T R Y. 109
of the Maremma, to which she is consigned by a jealous Poetry,
husband; the sweet apostrophe to evening, and the fireside
recollections which the sound of the vesper-bell brings
along with it: these and such episodes are the passages
which linger in the memories of all, and give to the poem
of Dante, its main hold over the heart.
The imagination, on the other hand, is singularly roused
by the scenes of torture and bliss through which we are
led, the burning tombs, and cities alive with flame, and
valleys of the shadow of death, where serpents torture their
victims, and the ever-deepening descent through the cir¬
cles of hell, contrasted with the cheering light which be¬
gins to break upon us in the ascending circles of purga¬
tory, and the refulgence of the visions which greet the
wanderer on his entrance into paradise, when he exchanges
the guidance of Virgil for that of Beatrice.
Distinct as the imagery in the foreground is, the pros¬
pect fades away on all sides into the illimitable, and the
imagination has full room to expand itself in the sphere of
the mysterious and indefinite. Dante’s poem may, indeed,
be well compared to that “ wild and hoary wood” in which
he describes himself as losing his way in the outset, with
here and there a path cut through the trees, where the sun¬
shine pours in and shows spots of verdure or still waters,
but backed on all sides by dusky labyrinths, inhabited by
beasts of prey, into the gloom of which the eye can hardly
pierce, and the immemorial stillness of which the sound of
human footsteps has never broken.
The style of Dante’s poem is scarcely less remarkable
than its spirit. Obscure and unyielding, as might be ex¬
pected, in some parts, it has, nevertheless, a picturesqueness
without parallel in modern literature. It makes every ob¬
ject palpable or sensible; flashing images upon the mind
with the rapidity and the splendour of lightning. “ They
are,” says Ugo Foscolo, “ the bold and prominent figures of
an alto-relievo, which, it seems, we might almost touch, and
of which the imagination readily supplies those parts that
are hidden from the view.” It fixed the Italian language, so
that at this moment it remains less changed since the time
of Dante than any other European tongue.
As Dante is the head of the Italian allegorical poetry, so Petrarch.
Petrarch may be regarded as the founder of the lyrical;
borrowing indeed his manner, and not a little of his matter
also, from the Provencals, but by a refined taste acquired
from the deepest study of the classic poetry, and a sensibi¬
lity, the liveliness of which was quickened by a real passion,
investing their strains with a character of tenderness and
perfect finish, which really appear to confer on them a dif¬
ferent character. The monotony disappears of which we
are conscious in reading the compositions of the Trouba¬
dours and Minnesingers, “ qui toujours d’un meme ton sem-
blent salmodierand a wonderful variety of emotions are
seen to arise out of a theme which, in their hands, had
appeared limited and barren. No one has ever drawn
a finer poetical ideal of female loveliness, purity, and
worth, than Petrarch has done in Faura. “ Every lover,”
says Herder, “ will find his Laura in that of Petrarch;
he will find his own heart, with all its weakness, and that
beneficent influence which the female character in its pu¬
rity can exert over the disposition of the youth and the
man.” The verbal subtilties and plays on words which
disfigure many of the lyrics of Petrarch no doubt detract
from their effect, and excite surprise that one whose taste
was in general so pure should have given admittance to
such conceits; but, like the puns and equivoques of Shak-
speare’s time, they were part of the fashion of the day. Pe¬
trarch found them imbedded, as it were, in the Provencal
poetry from which he drew, and he yielded, like Shak-
speare, to the evil influence of the time. Upon the whole,
however, the, services rendered by him as an Italian poet
(for we need not here allude to his great and most bene-
110
POETRY.
Poetry.
ficial influence on the taste of Europe, by his exertions
on behalf of classical literature) have been very great; he
sensibly added to the polish, grace, and pliancy, of the Ita¬
lian tongue ; and of the Platonic poetry of love, a love ex¬
isting rather as a lambent glow than as a flame, and living
on as a sentiment after it has ceased to be a passion, Pe¬
trarch still remains the purest and the most charming re¬
presentative. (See the article Petrarch.)
The Pe- It is a remarkable fact, that though the genius of Dante
trarchists. was unquestionably far more masculine, original, and im¬
posing than that of Petrarch, the former left no succes¬
sors, while Petrarch turned for nearly two centuries the
whole current of poetry into the direction of the amatory
lyric. Dante was found to be unapproachable; within
the circle he had formed, none durst walk but he ; but the
Platonism of Petrarch, and the apparent simplicity and
brevity of the medium through which his tranquil and gen¬
tle inspiration was conveyed, appear to have tempted eveiy
one into imitation of his lyrics. Hence, until the fifteenth
century in Italy was well advanced, its poetry consisted
of little else than imitations of Petrarch. But, in truth,
though this was not perceived, all the finer essence of Pe¬
trarch’s poetical character was nearly as incommunicable as
that of Dante ; and accordingly we find, among the latter
Petrarchists, that much of the delicacy and truth of Pe¬
trarch, that feeling which gives a tempered warmth to his
expressions, and calms without chilling the heart, disap¬
pears. The raptures of love, and that struggle of passion
and reason which so constantly recurs in Petrarch s poetry,
are pitched in an exaggerated and falsetto key; the con¬
ceits grow more numerous as the feeling grows less intense
and real; till at last, of all which their great original had
produced, little is found transplanted into their imitations,
save the indestructible harmony of the versification.
The fifteenth century, which followed the death of Pe¬
trarch, is fruitful in learned men, in grammarians and phi¬
losophers, but barren in poetry. The excessive cultivation
of classical literature, and the admiration excited by its
great models, created a feeling of distaste for Italian com¬
position. Traces, no doubt, of a teeming fancy appear in
the unfinished stanze of Politian ; and the rustic and car-
nivalesque songs, both of the great Lorenzo and ot Ma-
chiavelli, have a merit independently of the interest attach¬
ed to their authorship. Machiavelli’s comedy of the Man-
dagola has been pronounced by a competent judge to be
amongst the best specimens of the comic which the Italians
possess. But till the rise of that branch of poetry which
may be regarded as the peculiarly national poetry of Italy,
namely, the serio-comic romance of chivalry, nothing of a
marked or original character appears. We turn, therefore,
at once to the dawn of that school in the rough poem of
Pulci.
Serio-co- There seems little doubt that feudalism, with that at-
;nic ro- tendant spirit of chivalry which was born ot its union with
mance of religion, never obtained any great influence in Italy. Pe-
cliivalry. trarch even speaks of the warlike fictions of romance with
dislike and contempt; and indeed, from the earliest periods,
we can perceive the traces of a commercial much more
than a military spirit; inclining the nation, in the adoption
of foreign models, to turn with far greater interest to the
gay, lively, and licentious tales of the Prouveres, or the
dreamy reveries of the Provencal poets, than to those tales
of chivalry, the “ romans de longue haleine,” which form¬
ed the study and the delight of the rest of Europe.
Before the period, too, when the Italians first thought of
resorting to the fictions of chivalry as the materials ot poe¬
try, the feeling of chivalry itself was generally on the de¬
cline throughout Europe, and its high-flown sentiments
and extravagances in action were beginning to be looked
upon as a superannuated and exploded fashion. Hence
the consciousness of a certain air of ridicule attaching itself
to themes of this kind must from the first have been pre-Jhxtr,..
sent to the minds of the Italian poets j and accordingly the-—v-
chief puzzle connected with the work of Pulci, the Mor-
gante Maggiore, is, whether the work be of a serious na¬
ture, or an elaborate jest; or whether, as seems more pro¬
bable, it be not a jumble of both.
All the Italian poets who have adopted these fabulous
themes of chivalry seem, in fact, to have perceived that,
in their own country at least, the taste for romance, if it
ever existed, had gone by, and that a serious poem, in the
style of the prose romances of chivalry, would have met
merely with ridicule or neglect. Their aim, therefore,
seems to have been to avail themselves merely of the fic¬
tions and machinery of romance, as affording a new source
of poetical embellishment; to address no higher feeling
than the principle of curiosity aroused by complicated ad- ,
venture; and to anticipate, by a tone of levity, and a
gaiety approaching to the comic, that ridicule with which
they felt that the spirit of chivalry had begun to be asso¬
ciated. They wrote “ as if they mocked, themselves, that
could be moved to sigh at any thing.” This aim is visible
in them all; they differ only in the degree of art, taste, and
genius with which the result at which they aimed has been
accompanied. i
In the rude poem of Luigi Pulci (born 1431, died 148/), Pulci.
there is no harmony whatever between the extremes ot
the tragic and comic. The poet appears to be in one page
sincerely devout; in the next he seems a profligate and
scoffer. The broadest farce in the adventures of the good-
natured but stupid giant Morgante, alternates with the ele¬
vated and the pathetic in the really chivalrous enthusiasm
of the battle of Iloncesvalles and the death of Orlando;
the dreariest platitudes are succeeded by occasional out-
breakings of devotional enthusiasm or fine sentiment. I he
effect of the whole is disjointed and painful, and such as
to excite our surprise that the accomplished companion and
favourite of the great Lorenzo should have produced a work
so enigmatical and unsatisfactory.
With more invention and greater variety than Pulci (for Boiardo
in the construction of plots, and in sketching the outline of
characters, Boiardo left little for Ariosto to perform), and
with far less of that disposition to caricature in which Pulci
unconsciously indulges, the Orlando Innamorato of Matteo
Maria Boiardo (1430 to 1494) still wants that airy grace and
ease of movement, that unconscious flow, like the marvel-
lous tale of an Arabian improvisatore, without which this
species of poem,—a “ chartered libertine,” in as far as re¬
gards the ordinary canons of criticism,—can have no perma¬
nent success. In Boiardo’s hands it moves laboriously and
stiffly; his verse wants harmony ; his style wants pruning,
polishing, and lightening. This, together with the infusion
into the poem of a most peculiar species of grave humour,
was the service afterwards performed for Boiardo by Berni,
with such perfect success, indeed, that the rifaccimento has
superseded and almost obliterated the recollection of the
original.
It remained, however, for Ariosto (1474—1533) to hit the Ariostc
happy medium between the poco meno and poco pin ; to
blend the tragic and comic in the proper proportions suited
to the serio-comic epic; to give life and natural movement
to the mere machines of his predecessors ; to throw over his
recitals an air of simplicity and bonhommie, which gives pro¬
bability to the wildest marvels; and to invest the whole airy
tissue of romance, with a style, the peculiar charm of which,
though most clearly felt, appears almost indescribable; so
clear, so popular and translucent, as to charm the most un¬
educated ; so correct and classical as to satisfy the most cri¬
tical taste. To compare Ariosto to Tasso as a poet of feel¬
ing, is to compare objects absolutely disparate, and unsuit¬
ed to comparison. Probably the native cheerfulness and
easy temper of his mind was not consistent with strong
POETRY. HI
Poetry, emotion ; but it is equally clear, that the expression of
strong emotion was inconsistent with his plan. To have
grafted the deep and serious interests and passions of men
upon so gossamer a groundwork as that which he has adopt¬
ed, would have been like building an edifice of marble
upon the unsubstantial basis of a summer cloud. In the
department he assigned to himself he has employed the
most appropriate instruments with corresponding success.
After Homer, he has been, on the whole, the favourite poet
of Europe. Above sixty editions of the Orlando were pub¬
lished in the course of the sixteenth century alone. “ The
Orlando Furioso,” says Mr Hallam, in summing up a most
just and discriminating criticism of Ariosto, in his Introduc¬
tion to the Literature of Europe, “ as a single great poem,
has been very rarely surpassed in the living records of
poetry. Ariosto must yield to three, and only three, of his
predecessors. He has not the force, simplicity, and truth
to nature, of Homer, the exquisite style and sustained ma¬
jesty of Virgil, nor the originality and boldness of Dante.
The most obvious parallel is Ovid, whose Metamorphoses,
however, are far excelled by the Orlando Furioso, not in
fertility of invention, or variety of images and sentiments,
but in purity of taste, in grace of language, and harmony of
versification.”
The incongruous elements of devotion and ribaldry, ca¬
ricature and tragic emotion, which had been left unblended
by Pulci, which Boiardo partly rejected and partly harmo¬
nized, had received from the pen of Ariosto the last graces
of which such a poem was susceptible. In him there is even
a gentle pathos combined with a sort of enthusiasm of va¬
lour, which gives sincerity and elevation to the fantastic.
But the serious and brooding fancy of his successor Tasso
(born 1544, died 1595) could not be contented to sing, like
Ariosto, “ le donne, i cavalier, I’arme, gli amori,” in the same
light, and at times half-mocking strain. He determined to
present the serious side of the romantic epic, as Ariosto had
done the comic. Whether the dull “ Gazette in verse,” by
Trissino, the Italia Liberata, in any way suggested to him
the idea of a historical subject, we know not. Certain it is,
however, that his earnestness of purpose, his deep and at
last morbid sensibilities, impelled him to the selection of a
theme where reality should give steadiness and human
interest to the creations of imagination ; and where the
spirit of the Christian religion should be the moving prin¬
ciple, instead of a phantasm which played round the head
rather than touched the heart. This theme he sought and
successfully found in the delivery of the Holy Sepulchre
by the crusaders ; an event more interesting to Christiani¬
ty than had been the Trojan expedition to the assembled
princes of Asia; and satisfying that essential condition of
a good epic, that its action, whatever its importance, shall
be one springing from enthusiastic feeling rather than po¬
litical motives. His poem was written while the European
monarchs still flattered themselves with the hope of re¬
gaining the lost conquests of Godfrey in the Holy Land,
and the glorious exploits at Malta, at Rhodes, at the Go-
ietta, and Lepanto, showed the strength of the feeling that
still prevailed “ against the general enemy, Ottoman ;” and
dealing as it did with a topic of religious interest, placed
among scenes hallowed by the most affecting recollections,
and presenting the finest natural features for the pencil of
the poet; admitting, from the remoteness of the period to
which it related, and the faith which then prevailed, the
introduction of a fabulous agency, contrasting with the im¬
pressive machinery which the Christian religion afforded, it
is difficult to conceive a theme uniting more features of in¬
terest, or affording a richer or more picturesque groundwork
for an epic poem.
Tasso has conceived his plan in the spirit of antiquity,
and in the grand and enlarged style of the classic epic ; but
he has executed it in the snirit of the middle ages; and per¬
haps the point in which Tasso has been most completely Poetry,
successful, is the skill with which the spirit of a religious
chivalry is breathed into the classic framework ; and all
the incidents which he liberally borrows from Homer or
Virgil, are made to harmonize with that prevailing tone of
devotion, valour, and tenderness, which is spread like an
atmosphere of purity over the Jerusalem Delivered.
Whilst the general plan of the Jerusalem, perhaps, bears The epi-
too close a resemblance to that of Homer, in the retirement sodes.
of Itinaldo, like Achilles, from the army, which is made the
nodus of the poem, the singular beauty of its episodes
has been always felt and admitted. In fact, it is by the
episodes that we chiefly remember the poem. Tasso has
thrown the whole tenderness of his soul into such passages
as those where he describes Sofronia and Olindo at the
stake, the “ pastoral melancholy” of Erminia’s residence
with the shepherds, or Clorinda perishing by the hand of
him who would willingly have died to save her. The turn
of his mind, in fact, was fully more towards the lyrical than
the epic, and, in passages like these, the lyrical tendency
breaks forth with peculiar force and flow.
In his characters Tasso has not made any very substan- Character,
tial addition to the picture gallery of the ancients, though
even in this respect he is superior to Ariosto, who in most
cases contents himself with a few general types without
distinctive traits. Tasso’s male characters, with one excep¬
tion, that of Tancred, are judicious adaptations of Homer’s
outlines of character to other times, manners, and religious
creeds. Tancred, however, is an original conception ; per¬
haps the more striking that its outline was drawn in some
measure from within ; for in Tancred, the brave, visionary,
melancholy Tancred, the victim of a hopeless passion, we
probably see a dim reflection of the poet himself.
The same broad line of distinction which divides Ariosto
and Tasso as to the conception of their subjects, may be
traced in the whole details of their execution. Ariosto is
throughout a painter. It is with external things that he
chiefly deals ; with colour, arrangement, form, and grouping,
rather than with their internal spirit. But Tasso cannot
paint this objectively. Every image, every feeling, as it
passes through his mind, receives the stamp of his own pe¬
culiar habits of thought, and issues forth impressed with
the image and superscription of his own tender and loving
soul.
Though Tasso is best known by his great epic, his Pastorals
Aminta deserves notice as the finest of those pastoral dra- and pasto-
mas which were so common in Italy in the sixteenth cen-ra^ lh'ailias*
tury and the commencement of the seventeenth. It was
not indeed the earliest, for the Sagrifizio of Agostino Bec-
cari (1510-1590) had preceded it. And even Beccari’s
work had grown out of those pastorals, frequently in dia¬
logue, of which the fifteenth century was so fruitful, and
of which the Arcadia of Sannazzaro (1458-1530) affords
the finest example. Tasso’s, however, of all the Italian
pastoral dramas, is the most inspired by the spirit of poetry.
The Pastor Fido of Guarini (1537-1612) certainly has the
advantage of a far more stirring plot; it rouses more cu¬
riosity and attention, but it wants the charm, the truly Ar¬
cadian repose, which Tasso has spread over his Aminta.
Here also, as in his Tancred, the feelings of the poet gave
vivacity and truth to the poem; for it is not difficult to see,
that under the disguise of Amyntas, and in the form of al¬
lusions to the joys and sufferings of the pastoral life, or in¬
vectives against that influence of rank and honour by which
the natural feelings of the heart are suppressed, the lover
of Leonora is pleading his own cause, or his own apology.
For an account of the Italian drama, which took its rise
in the Sophonisba of Trissino (born 1478, died 1550), the
reader is again referred to the article Drama in this work.
One species of poetry, which is almost peculiar to Italy, Bernesque
distinguishes or rather disgraces this period, viz. that mass poetry.
112
poetry.
Poetry, of poems entitled Capitoli, &c. which obtained the name of
v—“v—Bernesque from the poet who first set the example of these
specimens of reckless and indecent drollery, Francesco
Berni (died about 1543). His quiet, grave humour, the host
of ludicrous associations which he conjures up, and frequent
felicities of expression, at first render even his ribaldry amus¬
ing ; but when similar themes were taken up and hunted
down by Molza, Casa, Firenzuola, and their followers, it
became oppressive and revolting in the highest degree.
Filicaja, We now approach the period of decline in Italian poetry.
Testi, and The sixteenth century had been its golden period: in the
Marini. seventeenth we drop at once into the age of brass, or the
age of tinsel. Chiabrera (born 1552, died 1637) indeed
exhibits lyric fire, and, by discarding the hackneyed and
outworn form of the Italian versification of the Provencal
school, and approximating to the metres of the ancients,
gave a character of originality to his odes. Yet, granting
the boldness of his imagery, and a certain fervour and en¬
thusiasm, which raise his lyric poetry above the slumbrous
and monotonous beauty of most of his predecessors who were
of the school of Petrarch, it is yet impossible to subscribe
to the excessive eulogiums bestowed upon him by Tirabos-
chi, who almost seems to think he had combined in Italian
the graces of Anacreon with the majesty of Pindar. More
impressive, more affecting, though occasionally, and particu¬
larly in his sonnets, more deformed by the conceits and ex¬
aggerations which give an evil distinction to the poets of
this period, whom the Italians have branded with the title
of Seicentisti, are the lyrics of the senator Filicaja (born
1642, died 1707), whose religious canzoni, particularly the
noble triumphal hymn on the deliverance of Vienna from the
Turks by John Sobieski, are amongst the finest specimens
of this class of poetry of which Italy has to boast. In his
sonnets he is less pure and less natural; even his famous
sonnet on Italy is, in its second quatrain, disfigured by one of
the poorest and coldest of conceits. One other name must
be mentioned, as preserving a pure and classic taste amidst
the general corruption which, under the influence of Marini,
was now pervading and perverting the whole spirit of Italian
poetry. We refer to Fulvio Testi (1593—1646), the Italian
Horace, as he has been called, a title certainly quite un¬
merited, so far as regards the power or brilliancy of his imagi¬
nation, but hot inappropriate, if limited to the purity and
terseness of his style. The greater corrupter of this de¬
clining period of Italian literature is the once famous Marini
(born 1569, died 1625), the author of the Adone, a poem
which is an absolute chaos of brilliant antitheses and exag¬
gerated language, plays of wit and ingenious imagery, but
heaped together without the slightest direction of any go¬
verning judgment, and producing a tiresome and chilling,
instead of an exciting effect. In his own days his writings
were differently estimated. For a time, indeed, his popu¬
larity in his own country was boundless, and his influence
on the literature of other countries, particularly that of
Spain, as powerful as it was mischievous. But good sense
and good taste shortly resumed their sway, and Rousseau,
if one may judge from the frequent quotations from Marini
in his Heloise, would almost appear to be the last person
of any literary distinction w7ho was familiar with the once
celebrated and now completely forgotten Adone.
Tassoni. In comic poetry, however, the seventeenth century was
more successful. To this period belongs the Secchia Ra-
pita of Tassoni (1565-1635), the first specimen of that style
which was afterwards carried to perfection in the Lutrin
and the Rape of the Lock. The imitations of Tassoni need
not be mentioned. Instead of improving on his model, they
degraded and vulgarized it.
Excepting in the drama, which was distinguished by the
great and strongly contrasted genius of Metastasio and Al-
fieri, the eighteenth century in Italy can boast of little in
poetry. Some graceful fables by Pignotti, imitations of
Pope by Parini, and of Gray and Young by Pindemonte, Poetry,
redeem it from the charge of utter barrenness, but cannot
entitle it to the praise of originality. Nor, with the excep¬
tion of Manzoni, has the nineteenth century produced any
poem which can justly be said to have attained a European
reputation. Giovanni Niccolini (born 1786), a professor in
the Academy of Fine Arts at Florence, has composed seve¬
ral tragedies, one of which, Antonio Foscarini, founded
upon a well-known episode in Venetian history, was re¬
ceived with much applause. Some of the lyrics of Silvio
Pellico (born 1789) display considerable beauty and ele¬
gance® of diction; and the improvisations of Tommaso
Soricci, which have been taken down in short-hand and pub¬
lished, display a wonderful faculty and command of language,
though the sense, as might naturally be expected, is gene¬
rally subordinate to the sound. The works of these writers,
however, are not distinguished by that force and brilliancy
which mark the earlier productions of Italian literature.
Of all the languages formed from the ruins of the Latin, Spanish
the Spanish approaches the nearest to the Italian. The Poetry
spirit of the two literatures differs extremely ; but so closely
do the words resemble each other, that translations have been
executed by Spaniards from the Italian, as in the case of
Jauregufs translation of Tasso’s Aminta, where even whole
lines are found to correspond with the original. The lan¬
guage, as it now exists, is the dialect of Castille, polished
and purified, the Catalonian or Limousin having long ceased
to be the language of poetry.
One feature peculiarly marks the whole of the Spanish its orient:
poetry with a character unknown to that of the rest of Europe, character,
viz., the strong traces of orientalism which it exhibits, a tend¬
ency to the pompous and the exaggerated, and a strange
compound of strong passion, combining with a great wanton¬
ness and luxuriance.of fancy. More or less this feature is to
be traced through all the changes which its poetry has un¬
dergone ; subdued, no doubt, and kept down by the good
taste of such men as Garcilaso or Cervantes, but re-appear¬
ing in the estilo culto of Calderon, and reaching its height in
the ludicrous extravagances of the Spanish Marini, Gongora.
Considering, indeed, the intimate connection which sub¬
sisted between Spain and Arabia from the eighth down to
the close of the fourteenth century, a connection which,
though one of hostility in the field, appeared to have ad¬
mitted of many of the ties of friendship and mutual respect,
and the natural admiration which the brilliant poetry of
Arabia was likely to exercise over the minds of a ruder
people, the Asiatic character of the Spanish poetical genius
appears exactly what, under such relations, might have been
expected.
The earliest monument of the Spanish poetry is the old Chronicle
Chronicle of the Cid, a cycle of romantic legends, founded of the Cl(I
upon the exploits and misfortunes of that Don Rodrigo Lay-
nez, who, after exalting the glory of the Spanish arms under
Ferdinand, King of Castille, and his son Don Sancho, was
treated with such ingratitude by Alfonso VI., the son of the
latter, that he fled to the Moorish court, where, from 1081
to 1085, he gained many brilliant victories over the Christian
arms. Again recalled to the Spanish court by Alfonso, who
began to feel his value, he was a second time disgraced, and
banished about 1090. The Chronicle, which, both from in¬
ternal and external evidence, appears to be as old as the
twelfth century, relates to this second banishment; and
though its language is rude, and its rhymes most imperfect,
there is a captivating freshness in the scenes which it pre¬
sents, in its vivacity of movement, and in the occasional traits
of poetry which seem to escape almost involuntarily from
the writer, that raise it considerably above the ordinary level
of such chronicles.
From the date of the poem of the Cid to the reign of Ballad
John II. (1407-1454), the only monuments of Spanish poetI7-
POETRY.
Poetry, poetry, at least the only specimens possessing the slightest
interest, consist in that vast mass of popular or ballad poetry
in which Spain is richer than any other country in Europe.
Fortunately the process of collecting and preserving these
relics of an adventurous and enthusiastic period, “ ere po¬
lity, sedate and sage, had quenched the fires of feudal rage,”
was commenced at a very early period, the first collection
having appeared in 1510, under the title of the Cancionero
General. Not only in numbers, however, but in merit, the
Spanish ballad poetry appears superior to that of any other
nation of Europe. Everything, in fact, united to give to
this species of poetry its freest development. A national
character of strong sensibility, excitable yet constant; na¬
tional pride, in the feeling that they had so long formed the
advanced guard of Europe against the Moors, and were daily
driving backward the tide of invasion; a life of adventure and
gallantry ; a strong passion for music and the dance ; a de¬
licious climate; a language rich in rhymes, and admitting
a species of versification (the assonance) in which “ Sponte
sua carmen numeros veniebat ad aptos” were here found
united. The result has been a collection of ballads of all
kinds, warlike, amatory, Moorish (these last chiefly com¬
posed after the conquest of Granada by Ferdinand and Isa¬
bella in 1492), and satirical, marked by a degree of taste
and poetical beauty of which very few of our English or
Scottish ballads have to boast. I he Moorish ballads have
a peculiar charm, from the richness of the colouring with
which they are invested, and their style, which has lilt the
happy medium between the boldness of some of the old his-
toi ical ballads, and the over-refinement and affectation of
those which were composed after the introduction of the
Italian taste into Spanish poetry. The picturesque charac¬
ter of the Moorish life, the natural beauties and artificial
magnificence of Granada, the quarrels of the rival families
of the Zegris and the Abencerrages, the tournaments, feasts
of canes, and other amusements of the luxurious court of
Boabdil, afford in these ballads inexhaustible materials for
descriptive poetry, a tendency which is hardly to be traced
in the earlier ballads. “ It is wonderful,” says a very emi¬
nent Spanish critic, Quintana, “with what vigour and bre¬
vity they paint scenes, personages, and feelings. In one it
is the Alcayde of Molina, who enters, rousing the Moors
against the Christians, who are ravaging their fields ; in an¬
other, the unfortunate Aliatar, borne back with the gloom
of a funeral procession through the gate from which he had
issued with such gaiety the day before; now it is a simple
country maiden, who, having lost the ear-rings her lover
had given her, weeps at the prospect of the reproaches
which await her; and now a shepherd, who, solitary and
forsaken, grows indignant at the sight of two turtles cooino-
in a neighbouring poplar, and drives them away with a
stone.. Besides the ballads descriptive of incidents, these
collections contain many charming little songs and lyrical
snatches, vague and undefined indeed, but often pleasing
us even by this very vagueness, which merely suggests a
nnt to the mind, and leaves the rest to be filled up by the
imagination. With few exceptions, the authors of these
lyrics are unknown A few are attributed to the great
Don Juan Manuel (who died in 1362), but on doubtful
evidence ; the writers of the others have died and made no
sign.
Though the Spaniards date the rise of their classic poetry
from the reign of John II, it is certain this period contains
little which has any interest for foreign readers. The ne-
danUc and tedious Labyrinth (£7 Laberinto) of Juan de
Mena (1412-1456), a cold and lifeless imitation of Dante’s
great poem, possesses nothing of a more classical nature
than the older poetry, save its form. One poem only of
iis period,—viz, the noble stanzas or coplaa written by
Don Jorge Manrique on the death of his father, and a few
gi aceful redondillas by the accomplished Marquis of San-
VOL. XV til. 1
113
t.llana, afford some relief from the pretension and pedan- Poetry.
try which generally characterize this period of Spanish ^  L '
poetry. 1 v
A great revolution, however, was about to be effected in introduc
Spanish taste by the introduction at once of the measures tion of the
and of the spirit of the Italian poetry. The close relation Italian
into which Spain was brought with Italy during the rei<m taste-
of Charles V. had led to a general knowledge of the trea-B(:’scan,
sures of Italian poetry ; while many changes in the political
constitution and habits of the Spaniards themselves con¬
curred to weaken their attachment to their old and natural
romantic poetry, and disposed them to adopt the more re¬
gular and polished strains of their Italian neighbours. This
change was introduced by Don Juan Boscan (from about
1500 to 1544), who, though he had at first composed and
published a volume of poems in the old Spanish manner,
had been led, by his acquaintance with the Venetian am¬
bassador Navagero, to the study of the Italian classics, and
in consequence formed the design, in conjunction with his
friend Garcilaso de la Vega (1500-1536), of introducing
to his countrymen the refinements of the Italian versifica¬
tion, and the superior polish of the style of the Petrarchists.
But with all Boscan’s careful study of the Italian poets,
which is evident from the perpetual imitations which his
poetry contains of Petrarch, Bembo, and Sannazzaro, he
never could acquire their elegance cf taste, nor divesthim-
»elf of the national tendency to orientalism. Something of
the old leaven of impetuosity and hyperbole attaches to his
poetry, producing [a feeling of incoherence between the
matter itself and the medium through which the ideas are
conveyed.
But what Boscan attempted and imperfectly performed, Garcilaso.
Garcilaso accomplished with complete success. He was
equally distinguished in the field of warfare and of litera¬
ture. “ One hand the sword employed, and one the pen
and he fell at last, crowned at once with the laurels of poe¬
try and war. In Garcilaso the Italian poets found a rival,
if not a superior ; for while he adopted their best points, he
avoided in a great measure that subtlety of taste which had
grown out of the study of the later Platonists, and intro¬
duced a metaphysical and reasoning style into those sub¬
jects where it was the most out of place. Garcilaso has
vyritten little, but that little (at least his Eclogues, for his
Sonnets are not of equal merit) is of the highest class ; for
he has contrived so finely to temper the subtlety of the Ita¬
lian poets by the more natural warmth of the Spanish, and
to clothe his sentiments in words at once so simple and so
classically pure, that the result is something superior to any¬
thing that is to be found in his models. In all of them, no
doubt, the classic reader will recognise at every turn resem¬
blances to the Latin poets; but these imitations are intro¬
duced with so much taste, and fitted with such art into a
Spanish framework, that the knowledge that they are imita¬
tions rather increases than diminishes our sense of the talent
of the poet.
A third personage was associated with Boscan and Gar- ATendoza.
cilaso in this poetical tfiumvirate, the famous “tyrant of
Sienna,” the accomplished warrior, statesman, historian, no¬
velist, and poet, Diego de Mendoza (1500-1575). Men¬
doza’s Epistles, however, betray more rudeness of manner
than even the verses of Boscan ; and indeed the chief fea¬
ture of interest which they possess is, the singular spectacle
they present of a stern and hard-hearted warrior of the school
of the Duke of Alva breathing out to his friends Boscan
and Zuniga the most fervent aspirations after the domestic
happiness of a rural life, or longings for the enjoyment of a
philosophical solitude. This feature, indeed, more or less
marks the whole poetry of the period. Whilst the Spanish
warriors were distinguished all over Europe for their fero¬
city, presenting, as Sismondi says, “to the enemy a front of
iron, and to the unfortunate an iron heart,” we find all their
Monte-
mayor.
Herrera.
Luis de
Leon.
POETRY.
poetry marked with a dreamy, tender, and melancholy spiiit.
In Mendoza, Garcilaso, and Montemayor, all of whom were
soldiers, and conversant with scenes little calculated to
soften the affections, we observe this union of practical tei o-
city with theoretical innocence; nay, even the terrible Duke
of Alva appears to have been inspired by the same tastes,
and appears in the poetry of the time, not as the ferocious
o-overnor of the Low Countries and the organ of the in¬
quisition, but as the discerning critic, the lover and the pa¬
tron of literature.
This tendency to themes of an Arcadian cast gave rise to
the Pastorals of Montemayor (1520-1561) and his succes¬
sors. The Diana of Montemayor, a pastoral romance, in¬
terspersed with ballads and canzoni in the style of Sannaz-
zaro’s Arcadia, was once amongst the most popular produc¬
tions of Europe. Its influence may be traced, not only in
the host of Spanish pastorals which succeeded it, but in the
literature of other countries, in the Astrea ot D Urte, and
in the Arcadia of our own Sir Philip Sydney. Cervantes
bestows upon it a sort of qualified praise m his review of
Don Quixote’s library, but is disposed to give the prefer¬
ence to the continuation by Gil Polo over the original.
Montemayor labours, in fact, under the fault of all his coun¬
trymen of the time : he cannot compress ; he pours out a
stream of musical language, “ which runs, and, as it runs,
for ever would run onbut he gives us few ideas that are
at once natural and new, and none that stir the heart 01
strongly awaken the imagination. . , .1 _nn
The works of Herrera, another poet of this period (loOO
1578), on whom the Spaniards have, with questionable pro¬
priety, bestowed the title of “ the Divine,” are in a totally
different strain. His themes are religious and warlike, such
as the triumph of the Christian arms at Lepanto, or the
fatal defeat of Sebastian in his expedition to Africa. Ot al
the Spanish poets, Herrera, whose mind was deeply imbued
with the beauties of the sacred writings, possesses the lof¬
tiest style of expression ; but the majesty of his diction is
often obscured by strange and new creations or combina¬
tions of words, while his elevation not unfrequently explodes
in palpable bombast. There is a strong resemblance be¬
tween Herrera and the Italian Chiabrera, both in their
beauties and their faults. , . , . • t •
The greatest of the Spanish lyrical writers is Luis Ponce
de Leon (1527-1591). “More earnest and enthusiastic
than Boscan ; tender as Garcilaso, but with a soul whose
tenderness was engrossed by hsavenly, not earthly love ;
pure and high-hearted, with the nobility ol genius stamped
upon his brow, but with religious resignation calming his
heart, he is different from his predecessors, but more com¬
plete ; a man Spain only could produce, for in Spain only
had religion such sovereign sway as wholly to reduce the
rebel inclinations of man, and, by substituting supernal
for terrestrial love, not diminish the fulness and tenderness
of passion, but only give it another object. Ihe most
remarkable feature of Luis de Leon’s poetry is the union
of a mystical and religious enthusiasm with the most per¬
fect clearness and transparency of expression. Never was
a high and soaring imagination more perfectly under the
control of a cool judgment and a critical taste. \\ hilst a
religious Platonism forms the fond of his odes, the style
exhibits all the terseness, precision, and finish ot that or
Horace, of whom, notwithstanding the great differences
in their poetical character, he continually reminds us, y
the sententious air of his odes, and that serene mora wis
dom which drops from him in common with the Epicuiean
poet, whatever subject he touches on.^ But the odes o t e
Spanish poet have a moral grandeur far exceeding those o
Horace. The spirit of present enjoyment, or indifference
to futurity, which not unnaturally pervades the latter, was
revolting to the warm sympathies and devout belief of Luis
de Leon. Accordingly, the ideas and images which to v-
the Epicurean poet, only afford inducements to devote he
hours ‘to pleasure, such as the shortness of h e, the fadin
of flowers, or the instability of fortune, the Spanish moral
ist holds out as inducements to the cultivation of those
hio-her faculties which raise the soul above this world of
mutability and misfortune, and prepare it foi that pure
abode which he regarded as its appointed home.
The close of the reign of Charles V. is adorned by the Drama,
great name of Cervantes (1547-1616), more distinguished
however, as a prose writer than as a poet; and by the rise
of the dramatic literature of Spain. For a general account
of the peculiarly national and remarkable character of the
Spanish theatre, which, while it is connected with our own
bv so many common features, has yet some striking points
of distinction which render its study peculiarly interesting
to the admirers of our older British theatre we refer to
the article Drama. Cervantes, we must admit, appears
to mark its childhood; for the plots of his dramas aie
loose, disjointed, and scarcely deserving of the name,
though the gloomy grandeur of the Numantia gnes it a
painful fascination, like the scenes in the tower of Hunger
in the Inferno. Lope is identified with its boyhood, Cal¬
deron, with its maturity and perfection; Moreto, Roxas,
De Solis, Mira da Mescua, Da Hoz, and others, who wrote
during the reign of Philip IV., mth its dechne. Inven-
tion, high poetry in parts, the power of exciting and main¬
taining curiosity and suspense, must be accorded to the
Spanish theatre. Against these must be set religious
bigotry and mysticism, often painfully predominant in the
plays of Calderon, particularly in those autos which the
German critics have especially selected as the themes ot
their admiration ; the affected and redundant style into
which most of their poets were led by the facility ot their
versification, combined with the habit of working for t e
stage; and the practice which, upon the Spanish stage, is
almost universal, of painting manners and general types ot
character, rather than discriminating its shades, or giving
individuality to the personages represented.
We may here notice, in connection with Spanish litera¬
ture, the solitary great name of which the kindred litera¬
ture of Portugal has to boast, Luis de Camoens (lo24-
1578), who conferred upon his countrymen that which
Spain has in vain essayed to produce ; for the Araucana
of Ercilla certainly does not deserve the title of an epic
poem. Viewed in this light, too, it must be admitted that
even the Lusiadas of Camoens is most objectionable: the
action flags miserably ; the mythology is ludicrous ; the
morality of some portions of the poem, as, for instance, the
scenes on the island which Venus prepares for the refresh-
men t'of the returning Portuguese, is more than questionable;
but, with all these, the work is inspired and supported by
the true spirit of poetry; and its continued popularity and
reputation prove how little the real charm or success of an
epic depends on the mere plan or machinery of a poem.
That which will always render Camoens delightful is, the
tenderness of heart which overflows in such episodes as
that of Ignez de Castro ; and the pride and zealous endea¬
vour wdth which he labours to embody in immortal verse
the spirit of those days in the annals of Portugal when
learning and commerce, -warlike enterprise and success,
went hand in hand; when De Gama braved the terrors of
the Cape, and Alvarez and Albuquerque first launched
their galleys into the Atlantic.
sir gaiieys nuu me ziuaum.. Gongon
From the seventeenth century to the present time, tlieandQu,
  r rmn nfrWlinp. Three names..
x-iuni me aevcuLcci.m ~ r---- - and ^
literature of Spain has been one of decline. 1 nree names vedo>
only amongst the many whose works are found quoted in
Anthologies and Parnasos deserve notice ; those ot Gon-
1 Literary and Scientific Men of Italy, vol. UK, p- 70.
POE
Poetry, gora (1561-1627), Quevedo (1580-1645), and Villegas
v.ia^v—> (1595-1669). The real talents and rich imagination pos¬
sessed by Gongora make us lament that, like Marini (from
whom, indeed, he borrowed his manner), he applied them
only to corrupt and pervert the public taste. Some of his
little anacreontic verses, songs, and letrillas, written at an
earlier period of his life, are models of natural grace and
felicity of expression, contrasting most painfully with the
ridiculous jargon of language and galimatias of sentiment
which he employed in his later days. The same evil tend¬
ency is visible in Quevedo. We have great invention,
much acuteness and comic humour, but a lamentable defi¬
ciency of feeling and taste. His works have been most
justly compared by Bouterwek to a massive ornament of
jewellery, in which the setting of some parts is exquisitely
skilful, of others extremely rude, and in which the number
of false stones and of valuable gems is nearly equal.
Villegas. A purer taste occasionally appears in Villegas, the Ana¬
creon of Spain, though he, too, seems to labour under the
mania of the day, and now and then to run into extra¬
vagances worthy of the very wildest of the Cultoristos.
After Villegas there appeared no Spanish poet of any
originality ; for the verses and the pastoral comedy of
Melendez Valdez, founded on the episode of the marriage
of Camacho in Don Quixote, do not rise above mediocrity ;
the fables of Yriarte have merely the merit of brevity and
neatness of expression ; and the comedies of the younger
Moratin, the last dramatic works which have attracted any
attention, are merely ingenious imitations of Moliere. At
the present moment Spanish poetry would seem to be
absolutely effete; nor does there appear much reason to
anticipate its speedy revival. The few compositions of
Martinez de la Rosa, and of Angel de Saavedra, are not of
sufficient merit or importance to rescue the recent literature
of their country from this reproach.
French The present language of France has sprung from that
Poetry, northern dialect which was spoken in Normandy, and known
by the name of the Walloon. The earliest compositions in
that dialect were romances, founded on some fabulous his¬
tory, such as Brut of England, which appeared about 1155.
Romances, lo these succeeded the romances of chivalry, from about
1130 to 1190, of which, unless the Portuguese romance of
Lobeira, Palmerin of England, be supposed to have appeared
before this time, it would seem the Norman-French are
fairly entitled to claim the invention. Taking them as a
whole, there is no disputing that much fancy and ingenuity
are expended upon these now-forgotten performances,
though the style is invariably flat and lumbering. They
are sustained merely by the high spirit which they breathe,
and the happy incidents W'hich the chronicler occasionally
introduces.
Allegorical 1 he taste for the allegorical romance wras of a date some-
romance. what posterior. Of these singular compositions, the most
remarkable is the once celebrated Roman de la Rose, be¬
gun by William de Lorris, and concluded by Jean de Meun,
a poem which was received with boundless admiration,
and which continued for a century strongly to influence
the literature of Europe. It was at once a romantic and an
allegorical poem ; a new edition of the art of love, adapted
to the moral and metaphysical creed of the middle ages ;
of dreary length, and yet enlivened here and there by al¬
legorical portraits of imaginary personages, drawn with
considerable vivacity and spirit, and by those strokes of
satire, or lessons of practical philosophy, which, together
with the art of narration, very early began to characterize
the literature of France. The conclusion, by Jean de Meun,
is inferior to the commencement; it is deformed by a
ribaldry and coarseness which justifies the term “ nied-
rige polissonerie,” or 1owt blackguardism, applied to it bv
Bouterwek. }
i
T E Y.
115
But by far the most striking and characteristic part of Poetry,
the early French literature consists in that vast collection v-~
of short tales entitled Fabliaux, which were almost exclu- The Fab-
sively the production of the French provinces lying to the liaux.
north of the Loire, and which are w-ell deserving of atten¬
tion, whether their own merits and originality be regarded,
or their general influence on fiction. The period of their
appearance extends from the last half of the twelfth through
the whole of the thirteenth and part of the fourteenth
century, but the greater number are supposed to have been
written during the reign of St Louis (1226 to 1270). The
compositions of these ministrels differ extremely in charac¬
ter from those of their Provencal brethren of the south of
France. The poets of Provence were generally knights
and nobles; their themes love or war, or mystical alle¬
goric dreams ; and, with much monotony, their poetry cer¬
tainly presents an elevated and imposing exterior. The
Trouveres were generally men of an inferior grade, sprung
from the lower ranks of life; in fact, literally wandering
minstrels. Yet the position they occupied in society was
particularly favourable to the promotion of those habits of
satirical observation and comic description which consti¬
tute the chief attraction of the Fabliaux. Men in general
of acute and vigorous minds, though destitute of learning
and delicacy, and too often of principle ; welcome guests
in all society from their powers of amusing, yet respected
in none ; experiencing every extreme of life, and making
themselves at home in all; sometimes helping to dispel
the ennui of baronial castles, at others courting the society
ot the humblest vassals, they rambled over the world, harp
in hand, as it were, picking up everywhere the materials
of their art, and thus painting, with a truth and freshness
otherwise unattainable, the full-length portrait of French
manners during the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries.
These light and joyous compositions turn chiefly on sub¬
jects of a familiar nature, and consist of stories of knavery
and intrigue, and occasionally of those Asiatic legends with
which the Crusades had by this time rendered Europe
familiar. Except, therefore, in invention of ingenious in¬
cidents and comic imbroglios, and in a certain tinge of
humour and vivacity which breathes of the sunny skies
and vine-covered hills of France, they have little preten¬
sions to poetry. And yet this opinion must be taken with
exceptions, for they have occasionally shown that they could
excel in themes of a higher kind; and the beautiful and
well-known fabliau of Aucassin and Nicollette, by its ten¬
der and natural spirit, combined with the deep interest of
its situations, throws into the shade the greater part of the
more ambitious and elaborate chivalrous romances. We
perceive in it all the romantic spirit and deep feeling of the
old Spanish ballads, heightened by the graceful naivete
peculiar to the early French poetry.
The period from the commencement of the fifteenth to
the sixteenth century is regarded by the French as the
transition period of their poetry from infancy to maturity;
and the three leading names of the period are Marot, Ron-
sard, and Malherbe.
Clement Marot (born 1495, died 1544) is the creator of Marot.
that school of naive poetry which w as afterwards carried to
its perfection by La Fontaine and Voltaire. With a play¬
ful, unambitious grace, he gives a happy turn to every sub¬
ject, and delights to put the world in good humour with
itself. It is justly observed by a French critic, Nisard,
that the naivete of Marot differs from that of any previous
poet. In the older strains of the Trouveres and their suc¬
cessors what we call naivete often arises merely from the
imperfection of the language, and not from any peculiarity
in their turn of mind. But Marot wears this air of uncon¬
sciousness even in giving expression to ideas the most
subtle and recherche ; his naivete seems independent of
the language, independent almost of the ideas; it is an
116
Poetry.
Itonsard.
POETRY.
Malherbe.
Age of
Louis
XIV.
emanation of the peculiar genius and idiosyncracy of the
It is amusing to contrast the fame of Ronsard during his
life (1524-1585) with his reputation at the present moment.
His own age elevated him to honours almost divine : in the
present how many are acquainted even with a single page
of his poems ? He was considered the presiding luminary
of that constellation of genius which arrogated to itself the
title of the French Pleiad, whose great object it was to
transplant into French the form and the manner of the
lyrics of antiquity; but who succeeded only, as Boileau
savs, in making a jumble of everything {brouiller tout), a
patchwork, in short, of Greek and Latin ideas with Italian
subtlety of thought and French naivete of expression.
“Enfin Malherbe vint,”says Boileau (1558-1628), like
Ronsard a classicist, but endeavouring, and not without
success, to seize rather the spirit of the ancients than then-
forms. Of the higher inspiration of the ode he had little ;
his march is stately enough, but it is measured and slow;
he has little or no enthusiasm, but in all that regarded the
iudicious treatment of a subject, or the minutiae of language
or versification, he was well fitted to be the legislator of
that new and more sober school of composition which su¬
perseded in France the extravagances of Ronsard and Ins
satellites. The three pieces of Malherbe which appear to
indicate the highest talent, approaching indeed to genius,
are the Ode to Henri IV. on the taking of Sedan, the
Ode to the Queen-Mother, and the beautiful verses ad¬
dressed to the Councillor Duperier on the sudden death
of his daughter.
We now arrive at the period which is, or rather was,
considered by the French as the golden age of their poeti¬
cal literature, the long reign of Louis XIV. Everything
at this time concurred to impress on poetry that stamp of
stateliness, polish, and courtier-like adoration of monarchy
which then pervaded French society, and which exerted so
powerful an influence on the general tastes of Europe. 1 he
French monarchy had now been consolidated by the Aim
hand of Richelieu, who, whilst he unrelentingly pursued
his design of lowering the aristocracy and exalting the
throne, was not insensible to the claims or the impoitance
of literature, and had been the first to give it the support
which a corporate character appeared likely to afford, by
the formation of the celebrated Academy. 1 he troubles
of the Fronde were over. The heats and animosities of
rival religions had been appeased by the edict of Nantes.
The personal character of Louis wras well suited to effect
his main object, which was to render his court a model for
the imitation of the world. Of limited abilities, without
talent either for warfare or diplomacy, he possessed tact
enough to perceive at once his deficiencies and his advan¬
tages ; and, endowed with many of the most attractive out¬
ward graces and accomplishments of a king, he played the
part of a dignified monarch with much discretion and ability.
Thus wielding, without opposition, the energies of a pow¬
erful kingdom, and collecting around him at his court all
that France contained of intellectual ability, a tone of
courtly polish and extreme refinement was imparted to
society which soon impressed its traces upon literature,
partly for good, and partly for evil. The influence exer¬
cised by French manners and French literature upon other
countries became paramount and unprecedented, supersed¬
ing the most inveterate usages, overturning the strongest
national prejudices, and establishing a despotism more uni¬
versal than had been known in literature since the down¬
fall of Greece and Rome.
The most imposing shape in which poetry appears during
this supposed Augustan period of French literature is in
that of the drama, which, commencing with the rude plays
of Jodelle (who died in 1560), reached its perfection dur¬
ing the close of the reign of Louis XIII. and the reign of
Louis XIV., in the tragedies of Corneille and Racine, and ^etr^
the exquisite comedies of Moliere. (Fora full account of
the French stage, we refer to the article Drama.)
It cannot be said that, in any other department of poetry
except that of the drama, the age of Louis XI\ . was pre¬
eminently distinguished; for the artificial and hollow re¬
finement of the time seemed unfavourable to that vigorous
and natural feeling which should speak m poetry, with a
corresponding strength and originality of expiession. Yet
two names impress themselves, by their strongly discn-
minated traits, upon the memory—La Fon au.e (1621-
1695) as the reviver of the old naive style of Maiot,
thouMi with a degree of polish and grace of which Maiot
had no conception; and Boileau, as the representative of
that school of terse morality, sound sense, and wit, mingled
with and heightened by fancy, of which I ope is the best
example in English poetry. _ fi T i?
With all the levity and licentiousness which deform the La Fon-
Contes, there is no denying to La Fontaine many of the tame,
best qualities of the poet; knowledge of the world which
yet does not impair his bonhommie and kindness of heart;
a humour playful, gentle, continuous, never pushed to ex¬
cess, combined with tenderness, with a disposition to re¬
verie and pensiveness ; a strong sensibility to the beauties
of the country, of which his descriptions, though short,
are always striking, and marked by that just selection of
points and clear local portraiture which we find in Crabbe,
and which show that he made his studies for them on the
spot; the whole heightened and set. oft by a style appa¬
rently simplicity itself, but which must have been, as we
know it was, the result of the most laborious polishing and
elimination : all these give an extreme charm to the Contes,
and perhaps still move to the Fables, of La Fontaine ; for
the Contes, though their licentious gaiety has made them
more generally known, display to less advantage the pecu¬
liar qualities of La Fontaine’s genius.
Boileau, again (1636-1711), pleases and must always Boileau.
please, although by qualities the most opposite to those of
La Fontaine; namely, by awakening a calm emotion of
intellectual satisfaction, rather than by any excitement of
the imagination or the feelings. As Racine repiesents
the tender and voluptuous side of French manners and
character during the age of Louis XI\.; as La Fontaine
embodies in his tales and fables its easy tone of moral in¬
difference and malice, masking itself under the disguise or
simplicity ; so in Boileau we find, arrayed in a dignified
and philosophical dress, its better points, its good sense and
sagacity, its lively perception of the eccentric and ridicu¬
lous, its love of external decency, order, and propriety,
both in morality and in literature.
In his Lutrin he even displays a considerable degree of
invention, though chiefly of a comic kind ; for, thongn not
destitute of a sense and feeling of high poetry, he was
essentially deficient in any actual power of dealing with
such themes ; and, with that tact and judgment which
distinguished him, he has rarely, save in his most unfoi-
tunate Ode on the taking of Namur, which has been so
justly but so unmercifully parodied by Prior, ventuied
within this province of poetry. Within his proper field o
moral censorship, or of the mock heroic, arrayed in all t ie
graces of elegant diction and classic allusion, or the poe¬
tical abridgment, in the most condensed and pointed form,
of the approved critical canons of the time, he is assuiedly
without a rival in French poetry, and, with the .exception
of Pope, in European literature.
The literature of the eighteenth century in France is gighteent
more distinguished by its prose than its poetry. Prior to century.
Voltaire, at least, in whom great and versatile powers of Rousseau,
mind, approaching if not attaining to high genius, must be
admitted, it added nothing of substantial value to the con¬
tributions of the age of Louis XIV. At one time, indeed,
POE
Poetr^. the odes of J. B. Rousseau (1669-1741) were extolled to
skies, as models of lyric poetry; and Voltaire certainly
speaks of them in terms of extravagant praise. To any
one now perusing them, with the recollection of the great
models of antiquity before him, or even testing them by
the simpler process of his own feelings, they will assuredly
appear totally deficient in genuine inspiration. The en¬
thusiasm is imitative and factitious; the imitation dexter¬
ous, no doubt, but yet palpable to every one who possesses
any real poetical sensibility ; the thought is often propped
up by the words, not the words elevated and quickened
unconsciously by the vital grandeur of the thought. What
true lyric enthusiasm, indeed, could reside in a mind
which busied itself alternately in the composition of rap¬
turous religious odes and epigrams of disgusting obscenity ?
rhaulieu Much more of real poetry, because accompanied by na-
and Gres- tore and simplicity, is to be found in Chaulieu’s pastoral
6et- lyrics ; in some of the little romances of Moncrif, such as
Alexis and Alix, which abounds with lines that by their
truth and simplicity of expression have become proverbial;
or in Cresset’s pleasing stanzas on the golden age, or even
in his lively tale of Vert-Vert.
Voltaire. The reputation of Voltaire (1694-1 778) at the present
day rests more upon his witty and amusing prose than upon
his poetry. The didactic tendency which was the spirit
of the age, that attempt to make all the creations of poetry
subservient to inculcating certain philosophical opinions,
appears in all the poetry of Voltaire ; it speaks even in
Mahomet and in Zane, as much as in his graceful occa¬
sional verses, his tales in the manner of La Fontaine, or
his epistles. “ Les Franqois n’ont pas la tete Epique,” was
his own expression ; and the Henriade certainly went far
to prove the fact. It is the mere simulacrum of an epic,—
hard, laboured, soulless. It is most unfortunate for Vol¬
taire that the poem in which his versatile abilities have
been displayed to the greatest advantage is one which its
indecencies and impieties have in a great measure ban¬
ished beyond the pale of literature.
About 1 /70 may be noticed the rise of the descriptive
school of poetry, in the poems of St Lambert and Delille;
an importation in all probability from England, where a
similar taste had been introduced by the success of the
Seasons of Ihomson. From 1730 to the commencement
of the present century numerous attempts were also made
to confer on France something that should merit the title
of an epic poem; but without the slightest success.
During the despotism of Napoleon poetry appeared to
be almost silent. With the restoration of the Bourbons
appeals the rise of that romantic school, the growth of the
fei mentation of the revolution, and of that removal of the
old landmarks both in polity and opinions which it caused ;
a school which, both in theory and practice, repudiates the
principles of the old French classicists, and has certainly
effected a complete revolution in the literary tastes of the
time.
\\aZ°\ With regaid to the quality of the poetry so produced
e aviSne- there may be, and has been, much diversity of opinion.
I hose who admire the formal manner and stilted versifica¬
tion of the old French writers will probably not be disposed
to allow much merit to the vehement odes and fiery utter¬
ances of Victor Hugo and Casimir Delavigne ; neverthe¬
less their innate vigour has gained for them not only the
applause of their countrymen, but the favourable opinion
of some competent critics on this side of the Channel. It
must be allowed that the writings of Victor Himo are very
unequal in their merit. Sometimes he is extravagant even
to the verge of bombast; at other times bizarre ; but oc¬
casionally he rises with his subject, and exhibits a rare
mastery of language and much poetical imagination. Few
short poems in any modern European tongue can be ad¬
vantageously compared with his Chant de Fete de Neron.
TRY. H7
His dramas are of a mixed character. Perhaps the best of Poetry,
these are his Marion Delorme and his Le Roi s’amuse ; the ^
first fulfilling nearly all the conditions of a high tragedy; the
second resembling in manner and power some of the best
compositions of the elder English dramatists. The o-enius
of Delavigne derived its inspiration from patriotic senti¬
ments, and has found vent in many noble lyrics. Of these
Parthenope and Le Chien du Louvre may be cited as
notable examples. Alfred de Vigny, a poet somewhat less
known to English readers than the others whose names we
have just cited, has gained much popularity in Paris; and
not undeservedly, for in his poem entitled La Fregate la
Serieuse he has exhibited a pathetic earnestness rarely
found among the writers of his school. Auguste Barbier
also deserves mention on account of his energy and de¬
scriptive power. But the names which are most conspi¬
cuous in modern French poetry, and which will hereafter
be most intimately associated with the literature of the first
half of the nineteenth century, are those of Lamartine and
Beranger.
It has been the fortune or destiny of Lamartine to oc- Lamartine,
cupy a conspicuous position in two characters usually
thought to be irreconcilable,—first, as a poet, and secondly,
as a politician. His disastrous failure in the latter capacity
leads us to regret that he had not devoted himself exclu¬
sively to the cultivation of his literary talent, which was,
beyond all doubt, of a rare and distinguished order. In his
poetry there is a stateliness, a sustained gravity, at times
almost reaching to the sublime, which we look for in vain
not only in the writings of his contemporaries, but of his
predecessors. Very melodious in his expression, he has
succeeded in producing harmonies of which the French
language seemed scarcely capable ; thus furnishing a new
and convincing proof that it is possible, by care and dex¬
terity, to render flexible the most difficult speech, and to
make it subservient to the highest purposes of art. The
French language, admirably adapted for conversational
purposes, for brilliant repartee, witty turns, and all the
lighter graces of diction, was supposed to be unfitted for
oratorical use, until Bossuet and Massillon, by their magni¬
ficent discourses, upon which the utmost elaboration was
bestowed, dispelled that illusion. In like manner, Lamar¬
tine has shown us that it is possible so” to wield that lan¬
guage as in poetry to reach the sublime. He does not,
however, possess the power, certainly not the imagination,
to sustain him through a Miltonic flight. Much more
aptly may he be compared with Wordsworth, to whom,
indeed, in quality and tone of mind he exhibits a marked
resemblance. The solidity, magniloquence, and reflective
tendencies of the English poet, are conspicuous in the writ¬
ing of his French brother ; but so also are his occasional
tediousness, egotism, and pomposity. Lamartine never
has divorced his subject from himself; possibly,- from his
mental conformation, it was impossible for him to have done
so. Hence, after a time, we rather experience a feeling
of fatigue in the perusal of his poetry, finding the same
cast of thought monotonously repeated. We admire the
man ; we appreciate his sentiments ; but we cannot help
wishing that he would sometimes forget himself so far as
to free us from the consciousness of his perpetual presence;
just as, when we are contemplating a beautiful diorama, we
feel annoyed at the platitudes of the showman. But, not¬
withstanding this, Lamartine has won, and will deservedly
maintain, a very high rank in the poetical literature of his
country.
A greater however is behind. We shall close this short Beranger.
notice of French poetry with the name of one who, though
partaking of all the modern influences of his time, was yet
within his own department, that of song, a genuine classic.
In this department of the lyric France has always been
distinguished. In that country not only has it constituted.
118*
Poetry.
POETRY.
as elsewhere, the amusement of the lower classes, but it
has long attained the dignity of a powerful political agent;
its monarchy was justly described by Champfort as a des¬
potism tempered by songs. Of all the modes in which
poetry can be made subservient to purposes like these,
song is the most effective, universal, and immediate in its
operation. It speaks not to a particular class, but to all;
its brevity fixes it in the memory; the creature of the
moment, it avails itself of every allusion, every passion,
every prejudice of the day ; while its outward foim appeals
so trivial and harmless that even despotic governments are
deterred, by the fear of ridicule, from attempting to inter¬
fere with it. Beranger, while he has selected the simplest,
the most universal feelings, the most familiar sentiments
and images, provided they are true, unforced, and natuial,
yet, by the tact and skill which he has employed in their
treatment, and the felicity of their expression, has invested
them with puite an original charactei. The oftenei a
thought has occurred to others, so much the better with
him r for it is an evidence of its truth, and of its power
of affecting the heart. What remained for him, and what
he has performed, was to impart to this thought, so familiar
to all, though perhaps vaguely and indefinitely, form, colour,
expression; so that when presented by him to our notice,
it is felt at once to be an old acquaintance, and yet
awakens all the curiosity and interest with which we re¬
gard a new one. His originality, in short, lies entirely in
his application of the idea, and the point and compactness
with which the image is brought out by his hands. F ew
poets in this department have ever gained greater success.
What Burns was to Scotland, Beranger is to France.
He seized upon the popular feeling, treated it as it ought
to be treated, by giving it that garb and expression which
genius alone can bestow. Strong in his Napoleonic tend¬
encies and faith, he kept alive among the people of
France the grand memories of the empire ; and to his bal¬
lads and soul-stirring ditties, more than to any other cause,
may be attributed the re-establishment of the Corsican
dynasty. No other poet since the beginning of the world
has exercised such a power over the destiny of a nation.
German We have noticed the early development of German
Poetry, heroic song in the Nibelungen and the Fleldenbuch ; and
the introduction of the Provencal taste under the Sua-
bian emperors in the poetry of the Minnesingers. In all
its leading features the poetry of this period (1138 to
1346) corresponds with that of the French Troubadours,
with this unfavourable distinction, that the poetry of the
Minnesingers (love-singers) is much more exclusively de¬
voted to amatory themes than that of the Provencals,
which blended with these, warlike and patriotic or satirical
effusions. Flence their monotony of effect, when we per¬
use any of these collections at once, is undeniable. Schiller
has accordingly, in a passage of unusual severity, denounced
their poverty of ideas, and says that if the sparrows were
to compose an “ almanack of love and friendship, it would
probably bear a close resemblance to these cloying strains
of the Minnesingers. But against this sarcastic remark
must be placed the observations of Frederick Schlegel:
“ The impression of uniformity arises from our seeing these
poems bound together into large collections, a fate which
was probably neither the design nor the hope of those who
composed them. But, in truth, not only love-songs, but
all lyrical poems, if they are really true to nature, and aim
at nothing more than the expression of individual feelings,
must necessarily be confined within a very narrow range
both of thought and sentiment. The truth is, that great
variety in lyrical poetry is never to be found, except in those
ages of imitation when men are fond of treating of all
manner of subjects in all manner of forms. Then, in¬
deed, we often find the tone and taste of twenty different
ages and nations brought together within the same col¬
lection, and observe that the popularity ot the poet is in¬
creased exactly in proportion as he descends trom his
proper dignity, when simplicity is sacuficed to conceits
and epigrams, and the ode sinks into an occasional copy of
Poetry,
VeThe opening of German poetry, then, had been on the
whole brilliant and promising; but theconfus.on insecurity,
and violence which followed the death of Frederick II. in
1250, seemed fatal to the progress of improvement. After
Rudolph of Hapsburg, we perceive in its poetry a visible
decline. The Minnesingers were succeeded by the Mas-
tersingers, personages who seemed to think poetry was to
be acquired like any other trade, and to be. supported and
kept alive by guilds and corporations. It is difficult, per¬
haps, to point out at what precise period the former school
of poetry ends and the latter begins ; they melt into each
other like the colours of the rainbow. But the character
of the two schools, taken in the mass, is very different; for,
in place of the tender, thrilling, amatory spirit of the Min¬
nesingers, the great object of the poetical craftsmen who
succeeded them was to give a didactic and philosophical
air to their compositions, and to substitute for fancy and
feeling commonplace truisms and moral aphorisms. One
work only of this period deserves notice, not indeed on ac¬
count of its high poetry, but of its shrewdness, its effective
satire, and its invention, the comic epic, as it may be called,
of Reynard the Fox, the groundwork of which no doubt
existed before in other countries; but the novelty of the
treatment of the subject by the German or Frisiac writer,
and the great superiority of its execution, entitle it to the
character of an original work.
From the close of the fifteenth to the middle of the
eighteenth century, a dreary blank intervenes in the poe¬
tical annals of Germany. Bouterwek has indeed devoted
more than a volume of his valuable work to this period;
but, whatever interest the minute detail of second-rate
names may have for Germans, there is certainly little oi
nothing calculated to awaken the least interest in the fo¬
reign reader. The effects of the Thirty Years’ War were
felt in Germany, paralysing science, general culture, and
the spirit of poetry, up to the time of the peace of W est-
phalia. Opitz and Flemming are the only poets who rise
above the dead-level of the mediocrity of the time. Opitz
was a great importer from other countries, many of his
poetical consignments being derived from Holland. Yet,
though not a man of original mind, his strong good sense,
a sincere honesty of mind, and a patriotic inspiration, ren¬
der his poetry even now readable; though probably few
are disposed to concur with F. Schlegel in preferring his
style to that of Klopstock. Flemming is an inferior poet
to Opitz, and yet perhaps his poetry is more interesting,
precisely because it is more personal; because it lets us
into the secret of his feelings, his friendships, and attach¬
ments. Hoffmanswaldau and Lohenstein enjoy the evil
distinction of having corrupted, by the most false and fan¬
tastic taste, that poetry which was already but too destitute
of any great pretensions. We ought, however, to make an
exception in favour of Paul Gerhard (1606-1676), whose
religious poetry is of a very high order of merit. Deeply
pious and enthusiastic, the spirit of adoration breathes
throughout his hymns, which are still most popular, and are
justly regarded as masterpieces of their kind. The period
from 1648 to nearly 1750 is characterized by Schlegel as
the age of barbarism,—a chaotic interregnum in the history
of German literature. Poetry existed in no other shape
than that of feeble imitations of the French, profuse of my¬
thology, penurious of feeling, destitute of nationality.
“Apollo,” says Menzel, “sat on the German Parnassus in
a full-bottomed peruke, and, with fiddle in hand, led the
concert of the well-powdered Muses.”
POE
Poetry. When at last the German Muse began to arouse her-
V ^ v / self from her torpor, and to “ awake a louder and a loftier
Klopstock. strain,” she received no countenance from royal patronage.
P " The great Frederick despised and disliked the literature of
his countrymen, and seemed to think there was no hope for
poetry save in a slavish adherence to the spirit and the
rules of the French. If Klopstock (1 / OS—1803) had done
nothing more than awaken the feeling of nationality by his
poetry, and teach his countrymen that, in the free and in¬
dependent cultivation of their own genius, and the selection
of their own themes, lay their only chance of redeeming
Germany from the state of torpor into which its poetry had
fallen, he would have conferred an inestimable service on
its literature. With the Messiah, Schlegel thinks the mo¬
dern poetry of Germany may be said to have begun, so
great have been the benefits which it has conferred in re¬
gard to style and expression, as well as in the spirit of na¬
tionality and religious feeling which it imparted to the
poetry by which it was succeeded. The plan, indeed, la¬
bours under great and insuperable defects. The mind of
Klopstock was but ill suited to the epic; it was eminently
lyrical and elegiac. Nor can it be denied that there is a
degree of rhetorical pomp and long-windedness about his
style, which becomes frequently oppressive, and communi¬
cates an air of pedantry to his poem. Still, Klopstock has
exercised an important and beneficent influence upon Ger¬
man literature ; he taught his country its own strength, and
freed it at once and for ever from the leading strings of
foreign authority.
Wieland. Wieland (1733-1813) is more French in character than
Klopstock, or rather he blends the luxurious and somewhat
licentious spirit of the Italian romantic poets with that
tone of gay and heartless philosophy which the example of
Voltaire had introduced into French literature ; and yet,
withal, he is no mere imitator, but possesses a decided in¬
dividuality in his later and better works, and even a truly
German spirit. The tendency towards the imitation of the
French appears, however, chiefly in the earlier productions
of his romantic muse, such as the Idris and Zenide, the
New Amadis, and others, in which he has assailed with such
persevering satire the Platonism of love. As he advanced
in life, he began to entertain better views; he grew dis¬
satisfied with that epicurism which he had incidcated as
the basis of conduct, and that licentious gaiety which he
had made the mainspring of his poetry; and in his Oberon
he endeavoured to make amends for the levity with which he
had treated the better feelings of the heart, by those charm¬
ing pictures of conjugal love, true constancy, and chivalrous
heroism, which, combined with the beauty of the descrip¬
tions, and the pure and simple flow of the style, have ren¬
dered the Oberon the only successful effort in later times
to revive the tones of that Italian harp which has slumbered
since the days of Ariosto.
Gessner. Gessner (1783-1788) belongs tothisperiod. His Eclogues
at one time enjoyed great popularity ; and he has certainly
in some of them, such as the First Navigation, displayed
fancy and invention. But he deals in a species of poetry
too remote from actual life ; and there is a sort of sheepish
modesty about his shepherds, and French coquetry about
his nymphs and shepherdesses, which communicate some¬
thing of a ludicrous character to his Arcadia.
bossing. The fame of Lessing (1721-1781) must rest more upon
his vigorous, transparent, logical, and delightful prose style,
than upon his poetry. His dramas, with the exception of
Nathan the Wise, are written in prose; and the style of
Nathan scarcely rises above the conversational pitch, though
its Brahmin-like simplicity of tone, and the air of mild and
tolerant wisdom which pervades it, leave a pleasing impres¬
sion on the memory.
The two greatest names in German literature succeed,—
namely, Schiller (1759*1805) and Goethe (1749-1832).
TRY. H9
Of their dramas we have spoken elsewhere. Schiller, how- Poetry,
ever, though greatest as a dramatist, is entitled to nearly ^
equal eminence as a lyric poet. His odes, his short poems, Schiller,
mingling so much philosophy with so much feeling ; his Goethe.’
charming ballads, pitched on every key, from the simpli¬
city of the Toggenburg and the Fridolin to the rude force
of the Diver ; the fine chivalrous and devotional tone of the
fight with the dragon, and the classic finish of the com¬
plaint of Ceres or the cranes of Ibycus ; would alone have
been sufficient to place him second only to Goethe, had
he never written William Tell, or the Maid of Orleans, or
Wallenstein. In one particular he must rank far higher
than Goethe: in the elevated aim which he always had in
view ; the attainment of noble ends by noble means; the
rendering poetry what it always ought to be, not a mere
specimen of plastic ingenuity, but something by which the
soul feels itself refined and the heart made better. Flis
enthusiasm—impetuous, and yet tender and affectionate—
clothed all the universe, moral and material, with forms of
grandeur, and gave to all he uttered the stamp of purity
and truth. “ His greatest faculty,” says the most eloquent
of his biographers, “ was a half poetical, half philosophical
imagination, a faculty teeming wfith magnificence and bril¬
liancy ; now adorning or aiding to erect a stately pyramid
of scientific speculation, now brooding over the abysses of
thought and feeling, till thoughts and feelings else unut¬
terable were embodied in expressive forms, and palaces
and landscapes, glowing in ethereal beauty, rose like exha¬
lations from the bosom of the deep.”
Of Goethe we have already so very fully expressed our
opinion that we shall not again enter upon the subject.
(See Goethe.)
Ludwig Tieck is entitled to rank next to Schiller and Tieck.
Goethe. He may be considered as the head of the modern
romantic in opposition to the classical school, delighting to
let his imagination wander through the regions of mediaeval
fable and legend, and out of the material so gathered con¬
structing edifices, airy indeed, and unsubstantial, but glowing
like the clouds at sunset. His Genoveva and Fortunatus
are splendid specimens of what has been termed the dra¬
matic romance ; and in some of the shorter pieces contained
in his Phantasus there is much sprightliness and genial
humour. As a translator of Shakspeare, he has won a high
reputation both in his own country and in England. Lud¬
wig Uhland (born 1787) has cultivated ballad poetry with Uhland.
more success than any recent author of Germany, and may
be regarded as the most notable instance of the modern
minstrel. It is true that he seldom or never rises to the
heroic pitch, being somewhat deficient in energy. He
cannot imitate the sound of battle or the clash of arms ; but
in the expression of the softer emotions he is eminently
successful, and the flow of his versification is exceedingly
graceful and melodious. The early fate of Theodore
Koerner (1791-1813) has invested his writings with perhaps Koerner.
more interest than they intrinsically deserve. Yet it must
be acknowledged that some of his lyrics exhibit much fire
and enthusiasm, though the diction is occasionally extrava¬
gant. Franz Grillparzer, a Viennese poet, has composed Grillpar
some admirable dramatic pieces, the finest of which un¬
doubtedly is King Ottocar, a noble historical tragedy, which
may rank after the Wallenstein of Schiller. Wilhelm
Muller’s Songs of the Greeks are among the finest efforts Muller,
of German poetry. Instinct with the true fire of enthu¬
siasm, they are boldly conceived, and expressed with a nerve
and energy strongly contrasting with the more feeble note
and subdued diction of the recent poets, none of whom, if
we except Ferdinand Freiligrath, seem to possess that in¬
spiration without which verse is monotonous and tame.
Ruckert and Count von Auersperg, better known by the Ruckert,
poetical pseudonym of Anastasius Griin, have achieved con- Auersperg.
eiderable reputations, but they are only to be regarded as
120
Poetry.
English
Poetry.
Chaucer.
POE
minor poets ; and it is questionable whether their writings
will maintain more than a temporary celebrity. From this
sketch it would be wrong to exclude Adam Oehlenschliiger
the Dane, whose beautiful dramas of Coreggio and Aladdin
are familiar to the English reader through the spirited
translations of Mr Theodore Martin.
It is not our intention to enter into any minute details
as to English poetry, with which we shall conclude the pre¬
sent sketch. Since we have already noticed, under separate
heads, most of the individuals by whom it was adorned, we
shall merely attempt to indicate generally the directions
taken by poetical taste at different periods of our annals.
Even prior to the Norman conquest, we know from Wil¬
liam of Malmesbury that England, like all the Gothic na¬
tions, had been possessed by a large mass of ballads, written
in Anglo-Saxon, though, as no fragments of these remain,
we know nothing of their poetical merit. This earlier min¬
strelsy must soon have sunk into discredit, or been entirely
suppressed by the Norman conquest.
The English language, as it now exists, grew out of the
mixture of”the Anglo-Saxon with the Norman, and seems
to have acquired a complete form by the middle of the
thirteenth century. In 1297 we have the Rhyming Chro¬
nicle of Robert of Gloucester, the first undoubted composi¬
tion in the English tongue.
From the Norman conquest to the time of Edward III.,
the literature and poetry of England consists of little else
than translations from, or imitations of, the Norman romances
and chronicles ; and, judging from the ridicule with which
they have been assailed by Chaucer in his Rhyme of Sir
Thopas, they must have been of slender merit, since they
are represented as shocking the taste, of course not parti¬
cularly refined, of the host of the I abard. 1 he distance,^
at all events, which separates all our English versifiers of
this period from Chaucer (born 1328, died 1406) is such
as justly to entitle him to the honour of being the first of
English poets, the sun that “flames in the forehead of the
modern sky,” throwing out a splendour that showed at
once his own lustre and the dreary wastes that spread far
and wide towards the literary horizon.
Much of Chaucer’s time, however, was wasted in the
school of those French allegorical poets, whose romances
were at one time so influential in Europe. In fact nearly
half his life, as Mr Campbell remarks, was passed amongst
the dreams, emblems, flower-worshippings, and courts and
parliaments of love, of that visionary and tiresome school.
He was fifty-four years of age before he commenced the
Canterbury Tales, in which alone the peculiarities of his
genius, its originality, and its extent, can be said to be
completely manifested. This late discovery of the true
bent of his powers is singular ; for Chaucer appears pecu¬
liarly marked out as the poet, not of mysticism and allegory,
but of clear observation of life and of practical aims. In
the Canterbury Tales, which were obviously suggested by
the influence of Boccacio’s Decameron, he first found full
scope for the display of the various qualities of his mind,
and of that mass of real knowledge of life with which his
experience of society in all its aspects, high and low, from
the palace to the cottage, at home and abroad, had supplied
his mind. His clear observation, and corresponding power
of clear painting, giving the most vivid picturesqueness to
all his delineations ; his quiet and unobtrusive humour ; his
satirical power, at once forcible and delicate (a combination
peculiarly rare in that stage of struggling and imperfect
civilization); his imagination sufficiently elevated, yet al¬
ways regulated by good sense ; a cheerful contented tone
of feeling, which makes hirn impartial towards all the world ;
a power either of creating character, or of so artfully and
harmoniously putting together the result of his actual
studies of men as to give to these all the free and natural
T R Y.
effect of a creation ; all these qualities found fit scope for Poetry,
their exercise in the broad varied canvas he selected,
which, by means of its ingenious framework of a pilgr image
embracing persons ol both sexes and of all lanks, and enli¬
vened by”tales told to relieve the tedium of the way, ad¬
mitted equally of the comic and the tragic, the high and
low; themes of chivalry and mythology, like the Knight’s
Tale ; tales of wonder, blending oriental marvels with the
romance of the West, like the Squire’s ; or stories of Eng¬
lish low life, like the Miller’s or the Reve’s. The versatility
of talent, indeed, displayed in the Canterbury Tales is
astonishing; and, as in the case of his Italian rival Boc-
cacio, it is" difficult to say whether it is in the comic or the
tragic that Chaucer most excels.
In invention, so far as regards incident, the English poet
and the Italian novelist may be placed nearly on a par.
The woodland freshness and beauty of Chaucer’s forest
scenes may be equalled by the charming country landscapes
in which Boccacio places his interlocutors; but in power
of characteristic delineation, particularly by those minute
strokes of Dutch painting which present the exterior of
objects, or those happily-selected traits which at once mark
the individual, Boccacio cannot sustain the least comparison
with the father of English poetry. He has many faults,
but they are the faults of his age,—the faults of coarseness
of taste and manners, of inartificial plans, of prolixity of
style,—the natural errors to which the infancy of poetry,
destitute of models, and struggling with an unformed lan¬
guage, was exposed. Against these must be placed the
advantages of a vocabulary in which words are pictures, of
subjects of description, unhackneyed, and bright with aH
their primitive freshness ; the wisdom or grave humour ot
the philosophic observer blending most cunningly with the
bonhommie and the garrulous graces of the narrator; an
easy abandon, both as to matter and manner, which has its
charm, however little reconcilable with the more artificial
treatment which criticism would suggest; nature painted
without exaggeration, as without disguise ; and withal that
feeling of unity imparted to the whole which makes the
most discordant elements unite in kindly harmony, and
which is never found except in the productions of the
highest minds.
The appearance of Chaucer in English poetry has been
well compared by Warton to the early appearance of a
bright and genial day in an English spring ; exciting the
brighter hopes of a speedy and balmy summer,—hopes
which are almost immediately blasted by the return of frost
and tempest, and the settling down of winter, as bleak and
blighting as before. In English poetry that effect was pro¬
duced by the disastrous period of the wars of the Roses.
From the time of Chaucer, almost to that of Spenser,
certainly no progress is made ; or rather, if the language in
some degree advances, the spirit of poetry retrogrades.
Gower was his contemporary; Lydgate followed immediately
after him ; but they belong, so far as regards poetical genius,
nay even poetical dexterity, to a previous century. In
truth, the first introduction of learning into England appears
to have been unfavourable to poetry, giving rise to pedantic
imitation in place of independent efforts of genius,—a tend¬
ency which, indeed, to some extent, is visible even in the
finest poetry of the Elizabethan period. Strangely enough,
the hiatus which here occurs in English poetry was supplied
by the nascent genius of Scottish writers, several of whom
displayed no ordinary degree of accomplishment. The first
of these in rank and time was James I. of Scotland, who,
during his imprisonment in Windsor, is supposed to have
studied and profited by the works of Chaucer. His prin¬
cipal poem, the King’s Quhair, is composed in a dialect
more refined than that spoken by his subjects, and contains
many passages of real merit. His worthy successor was
Robert Henryson, a moral and didactic poet, whose descrip-
Poetry.
Age of Eli¬
zabeth.
Spenser.
FOE
tions from nature are eminently beautiful. After him came
Dunbar, who, in humour and power of character-painting-,
greatly surpasses Gower, and approaches to Chaucer. The
poems of Surrey, and Wyatt, and Sackville, who followed
during the reign of Henry VTII., can be regarded only as
proofs that the love of poetry had not ceased to exist, and
that in some shape, however rude, its voice was struggling
to make itself heard in that calmer and more settled state
of the political atmosphere which had followed the union
of the rival houses in the persons of Henry VII. and Eliza¬
beth of York.
But when Spenser arose to enrich English literature
with another great work of original genius, many causes,
which had probably at first acted unfavourably for the
progress of poetry, were beginning to exercise a more sa¬
lutary operation. The Reformation, which had at first
produced tumult, bloodshed, and wide-extended distress,
by the suppression of those great hospitals, the monasteries,
was now beginning to bring forth its better fruits, in the
shape of a free and inquiring spirit, carried into all depart¬
ments of thought and imagination. That acquaintance
with the treasures of ancient learning, or the classic poetry
of modern Italy, which had at first tended to overpower
and confuse the national mind, was now turned to better
account; it had insensibly refined the taste, and made the
purest models of preceding times familiar to the poet and
the scholar. The spirit of chivalry, still lingering in the
English character, had been aroused into new and active
existence by the triumphs which had attended the national
arms during the reign of Elizabeth. A love of adventure
had been generated by the frequent expeditions into remote
countries and climes, as to which, in that imperfect state of
geographical and physical knowledge, marvels were believed
as incredible as any that figure in the pages of Sir John
Mandeville. There was, in short, at this period, a remark¬
able union in the English character of the sober qualities
of strong intellect with deep convictions and high imagina¬
tion,—a character which manifests itself in every department
both of poetry and literature.
Born in this happy period, and educated under such in¬
fluences, Spenser (1510-1598) produced his great poem of
the Fairy Queen. Familiar with Italian literature, as well
as with the best learning of antiquity, it was from the works
of Ariosto and lasso that he had derived his bent towards
chivalrous poetry. But the deeper earnestness of his cha¬
racter prevented him from treating his subject with the
levity of Ariosto. Chivalry was to him a principle of faith,
a part of religion, not the mere fantastic framework in which
successive pageants of love and war, or luxurious description,
were to be inclosed. In England it had not assumed that
outworn and almost comic air which it wore when Ariosto
first took up the entangled threads of Boiardo. It had still
a vital influence on society, and ran like a thread of silver
tissue through the coarser web of life. Nay, even the reli¬
gious spirit in which Tasso had conceived the Jerusalem
scarcely satisfied the mind of Spenser. He would render
every incident which he described a step in some high
argument or moral demonstration ; every character the
embodied representation of some virtue and vice ; all the
visions of imagination subservient to the cause of religion.
He would enlist all the restless and excursive intellect and
adventurous feelings of an ardent and romantic age under
the banner of purity and goodness :—
“ That with the glory of so goodly sight,
The hearts of men that fondly here desire
Faire seeming shews, and feed on vain delight,
Transported with celestial desire
Of those fair forms, may lift themselves up higher,
And learn to love, with zealous humble duty, ’
Th’ eternal fountain of that heavenly beauty.”
And so deeply does this principle pervade his poems that
VOL. xvm.
T R Y. 121
whilst wandering among the scenes of enchantment with Poetry,
which he surrounds us in that spiritual region to which he '
gives the name of Fairy Land, we can never forget that
they have a spell beyond their first outward significance,
nor be insensible to that still small voice of piety and wis¬
dom which speaks through all those creations of his genius,
and whispers that the place whereon we are standing is
holy ground.
It must be admitted, however, that if this under-current
of allegory gives a degree of solemnity and moral grandeur
to Spenser’s poem, its effects in other respects are unfa¬
vourable. It does occasionally interfere with the natural
movements of the imagination, gives a formal and meta¬
physical air to the conceptions of the poet, and, by render¬
ing the characters abstractions of moral qualities, impairs
their individuality as human beings. So far, the injurious
effect of Spenser’s allegorical plan can hardly be denied ;
but it is absurd to speak of the allegory in Spenser being
so obtrusive and continuous as altogether to destroy the
interest of the poem as a representation of romantic life.
1 he fact is quite different. Occasionally, no doubt, in the
personifications of Envy or Pride, or the siege of the Castle
of Temperance, in which the barriers of hearing, sense,
smell, taste, and touch are represented as successively
assailed by troops of monsters from without, the allegory is
too prominent; but assuredly it sinks entirely out of view,
and is perceived only on subsequent reflection, in the deep
human interest of all the finer passages of the poem, such
as the remorse of the Red Cross Knight; his temptation
by Despair; the wanderings of Una, with her angel face
“ making a sunshine in the shady place Guyon’s visit to
the cave of Mammon, and his trial in the gardens of
Acrasia; the combat of Cambel with the three brothers ;
or the many other passages which must be impressed upon
the memory of every reader.
An extreme sensibility, almost amounting to a luxurious
love of beauty, a flush of colour in his descriptions, which
has led Mr Campbell to compare him to Rubens, and a
fancy of the most remarkable exuberance, are the leading
qualities of Spenser’s mind. In this prodigality of fancy,
indeed, lies at once the strength and the weakness of
Spenser; for while it infuses life into all his pictures, mak¬
ing the plumes of Prince Arthur wave like the almond-
tree on the top of Selinis ; or the face of Britomart, when
she raises her vizor, like the moon breaking forth in dark¬
some night from behind the noisome cloud in which she
was enveloped; so, on the other hand, it leads him occa¬
sionally to revel in images and traits which are painful, or
even physically revolting, such as the portrait of Gluttony,
the loathsome vomit of Envy, or the minute description of
the operation of Diet and Appetite, Concoction and Diges¬
tion, with some other inmates of Castle Temperance. His
fancy may indeed be compared to the Nile in its over¬
flow, disdaining the confinement of banks, and spreading
around a luxuriance of soil, alike productive of the flower
and the weed.
In the portraiture of the allegorical beings introduced,
Spenser is admitted to be without a rival. In his hand
they almost cease to be mere abstractions of good and
evil qualities, so life-like is the form in which they are pre¬
sented, so picturesque the garb and accompaniments with
which they are invested, so natural the gestures, actions,
and occupations attributed to them. They appear the
natural inhabitants of this realm of enchantment, raised
as it is many degrees above the level of reality, bright in
the near ground, with the sunniest tints of fancy, and fad¬
ing away in the distance into the most aerial and heavenly
hues.
The language of Spenser seems to be steeped in music;
he is the greatest master of the difficult art of employing
alliteration with success; his versification unites in * the
Q
122
Poetry.
POETRY.
highest degree melody with majesty. It is formed on the
principle of the Italian ottava rima ; but, by the addition
of the Alexandrine, it possesses a sonorous grandeui in
the close which the Italian stanza wants. “It has not,
says Mr Hazlitt, “the bold dramatic transitions of bhak-
speare’s blank verse, nor the high varied tone ot Milton s ;
but it is the perfection of harmony, dissolving the soul in
pleasure, or holding it captive in the chains of suspense.
Spenser is the poet of our waking dreams ; and he invente
not only a language, but a music of his own for them. ie
modulations are infinite, like those of the waves of the sea;
but the effect is still the same, lulling the senses into a
deep oblivion of all the jarring noises of the world.
In the hands of Spenser, the allegorical form appears in¬
vested with all the brightest colours of the fancy. In the
works of most of his contemporaries it appears lifeless an 1
pedantic. No stronger instance can be shown of the tend¬
ency of imitators to copy the faults rather than the e
lences of their master than is exhibited in the Purple
Island of Phineas Fletcher. That poem, avowedly com¬
posed on the model of the Fairy Queen, with good diction
and some choice imagery, is utterly intolerable fiom the
absurdity of its allegorical conception. It is neither moi e
nor less than an attempt to ethereahze anatomy, and to
strew the flowers of fancy over the grim realities ot the dis-
sectino--table. A disagreeable mixture of stilted expres¬
sion and false learning blends with and alloys most of the
poetry of the time. It deforms the otherwise noble lines
of Sir John Davies, and renders Silvester unreadable. Shak-
speare is not free from it; for it was deeply inwoven with
the national taste of the time, and showed itself in the
lanfua^e of ordinary conversation no less than in poetry.
Yet it Ts delightful to find the greatest dramatist also the
greatest lyrical poet of his age; for, after Spenser, what
work of that time will bear the least comparison with Shak-
speare’s sonnets? Sonnets they are not, in the strict sense ;
but for condensation of imagery, for natural thoughts, cloth¬
ing themselves in the aptest expressions either of majesty
oAnelody, without any redundance of expletives, or rank
luxuriance of epithets, they leave Petrarch and his imi¬
tators at a distance. A singular grace, and even dreamy
beauty, surprises us in the masques of Ben Jonson, because
it contrasts so strangely with the otherwise hard and satur¬
nine turn of his mind. A few gems, amidst much that is
coarse or quaint or indifferent, may be gleaned from the
pages of Herrick ; power and vigour, mixed with sectarian
gloom, and deformed by extreme ruggedness of versifica¬
tion, are visible in Quarles. The rise of satire appears in
the works of Hall and Donne, of pastoral in Brown ; while
sacred poetry finds no unworthy representatives in Giles
Fletcher and Crawshaw. A lighter and gayer taste, a more
level but natural expression, shows itself in the composi¬
tions of the cavalier poets of the court of Charles I., in the
graceful little airs and verses of Carew, Lovelace, Davenant,
and Suckling. In particular, to them we are indebted for
some of the best of the few good songs we possess in Eng¬
lish,—witness the “ He that loves a rosy cheek of Carew,
and the song written by Lovelace during his confinement
in Westminster, “ When love with unconfined wings hoveis
within my gates.” To Denham and Waller, particularly
the latter, have been ascribed by Johnson the glory of
improving our English numbers. It would be more just
to say that they had the good sense to perceive the im¬
portance of this element of poetry, as Spenser had done,
while their contemporaries too much neglected it. Almost
all the poets above mentioned have been classed by John¬
son under the title of the metaphysical poets, a title of
doubtful application as to any of them, but which, if it be
applicable to Cowley, whom he considers their chief, can
scarcely be very accurate when applied to Suckling and
Waller. Cowley is simply a poet in whom the fancy, while
it is teeming and fertile, is seldom warmed by passion or Poetry,
directed by judgment; whose miscellaneous learning op- v'—
presses and buries his taste ; and who therefore wearies us
even at the moment he impresses us with the consciousness
of his great resources and his mental powers. change
A great change in the character and spirit of poetry fob Change
lowed the convulsions which closed abruptly the reign ofP vil
the first Charles. The poetry of that court leant towards^
the elegant, the romantic, the fanciful, the brilliant, and
witty ; but the stronger passions which had been awakened,
the deeper interests which had been put in hazard, by the
civil war, had soon impressed a character of solemnity on
all literature, and made poetry itself, following the fashion
of the time, assume a polemical, ascetic, sometimes mysti¬
cal, yet grand and enthusiastic character. In those whose
tastes were formed only after the change, this polemical
character, and this proscription of certain subjects or asso¬
ciations to which Puritanism led, would probably have
damped the wing and narrowed the flight of imagination;
and accordingly, no great poet appears to have been reared
fn that rigid and prosaic school. But the tastes of Milton,
the great poet of this period, had all been formed in an age
and a school more favourable to the exercise of the ima¬
ginative powers; his exquisite lyrics, and his Comus, had
already been written before he visited Italy in 1638, at the
very time when Carew, and Suckling, and Davenant were
in the height of their popularity and reputation. Ere his
great epic poem appeared, he had witnessed and deeply
shared in the agitating struggle which had ended in the
temporary subversion of the monarchy, and the stern but
imposing despotism of Cromwell; and thus educated in the
former period, and as yet witnessing the best bloom and
flush of the latter, he united the chivalrous recollections of
the Elizabethan age, and the classic associations with which
his early education had filled his mind, with the enthusiasm
of principle and intensity of will which characterized the
men of the Parliament. Milton represents more vividly
than any other the wide sweep and overpowering force of
those political and religious sentiments which agitated the
age; for all his earlier leanings w'ere visibly directed to¬
wards the romantic and gorgeous associations of the past,
towards the pride and pomp ot chivalry, the well-trod stage,
the throngs of knights and barons bold, the stateliness of
feudal castles, the solemnity of minsters, the pomp of tour¬
naments, the peal of organs, and the dim religious light of
painted windows. Such was the poet ot Lycidas, of Co¬
mus, of the Allegro, and the Penseroso, the two most per¬
fect gems of contemplative lyric poetry of which Britain
has to boast; and yet we see these tastes abandoned or
repressed as he advances in life and in party spirit, till at
last he views them only as unnatural corruptions ot primi¬
tive liberty and simplicity. Still, with Milton, though a
taint of bigotry pervades his views, everything is pure, high-
minded and disinterested. “ Nought he does in hate, but
all in honour.” He stands at an immense distance from the
sect to whom he had allied himselt, but with whom, aftei
all, he had little in common. In no one does poetry more
conspicuously appear a part of religion. He regards it as a
sacred trust, not to be sacrificed on the altar ot vanity, nol
to be purchased for a price, not to be applied to any un¬
worthy or even trifling end :—
“ Driving far off each thing of sin and guilt,
And in clear dream and solemn vision
Telling of things which no gross ear can hear;
Till oft converse with heavenly habitants
Begin to cast a beam on the outer shape,
The unpolluted temple of the mind,
And turn it by degrees to the soul’s essence,
Till all be made immortal.”
It would be absurd, at the present day, to enter on any
formal criticism of his great work of Paradise Lost, the
POETRY. 123
Poetry, most original, if not the most successful, of modern epics, the laborious and tesselated imitations of Mason and Gray. Poetry.
About no poem perhaps are opinions more agreed; every On the other hand, he was the first writer under whose ^ ^
one feels its sustained loftiness, combined with so much of skilful management the scientific vocabulary fell into natural
tenderness, in the scenes of Eden, but always suggesting and pleasing verse. In this department he succeeded as
the idea of effort and labour,—the wonderful art with which completely as his contemporary Gibbons succeeded in the
learning itself is rendered poetical in his hands; for even the similar enterprise of carving the most delicate flowers from
visions of mythology and the fantastical traditions of chi- heart of oak. The toughest and most knotty parts of lan-
valry are made to heighten the effect of a sacred poem guage became ductile at his touch. His versification, in
dealing with the mystery of the fall of man ; and, lastly, the same manner, while it gave the first model of that neat-
the consummate artifice of the versification, which, as Haz- ness and precision which the followinggeneration esteemed
litt remarks, seems to float up and down, as if on wings. so highly, exhibited at the same time the last examples of
Butler. Milton represents the more imposing side of the Puri- nobleness, freedom, variety of pause, and cadence.”1
tans, and he is almost the solitary poet of whom they can Pope is the last great writer of that school of poetry, the Pope
boast. The other side of their character, their hypocrisy, poetry of the intellect, or rather of the intellect mingled
and their narrow and coarse tastes, are exposed in the with the fancy, which occupies the period from the Re-
merciless and consummately clever Hudibras of Butler, storation to the close of the eighteenth century. In Dry-
1 hat poem is now, no doubt, in a great measure obsolete, den’s satires and miscellaneous poems we perceive the
like every application of poetry to the exposure of the pe- reasoning poetry brought to its perfection, as far as regards
culiarities or vices of a particular age; yet its masculine vigour of conception and force of expression. In these
vigour, its condensation of thought, and its wit, entitle respects nothing remained to be added. But Pope pos-
Butler to a very high rank among the broad humourists of sessed that quick tact and intuitive discernment, both of
poetry. . the range and limit of his own powers, and also of the taste
Dryden. from the oppressive wit and subtlety of Cowley and his of the age, which showed him the solitary direction in
fellows it is delightful to turn to the manliness, the com- which, so far as regarded this philosophic and critical school
mon-sense, the long-resounding march and energy di- of poetry, there yet remained an opening for himself. He
vine, of Dryden, who marks the point of transition from felt that the qualities of his mind did not fit him to surpass,
the metaphysical poetry to the critical. He had himself and scarcely to contend on equal terms, with Dryden, so
in youth been strongly influenced by the prevailing taste far as regarded grasp or force ; but he conceived that, in
for conceits ; and it must be admitted that in the greater the way of polish, refinement, grace, and choice of expres-
part of his dramatic writings this taint clings to him to the sion, something yet remained to be done, and that some-
last. As a dramatist, indeed, we can admire in him no- thing he was able to afford. Selecting, by a natural
thing but the nerve and vigour of his dialogue, and that preference, themes of a moral and didactic rather than
power of reasoning in verse in which he so much excelled, passionate character, adopting the idea, that everything
111 ^1S other works, such as the Absalom and Achito- should be polished to the highest pitch, and that artifice
phel, he threw aside this rage for conceits; he was natural, was the fundamental principle of poetry, that artifice, he
transparent, vigorous; his illustrations, instead of being thought, could hardly be carried too far; and, accordingly,
sought for, as in the case of Cowley, on account of their with Pope we find habitual that attention to words which
remoteness and apparent inaptitude, are such as at once is only occasional with Dryden. If in Dryden we per-
adorn and elucidate, and are felt to be close and familiar ceive a tendency to substitute logic and reflection for
without being common. High imagination he did not pos- feeling, to exhibit pictures of conventional and artificial
sess, and for his purpose it was scarcely needed. He has, rather than of general nature, and to borrow his illustra-
in fact, scarcely written a line which is pathetic, and few tions much oftener from science and art than from natural
that can be considered sublime. Yet in fancy he was not objects, this tendency appears still more decided and uni-
dehcient, for it supplies him with inexhaustible imagery ; form in Pope, who is pre-eminently the poet of a period
is Ode shows that he could be raised at times into a true of high intellectual culture and limited poetical sensibi-
lyrical enthusiasm, whilst his judgment rarely fails him ex- lities,—the poet who wrought to its last perfection the pure
cept indeed in those bombastic plays which he had framed but limited vein which this contemplative and preceptive
by jumbling together an imbroglio of two inconsistent mo- style of poetry afforded. After Dryden nothing new could
renc.^ sc^?0^ borrowed his rhymes have been achieved for this style of poetry save what has
and his affectation of sentiment, and the Spanish, to which been done by Pope; and what he attempted he perfected,
le was indebted for the exaggeration of his passionate scenes It is indeed impossible to award to him a rank in poetry
and the complexity of his plots. Had he known nothing of of the same kind with that which had been occupied by
1 been left to form himself on the model of Spenser, our Miltons, Spensers, and Shakspeares. In the highest
an i ton, and Shakspeare, and in a less artificial state of departments of poetry, the epic and dramatic, he has at-
society, he might at least have avoided the gross want of tempted nothing. In the lyrical he has failed. In trans¬
nature evinced in these rhyming plays, though we can lation his example has tended to corrupt the national taste,
larc y persuade ourselves that, by any process of tuition, he and to substitute a glittering, false, and metaphrastical
cou ever have become a great dramatist. “ The general version for a true translation. His forte is essentially the
soundness and healthfulness of his mental constitution, his didactic and satirical ; moral instruction or censure en-
in ormation, of vast superficies though of small volume ; forced with all the charms or all the point of which such
is wit, scarcely inferior to that of the most distinguished subjects are susceptible. Within that range he has never
o owers of Donne; his eloquence, grave, deliberative, and yet found his equal; for to the logical and reasoning power
commanding, could not save him from disgraceful failure and condensation of Dryden and of Boileau, he adds at
a*pr.Iva °f Shakspeare, but raised him far above the level times, as in his Rape of the Lock, an excursiveness and
o odeau. His command of language was immense. With brilliancy of fancy—a compact strength with perfect har-
im died the secret of the old poetical diction of England, mony—a quiet, graceful, continuous humour, altogether
ie ait of producing rich effects by familiar words. In the without parallel. Yet, whilst speaking of the harmony of
o owing century it was as completely lost as the Gothic his versification, it must be added that he carried this prin-
metl°b 01 Pa>Rting glass, and was but poorly supplied by ciple to excess; that his system of terminating the sense
1 Edinburgh Review.
124
POETRY.
Poetry.
Prior.
Adilison,
Swift.
Thomson.
Goldsmith.
invariably with the line, and his pauses, placed almost
always on the fourth or sixth syllable, led to a monotony
the most painful when contrasted with the varied pauses
and lines flowing into each other, which were so happily
employed by our elder writers; and that, finally, in regaid
to rhymes, Pope, though he was singularly limited as to
range, was even within that range far from correct.
“ The best,” says an eminent critic, “ of what we
copied from the continental school is copied in the lightei
pieces of Prior. That tone of polite raillery, that airy,
rapid, picturesque narrative, mixed up of wit and naivete,
that style, in short, of good conversation, concentrated
into flowing and. polished verses, was not within the vein
of our native poets, and probably never would have been
known among us, if we had been left to our own resources.
It is lamentable that this, which alone was worth borrow¬
ing is the only thing which has not been retained. 1 he
tales and little apologues of Prior are still the only examples
of this style in our language.”
As we advance through the eighteenth century, we per¬
ceive that the critical school of poetry had evidently attained
its perfection in Pope, and was destined, at no distant
period, to sink into mere prose, disguised under the ap¬
pearance of verse. At least, after Pope, there is a visible
decline, until the appearance of the first germs of a new
taste, with which the intellect had less to do, whilst the
feelings obtained a more decided supremacy.
Addison’s poetry is so flat, and cold, and destitute or
imagination, that, ‘but for the exquisite grace and refined
taste of his prose works, it would not now' be mentioned ;
and Swift, though a most clever versifier, and endowed wuh
no ordinary talents for libel in the shape of epigram or satire,
can hardly, by any stretch of favour, be regarded as a poet.
The first symptoms of the change which had been gra¬
dually going on appears in the return to a taste for simple
instead of artificial nature; for as yet the revival of strong
feeling or passion would have met with no sympathetic
feeling on the part of the public. In Ihomson aie to be
traced the first symptoms of the reviving taste for the
“simple-natural.” True it is, his field is limited. When
he attempts narrative, when he indulges in properly di¬
dactic poetry, his style appears cumbrous, and his ideas
commonplace enough. “Liberty” says Dr Johnson,^ when
it first appeared, Ttried to read, and soon desisted.” Few
at the present day wdll even make the trial. But when he
comes to deal with the matters w'hich lie within his proper
sphere, and are congenial to his quiet, contemplative, and
indolent turn of mind, he is an original and a striking poet.
We must never forget, in speaking of Thomson at the pre¬
sent day, that his poem was the first of its kind, and even
yet, like Milton’s Eve, it is the fairest of its daughters.
Even now we must admire the painter-like skill with which,
in his rural descriptions, he selects his point of view, the
art with which he seizes the characteristic, and drops the
less marked features of the landscape ; the infinite variety
of little circumstances connected with animate and inani¬
mate nature, unnoticed by his predecessors, but which his
quick tact detects and sets before our eyes; the soft, bland,
Claude-like glow which he spreads over all he touches; the
spirit of love and benevolence, and philanthropy, which he
awakens; qualities which give to his Seasons a fascination
which, though felt most strongly in childhood, is yet not
materially abated by the judgment of cooler years. His
faults are cumbrousness of diction and occasional vulgarity
of taste.
The same sweet and natural tastes, though of a more
refined kind, the same philanthropical spirit, and the same
gentle inspiration of poetry are visible in Goldsmith. He
has not indeed Thomson’s sympathy with the sublime and
terrible in nature ; his mind habitually turned towards its
milder and more smiling aspects, the fertility and richness
Poetry,
of cultivation, the tranquillizing tone of village life, the
short and simple annals of the poor. He is refined,
sav« Mr Campbell, “ without false delicacy, and correct
without insipidity. Perhaps there is an intellectual com¬
posure in his manner, which may in some passages be said
to approach to the reserved and prosaic ; but he unbends
from this grave strain of reflection to tenderness, and even
to playfulness, with a peculiar grace, and connects exten¬
sive and philosophic views of the happiness and interests of
society with pictures of life that touch the heart by their
homefinessand familiarity. . . . His whole manner has a still
depth of feeling and reflection which gives back the image
of nature unruffled, and minutely. He has no redundant
thoughts or false transports, but seems on every occasion
to have weighed the impulse to which he surrendered him¬
self; and whatever ardour or casual felicities he may have
thus’ sacrificed, he gained a high degree of purity and self-
possession.”
The names of Blair and Ramsay deserve notice, the first Blair,
as the author of a poem, gloomy and homely, but with Ramsay,
a decided character, and a picturesqueness of imagery,
which redeem it from vulgarity, and which have been justly
compared to. the poweriul expression of a countenance
without regular beauty ; the latter as a writer of a true
pastoral drama, in a style totally different from the hack¬
neyed mythological models on the subject, and delineating
the natural and simple manners of the peasantry of Scot¬
land, with a truth, a comic archness and tenderness, which
entitle the author of the Gentle Shepherd to an honourable
rank in British poetry.
A mournful interest attaches itself to the names of Sa- Savage,
vageand Chatterton, both the victims of misfortunes caused, Chatterton.
in some degree, by their irregularities of conduct or defi¬
ciency of principle. In the latter, in particular, the seeds
of a mind of considerable power are evidently discernible,
choked indeed with many rank weeds of evil tendency,
but which, pruned and weeded by years and experience,
might have rendered him an ornament to the literature of
the eighteenth century.
Collins wrote but little, yet that little was of first-rate Collins,
merit. His Oriental Eclogues may be regarded as only a
boyish production ; but the rest of his lyrics suffer only by
comparison with those of Milton, and that chiefly thiough
a certain obscurity of diction, into which he was led by
endeavouring to avoid the commonplaces of expiession.
In proportion to the neglect which they encountered on
their first appearance has been their popularity since. The
Ode to the Passions, in particular, has become a universal
favourite, by its admirable personations, the flush of beau¬
tiful colouring with which it is invested, and the richness
of the versification, which adapts itself with such art to
the themes of sadness and gaiety, or deep gloom, which
alternate throughout the poem.
There is strength and nerve, but nothing more, in the Churchill,
ferocious satires of the dissipated Churchill; ait^undeni- Akenside,
able, though very often turgid and unsubstantial grandeur
about Akenside’s Pleasures of the Imagination ; but there gjJ™gtone(
is also perfect truth in Johnson’s remark, that the 'voirds Falconer,
are multiplied till the sense is hardly perceived, and that Qiover,
attention deserts the mind and settles on the ear. Some
pleasing pictures in Dyer and Armstrong, and a natural
grace in Shenstone (which, however, sometimes borders on
childishness), will preserve a certain popularity to Grongar
Hill, the Art of Preserving Health, and the School-Mistress.
The merits of Falconer’s Shipwreck have, we think, been
overrated. Its technicalities frequently appear tedious, and
few poets have dealt more in needless expletives and mere
commonplaces of description. Of Glover, whose Leonidas
was once compared to Milton’s Paradise Lost, the world
now remembers nothing except his clever ballad of Hozier’s
Ghost.
POE
Poetry. Young is a poet of more fire, and of a decided though
perverted ingenuity- He exhibits a curious mixture of
Young. the style of Queen Anne’s day with the more pensive and
meditative cast of our own. Few poems could be pointed
out in which so much point, rare wit, and brilliancy, have
been employed with so little effect. The whole poem is
a long epigram, a string of hyperboles. It is precisely
such a work, indeed, as we should expect to be produced
by a person, naturally of a cheerful turn of mind, putting
on, for the sake of effect, the garb of melancholy, and mis¬
anthropy, and weariness of existence ; and composing, as
he is said to have done, by the light of a candle stuck into
a human skull. It has the worst points of Lord Byron’s
manner, without the earnestness and verity of that feeling
of weariness of the world which speaks throughout Childe
Harold.
Gray, in the delicacy, the classical neatness, and polish of
his verses, is closely associated with the writers of the age
of Anne. There is no doubt a certain want of ease and
spontaneity about Gray; his inspiration seems to flow
slowly; he rises with compulsion and laborious flight. His
poetical fire seems often cold and phosphorescent; but he
has a fine sensibility to the beautiful and sublime, a mind
richly stored with the beauties of the classical and Italian
poets, and he has combined his ideas of invention and
recollection in a mosaic of singular delicacy and compact¬
ness.
Beattie. In the Minstrel of Beattie some of the features of mo¬
dern poetry become discernible, in its stronger sympathy
with nature; nay, even in the general idea of the poem,
which describes the solitary growth of a romantic and poeti¬
cal spirit, and which possesses high merits as a sweet pic¬
ture of still life, and a vehicle of unobtrusive morality.
Cowper. But the complete transition from the artificial style of
the writers of Queen Anne to that which characterized
the poetry of the opening of the present century, first ap¬
pears visible in Cowper; who, throwing aside the trammels
of artificial refinement, and the imaginary requisites of a
conventional poetical diction and classical imagery, ven¬
tured to write as he thought, with the force and freedom
of an older and a better time. In no poet of the last cen¬
tury did a more vigorous and original cast of mind present
itself; and to no poet are we more indebted for awakening
that freer and more forcible spirit, that poetry of the heart
rather than the head, which has formed the marking fea¬
ture of our own times. His satirical and didactic poems,
though abounding with wit, and animated by the eloquence
of conviction, are indeed deformed by many defects, both of
indifferent poetry and bigotry of opinion ; but in his descrip¬
tive poetry, in his charming pictures of in-door life, his
summer and winter landscapes (so different from Thom¬
son’s, by their minute detail), in those bursts of inspiration
which occasionally escape the poet, as in that where he
addresses the stars in the fifth book of the Task, he has
left us some of the most touching and spirit-stirring pas¬
sages of which the eighteenth century has to boast.
Bums. I he same spirit appears, in Scotland, in the deep tender¬
ness of the lyrics of Burns. Much of his poetry, doubt¬
less, can only be remembered with regret, as the effusion of
a reckless and ungoverned spirit, mistaking coarseness for
force, and confounding genius with extravagance and irre¬
gularity. But he has left behind him a few strains which
are of a higher mood, nay, of the very highest order; fa¬
miliar and yet noble, tender and yet manly; such as a pea¬
sant only could have written, but a peasant who was one
of nature’s nobles. “ Scotland,” says an American critic,
“ owes a large debt of gratitude to Burns ; for he invested
the feelings and sentiments of its peasantry, their joys and
sorrows, with dignity and beauty ; he redeemed their lan¬
guage from neglect, if not from contempt; he made the
heart of every true Scot burn within him as he thought of
T R Y. 125
the hills and valleys of his native land ; he first guided the Poetry,
footstep of the pilgrim to the scenes of her traditionary v v
glories, and he sung those glories in strains so simple, yet
sublime, that the world stood still to listen.”
Although in the poetry of Burns there are abundant
traces of that stern force and strong passion with which
we have been of late rather too familiar, the general tone
of the poetry of the eighteenth century may be described
as quiet and contemplative. But the great and terrible
events which darkened its close, exciting the minds of men
throughout Europe, introduced into the literature of all
nations a spirit of restlessness and doubt, a love of strong
agitation and stimulus, which either manifested themselves
in a longing retrospection and veneration for the past, or in
wild discontent with the present, and delusive visions of the
future. This tendency'appears in the publication of our
ancient ballads, and the enthusiastic admiration which
their rough vigour, their simple pathos, and their spirit-
stirring pictures of love or war awakened ; in the undis¬
criminating republication and study of our older dramatists
of the school of Shakspeare, and our lyrical poets of the
period which immediately followed ; in the popularity and
influence which the works of Goethe and Schdler, stamped
with the character of the time, immediately obtained, when
introduced to us through the means of wretched transla¬
tions ; and in that mixture of scepticism, moody discon¬
tent, and wild enthusiasm which had been painted in such
gloomy and forcible colours in the Werther, the Faust, and
the Robbers.
But waters, however turbid, soon run themselves clear; Scott
and it is to the credit of the English poets who adorned the
first half of the nineteenth century that they did not,
through imitation, or from a wild craving after origina¬
lity, rush headlong into extravagance. Original they un¬
doubtedly were. At no other era of our literature do we
find so many eminent poets pursuing separate paths, and
professing different theories of art with so much individual '
success. Indeed it may be said that the practical examples
of the last fifty years have done much to shake the public
faith in the infallibility of all literary canons as applied to
poetry, so various, nay, so discordant, have been the means
employed by the great masters in achieving their renown.
The first poetical name in point of date, perhaps also in
point of merit, is that of Sir Walter Scott. No doubt his
claim to pre-eminence will be disputed by those who prefer
poetry of a reflective kind to that which is purely objec¬
tive, by those who regard careful and polished versifica¬
tion as an absolute essential, and by those who seek for
excitement rather in the portraiture and anatomy of morbid
passion than in scenes of stirring action. The warmest ad¬
mirers of Scott must admit that he is neither didactic in
his tone, nor elaborate in his verse, nor a subtle delineator
of shades of mental difterence. His characters are broadly
sketched, but that breadth makes them, in our opinion,
particularly well fitted for practical use in poetry such as
Ins, the characteristic of which is action. Byrefining or
over-minuteness in these respects, he certainly would have
lessened the effect which he produces through rapidity of
motion; for his narrative may be aptly likened to a stream
so impetuous that the characters are borne away with it,
affording us but occasional glimpses as they rise or sink
with the current. With Scott the narrative is all in all.
We think little and care less about William of Deloraine,
as we accompany him in his headlong ride from Branksome
to Melrose Abbey ; we are bent on the progress of the tale.
Marmion is less the hero of the poem than the ideal spec¬
tator, through whom or with whom we listen to the legend
of the elfin knight who haunts the deserted camp, or sur¬
vey the Scottish army encamped on the Borough Muir, or
mingle in the revelries of Holyrood, or plunge into the
fight at Flodden. Action and descriptive power, which
126
Poetry.
POETRY.
Byron.
Words¬
worth.
latter quality he possessed to a great though not superlative
degree, are Scott’s grand excellences; but these surely
must be ranked among the highest of poetical attributes ;
and if lasting popularity is to be taken as the test of merit,
Scott is entitled to the first place among his contemporaries:
indeed it is doubtful whether his poetical reputation has
not been somewhat obscured by his greater fame as a writer
of romance, in which department he stands, by universal
acclamation, without a rival.
Next we shall notice Lord Byron, gifted with a greatei
versatility than any modern author, not even excepting
Goethe. But his temperament was uncertain, his mind
ill-regulated, his judgment vacillating, and his passions un¬
controlled. Wanting in self-respect, and setting opinion
at defiance, he attempted, nevertheless, by a coup-de-main,
to storm the heights of fame ; and he did so successfully,
though without effecting a permanent occupation. He was
like a comet, which, while it flares in the midnight sky,
attracts more attention than the planets, but which, after
reaching its perihelion, declines in splendour and in g oiy.
And yet few poets, limited to so short a life, have done so
much. We are inclined to think that his error lay in at¬
tempting so much without that concentration and thought
which is necessary to make perfect the efforts of genius.
His main object was to astonish the public of the day, not
to produce real works of art; and, in default of inspiration,
which every true poet ought to feel, he trusted to his na¬
tural gifts, which, great as they were, could not bear him
successfully through so many different experiments. But
his worst fault was the frequent obtrusion of a scoffing and
irreverent spirit, a parade of sarcastic mockery which jais
upon the feelings, and too often neutralizes, or rather de¬
stroys, the effect of passages which otherwise were calcu¬
lated to charm or delight. Even while acknowledging his
genius, we are compelled to deplore its abuse. Hence the
reputation of Byron since his death has visibly decreased.^
W^e are no longer dazzled with its fulness. As the ebb of
the tide reveals rocks, and shoals, and quicksands, so have
the many faults and imperfections of Byron become appa¬
rent to the eyes of the new generation. Still, beyond
these and afar off, they behold the clear water, with the
sunlight playing on its surface.
The poetry" of William Wordsworth has given rise to
much literary discussion. Popular it never was, in the
extended sense of the word, but it found many and ardent
admirers ; and men of high intellect and critical acumen
were vehement in its praise. Others, who maintained the
contrary, were almost as vehement in their censure. When
such a controversy occurs, we may very safely conclude that
there has been exaggeration on either side, and that the
poet is neither entitled to the high rank claimed for him by
his adherents, nor properly to he placed in the low grade
which his detractors would grudgingly assign to him. The
poetry of Wordsworth is widely different in its kind from
that of Scott and Byron. It is essentially contemplative
and philosophical. Never, perhaps, did any writer show
himself so averse to action. In one only of his longer
poems, the White Doe of Rylstone, has he attempted any¬
thing like a narrative, and there the story moves as painfully
and slowly as a paralytic cripple upon crutches. His chief
poem of the Excursion certainly does contain some noble
passages of a reflective cast; but it is, as a whole, intoler¬
ably tedious, not possessing sufficient interest to carry the
reader along, and being interspersed with platitudes in
heavy verse, from which it is impossible to derive either
instruction or pleasure. Upon his minor poems, his odes,
and sonnets, his real fame must rest; and many of these
are of rare merit, some deserving to be ranked as master¬
pieces. His Laodamia and Ode on the Immortality of the
Soul are amongst the finest productions of the English
language ; and some of his ballads, though always deficient
in spirit, are, from their tenderness and simplicity, very Poetry.
touching. One remarkable feature in the mental confor-  v 
mation of Wordsworth was the total absence of the sense of
humour. Nothing ever appeared to him to he ludicrous.
Associations which might have forced Heraclitus to laugh,
could not extract from him a smile. This dulness of per¬
ception, for such it was, led him in some instances to dis¬
figure his compositions by the introduction of images and
obiects so very mean as to be unfit for poetical use, thus
exciting the risibility of the reader, and in some degree
lowering the respect which otherwise would have been ac¬
corded ”to the bard. In our opinion, sufficient allowance
has not been made for this defect, which was the real cause
of much hostile criticism. Wordsworth, however, was not
singular in that respect; for other poets of a high grade,
amono- whom we may specify IMilton, were deficient in the
sense of humour. We must also remark that Wordsworth’s
habits of composition were such as, in a great measure, to
justify the censure of his critics. He was essentially an
egotist, with a firm and unshaken belief in his own powers
at all times and at all seasons. He had no idea of waiting
for afflatus, impulse, or inspiration. He conceived that in his
ordinary mood he could at any time compose verses worthy
of beina: received by the public with as much reverence as
the ancient utterances of the Sibyl; and accordingly he
spun out a certain daily number with the unflagging indus¬
try of the silk-worm. However laudable such diligence
may be in ordinary literary manufacture, it is quite plain
that it is not applicable to the production of poetry, which,
as we have said in the commencement of this article, at¬
tains its end by the use of language natural in an excited
state of the imagination and the feelings. It is necessary,
therefore, to make a distinction between Wordsworth the
versifier and Wordsworth the poet. In one capacity he has
been excelled by many r in the other he has been equalled
by few. But the bulk of his verse as compared with the
bulk of his poetry is enormous.
Robert Southey, the most industrious writer of his age, »oath.ey>
had very large poetical capabilities, but he also wrote too J^Tge,
rapidly ; and being somewhat of a theorist, was too much Moo^e;
addicted to making experiments in verse. His longer epics 0rai,be,
have already ceased to attract much of the public atten- Shelley,
tion ; but we venture to predict that one of them, The
Thalaba, will hereafter be greatly prized. It is a magnifi¬
cent oriental tale, expressed in beautiiul and glowing lan-
guage, most wonderful in the harmony of its verse, and
abounding in pictures so vivid that the art ot the painter
could hardly heighten their effect. The fame of Coleridge,
challenged during his lifetime, is now universally admitted.
The weird Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner, Genevieve,
the Hymn in the Valley ot Chamouni, and his noble tians-
lation of Schiller’s Wallenstein, are too widely known and
appreciated to require commendation. Ot Campbell we
have already spoken in the article specially dedicated to
his biography. Thomas Moore, the poetic jeweller of the
period, whose skill in the manufacture of glittering gew¬
gaws was unrivalled, will probably remain a favourite with
readers of that class and age who have a decided piopen-
sity for bijouterie. Wb ought earlier to have noticed
Crabbe, the poet of humble lite, who belonged as much to
the past as to the present century, his first work having been
revised by Samuel Johnson, though he died in the same
year (1832) as Sir Walter Scott. Strong nervous power
and clear delineation of character, with almost microscopic
minuteness, were his distinguishing characteristics. Percy
B. Shelley was a phenomenon, of whom we may not see
the like again. He was a pure heathen, much resembling
Lucretius in character and genius, without faith in revela¬
tion, blind in the midst of light, yet, like the clairvoyants,
claiming an occult faculty ot vision. His versification is
most melodious ; and his thoughts, usually tinged with
FOG
Poggio melancholy, are, when not applied to interdicted themes,
IJ remarkably attractive. Some of his lyrical pieces are cer-
Poirino. jajn]y destined to endure.
We close this necessarily brief notice of the more recent
Keats. English poets with the name of John Keats, a poet who,
during his short life, was most unjustly assailed, but whose
imputation has gradually but securely risen. His first
poem, the Endymeon, was full of faults. It was crude,
unequal, and in some parts even prurient; nevertheless, it
is impossible to peruse it without feeling that it was the
production of a genuine poet. Scholars sneered at it, as
something quite alien from the spirit of mythology; and
so perhaps it was ; but Keats had studied in the school of
Chapman and Shakspeare, and, with the natural audacity of
youth, thought himself qualified to tread upon any ground
however sanctified by ancient consecration. The rebuke
which he received was certainly too severe for the offence.
But he afterwards gave to the world several poems regard¬
ing which there can be no doubt or cavil. The Eve of
Saint Agnes is a gem of pure lustre and exquisite work¬
manship ; and Hyperion, though only a fragment, is a
splendid specimen of versification, and indicates an epic
P O I 127
power, which, though it possibly might have failed in a Poison,
sustained flight, as the pinions of Icarus melted under the
influence of the sun, must ever be regarded as a noble
effort cut short by the hand of death.
Other poets there were who, had they flourished in the Wilson
last century, would have acquired more fame than is likely Hogg,
to be accorded to them in a period when so many great Hemans,
reputations were jostling each other. John Wilson, the Cunnin8‘
renowned Christopher North, whose prose writings are im- ham'
bued with the noblest spirit of poetry, has, in his City of
the Plague, and Isle of Palms, left traces of true genius.
James Hogg, better known as the Ettrick Shepherd, was a
poet of no mean capacity ; indeed his Kilmeny stands by
itself as a rare and wondrous poem! Felicia Hemans, in
point of sweetness and delicacy of sentiment, has rarely
been equalled by any of her sex ; whilst to Allan Cunning¬
ham we must accord the praise of a lyrical power not much
inferior to that displayed by Burns. We might greatly
extend the catalogue; but, like Tarquinius Superbus, we
can only deal with the taller poppies. With regard to
living poets, any praise or censure of ours would be irrele¬
vant and unbecoming. (g. m—r.) (w. e. a.)
POGGIO. See Braociolini.
POILLY, Francois, a very eminent French engraver,
was born at Abbeville in 1622. His enthusiasm for his
art was very great. After receiving the first principles of
engraving from his father, he applied himself for three
years under Daret at Paris. Then repairing to Rome, he
laboured assiduously for seven years, improving his de¬
sign and executing several plates after the great Italian
masters. No less was his assiduity when he had settled
in the French capital with the reputation of being one of
the best engravers of his native country. He continued to
handle his burin at once with care and dexterity, and to
superintend the labours of several pupils; so that at his
death in 1693 his prints amounted to about 400. A list
of the principal plates of Poilly is given in Bryan’s Dic¬
tionary of Painters and Engravers. The most popular
of these are “ San Carlo Barromeo administering the
Communion to the Persons infected with the Plague,”
after Mignard ; “ The Holy Family,” after Raphael; and
“ The Flight into Egypt,” after Guido. Poilly’s younger
brother Nicholas, and his nephew Jean Baptiste, were also
distinguished engravers.
POINT. See Punctuation, Geometry, Astronomy.
POIN f-A-PITRE. See Guadaloupe.
POINT DE GALLE, a fortified seaport-town of Cey¬
lon, stands on a peninsula on the S. coast of the island,
/0 miles S.S.E. of Colombo. Its appearance from the sea
is very striking and picturesque. At the eastern extre¬
mity the solid old fortifications rise from the edge of the
surf-beaten rock. At the other end is the quay, with
numerous canoes always about it; and not far off are the
white houses of the natives, overshadowed with trees.
Most of the Europeans live in the fort. Behind the town,
at the distance of / 00 yards, rises a chain of hills covered
with verdure and trees to their summits. Point de Galle
has a mosque, several churches and schools, a lighthouse,
and a large cinnamon garden. The inner harbour gives
shelter to large vessels quite close to the town ; and it is
commanded by the fort. There is also a large roadstead
m the bay. An active trade is carried on in cotton, coffee,
cinnamon, ivory, &c. The mail steamers from Aden to
Calcutta and China call at Point de Galle.
POIRINO, a town of the kingdom of Sardinia, in
the division of Turin, on the left bank of the Bonna,
14 miles S.S.E. of Turin. It contains two old castles*
several churches, a court-house, school, convent, and hos¬
pital. Pop. 5668.
POISON, any substance which, acting on living bodies
in small quantities, occasions serious disturbance of their
functions, and may cause death. The science which treats
of poisons is termed toxicology.
Poisons have been known from remote antiquity; but
the notions entertained of their effects were generally fan¬
ciful and vague, so that it is often impossible now to dis¬
cover what the poisons of the ancients really were. In
modern times a great addition has been made to our know¬
ledge of them, both as regards their number and their action;
and it is only within the last forty years that the nature and
the varieties of their action have been studied scientifically
and with success.
The number of poisonous substances now known is very
great; and there can be no doubt that very many still re¬
main to be discovered, equally in the mineral, the animal,
and the vegetable world, but more especially among vege¬
tables. Numerous, however, as they are, they present
many remarkable agreements in their effects or actions, so
as to admit of convenient classification.
Some poisons produce no other effects besides what de- Action,
pend on the local injury they give rise to. Of these, some
produce by their chemical properties absolute destruction
of the textures to which they are applied ; and the result
depends in part on the nature and degree of the injury, but
as much on the importance of the injured texture, and its
sympathetic connection with other parts of the body. The
mineral acids, such as sulphuric and nitric acid, and the
mineral alkalis, potash or soda, are the best examples of this
kind. Others, again, of those which act locally alone, pro¬
duce inflammation, but not chemical destruction, where
they are applied ; and all the ordinary effects of inflammation
may ensue; of which gamboge and colocynth are good
illustrations. The action of the former description of local
poisons does not differ essentially from that of mechanical
injuries of the same textures ; the action of the latter is
almost identical with that of the natural causes of inflam¬
mation. A third description of local poisons merely produces
a peculiar impression on the nerves of the part to which
they are applied, without either destroying or inflaming its
texture. But there is no pure instance of the kind yet
known ; all such poisons likewise act otherwise than locally.
Opium and prussic acid are examples.
128 P 0 I
Poison. Other poisons, and these by far the most numerous, act
upon remote organs and textures,—on parts to which they
are not, nay, cannot be, directly applied ; and effects of this
kind are often developed without any appreciable signs of a
direct local action. There is scarcely an important organ
in the body which may not be brought thus under the in¬
fluence of some poison or another. 1 he brain is very often
so affected, as by opium, belladonna, prussic acid, and char¬
coal fumes. The stomach and intestines are also frequently
affected indirectly, as by arsenic. rI he spine is affected by
nux-vomica, the kidneys and bladder by can than des, the
lungs by tartar-emetic, the heart by oxalic acid, the liver
by manganese, the salivary organs by mercury, and many
of the glands by iodine. Many poisons possess the property
of actin<>- on a great number of organs in this remote or
indirect way, of which arsenic and mercury are the most
remarkable instances. Arsenic introduced by the skin lias
been known to act on the stomach, intestines, kidneys,
heart, the lining membrane of the eyes, nose, windpipe, and
vao-ina the nerves of voluntary motion, and the skin at a
distance from its place of application. Physiologists are
still in some doubt through what channel these remote
effects are produced,—some believing that the poison is
carried in substance with the blood from the organ to which
it is applied into the parts on which it acts ; others, that
the operations are merely nervous, and consist of the trans¬
mission of certain local impressions along the nerves which
communicate between one organ and another ; and otheis,
that both modes of action may exist, even for the same,
and still more for different, poisons. The first of these
views is the one most generally held. Two facts, however,
are clearly established, whatever theoretical deductions may
be drawn from them 1^, That very many poisons do
enter the blood, and may be detected there ; and 2d, That
these never enter except in minute proportion, so that, un¬
less very delicate tests are known for them, they may readily
escape detection. It seems not improbable that some poi¬
sons are deposited by a species of election in pai ticular
organs; but of course their presence in the blood will give
them access more or less almost everywhere, since there
are few organs not traversed by blood-vessels, and minutely
injected with blood.
The greater number of poisons produce their peculiar
effects through whatever texture they are introduced into
the body. The effects of local poisons greatly depend, as
was already stated, on the texture to which they are applied ;
but the far more numerous denomination of poisons which
act remotely exert that action to whatever part they are
applied, provided they fairly enter the body. They enter
the sound skin with extreme difficulty, but most easily in
the form of gas or vapour, or with the aid of friction. But
they act energetically through the surface of the true skin
stripped of its cuticle, through the cellular texture under
the skin, through the soft mucous membrane which lines
the mouth, nose, ears, stomach, intestines, windpipe, and
organs of generation, through the firm serous membranes
which line the interior of the belly and chest, and also when
introduced directly into the blood-vessels, more especially
into the veins. They generally act with greatest energy
when injected into the blood directly, or when introduced
into the serous cavity of the chest or belly; but if they
operate in very minute doses, their effects are scarcely less
prompt when simply thrust into a fresh wound, or under
the skin ; and there is no way in which they exert their
action with more swiftness and energy than when inhaled
into the lungs, provided they assume the form of gas or
vapour. For the most part their activity is greatest when ap¬
plied to organs and textures where absorption is most prompt.
The action of poisons is greatly modified by an infinite
variety of collateral circumstances, without a thorough
knowledge of which toxicology cannot be well understood,
SON.
either as a branch of physiological science, or in its practical Poison,
bearings on medical practice, as well as medical jurispru- v—^
dence. These modifying circumstances cannot be accu¬
rately' laid down here ; but the most important are the
following "—Quantity or dose, chemical or mechanical
form, the texture directly acted on, habit, and peculiarity
of constitution, either natural or induced by disease. By
all of these causes the effects of poisons may not merely be
altered in degree, but likewise even modified in kind, or
entirely neutralized. 1. Most substances which are poi¬
sonous in moderate doses are innocuous in small quantity;
but some are amazingly energetic even in very minute
quantities,—such as prussic acid or strychnia, the active
principle of nux-vomica, either of which may prove fatal to
a man in favourable circumstances in the dose of one grain ;
or still more, the poisonous secretion of venomous snakes,
or the secretions of the human body in some diseased states,
which will prove fatal in quantities inappreciably small if
introduced into a wound. 2. As to mechanical form, poi¬
sons must be, or must become, either gaseous or liquid
before they act. Mixture and dilution weaken their activity,
though there are exceptions to this rule ; and some, which
are rather insoluble, such as arsenic, are rendered nearly
inert when mixed with insoluble powders of great tenuity,
such as charcoal, magnesia, and the like. 3. Chemical
changes materially affect their actions ; many corrosives
becoming innocuous by neutralization, purely local irritants
being thereby much enfeebled, and all of them being ren¬
dered more feeble, or even inert, if they are converted into
substances insoluble in the secretions of the textures to
which they are applied. Poisons that act through the blood
on remote organs are little influenced by chemical changes,
except in so far as their solubility is affected,—a very im¬
portant general principle, which ought never to be over¬
looked in the search for antidotes. Arsenic, mercury,
prussic acid, opium, and numberless other poisons, are al¬
most equally active in all their chemical combinations, pro¬
vided they continue soluble. 4. The effect of the texture
acted on in modifying the influence of poisons has been
already adverted to. As examples of this, it may be men¬
tioned that prussic acid has little or no effect through the
sound skin, nor snake-poison when swallowed ; and that
strychnia, the active principle of nux-vomica, has no effect
through the skin, while one or two grains might prove fatal
if swallowed, and a third of a grain would probably kill a
man in a few minutes if injected in a state of solution into
a wound, into the cavity of the chest, or into a vein. 5.
Habit weakens the effects of many poisons, as in the familiar
instances of opium and ardent spirits, of which ten or
twenty times what is sufficient to prove fatal in ordinary
circumstances may be taken with impunity by those who
have long used them. Mineral poisons are less under the
influence of this modifying circumstance than vegetable
poisons ; and of the latter those are most influenced which
act chiefly upon the brain. It is very difficult to account
for the varying effect of habit on the energy of vegetable
poisons. Strychnia, for example, the active principle of
nux-vomica, seems altogether excluded from the modifying
effect of habit; while another principle, analogous in ele¬
mentary composition and in chemical properties, morphia,
the active principle of opium, may, through habit, be taken
without injury in a dose fifteen times as great as what might
in ordinary cases prove fatal. 6. Peculiarity of constitution
commonly operates in rendering the body more than usually
sensible to the action of poisons, as in the case of opium,
mercury, and cantharides, medicinal doses of which act
with poisonous violence on some. In a few instances ori¬
ginal peculiarity deadens the activity of certain poisons;
and this is observed still more remarkably during the con¬
stitutional state of certain diseases, such as hydrophobia,
locked jaw, mania, delirium tremens, and excessive loss of
129
POISON.
Poison, blood. In some constitutions substances not injurious to
mankind generally produce all the phenomena of poisoning.
Thus there is scarcely any article of food or drink, except
the great staple commodities, beef, mutton, and the simple
kinds of bread, which are not at times observed to act poi-
sonously on some people. But the most remarkable sub¬
stances of the kind are red fish, shell-fish, mushrooms, bitter
almonds in small quantity, and eggs.
Classifica- It has been stated that poisons are exceedingly nume-
tion. rous, but that they possess only a limited number of actions.
As these actions consist of derangement of the functions
of certain organs and textures of the body, it follows that
the outward signs of these derangements must be circum¬
scribed within certain bounds, and that many poisons must
agree with one another in producing the same, or nearly
the same, outward signs. This general fact constitutes
the basis of the most approved classification. Formerly
physiologists endeavoured to arrange poisons according to
certain theoretical notions of their nature, or according to
certain mysterious properties imputed to them; and sub¬
sequently most were content with distributing them in
three classes, according to the kingdom of nature whence
they happen to be derived. Every classification, however,
should have some practical bearing; and as the most im¬
portant objects in the present instance are the decision of
the question of poisoning in a general sense, the discovery
of the particular poison, and the treatment of its effects,
these points ought to be invariably kept in view. With
this understanding, the best classification is obviously that
which is founded on the external signs of poisoning, that
is, the grouping of the symptoms produced by each. Such
is the basis of all the most esteemed modern arrangements.
The whole wonderful multiplicity of poisons, when thus
viewed, may be considered as either exciting irritation in
particular organs, or disordering the functions of the brain
and spinal marrow, or as uniting both these properties.
The first are called irritants, the second narcotics, the
third narcotico-irritants, or more usually narcotico-acrids.
The irritants comprise chiefly the free acids and free alkalis,
with many of their compound salts, several earths with
their salts, many compounds of the metals, acrid vegetables,
and acrid animal substances. These all agree in produc¬
ing, as their principal phenomenon, destruction or inflam¬
mation, sometimes of the part to which they are applied,
such as the skin, mouth, throat, intestines, and so forth,—
and at other times of organs at a distance from their place
of application, such as the stomach, intestines, kidneys,
bladder, lungs. And the symptoms they produce are those
incidental to inflammation, generally, grouped, however, in
so peculiar a manner, either in order, kind, or complexity,
as in many instances to distinguish the cause which occa¬
sions them from any natural cause of inflammation. Many
substances arranged among irritants produce effects which
would also associate them with the class of narcotics; but
still inflammation and irritation are their leading conse¬
quences. 1 he narcotics comprise principally opium, prus¬
sic acid, the volatile oils of bitter almond, cherry-laurel, and
other drupaceous plants; henbane, thorn-apple, deadly
nightshade, and certain poisonous gases, such as carbonic
acid, carbonic oxide, carburetted hydrogen, cyanogen, sul¬
phuretted hydrogen. 1 hese agree in acting either upon
the brain or upon the spinal marrow, or upon both these
parts of the nervous system at once. The symptoms thus
arising are stupor and coma, delirium, convulsions, paraly¬
sis, with a great variety of less important yet often very
significant phenomena. When coma is the chief result,
the brain is considered to be chiefly acted on ; when con¬
vulsions or paralysis occur without stupor or coma, the
spinal marrow must alone suffer; and where both sets of
phenomena present themselves, it is probable that the
whole nervous system partakes more or less of the iniurv
VOL. xyiii. '
1 he narcotico-acrids comprehend hemlock and other dele- Poison
terious plants of the family Umbelliferae, black and white V
hellebore, meadow-saffron, fox-glove, ipecacuan, nux-vo-
mica, Cocculus indicus, camphor, poisonous fungi, and all
ethereal and alcoholic fluids, besides many others of less
note, or not so familiar. It is difficult sometimes to sepa¬
rate the individuals of this class from the narcotics on the
one hand and the irritants on the other. But for the most
part they produce in different circumstances either narcot¬
ism or inflammation alone, or both conjunctly, and that
either simultaneously or in succession.
It may be well to illustrate these statements by a brief Examples
sketch of the effects of a few familiar or interesting species of their se-
belonging to each class. ' veral kinds
The purest examples of irritant poisons are the strong
mineral acids and alkalis, namely, sulphuric, nitric, and
muriatic acids, and potash and soda. These, when applied
to the external parts of the body for a sufficient length of
time, cause corrosion and consequent destruction ; and life
may be thus brought into imminent danger, either from the
extent of the injury and the consequent sympathetic de¬
rangement of the vital functions, or from a variety of less
direct or incidental disorders. Of such a course of things
the public in this country had, some years ago, too many
illustrations, resulting from the execrable crime of throwing
sulphuric acid over the person. When swallowed, the
strong mineral acids and alkalis sometimes act in a great
measure on the throat and gullet, more frequently on the
stomach and intestines. In the former case there is in¬
stant and horrible sense of burning in the mouth, throat,
and neck, eructation of acid matter, often bloody, or mixed
with dark masses, excessive tenderness of the injured parts,
incapability of swallowing, difficult, husky breathing; and
the sufferer may either die suffocated, or from the depress¬
ing sympathetic impression produced on the heart; or he
may survive for a length of time, perishing, however,
miserably in the end, from stricture of the gullet and star¬
vation, or he may recover after the discharge of more or
less of the lining membrane of the throat, and a tedious and
precarious convalescence. Where the stomach and intes¬
tines are acted on by the acids or alkalis there is in general
violent vomiting, often of blood, and, especiallv after swal¬
lowing anything, burning pain in the pit of the stomach,
extending over the belly, with excessive tenderness and
eventually swelling, frequently profuse purging and gripes,
and extraordinary prostration of the pulse and of the
strength; and the issue may be either recovery, more or
less prompt, or far more generally death, at times from the
sympathetic depression of the heart and general system,
more rarely from gradual exhaustion, occasioned partly by
constant irritation, partly by inanition, on account of ex¬
tensive injury of the internal membrane of the stomach,—
on which digestion probably in a great measure depends
for its integrity. I hese phenomena are purely the results
of local corrosion and irritation. No remote phenomena
arise except exhaustion of the heart, from sympathy with
the local injury; in particular, there is no disturbance of
the function of the brain, spine, or nerves, except what
arises simply from exhaustion of the circulation. The most
remarkable of all the irritants for subtlety and variety of
action conjoined is arsenic. It is not, however, an abso¬
lutely pure irritant; for, though irritation of a multifarious
nature is its most prominent result, it also disturbs
the functions of the nervous system. When applied for
some time to the surface of the body, denuded of the scarf-
skin, it kills the part to some depth ; at least a portion is
thrown off by the process of sloughing, showing either that
the part had been killed, or that inflammation is produced
of a kind which leads to its death. Both in this manner,
and with much greater certainty if it is applied to a fresh
wound, or introduced into any of the external openings of
*
I
130
Poison.
POISON.
the body, or injected in solution into the cavity of the chest
or belly, it excites irritation and inflammation, not merely
where it touches, but likewise in various distant organs.
The stomach and intestines suffer the most invariably,
giving rise to violent vomiting, especially of all articles
swallowed, burning pain in the bowels, tenderness, giiping,
purging, and excoriation of the anus. The kidneys, b at -
derj and organs of generation are also often affected, caus¬
ing strangury, suppression of urine, pains in the loins, ten¬
derness in the lower belly, &c. The lining membrane of
the air-passages likewise frequently partakes in the injury,
as is indicated by hoarseness, cough, difficult breathing,
expectoration, and deep-seated pain in the chest. o un
frequently the investing membrane of the nostrils and
mouth presents signs of derangement, such as redness,
aphthae, and constant discharge. These symptoms are also
generally attended with extraordinary depression of the
action of the heart, which is the most frequent cause of
death ; and this sometimes forms the only prominent effect,
the sufferer dying in a few hours, with scarcely any other
symptom but mortal faintness. Recovery may take place
even though the complicated effects which have been de¬
scribed may have been developed. But after these pri¬
mary disorders have disappeared, there are importantsecond¬
ary risks to be encountered, such as dropsy, gradual ema¬
ciation from constant disturbance of digestion, and, above
all, epilepsy, palsy, and other affections characteristic of
an action upon the nervous system. Of the symptoms thus
indicating a narcotic action, the most pointed and most
remarkable are epileptic convulsions and local partial palsy.
To these illustrations of the phenomena of internal poison¬
ing produced by the irritants, it may be well to add a short
sketch of the very striking effects produced by many of
bulism ; and after some hours this is succeeded by a state Poison,
of deep sopor or coma, as from opium though more fre-
quently intermingled with convulsions than in the case ot
that druo-. Death is sometimes the result, and would be
more frequent were it not that the precursory stage of
active delirium often leads to the discovery of the offend¬
ing cause, and its removal by fit treatment. Prussic acid,
another pure narcotic, which is now almost as familiar as
opium among poisons, rivals them all in subtlety and ra¬
pidity of action. Small animals, such as rabbits, have been
killed with it in the brief space of four seconds. A single
drop has killed a cat in half a minute, and one grain, or
about four drops, has repeatedly proved fatal to man within
three-quarters of an hour. These statements apply to the
pure acid, which is seldom seen ; but the common acid of
the shops, which is used in medicine, is equally energetic
in large doses ; and so are the distilled waters and essen¬
tial oils of the bitter almond, peach-kernels, cherry-laurel
leaves, rowan-tree root, and apple-seeds, which all owe
their poisonous qualities to the same cause. The effects
produced by all these poisons are immediate: dreadful alarm,
giddiness, and hurried breathing, speedily followed by con¬
vulsions, insensibility, one or two fits of deep convulsive
respiration, and death. The narcotic gases act veiy much
in the same manner with opium, as is well exemplified by
the fumes of burning charcoal, and other forms ot carbonic
acid. When in a pure or concentrated state, carbonic acid
extinguishes life immediately, in part by suffocation, on ac¬
count of the exclusion of respirable air, and partly by its
narcotic operation. But when breathed in a diluted state,
as in an ill-ventilated mine, or in a confined chamber heated
by charcoal, it induces giddiness, fulness of the features,
ringing in the ears, gradually-increasing stupor, and at
sketch of the very striking ettects prouuceu uy many u. ^ ^ ° ‘ wi with
them as external poisons, when they have been introduced length profound insensibility, commonly attended with
then as externa, pm ons, we > ... tis. lividitv of t|,e face, glistenine of the eyes, and occasional
into the substance of the skin, or its subjacent cellular tis¬
sue, through a wound. Of poisons of the kind now alluded
to, the most familiar are snake-poison, and the fluids of the
dead human body after certain diseases or in some peculiar
unknown state; but similar effects are also produced by
many acrid vegetables. 1 he affection produced is diffuse
inflammation of the cellular tissue, so called because it dif¬
fuses itself rapidly along that texture, without any tendency
to become circumscribed, as in ordinary inflammation simi¬
larly seated. It is attended with some puffy elevation and
tenderness of the skin over the inflamed part, but not
always with redness—with pain, not always acute, usually
of that kind called burning pain—and with excessive de¬
pression of the action of the heart; and death may ensue,
either in a few hours from the derangement of the func¬
tion of the heart, or more slowly from extensive injury of
the cellular tissue, which is apt to terminate in gangrene.
Of the phenomena produced by the narcotics, the purest
and most familiar example is to be found in the effects of
opium. This drug produces a great variety of interesting
nervous phenomena when taken in small medicinal doses.
When taken in a poisonous dose, it first occasions languor,
giddiness, weakness, and drowsiness; afterwards deep sleep,
attended in general with complete repose, soft, slow breath¬
ing, and highly contracted pupils; and then profound coma,
or insensibility, which cannot be dispelled by any stimu¬
lants, and which usually proves fatal it it be allowed to be
fully formed. In particular cases these symptoms are varied
with delirium in the early stage, and convulsions in the ad¬
vanced stage ; but such deviations from the ordinary rule
are rare. Belladonna, or deadly nightshade, is another
narcotic which produces effects somewhat different. Its
berries, which are sometimes eaten by mistake by children
and other ignorant people, occasion in the first instance a
singular state of very active delirium, in which the indivi¬
dual performs a series of incoherent and extravagant acts
with much vivacity, or falls into the condition of somnam-
lividity of the face, glistening of the eyes, and occasional
convulsions, which often prove fatal, and always, if not
speedily relieved by fresh air and other suitable treatment.
The narcotico-acrids may be exemplified by a great va¬
riety of well-known and powerful poisons. Hemlock, which
is believed to have been a familiar poison for more than
2000 years, but whose effects are generally misunderstood,
ought scarcely to be arranged in this class, where it is
commonly placed. Its irritant properties are very ill de¬
fined. But it is a powerful and very remarkable narcotic,
and its active principle, named conia, is scarcely inferior to
prussic acid in celerity of operation, or in the smallness of
its dose. It seems to act by paralysing the muscles of
voluntary motion and of respiration, without affecting the
brain ; and the symptoms are weakness of the limbs, gra¬
dually pervading the rest of the body, and terminating in
loss of the power of motion, while at the same time the
respiration, at first laborious, gradually becomes more and
more circumscribed and slower, till at length it ceases,
the heart all the while acting vigorously, and the sensa¬
tion continuing unaffected. A better instance of a naico-
tico-acrid poison is nux-vomica, and its principle, strychnia.
These are counterparts in action to hemlock and conia.
They powerfully stimulate the spinal marrow, producing
violent convulsions, like those which attend locked^ jaw or
tetanus, and without impairing the sensibility. 1 he first
symptoms are restlessness, undefinable uneasiness, and
alarm, speedily followed by fits of stiffness of the jaw and
neck, and then by violent paroxysms of muscular contrac¬
tion, in which the limbs and arms are extended, the fea¬
tures hideously distorted, and the head, body, and legs bent
backward forcibly; and the third or fourth fit commonly
proves fatal. Strychnia, the source of these dreadful
effects, is on a par with prussic acid and conia in energy;
for the third of a grain will kill a wild boar in ten minutes,
and one grain properly administered would certainly kill a
man in half that time. So far this genus of poisons acts
POISON. 131
Poison, like the narcotics; but in frequent instances, where the
v ^ narcotic symptoms pass away, they are succeeded by the
signs of inflammation in the stomach and intestines, namely,
pain, vomiting, purging, and swelling of the belly, which
affection, too, may prove fatal. Such irritant effects, how¬
ever, are rare, perhaps because in the great majority of
cases death is brought about in the early stage by the ac¬
tion on the nervous system. A better example still of a
narcotico-acrid is foxglove. A most valuable and safe
medicine in small doses, this plant nevertheless acts as a
very dangerous poison in large doses; and it sometimes
produces in the same case both deep coma with convulsions,
and likewise profuse diarrhoea, with tormina and tenderness
of the abdomen, while at the same time it occasions sup¬
pression of urine and extreme depression of the action of
the heart. By far the most characteristic illustrations, how¬
ever, of the narcotico-acrid poisons are to be found in the
deleterious fungi, or poisonous mushrooms, as they are some¬
times called. These differ from most other poisons in
their effects being often put off (though to this rule excep¬
tions exist) for several hours, apparently because time must
be allowed for the digestion of substances on the whole
difficult to digest. The effects are singularly various; for
it has been often observed that, among a number of persons
who have partaken of the same poisonous stew, some had
only giddiness, confusion, delirium, stupor, coma, and con¬
vulsions ; while others suffered only from vomiting and
purging, distension of the belly, tenderness, and griping ;
and a third party were seized at first with the former class
of symptoms, and on these passing partially off, were
attacked severely with the latter.
Besides the irritant narcotic and narcotico-acrid poisons,
some writers on the subject admit a fourth class, under the
name of 7norbid poisons, comprising those poisonous secre¬
tions which are engendered in the body by disease, and
possess the property of reproducing by contact or inocula¬
tion the same disease to which they owed their own produc¬
tion. The most important of these are hydrophobia, the
venereal disease, small-pox, and cow-pox. Authors on
toxicology, however, whether physiological or practical,
have now generally agreed in discarding these from the
toxicological system, and in arranging the phenomena of
their action where they are more philosophically placed,
namely, among natural diseases.
In a work like the present it is not easy to decide how
much ought to be introduced of a subject so comprehen¬
sive as toxicology, or the science of poisons. The sketch
given above will convey some idea of the objects of which
it treats, more especially as a branch of physiology. Further
details on the subject at large seem uncalled for. But
there are two departments which may be enlarged on with
some advantage, namely, the evidence of poisoning, and
the treatment of the effects of poisons. Poisoning, both
criminal and accidental, has become so common and so
notorious in recent times, that there are probably few per¬
sons who have not turned their thoughts to these two
branches of the subject; and it is desirable for many
reasons that correct views should be entertained of them,
even by unprofessional persons,—more correct views, at
least, than what generally prevail.
Evidence. Till a recent date, most erroneous notions were en¬
tertained, alike by the vulgar as by scientific men, of the
evidence of poisoning. Proofs of the most unsubstantial
kind were considered infallible tests of death by poison;
and, under the authority of grievous professional error, we
now know that courts of law must have sanctioned many a
judicial murder. It is not uninteresting to trace these
dogmas of antiquity, abandoned as they now are by the
scientific, still obstinately adhered to by the unprofessional
world as articles of popular belief, and leading, as of old,
to constant blunders, which it is now the business and
glory of the toxicologist to check, whilst it was formerly Poison,
his fate to foster and give effect to them. v.
The evidence of poisoning cannot be thoroughly under¬
stood in all its bearings without a minute knowledge of the
multifarious phenomena produced by all ordinary poisons;
and, in judicial cases, it is in the end viewed commonly in
reference to the supposed administration of a particular
substance. It would be out of place to attempt embracing
this wide field here. All which can be ventured on is, a
view of the evidence of poisoning in a general sense, that
is, without reference to any special poison,—a topic of
great interest in relation to the first suspicions and earliest
investigation of supposed cases of poisoning, whether cri¬
minal or accidental. The evidence of poisoning in this
comprehensive sense is derived from symptoms, from ap¬
pearances in the dead body, from experiments on animals,
from certain moral circumstances, and from chemical
analysis.
1. The symptoms are naturally the first particulars to
attract attention and excite suspicion. They were once
thought adequate to decide singly any question of poison¬
ing. Now we know that natural diseases imitate so closely
the phenomena of poisoning that the symptoms will rarely
yield more than presumptive, and only in rare and very
peculiar circumstances, absolute evidence. There is no¬
thing in the kind of symptoms, taken generally, which will
distinguish poisoning from certain natural diseases. The
natural diseases, indeed, which imitate the effects of one
great class of poisons,—namely, the irritants,—are on the
whole rare ; yet they are scarcely less a source of fallacy,
at least in judicial cases, where certainty, or something like
it, must be aimed at. But there are a number of collateral
circumstances connected with the symptoms, which, if taken
together, will often supply a very powerful criterion in sup¬
posed cases. Thus, in the instance of by far the greater
number of poisons, and of almost all which are used for a
homicidal or suicidal purpose, the symptoms begin soon
after food, drink, or medicine has been taken, commonly
within an hour, often much sooner; and in respect of not
a few common poisons, such as the mineral acids, mineral
alkalis, hartshorn, prussic acid, oxalic acid, they must com¬
mence immediately. In general, too, the symptoms begin
suddenly, advance quickly, and prove speedily fatal. For
the most part they are steady in their progress, exclusive
of the influence of treatment. They are upon the whole
uniform in their nature. And they appear in the great ma¬
jority of cases abruptly during a state of good health. The
consideration of these characters will not unfrequently en¬
able the man of experience to pronounce that suspicions
which have prevailed of poisoning are wholly unfounded;
but taken singly, they will never justify, on the other hand,
more than a presumption in favour of poisoning. It must
at the same time be observed, that when these general cha¬
racters are all applicable, and concur with a certain com¬
plicated grouping of the symptoms in particular cases, the
presumption becomes very strong ; and when other articles
of general evidence are added, the proof may be all but
complete, nay, absolutely so. Such is clearly the state of
the case in not a few instances of poisoning with the mine¬
ral acids and alkalis, with arsenic, corrosive sublimate, nux-
vomica, oxalic acid, prussic acid, alcoholic fluids. 2. The
same confident reliance was long placed in the appearances
of the body after death as in the symptoms, and with even
less reason. The discovery of certain morbid appearances
may prove poisoning to have been impossible; and yet
even here an opinion should not be formed without reserve,
because the discovery of the effects of natural disease in
the body, even in an advanced stage, is no absolute proof
of death from that disease. Poison, as in many authentic
cases, may have been nevertheless administered, and have
proved the real occasion of death. But there is never any-
132 P 0 I
Poison, thing in the appearances after death which will bear out a
v ^—/ general charge of poisoning, as was once universally thought.
It should be particularly known that the vulgar prejudice,
which discovers poison wherever the skin becomes unusu¬
ally livid after death, or wherever the body undergoes
prompt decomposition, is utterly without support from
scientific experience. Nay, in regard to the latter charac¬
ter, evidence has been proved in recent times to be deducible
from the very opposite condition, or the unusual preserva¬
tion of the body from decay, which is now well known to
occur in many cases of poisoning with arsenic. There are
certain morbid appearances in the dead body, especially
upon the skin, and in the throat, gullet, and stomach, which
will furnish the strongest presumption, nay, according to
good authorities, almost absolute proof,—of poisoning with
certain substances; for example, the mineral acids ; but the
details cannot be entered upon here, because a full enume¬
ration and much professional skill are required for appre¬
ciating precisely their import. 3. Experiments on domestic
animals, made with suspected articles, were once supposed
to furnish the best of all evidence ; and this was probably
the best evidence to be had in the days when chemistry
and chemical analysis were all but unknown. Now, how¬
ever, such experiments are not admitted, either by medical
or legal authorities, to be of any weight, except under par¬
ticular circumstances. They are admissible, and indeed
clearly indispensable, for deciding questions in toxicological
physiology which may arise during trials. They ought also
to be allowed some weight when they have been observed
accidentally, as, for example, when the remains of suspected
articles have been devoured incidentally by domestic ani¬
mals, especially by a number of them, and above all by the
dog or cat, with the effect of producing in them symptoms
and appearances after death similar to what were witnessed
in the suspected case in the human subject. The objec¬
tion drawn against such evidence, that the effects of many
poisons on the brute creation are different from their effects
on man, though fundamentally sound, has been allowed to
operate far too sweepingly in modern times. The differ¬
ences in respect to many common poisons are by no means
so great as was thought not very long ago ; and upon two
animals, the dog and cat, the effects of most poisons are
almost identical with those observed in man, due attention
being paid to differences in dose, and to the singular facility
with which these animals discharge poisons by powerful
early vomiting. But the objection here stated may be
allowed sufficient force to put an end to experiments made
expressly on animals with suspected articles. There is,
however, a more urgent objection to such experiments,—
that they involve, for doubtful evidence, the consumption of
materials from which decisive evidence may be obtained by
other means; for if there is poison enough left to affect sensibly
the lower animals, there is amply sufficient for detection by
chemical analysis. Accordingly, express experiments with
remains of suspected food, drink, or medicine, are now
abandoned as a general rule by all good authorities in toxi¬
cology. In a limited class of cases, how'ever, such experi¬
ments are still admissible, and ought to have great weight,
■—‘viz., when the poison is not of a kind to be satisfactorily
detected by chemical characters, but is such as produces
characteristic symptoms. 4. There are certain moral cir¬
cumstances which may also be often taken into account in the
evidence of poisoning in a general sense, when viewed as a
scientific question, because they cannot be correctly appre¬
ciated except by a scientific man, and consequently they
belong in some measure to the scientific or toxicological
proof. The chief particulars are as follows:—It may be
proved that poison has been purchased of a kind which
may produce the symptoms observed. A suspicious article
may be proved to have been administered, either from its
taste, or from its having been recommended for properties
SON.
either absurd in nature, or such as the pretended article is Poison,
not thought even by unprofessional people to possess, or s*
from a comparative analysis of the materials for making the
suspected article, showing that something injurious must
have been added at a particular time, and by a particular
person. It may be proved that exacerbations of the symp¬
toms have repeatedly occurred soon after articles were given
in a suspicious manner. It may be proved that the person
poisoned, or a second party under suspicion, exhibited by
words or deeds an intention to administer poison, as by as¬
signing impossible properties to what is administered, or by
manifestly changing medicine which has been prescribed.
A highly important circumstance is the simultaneous and
similar illness of several individuals who have partaken of
the same meal, coupled perhaps with the degree of their
illnesses concurring with their respective shares, and pro¬
bably also united with the escape of others of the same com¬
pany who did not partake of the meal, or of particular
dishes or liquors. Many other moral circumstances might
be here alluded to, by which the question of poisoning in a
general sense may be often materially cleared ; but as they
do not belong to the scientific view of the question, either
directly or indirectly, they may be passed over. 5. The
chemical evidence is justly considered the best of all the
departments of proof; for it not only establishes poisoning
in a general sense, but likewise points out the particular
poison. There is no department of toxicology which has
made such amazing progress in recent times as that of
toxicological analysis. A century ago, the search for the
remains of poison in suspected dishes, or in the dead body,
was scarcely ever attempted, and, owing to the ignorance of
the chemical properties of poisons, could not have been
successful. Even no more than forty years ago, the method
of analysis was in all cases crude and unsatisfactory, and for
many poisons good processes continued unknown ; so that
it was no uncommon thing for charges of poisoning to break
down, solely on account of the dubious quality of the che¬
mical evidence. But at present the proof of poisoning is
seldom defective in the chemical branch ; the evidence of
death by poison is usually complete ; and how can it fail to
be so in competent hands, when the analyst can detect in
the most complex mixtures the minute quantity of a twentieth
or fiftieth of a grain of the common poisons, and when many
years of interment frequently cannot withdraw the crime of
the poisoner from the keenness of the chemist’s search ? It
has been proved by careful experiments that the mineral
acids, arsenic, corrosive sublimate, blue vitriol, opium and its
principle morphia, strychnia (the principle of nux-vomica),
cantharides, and other less familiar substances, may be dis¬
covered in the body of animals poisoned with them, though
buried for nine months ; and instances have occurred of the
detection of arsenic in man after interment for two, four, and
even seven years. It does not absolutely follow that death
has been occasioned by poison because poison is found
within the body after death; for it may have been feloniously
introduced afterwards, for the purpose of falsely imputing
poison; or though poison has been swallowed, death may
nevertheless have arisen either from natural disease, or some
other kind of violence. Instances of such extraordinary oc¬
currences are actually not uncommon; sufficiently so at
least to require being kept always in view. The determina¬
tion of them involves too refined an inquiry to be considered
here. On the other hand, the non-discovery of poison after
death is still further from being evidence that death was not
occasioned by poison. For some poisons are still undis-
coverable by any method of analysis ; others are soon de¬
composed within the body after death, such as prussic acid ;
others are quickly absorbed from the stomach during life,
so as to prove fatal without leaving any remains behind, as
in many instances of poisoning with opium ; others may be
expelled by vomiting, and nevertheless have, in the first in-
P O I
Poison, stance, occasioned injury enough to prove fatal, as some-
times happens in the case of arsenic, and very commonly in
poisoning with mineral acids. It has, however, been made
a subject of question, w hether the evidence of poisoning can
ever be considered as complete, so as to involve a convic¬
tion in a criminal case, unless poison be found either in the
body or in the remains of a suspected article which has
been swallowed. It appears absurd, however, to insist on
the absolute necessity of such evidence. For were the
poisoner to choose his means skilfully, and avoid over-doses,
he would, on such principles, frequently escape. And the
best scientific authorities, in the most recent times, seem
inclined to allow that the general evidence from the vari¬
ous sources detailed above may be often so strong as to
leave scarcely any scientific doubt of the occurrence of
poisoning; and the conjunction of the circumstances of
ordinary evidence may, in a legal sense, entirely remove
what little doubt may have existed of a scientific nature.
Accordingly there have been instances of condemnation,
in this and other countries, where poison could not be
discovered. It may be right to add, that it is most sin¬
gular how effectually and how quickly poisons are some¬
times removed beyond the reach of analysis by incidental
causes, even those poisons which may be detected in other
circumstances in extremely minute quantities, and where
the methods of analysis are well understood. Prussic acid
is seldom to be detected if life be prolonged for half an
hour, while in the ordinary cases of death in a few minutes
it may be discovered with ease. Arsenic, which in the
great majority of cases adheres obstinately to the stomach,
and may in consequence be detected there though life has
been prolonged under frequent vomiting for two days and
upwards, has been known to be removed from the stomach
in the short space of five hours. It is of moment to ob¬
serve, how'ever, that, by reason of the improvements made
in chemical analysis in recent times, some poisons, such as
arsenic, though they may cease to be discoverable in the
stomach, will be discovered in the blood, in the liver, and
other fleshy organs, and also in the urine.
Treatment. The treatment of poisoning, like all other branches of
toxicology, has, within a few years, been prodigiously im¬
proved. It may be said, indeed, to have been understood
only within the last forty years. In ancient times the
notions entertained of the treatment were not less crude
than those formed of the nature and action of poisons.
Among other errors, it was strangely supposed that certain
counter-poisons existed, which not only possessed the pro¬
perty of curing the effects of all poisons indifferently, but
which likewise, when taken for a length of time, had the
faculty of impregnating the constitution, and rendering it
proof against the influence of any poison. Princes and
others often lived thus for years under the care of their
physicians, or protected against their treachery7, by being
charged with conservative antidotes. After these notions
w'ere exploded, other erroneous practices came into vogue ;
and in particular it was believed to be established on the
basis of observation, that certain antidotes, such as vinegar,
milk, oils, and the like, which are really not amiss in some
forms of poisoning, were equally efficacious in all. These
illusions have been dispelled, even among professional
people, only within very few years; and among the unpro¬
fessional they still have currency. The clearing away of
the mists of error has been attended with the discovery of
many real and most valuable remedies. The improvement
which has thus taken place has been owing partly to the
improvements made in chemistry ; but in this way nothino-
could have been ultimately effected without the aid of phy^
siological experiment, and more especially of experiments
on amimals ; a method of inquiry, nevertheless, which it has
been too much the practice of an ignorant or spurious hu¬
manity to decry.
SON. 133
The treatment of poisoning is directed to three objects,— Poison,
the removal of the poison, the administration of an anti-
dote, and the cure of the disorders which have been pro¬
duced.
I. The first object in every instance is the prompt re¬
moval of what may remain of the poison. If it had been
applied outwardly to a sore or wound, it must be carefully
wiped or washed away. When introduced deep into or
under the skin by a puncture, it is to be withdrawn by suc¬
tion w ith the mouth, and, still better, with a cupping-glass,
the efficacy of which is insured, as in the case of snake-
poison, by a bandage being applied above the wound, so as
to obstruct the return of blood from the veins to the heart,
but without compressing the arteries. Another plan, which
has been found effectual in the like circumstances, is simply
to apply the bandage above the wound, and then to open
a vein between the wound and bandage, so that the poison
is drawn from the wound with the blood, and discharged
outwardly from the orifice in the vein. Sometimes it is
useful to make deep scarifications before applying the cup-
ping-glass; yet in this way the bottom of the wound may
be missed; and, on the whole, if incisions are to be made
at all, it seems better to calculate the probable depth of the
wound, and to remove a portion of the texture with the
knife all around it. 1 he bleeding which follows commonly
effects the discharge of the remaining poison; but some
afterwards add the use of an incandescent iron for cauter¬
izing the whole adjacent parts. The removal of the poison,
when taken internally, may be variously managed. But,
first, care must be taken not to attempt its removal when
nature may have already looked after this step in the treat¬
ment, as in the case of profuse, and frequent, and full vomit-
ing. All that is necessary in such circumstances is to give
occasional draughts of lukewarm water, or milk and w'ater,
to render vomiting easy, and to aid in washing out the
stomach. When vomiting does not occur, or is not free, an
emetic ought to be promptly given. Whatever is nearest
should be first tried,—mustard, for example; but the most
effectual is white vitriol, in the quantity of a scruple or half
a drachm dissolved in a large wine-glassful of water, to be
repeated in fifteen minutes if necessary. Where the symp¬
toms indicate narcotic poisoning,—for instance, with opium,
—it is essential to keep the person roused after giving the
emetic, otherwise it will hardly act. Emetics, when they
do operate, are greatly preferable to the stomach-pump,
which has been of late currently substituted for them.
I he stomach-pump, how'ever, is one of the most important
additions which have been made to the healing art in
modern times. In very many instances of narcotic poison¬
ing emetics will not operate ; and all such cases, till of late,
inevitably perished when the quantity of poison was con¬
siderable. I he stomach-pump insures the prompt removal
of almost all poisons; so that when used in time recovery
is next to certain, where formerly a large majority of cases
proved fatal. 2. By all such means, however, the poison
is often but partially removed. Some of it pervades the
system; more of it impregnates the tissues with which it
was in contact, and is ready for absorption ; much of it often
passes down into the intestines; occasionally it adheres with
obstinacy to the inner membrane of the stomach, and can¬
not be dislodged either by emetics or by washing through
means of the stomach-pump. The second object, then, is
to administer an antidote. Antidotes have usually been
conceived to be of two kinds. Some, by changing the
chemical form of poisons, render them inert, and are called
chemical antidotes. Others are thought to subdue the mor¬
bid action of poisons by exciting a counter-action, and are
termed constitutional antidotes. In ancient times, and like¬
wise until the recent improvements in toxicology, scarcely
any other antidotes were known except what belonged to
the constitutional class. But it is now thought that ?n cor-
134
POISON.
Poison, rect language scarcely any such antidote exists. European
physiologists are not acquainted with any decided constitu¬
tional antidote for any of the numberless multitude and
variety of poisons now familiar to the scientific. It is very
generally believed, however, that savages in all quarters of
the world are in possession of remedies of this nature, more
especially for the effects of snake-poison. Apparently au¬
thentic accounts have been published of a considerable
variety of antidotes known to the natives in different parts
of North and South America for the bite of venomous
snakes. But none of these supposed antidotes have been
found to stand the test of scientific investigation ; natives
who put trust in them have been seen to perish in the usual
way; there is no difficulty in accounting for their apparent
occasional success; and those who give faith to the marvels
of travellers on the subject ought to consider how very ex¬
traordinary it would be if, in every part of the globe where
there are savages, discoveries of this kind should be made^
in regard to their poisons, while, with all the advantages of
science to aid them in the search, no civilized people have
yet contrived to stumble on a similar discovery in relation
to any of the innumerable poisons with which they have
long been familiar. If constitutional antidotes are still much
wanted, there is no want of excellent antidotes of the che¬
mical class. Some of these act by neutralizing the chemi¬
cal qualities on which the properties of the poison depend,
others by simply rendering the poison insoluble. Ihus
sulphuric acid is rendered inert by magnesia, because it be¬
comes thereby a neutral salt,—soluble, indeed, but no longer
capable of corroding the animal textures, or of exciting
violent irritation. In like manner, potash is rendered inert,
or nearly so, by lemon-juice or vinegar, or, though less
easily, by oil, because it is converted into neutral salts, which
are feebly irritant and not at all corrosive. On the other
hand, oxalic acid is rendered inert by magnesia, partly be¬
cause its corrosive qualities are neutralized by chemical
neutralization, but chiefly because these, in common with
its not less formidable effects on the nervous system through
absorption, are prevented by a substance resulting which
is insoluble. So, too, arsenic becomes inert when brought
thoroughly in contact with the hydrated peroxide of iron,^
because an insoluble compound is formed, the arseniate of
iron. In using and searching for antidotes of the chemical
kind, several important general rules should be attended
to. For, first, where a poison is a pure local irritant, des¬
titute of action through the blood or remote organs, it is
usually sufficient that it be neutralized ; because the result¬
ing compound is commonly but a feeble irritant, although
soluble. One condition, however, must be observed, namely,
that the antidote shall be itself innocuous, otherwise harm
may be done by the antidote before it comes in contact
with the poison, or because it is given in excess. Thus the
mineral acids are unfit antidotes for neutralizing the mineral
alkalis, and the latter for neutralizing the former. But,
secondly, when the poison is of a kind which acts on remote
organs through the medium of absorption, it is not enough
that it be chemically neutralized. For all such poisons act
as such throughout their soluble compounds; their com¬
pounds act on the whole in proportion to their solubility;
and those only are inert which are insoluble, and insoluble
not merely in water, but likewise in the animal fluids of the
stomach. Hence oxalic acid and arsenious acid (common
arsenic) are not neutralized in their physiological actions
by being neutralized with potash ; prussic acid similarly
treated remains as energetic as ever; and the powerful
vegetable alkaloids,—morphia, strychnia, conia, and the
like,—instead of becoming inert by neutralization with
acids, are rendered positively more active, because they are
made more soluble. In the case of every poison, then, it
is advantageous, and in very many it is indispensable, that
the chemical change effected shall be such as to impart
to the compound insolubility; and care should be taken Poison,
that this insolubility shall exist in regard to the natural “
juices of the stomach, which are commonly acidulous. But,
thirdly, the antidotal tendency of such chemical remedies,
even when of undoubted virtue, is often counteracted when
the poison is a fine, rather insoluble, powder; for it ad¬
heres forcibly to the inner coat of the stomach, iiritates
it to throw out tough mucus, which covers the powder,
and defends it against the approach of the neutralizing agent.
Frequent instances of such a course of things occur in the
case of poisoning with arsenic. 3. I he last object of the
treatment of poisoning is the cure of the disorders which
the poison has produced. These d
disorders, since they are
substantially natural diseases, must be treated as such. But
there are certain circumstances which render them in some
measure peculiar, and consequently modify the treatment.
These are chiefly as follows :—Treatment will obviously be
of little use for such disorders, until what remains of the
poison be removed or rendered inert; and as this object is
often unattainable, ultimate success is frequently beyond
reach. Evacuation of the poison is in this point of view of
primary importance, as well as for its own sake. In the
case of poisoning with the irritants, the treatment is often
exceedingly embarrassing, because it must be simultane¬
ously directed towards two opposite ends,—the suppression
of inflammation by evacuating, and consequently debilitat¬
ing measures, and the removal of depression of the heart
and general system by stimulating remedies. These two
contrary and incompatible objects are often the cause why
the best treatment proves inefficacious. The treatment of
narcotic poisoning is somewhat differently circumstanced.
The remains of the poison being removed, there is only
the induced disorder to combat. These disorders are in the
great majority of cases functional only,—that is, no struc¬
tural injury has been occasioned. Hence, the offending
cause having been withdrawn, there may be expected to
prevail in the constitution a natural tendency to throw off
the functional disorder,—a tendency towards recovery.
Experience shows that such is actually the fact. If in nar¬
cotic poisoning the remains of the poison can be removed,
and life can be preserved for a moderate length of time,
success is highly probable in a great majority of cases.
Thus very few die of poisoning with opium, and perhaps
still fewer ought to die in skilful hands, w’ho survive for
eighteen hours; and few die of the effects of prussic acid
who survive them for three-quarters of an hour. In nar¬
cotic poisoning, then, the treatment for subduing the dis¬
orders induced consists mainly in employing, in some in¬
stances, sedatives for subduing irritation of the nervous
system, but much more commonly stimulants, for the pur¬
pose of keeping the person roused, and in applying various
means for supporting artificial respiration when the natural
breathing fails. Excellent methods for accomplishing the
first object are now in familiar use,—such as loud talking,
agitation of the body, injecting water into the ears, tickling
the nostrils, dashing cold water over the head and shoulders,
applying sinapisms to the calves, blistering the head with
boiling water, and internally ammonia, ether, and spirits.
But the best method of supporting artificial respiration has
not yet been discovered ; there are practical objections to
all the methods yet devised ; and it is only when these
shall be perfected that the treatment of narcotic poisoning
will be rendered substantially superior to what it is at pre¬
sent. It is not unlikely that galvanism will be found a
material part of tbe most efficacious method,—applied, how¬
ever, not continuously, as is often practised, but interrupt¬
edly, so as not to disturb the alternate contractions and re¬
laxations of the respiratory muscles.
In the preceding observations on the effects and treat- Actions oi
ment of poisoning, poisons have been regarded solely in vegetable!
their operation on the animal body. But they were defined
P 0 I
Poison, at the outset as acting on living bodies generally ; and
upon vegetables their action is not less remarkable than
upon animals. This branch of the subject has been hitherto
little studied ; but what is already known of it seems full of
interest both in a physiological and in a practical point of
view. It appears that in a general sense there is a close
analogy between the actions exerted by poisons on both
divisions of the living world. As there are two leading
effects produced in animals, so are there two great classes
of phenomena developed in vegetables,—those of irritation
and those of narcotism, or at least of an action closely ana¬
logous. The apparent phenomena of both kinds are in¬
deed much simpler in vegetable than in animal beings,
partly because the organs and functions of the former are
more simple than those of the latter, partly because physio¬
logists have not yet ascertained with precision the special
changes that are induced. Still, however, it is easy to trace
in vegetables the leading effects produced by irritants and
by narcotics respectively upon animals. The former occa¬
sion partial or general disorganization or death of the organs
of plants to which they are directly applied, and the plant
may eventually either recover or perish, according to the
extent of the injury or the importance of the organ injured.
The latter seem to act upon the vitality of the plant, with¬
out in general producing any marked change of a local
nature, or such as may be referred to a direct impression,
at least until the first signs of vital depression appear ; and
it is commonly observed that so soon as such signs of de¬
pression do make their appearance, however slight they
may be, they quickly pervade the whole plant, which in
consequence perishes irrevocably. The irritants appear to
act topically, and from without inwards ; the narcotics act
more diffusively, and from within outwards, being probably
first absorbed.
Poisons act upon vegetables, through whatever channel
they are introduced, and to whatever organ they are ap¬
plied, provided the texture be such as to admit of their
passage to those parts which are more or less directly con¬
nected with life. The organs through which they act with
greatest energy are the leaves and the roots. Liquid
poisons act with most energy through the roots ; gaseous
poisons are probably most energetic when applied to the
leaves. Partial action is sometimes produced by the topi¬
cal application of a general or narcotic poison ; thus arsenic
introduced into the axilla of a leaf of the Dipsacus fullonum
kills the whole superior part of the plant on the side cor¬
responding with the leaf. Vegetable poisons are not less
energetic than mineral poisons. Nay, however extraor¬
dinary it may appear, there seems no question that plants
may be promptly killed by their own poisons,—that the
poison produced by a particular species may kill that species
as readily as it will others, if applied to the root so as to be
absorbed into the nutritive juices. This singular pheno¬
menon may depend on the poison being secreted and con¬
fined in particular receptacles in the ordinary state of the
plant. But another and more intelligible explanation, in
regard to certain poisons, may be drawn from the well-
ascertained fact, that some vegetable poisons, and probably
more of them than the physiologist may at present be in¬
clined to admit, do not exist ready formed in the plants
whence they are obtained, but are produced only when cer¬
tain principles, existing naturally apart in distinct recep¬
tacles, are brought in contact by mechanical force or che¬
mical manipulations. A remarkable instance in point is
the essential oil of the bitter almond kernel or cherrv-
laurel leaf, which does not exist ready formed, otherwise
it would be betrayed, like other essential oils, by its pow¬
erful odour, but is formed only when certain principles,
named amygdalin and emulsin, are brought in contact
with each other and with water.
No poisons are better fitted for illustrating the pheno-
S O N.
135
mena of poisoning in vegetables, or better deserve the at- Poi80n
tendon of physiologists and practical men, than those which v
are gaseous in their nature. Most of them seem to act in
excessively minute quantities and proportions. A tenth
part of a cubic inch of muriatic acid gas, which is equiva¬
lent to the twenty-fifth part of a grain by weight, will in no
long time destroy a small plant, although the gas be diluted
with twenty thousand times its volume of air; and the de¬
vastating effects produced on surrounding vegetation by all
manufactories where this acid is thrown abundantly into
the atmosphere, as in the manufacture of black-ash and
soda from sea-salt, abundantly show that far less proportions
will prove equally deleterious when applied continuously.
Sulphurous acid gas acts with nearly as great intensity.
The effect of either of these poisons is simply to shrivel
and wither the leaves and buds, like the action of frost in
spring ; and the plant will eventually recover if removed
in time from the influence of the noxious agent, but, with
the loss of its foliage. Other gases, such as sulphuretted
hydrogen and cyanogen, produce no visible change until
the leaves begin to bend and droop; after which the
drooping quickly extends, till at length the whole plant be¬
comes flaccid, so as to present exactly the same appear¬
ance as when deprived of moisture ; and it perishes inevi¬
tably.
Some substances which are poisonous to animals are not
poisonous to vegetalfles. The experiments which have
been made on this subject are neither sufficiently extensive
nor sufficiently exact to warrant any general deductions.
A very remarkable instance is carbonic acid gas, a small
proportion of which in the atmosphere will speedily extin¬
guish animal life, but which is innocuous to vegetables in
almost any proportion, nay, on the contrary, supplies them
with aliment.
Poisons are by no means without their uses in the eco- jjseg
nomy of nature. It is, in the first place, not improbable that
vegetable poisons serve some purpose in the economy of
the plants which produce them. On this point we are
still much in the dark, in consequence of the little advance¬
ment which has been hitherto made in vegetable physio¬
logy. But one purpose of the kind seems to be the per¬
petuation and extension of such plants by rendering them
unfit for the food of herbivorous animals and frugivorous
birds, which by instinct commonly avoid them. In the
case of certain poisons of the animal kingdom, their pur¬
pose is obviously to preserve the animals which are en¬
dowed with them, by enabling them to destroy their prey
and their enemies. Another important use to which poisons
from every kingdom may be applied, is for the treatment
of diseases. A very close connection subsists between me¬
dicinal and poisonous action. This is sufficiently shown
perhaps by the undoubted fact, that, with very few excep¬
tions, our best medicines are active poisons; and con¬
versely, that there are few active poisons which have not
been turned to account as useful medicines. Besides, in
the greater number of instances, the two properties, medi¬
cinal virtue and poisonous influence, are plainly nothing
else than manifestations of the same action, differing merely
somewhat in degree, which is well exemplified by most
purgatives and emetics, by opium, henbane, prussic acid,
and other anodynes, and by counter-irritants, or substances
employed for irritating the skin. In other instances, again,
where the poisonous and medicinal actions are to appear¬
ance different and unconnected, the existence of some re¬
lationship between them seems to be pointed out by the
activity of the substances as drugs being proportioned to
their energy as poisons. Another purpose to which some
poisons are applied is for the destruction of the lower ani¬
mals for the use of man. In most parts of the world,
where the primitive habits of mankind have not been ma¬
terially modified by civilization, poisons of great energy are
136
Poisson
.11
Poitiers.
T 0 I
P O L
familiarly employed for the destruction of game, and in
some countries also for killing beasts and birds of prey, n
civilized countries they have hitherto been used chiefly foi
the more ignoble purpose of getting rid of vermin. But
they are susceptible of far more important applications o
the same nature, which, however, have been as yet en¬
tirely overlooked. c’) .
POISSON, Simon Denis. (See Dissertation Sixth.)
POITIERS, a town of France, capital of the depart¬
ment of Vienne, on the Clain, an affluent of the Vienne,
58 miles S.S.W. of Tours, and 78 N.E. of Roche e. It
stands on the rounded extremity of a chain ot hills sur¬
rounded on all sides but the S.W. by narrow ravines,
through which flow the Clain and its affluent the Boivie.
The ancient walls, which skirted the banks of the rivers,
are now almost entirely removed ; and that part of them
which crossed the high ground on the landward side is now
a public walk, commanding a fine view of the rivers as
they wind through their deep valleys. The town covers a
very large space of ground, but it includes within its
circuit gardens and fields, as well as houses, streets, and
squares. The streets are generally steep, narrow, and
crooked, lined with mean-looking houses, and the town in
general has a dull and desolate appearance, were it not for
the market-place, which is crowded and bustling. _ Many
fine old buildings, especially churches, combine with the
natural beauty of its position in giving Poitiers a very pic¬
turesque aspect. Some remains of a vast R-oman amphi¬
theatre still exist at Poitiers: the oval interior, now con¬
verted into a garden, and the tiers of seats for the spectatoi s,
replaced in some places by modern houses. . Some of the
vaults and corridors, and portions of the solid regular ma¬
sonry, are still entire. Another very ancient building is now
used as a museum, but was formerly a church, and seems to
have been originally a baptistery. It is probably as old as the
sixth or seventh century. The cathedral, said to have been
founded by Henry II. of England, has two low and un¬
equal towers, and is very elegant in the interior. The other
churches are of much interest to the antiquary and the
architect. On the highest part of the town stand the pre¬
fecture and court-house. Poitiers has an episcopal pala.ce,
a public library with 25,000 volumes and numerous MSS.,
a theatre, barracks, university academy, faculty of law,
school of medicine, botanic garden, various scientific
societies, &c. The manufactures comprise coarse woollen
cloth, blankets, hosiery, lace, leather, playing-cards, vine¬
gar, &c. Some trade is carried on in these articles, as well
as in agricultural produce of various kinds. Poitiers is one
of the most ancient towns in France. It existed, under the
name of Limonum, in the time of the Romans, but it after¬
wards took the name of its inhabitants, the Pictavi or Pic-
tones. After the fall of the Roman empire, it was pos¬
sessed successively by the Vandals, Visigoths, and Franks.
The last of these nations gained possession of it in conse¬
quence of the defeat of the Visigoths under Alaric by
Clovis, in 507, not far from the town. In 732 Poitiers
was the scene of another great battle, in which Charles
Martel defeated the Saracens ; and in 13o6 the English,
under the Black Prince, gained a victory over the French
under John II., who was taken prisoner. It was the capi¬
tal of the province of Poitou, which came into he posses¬
sion of England by the marriage of Henry Plantagenet
afterwards Henry IT, to Eleanor of Gmenne in 1153 , but
it was taken from them by Philip IT in 1204 It was again
in the possession of the English from 1360 to 1372.
Durino- the civil wars Poitiers, which was at first held by
the Huguenots, was taken by the Catholira, and Cohgny
in vain attempted to recover it. Pop. (1856) 26,233.
POITOU, an ancient province of France, bounded
on the N. by the provinces of Bretagne, Anjou, and Tou-
raine ; E. by those of Berri and Marche; S. by those of
Ano'oumois, Saintonge, and Aunis; and W. by the Bay of
Biscay. It was divided into Upper and Tower Poitou, and
now forms the department of Vendee, the greater part of
those of Vienne and Deux-Sevres, and small portions of
Haute-Vienne, Creuse, Charente, Charente-Inferieure, and
Indre-et-Loire. , ^ . r
POKHURN, a town of India, in the Rajpoot state ot
Jodhpoor, 66 miles E. of Jessulmere, and 134 S.W. of
Nao-ore. It is surrounded by a good stone wall; and the
most conspicuous building is a temple, which stands in a
deserted town quite close to the modern one. A consider¬
able transit trade is carried on here, as the town stands on
one of the great highways between Sinde and Eastern
Rajpootana. Pop. about 15,000.
POKUR, a town of British India, in the district of
Ajmere, N.W. Provinces, stands in a low swampy valley,
on the S. shore of a lake, which is considered by the Brah¬
mins the most sacred in India, 5 miles N.W. of Ajmere.
Round the town stand many shrines and monuments of the
princes and great men of India ; and among these the most
conspicuous is the shrine of Brahma. Flights of stone
stairs descend from the temple to the sacred lake, to which,
at full moon, great numbers of pilgrims resort. The town
has many good houses, and beautiful gardens and vine}aids.
A fair is held here for horses, cattle, and other merchandise,
at the full moon in October, when the concourse of pil¬
grims is much the greatest.
POL DE LEON, St, a town of France, in the de¬
partment of Finistere, on the slope of a hill neai the sea,
10 miles N.N.W. of Morlaix. It reminds the visitor of St
Andrews in Scotland, being, like it, an ancient ecclesias¬
tical but now almost deserted town, with grass-grown streets,
and a very melancholy aspect. It contains two tine chui dies.
The cathedral, built partly in the thirteenth and partly in
the sixteenth century, has two beautiful towers surmounted
with spires. The church of Kreizker, i.e., middle of the town,
is chiefly remarkable for its lofty spire of open work in
granite, rising from a richly-ornamented square tower to
the height of 404 feet above the ground, being second only
to Strasburg among the spires of France. The manufac¬
ture of linen is carried on ; and many of the inhabitants are
employed in fishing. It has some trade through the suburb
of Peiipoull, on the sea-shore. Pop. 7059.
Poitou
Pol de
Leon.
137
POLAND.
History. Poland, a name which once designated one of the most ex-
tensive and powerful of the kingdoms of Europe, but now
indicates only a small integral portion of the Russian em¬
pire. In the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries its area is
said to have exceeded 390,000 square miles, or more than
that of France and Spain together; and even at the period
of the first partition, in 1772, though by that time its limits
had been much circumscribed, it had an area exceeding
that of France, or about 283,000 square miles, and a popu¬
lation estimated at 13,000,000, probably more than that of
the British Islands or of the Spanish peninsula at that period.
It extended from Livonia and the Baltic on the N., to
the Ukraine, Moldavia, and the Carpathians on the S.; from
the Dwina and the Dnieper on the E., to Pomerania,
Brandenburg, Bohemia, and Silesia on the W.
The Poles belong to the great family of the Slavonians,
who, when the Goths and Vandals possessed themselves
of Gaul, Spain, and Italy, left their ancient habitations E.
of the Vistula, and gradually spread themselves to the S.
and W. Though they frequently, like the other barbarians,
disturbed the Roman Empire, yet they were generally
peaceful in their character. They settled on the lands
that other nations had relinquished, employing themselves
as husbandmen and shepherds, in the domestic arts or in
trade. They were characterized by their hospitality and
honesty; and from their peaceful habits, were often deeply
wronged by their more warlike neighbours. The name
Pole came to be given to a portion of this race from a Sla¬
vonic word signifying “a plain,” as the country which they in¬
habited was almost one uninterrupted level plain.
The first prince of Poland is said to have been Lech, who
flourished in the middle of the sixth century. He founded
the first city Gnesna, so naming it from Gniazdo, signifying
“a nest,”—as an eagle’s nest was found there; and hence the
arms of Poland were a spread eagle. The descendants
of Lech reigned in Poland for about 100 years, when the
race being extinct, twelve palatines, or woivodes, were
chosen, and the country divided into twelve parts. The
people soon became dissatisfied with this government, and
chose one of the twelve, Cracus, to be their sovereign.
He reigned for about 30 years, and was much esteemed
by the people. He founded Cracow, and removed the
seat of his government from Gnesna to that city. He left
three children, the eldest of whom, Cracus, succeeded him,
but he was soon after murdered by his brother Lech. The
latter did not long profit by his fratricide, for the crime
having been discovered, he was deposed and banished by
his subjects, and his sister Venda elected in his stead.
She was celebrated for her beauty ; and having refused the
hand of a German prince named Rudiger, he marched
against her with a large army. According to some ac¬
counts she was defeated, and to save herself from falling
into his hands she drowned herself in the Vistula; according
to others, Rudiger’s forces having abandoned him with¬
out striking a blow, he killed himself in despair, and she
was so much concerned at his death that she drowned her¬
self. The race of Cracus being thus extinct, twelve woi¬
vodes were again appointed, but they soon fell out among
themselves, and the country was invaded by the Hungarians
and Moravians. One Prezimislas, a copimon soldier, hav¬
ing by stratagem overthrown the invaders, was raised to the
dukedom under the title of Lesko I. After a long and pro¬
sperous reign, he died without leaving issue, and again the
country was thrown into a state of anarchy. Several candi¬
dates appeared for the crown, and the Poles determined to
elect him who should outstrip all the others in a horse-race.
VOL. XVIII.
A certain nobleman, in order to secure the victory, caused the History,
race-course to be strewn with iron spikes, and had the feet v -i. J
of his own horse protected by iron plates. The artifice took
effect; but when he was about to be proclaimed victor, a
peasant who had found out the deceit, opposed the cere¬
mony, and exposed the fraud. The nobleman was imme¬
diately torn to pieces by the people, and the ducal authority
conferred on the peasant. The new sovereign, Lesko II.
conducted himself with great wisdom and moderation, and
was distinguished both in war and peace. He is said to
have at length fallen in a war with Charlemagne. He was
succeeded by his son Lesko III.,'who inherited all his father’s
virtues. He concluded a peace with Charlemagne, and
encouraged among his subjects the cultivation of the arts
of peace. He was succeeded by his legitimate son Popiel
L, but he left also a number of illegitimate sons, to whom
he gave fiefs which were held of the crown. Popiel was a
monster of cruelty and debauchery, and his son Popiel II.
was, if possible, still worse. He found means to poison all
his uncles (the illegitimate sons of Lesko III.), at an enter¬
tainment ; but it is said that the vengeance of heaven soon
overtook him, and he perished miserably with all his house.
The nation now became a prey to civil discord ; and at
length a diet was assembled at Kruswick to choose a king.
They could not, however, come to any agreement, and their
presence soon brought on a famine in the town. A citizen
named Piast liberally opened his stores for their use, and
this act brought him the kingdom. He was proclaimed duke
about 830, and his reign was long and peaceful. He engaged
in no foreign wars, and was harassed with no domestic com¬
motions. His son Ziemowitz, who succeeded him, was of a
more warlike disposition than his father, and was the first
to introduce regular discipline among the Polish troops.
He was victorious in all his battles, and greatly enlarged his
dominions. Lesko IAr. succeeded him in 892. This prince
was of a quiet and peaceful disposition, and contented him¬
self with preserving what his father had left, without seek¬
ing to enlarge his dominions. He died in 913, and was
succeeded by his son Ziemovistus. He, too, had a peace¬
ful reign, which extended over 51 years, and was succeeded
by his son Miecislas.
The above, with a sufficient admixture of the marvellous
and fabulous, is the account given by the earlier Polish
historians of the first period of their history. There can be
little doubt, however, that their origin as a nation is fixed
at too early a date; and Polish writers of our own time,
Lelewel, Niemcewitz, Golembrowski, Zielinski, and others,
are content to proclaim Miecislas I. as the true founder
of the Polish monarchy.
Miecislas L, who attained the ducal authority in 964, Miecislas I.
was born blind, and remained so for seven years; but he
afterwards obtained his sight without any assignable cause;
and hence it was ascribed to a miracle. He became ena¬
moured with Dombrowka, daughter of the Duke of Bohe¬
mia ; but that lady refused to accept his suit unless he
should suffer himself to be baptised. The ceremony took
place on 5th March 965 ; and this is the date usually assigned
for the introduction of Christianity into Poland, but it
seems more probable that the Christian religion had reached
the country before that time, though it had not come into
public notice. The religion which the duke had thus been
led to adopt he afterwards propagated with the greatest
zeal. He founded the archbishoprics of Gnesna and Cra¬
cow, and appointed St Adelbert, who had been sent by the
Pontiff to propagate Christianity in Poland, primate of the
whole kingdom. He also enjoined that, when any part of
138 POL
History, the gospel was read, the hearers should half-draw their
swords, in token of their readiness to defend its truths. On
Boleslas I. his death in 999, he was succeeded by his son Boleslas L,
surnanred the Brand, who was even more zealous than his
father in extirpating the remains of paganism. He obtained
the remains of St Adelbert, who had been murdered in Prus¬
sia, and deposited them with great pomp at Gnesna. Otho
III., Emperor of Germany, having made a jiilgrimage to the
tomb of this saint, was so kindly entertained by Boleslas
that in return he invested him with regal dignity ; an act
which was confirmed by the Pope. The elevation of
Boleslas excited the envy of the Duke of Bohemia, who
had vainly solicited that honour for himself; and his jea¬
lousy was further excited by the marriage of Miecislas
Boleslas’ son, with Rixa, the emperor s niece. He accoid-
ingly entered Poland at the head of a numerous army, and
committed the most wanton and barbarous outrages. On
the approach of the Polish army, however, he retreated
with precipitation; and Boleslas, at the head ot a formid¬
able army, entered Bohemia, ihe Bohemians had not the
courage to venture a battle; and after a siege of two years,
Prague, the capital, was taken, and most ot the other for t-
resses in the country speedily fell into the hands of the
conqueror. He did not, however, rest satisfied with this,
but followed up his advantages, resolved to obtain possession
of the duke, which he at length did, and to satisfy his re¬
sentment, put out his eyes. From Bohemia he marched
against Moravia, which submitted without striking a blow.
He afterwards turned his attention to Russia, and found an
excuse for invading that country in a civil war that wTas
then raging between the children of the famous Vladimir.
The chief competitorswere Jarislas and Swiantopelk. Boles¬
las sided with the latter, and defeated Jarislas with great
slaughter on the banks of the Bug. He took Kiow, the
most celebrated and opulent city in that part of Europe,
and became master of the greater part of Russia. He
placed Swiantopelk on the throne, but he soon found in
him a more dangerous enemy than his brother. This
Russian prince had no sooner obtained the crown than he
formed a conspiracy, which had for its object nothing less
than the destruction of Boleslas and his whole army. The
massacre was already begun, when Boleslas received in¬
telligence of the scheme. He immediately mounted his
horse, and having with the utmost haste assembled part of
his army, fell upon the traitors with such fury that they
were obliged to betake themselves to flight; and Boleslas
got safe back to Poland. He now turned his arms against
the Saxons, and extended his conquests to the Elbe. The
inhabitants of the country to the north of Poland he also
reduced to obedience. In 1018 the Russians, under Jarislas,
attempted to invade Poland, but were defeated with great
slaughter. By this victory Boleslas acquired a considerable
tract of country, and the Russians were besides obliged to
pay him a tribute. This monarch died in 1025, and was
Miecislas succeeded by his son Miecislas, who possessed none of the
II- great qualities of his father. In the beginning of his reign
the Russians, Bohemians, and Moravians revolted; but as
the spirit and discipline of the Polish troops still remained,
Miecislas found no difficulty in reducing them to obedience,
after which he devoted himself entirely to voluptuousness,
and, at length worn out by his debauched course of life, he
died in 1034. His queen Rixa was elected regent during
Casimir I. the minority of his heir Casimir ; but she proved tyrannical,
and so partial to her countrymen the Germans, that a rebel¬
lion ensued, and she was forced to flee to Germany. Her
son Casimir was also driven out of the kingdom, and a great
many claimants started up for the vacant throne. This
produced a civil war; and to add to their distress, the
Bohemians and Russians invaded the kingdom in different
places. At length it was resolved to recall the young
prince, but as five years had already elapsed, no one knew
AND.
where he was to be found. By interceding with his mother, History,
however, they succeeded in obtaining the wished-for intel- ^ i
ligence. He had at first retired into France, where he
applied himself closely to study at the university of Paris ;
he afterwards went to Italy, where, after suffering great
distress he entered a monastery and assumed the religious
habit; and subsequently lie returned to France, where he
obtained some preferment in the abbey of Cluny. It was
here that he was found, but his vow presented an obstacle
to his now accepting the crown. At length, however, the
Pope consented to grant a dispensation of this tie, on con¬
dition that the nation should become subject to the tax
called “Peter’s pence;” that they should all shave their
heads like monks, and wear white surplices at festivals.
Casimir was welcomed with the greatest joy by all ranks
of the people, and was crowned at Gnesna with more than
usual solemnity. He proved himself worthy of the confi¬
dence of his people, and equal to the difficulties of his situa¬
tion. He exerted his influence to repair the evils that had
so long afflicted the country, restored the dominion of the
laws, and subdued the banditti by which the country was
infested. He secured peace with Russia by marrying the
princess Mary, sister of the duke; and by his wise and
peaceful reign he did more to strengthen and stablish the
kingdom than could have been done by many victories.
He died after a reign of sixteen years, and was succeeded Boleslas 11
by his son Boleslas II., an enterprising and valiant prince,
who soon rendered himself so famous that three unfortunate
princes took refuge at his court, having been expelled from
their dominions. These were Jaromir, brother of Wratis-
las, Duke of Bohemia ; Bela, brother of the King of Hun¬
gary ; and Zaslaf, Duke of Kiow, and cousin to the King of
Poland. The Duke of Bohemia, dreading the consequences
of his brother’s escape, assembled an army, desolated Silesia,
and laid waste with fire and sword the frontiers of Poland.
Boleslas marched against him, and surprised him in the
narrow passes of a forest. The duke being reduced to the
greatest distress, proposed terms of peace, which, however,
were rejected. In this extremity he resolved to attempt
an escape during night, and, if discovered, to cut his way
through the Polish army, or perish in the attempt. Order¬
ing fires to be kindled in his camp, he drew off his forces
with the utmost secrecy, and had advanced several leagues
before Boleslas was aware of his retreat. The king pur¬
sued the fugitive, but in vain; and after ravaging the fron¬
tiers of Moravia, he returned to his own dominions. The
next year he entered Bohemia with a numerous army, and
the duke, unwilling to encounter so formidable an adver¬
sary, submitted to terms of peace, which contained condi¬
tions in favour of Jaromir. He now turned his attention
towards Hungary, and entered that kingdom at the head ot
a numerous army. The Hungarian king, supported by a
large body of Bohemians, prepared to meet him; and a
battle was at length fought, in the heat ot which the Hun¬
garian portion of the troops went over to the enemy, and
the auxiliaries were killed almost to a man. 1 he king
himself was taken prisoner, and treated with such cruelty
that he died soon after of a broken heart; and Bela was
placed on the throne without further opposition. He next,
at the head of a numerous and well-disciplined army,
marched into Russia, ravaged the territories composing
two palatinates, reduced the strong city of Wolyn, and
transported the booty to Poland. The campaign was
finished by a battle, which proved so bloody that, though
Boleslas was victorious, his army was so weakened that
he could not pursue his conquests. In the winter he made
numerous levies, and returning in the spring to Kiow, re¬
duced it by famine. On this occasion he treated the inha¬
bitants with kindness, commending their valour, and distri¬
buting provisions amongst them with the utmost liberality.
This clemency procured the highest honour to the King ot
POL
History. Poland ; but his stay here was productive of a great disaster.
Kiow being the most dissolute as well as the richest city in
the north, the king and his soldiers gave themselves up to
the pleasures of the place. Boleslas himself affected all the
state of an eastern monarch, and contracted an inclination
for the grossest debaucheries. Ihe Hungarian and Rus¬
sian wars having continued for seven years, during that
time the king had never been at home, excepting for the
short space of three months; and the Polish women, exas¬
perated at hearing that their husbands had neglected them,
raised their slaves to the beds of their masters, in order to
be revenged for the infidelity of their husbands. This
was so general that history has only handed down the name
of one lady as remaining faithful to her lord—Margaret,
wife of Count Nicolas de Zembosin. The soldiers hearing
of this, blamed the king for their dishonour, and resolved to
return home, in order to take vengeance upon their wives
and their paramours. A dreadful kind of civil war now
ensued. The women, knowing that they had no mercy to
expect from their husbands, persuaded their paramours to
take arms in their defence, and they themselves fought by
the side of their gallants with the utmost fury, seeking out
their husbands in the heat of battle, in order to secure
themselves from all danger of punishment. They were,
however, on the point of being subdued, when Boleslas,
who had been left almost alone in the heart of Russia, ar¬
rived with the few remaining Poles, assisted by an army of
Russians, with whom he resolved to take equal vengeance
on the women, their gallants, and his own soldiers who had
deserted him. This produced a carnage more dreadful
than ever. The soldiers united with their former wives
and their gallants against the common enemy, and fought
against Boleslas and the Russians with the fury of lions.
At last, however, the fortune of the king prevailed; the
rebels were totally subdued ; and the few who escaped the
sword were tortured to death or perished in prison.
To add to the calamities of this unhappy kingdom, the
schisms which for some time had prevailed in the Church
of Rome found their way also into Poland ; and the matter
at length came to be a contention for wealth and power
between the king and clergy. Bloodshed followed. The
Bishop of Cracow was, like another Thomas a Becket,
* massacred in the cathedral whilst he was performing the
duties of his office. Pope Gregory VII. thundered out
anathemas against the king, released his subjects from their
allegiance, and laid the kingdom under a general interdict.
The whole kingdom became a scene of confusion, and the
king fled with his son Miecislas, and took refuge in Hun¬
gary. Authors differ respecting the manner of his death,
but the generally received account is that, being driven
from place to place by the persecutions of the clergy, he
was at last obliged to become a cook in a monastery at
Carinthia, where in this mean occupation he ended his days,
fladislas I. -G16 kingdom continued under a severe interdict, which
could be removed only by the most abject concessions; but
at length the Pontiff consented that the brother of the de¬
ceased monarch should be raised to the sovereignty, but
only with the title of Duke. This prince, named Uladislas,
being of a meek disposition, with little ambition, accepted
the terms offered, and sent an embassy to Rome, earnestly
entreating the removal of the interdict. The request was
granted; but all his endeavours to recover the regal dig-
nity proved fruitless, the Pope having, in conjunction with
the Emperor of Germany, conferred that honour on the
Duke of Bohemia. Russia availed itself of the recent
disturbances to throw off the yoke; and this revolt drew
after it that of Prussia, Pomerania, and several other pro¬
vinces. The smaller provinces were soon reduced; but
the duke had no sooner returned to Poland than they ao-ain
rebelled. He marched against them with a considerable
army ; but was entirely defeated, and obliged to return.
A N D. 139
Next year, however, having led against them a more History,
numerous army than before, he compelled them to submit
and deliver up the ringleaders of the revolt. But no sooner
were the Pomeranians reduced than civil dissensions took
place. Sbigniew, his son by a concubine, was placed by
the discontented nobility at the head of an army to subvert
his father’s government and dispute the title of Boleslas,
his legitimate son, to the succession. Sbigniew was at
length defeated and taken captive, but was afterwards par¬
doned and received into favour.
Uladislas died in 1102, in the fifty-ninth year of his age, Boletlas
and was succeeded by his son Boleslas III.; but a portion In-
of his dominions was assigned to his brother Sbigniew.
The latter, being dissatisfied with his share, stirred up the
Bohemians, Saxons, and Moravians against his brother, and
made such formidable preparations as threatened the con¬
quest of all Poland. Boleslas, unable to oppose such a
formidable force, had recourse to the Russians and Hun¬
garians, who readily embraced his cause. At length Sbig¬
niew was defeated, and might have easily been obliged to
surrender at discretion, had not Boleslas generously left
him in quiet possession of the duchy of Mazovia. Sbigniew,
however, subsequently entered into other conspiracies, and
was at length banished from the kingdom.
Boleslas was scarcely freed from the intrigues of his
brother when he found himself in danger from the ambi¬
tion of the Emperor Henry V. The emperor had attacked
the King of Hungary, with whom Boleslas was in close
alliance. The King of Poland determined to assist his
friend, and therefore made a powerful diversion in Bohemia,
where he repeatedly defeated the imperialists. The em¬
peror then collecting all his forces, ravaged Silesia, and
even entered Poland, where he laid siege to the strong
town of Lubusz; but he was at last obliged to abandon the
enterprise, after having sustained severe loss. Henry, in
no degree discouraged, penetrated still farther into Poland,
and was laying waste all before him, when the superior
skill of Boleslas compelled him to retire. Enraged at this
disappointment, Henry laid siege to Glogau, and after a
spirited defence, the inhabitants were on the point of sur¬
rendering when Boleslas arrived and attacked the emperor
with such vigour that he obliged him to retreat with dis¬
grace into his own country. This soon brought on a peace,
which was confirmed by a marriage between Boleslas and
the emperor’s sister. About 1135 he was brought into a
war with Russia. He had conferred the government of
Wislica, a strong town on the Nida, to a Hungarian who
had insinuated himself into his affections ; but the traitor
delivered up the place to the Russians. Boleslas, incensed,
immediately entered into a w^ar with Russia. Having been
implored for assistance by the inhabitants of Halitz, Boles¬
las marched to their relief with a choice body of troops ;
but as he was preparing to enter the town he was attacked
by the Russian army, and, after a most violent conflict,
entirely defeated. The unfortunate prince was so much
afflicted by this reverse, that in a short time he died, after
having reigned thirty-six years.
By his will he divided his dominions equally amongst his Uladislaa
four grown-up sons. Uladislas, the eldest, had the pro- H-
vinces of Cracow, Sieradz, Lencsysa, Silesia, and Pome¬
rania. Boleslas, the second son, had for his share the
palatinates of Culm and Kujavia, with the duchy of Mazovia.
The palatinates of Kalszh and Posen fell to Miecislas, the
third son; and to Henry, who was the fourth, were assigned
those of Lublin and Sandomir. No provision was, how¬
ever made for Casimir, the youngest child, then an infant
in the cradle. The eldest son had a certain superiority
over his brothers.
The harmony of the princes wras soon disturbed by the
ambition of Christina, the wife of Uladislas, who formed a
scheme to get possession of all Poland. Having obtained
140 POLAND.
History, her husband’s concurrence, she assembled the states of
Poland, and made a long speech, showing the dangers
which might arise from a partition of the ducal dominions
amongst so many; and concluded with attempting to show
the necessity of revoking the ratification of the late duke’s
will, in order to insure the tranquillity of the republic. At
length all the nobility were gained over or intimidated by
Uladislas, who then drove Boleslas from his territories, and
next marching against Henry, dispossessed him also, forc¬
ing both to take refuge with Miecislas in Posnania, where
all the three brothers were besieged. Thus driven to de¬
spair, the brothers sallied out, attacked the duke’s army, and
obtained a complete victory, taking possession of all his
baggage and effects. They next laid siege to Cracow,
which surrendered ; and Uladislas retired into Germany to
BoleslasIV. solicit assistance. Boleslas was raised to the supreme
authority, and the new duke began his administration with
an act of generosity towards his brother Uladislas, on whom
he conferred the duchy of Silesia, which was thus separated
from, and has never since been re-annexed to Poland.
Uladislas, not content with this, found means to persuade
the Emperor Conrad to invade Poland. Boleslas, how¬
ever, so harassed and fatigued his army that he was soon
obliged to return to his own country; and for some years
Poland enjoyed profound tranquillity. The Emperor Frede¬
ric Barbarossa was next persuaded by Uladislas and his
wife to invade Poland. The number of the Imperialists
was so great that Boleslas and his brothers did not think
proper to oppose them in the open field. They divided
their forces, and laid waste the country before the enemy,
burning all the towns and cities which wrere in no condition
to stand a siege. Thus the ‘ emperor was at last reduced
to such a situation that he was glad to come to terms,
and the treaty was confirmed by a marriage between
Adelaide, niece of the emperor, and Miecislas, Duke of
Posen.
Boleslas subsequently attempted the conquest of Prussia,
but his army having fallen into ambush, was almost entirely
cut off; Duke Henry was killed, and Boleslas and Miecis¬
las escaped with great difficulty. After this, Boleslas ap¬
plied himself to promote the happiness of his subjects, and
continued thus occupied until the period of his death, which
happened in the year 1173.
Miecislas On the death of Boleslas, the states raised his brother
HI. Miecislas to the ducal throne. But the moment that Mie¬
cislas ceased to be a subject he became a tyrant, and the
slave of almost every vice ; so that in a short time he was
deposed, and his brother Casimir elected in his stead.
Casimir II. Casimir, a prince remarkable for his justice and benevo¬
lence, set himself about securing peace and establishing
tranquillity in all parts of his dominions. He redressed
grievances, suppressed exorbitant imposts, and assembled
a general diet, in which it was proposed to rescue the
peasants from the tyranny of the nobility. The nobles, in¬
fluenced by the example of their sovereign, immediately
granted all that he required ; and, to give still greater weight
to this decision, the acts of the diet were transmitted to
Rome, and formally confirmed by the Pope. But though
the nobility in general consented to the partial retrench¬
ment or limitation of their power, it occasioned discontent
amongst some, who for this reason immediately became the
partisans of the deposed Miecislas. That unfortunate prince
was now reduced to such indigence, that his brother Casi¬
mir, affected by the accounts he had received, tried every
method to relieve him, and even connived at the arts that
were practised by some discontented noblemen to restore
him. But this generous and amiable conduct was repaid by
the grossest ingratitude. Miecislas used every art to wrest
from his brother the whole of his dominions, and actually
conquered the provinces of Mazovia and Cujavia ; but of
these he was soon dispossessed, and only some places in
Lower Poland were left him. The last action of this ami- History,,
able prince was the conquest of Russia, which he effected
rather by the reputation of his wisdom and generosity than
by the force of his arms. The people of that country vo¬
luntarily submitted to a prince so famed for his benevo¬
lence, justice, and humanity. Soon after his return he
died at Cracow, lamented as the best prince that had ever
filled the throne of Poland.
Casimir left two sons very young, the elder of whom, named Lesko V.
Lesko, was nominated his successor. Miecislas embraced
the opportunity of renewing his attempts upon the throne,
and formed an alliance with the Dukes ofOppeln, Pomerania,
and Breslau. Having raised all the men in Lower Poland
fit to bear arms, he took the road to Cracow with a nume¬
rous army. On the banks of the river Mozgarva a sanguinary
conflict ensued; but both sides were so much weakened
that they were forced to retire for some time, in order to
repair their losses. Miecislas now had recourse to artifice
rather than force; and having attempted in vain to corrupt
the guardians of Lesko, he entered into a compact with the
Princess Helen, his mother. Representing in the strongest
manner the miseries which would ensue from war, he stipu¬
lated to adopt her sons Lesko and Conrad as his own; to
surrender the province of Cujavia for their present support;
and to declare them heirs to all his dominions. The prin¬
cipal nobility opposed this accommodation ; but it was ac¬
cepted by the duchess in spite of all their remonstrances;
and Miecislas was once more put in possession of the capi¬
tal, after having taken a solemn oath to execute punctually
every article of the treaty. The princess was not long in
perceiving that she had been duped, and having formed a
strong party, she excited a general insurrection against the
duke. Miecislas was expelled from Cracow, and on the
point of being reduced to his former indigence, when he
found means to foment a quarrel between the duchess and
the palatine of Cracow, and thus once more turned the
scale in his favour. He regained possession of Cracow, but
did not long enjoy his prosperity, for he fell a victim to
intemperance in 1203. He was succeeded by his eldest
son, Uladislas III., a prince noble and generous as his madisiag
father had been base and treacherous. Knowing that the m.
crown rightfully belonged to his cousin Lesko, he was with
difficulty induced to accept of it, and at length willingly
resigned it to him, after a short reign of three years.
During the government of Lesko the Tartars made yt
an irruption into that country, and everywhere com-restored.
mitted the most cruel ravages. At last they came to an Tartar in.
engagement with the Poles, and obtained a complete victory, vasion.
This incursion, however, terminated as precipitately as it
had commenced ; but the devastations they had committed
produced a famine, which was soon followed by a plague
that depopulated one of the most populous countries of the
north. In this unhappy situation of affairs, death ended
the misfortunes of Lesko, who was assassinated by his own
subjects. A civil war followed his death; and the history
of Poland is for some time so confused that it is difficult to
say who was his successor. During this unfortunate state
of the country, the Tartars made a second irruption, laid
all waste before them, and were advancing towards the
capital, when they were attacked and defeated with great
slaughter by the palatine of Cracow, with only a handful of
men. Next year, however, they returned, and committed
barbarities such as can scarcely be imagined. Whole pro¬
vinces were ravaged, and every one of the inhabitants mas¬
sacred. They were returning, laden with spoil, when the
palatine fell upon them a second time, but after a most
obstinate engagement, he w'as defeated, and all Poland was
thus laid open to the ravages of the barbarians. The
nobility fled into Hungary, and the peasants sought an asy¬
lum amongst rocks and impenetrable forests. Cracow was
taken, pillaged, and burned; and the barbarians, penetrating
POLAND.
141
History, into Silesia and Moravia, desolated these countries, de-
stroying Breslau and other cities.
Boleslas V. Poland was in this dreadful situation when Boleslas, sur-
named the Chaste, obtained the sovereignty. But this, so
far from putting an end to the troubles, only superadded a
civil war to the other calamities with which the country
was afflicted. Boleslas was opposed by his uncle Conrad,
the brother of Lesko, who having assembled a powerful
army, gained possession of Cracow, and assumed the title
of Duke of Poland. His avarice and pride, however,
offended equally the nobility and the peasants; and they
unanimously invited Boleslas, who had fled into Hungary,
to return home and head the insurrection which now broke
out in every quarter. On his arrival, he was joyfully re¬
ceived in the capital. But Conrad still headed a powerful
party; and it is reported that on this occasion the knights
of the Teutonic order were first called into Poland, to dis¬
pute the pretensions of Boleslas. All endeavours of Con¬
rad, however, proved unsuccessful. He was defeated in two
pitched battles, and forced to live in a private situation;
though he never ceased to harass his nephew, and make
fresh attempts to recover the crown. Of the reign of Bo¬
leslas, however, we have little information, except that he
made a vow of perpetual continency, and imposed the same
on his wife; that he founded nearly forty monasteries ; and
that, after a long reign, he died in 1279, having previously
adopted Lesko, Duke of Cujavia, and procured a confirma¬
tion of his choice by the free election of the people.
Lesko VI. The reign of this last prince was one continued scene of
foreign and domestic trouble. On his accession, he was at¬
tacked by the united forces of Russia and Lithuania, as¬
sisted by the Tartars ; but he had the good fortune to defeat
the confederate barbarians in a pitched battle. This was
followed by civil dissensions, which rose to such a degree
that he was obliged to fly to Hungary, the common re¬
source of distressed Polish princes. The inhabitants of
Cracow alone remained firm in their duty, and withstood
a tedious siege, until they were at last relieved by Lesko
at the head of a Hungarian army, who defeated the rebels,
and regained the government. But scarcely had he re¬
ascended the throne when the united forces of the Russians,
Tartars, and Lithuanians made a second irruption into Po¬
land, and desolated the country with the most savage bar¬
barity. Their forces were now rendered more terrible than
ever by their having along with them a vast number of
large dogs trained to join in their attacks. With an army
much inferior, however, Lesko obtained a complete victory,
the Poles being animated by all the fury of despair. Soon
after this, Lesko died, with the reputation of a wise, warlike,
but on the whole an unfortunate prince.
As this prince died without issue, a civil war again en-
sued; and the affairs of the state continued in a very de-
Prezemis- dining condition till 1296, when Prezemislas was crowned
king by the Archbishop of Gnesna, a title which had been
forfeited for more than 200 years. He did not enjoy this
title for more than seven months, having been murdered,
it is said, by some Brandenburg emissaries. A series of
dissensions again succeeded till the year 1305, when Ula-
Iladisks disks Lokietek, who had seized the throne in 1300, and
I v- afterwards been driven out, was restored. The first trans¬
action of his reign was a war with the Teutonic knights,
who, during the recent disturbances, had usurped the
greater part of Pomerania. They had been settled in the
territory of Culm by Conrad, Duke of Mazovia, but soon
extended their dominion over the neighbouring provinces
and had even obtained possession of the city of Dantzic^
where they massacred a number of Pomeranian gentlemen
m cold blood. The knights were commanded by the
sovereign Pontiff to renounce their conquests; but they set
at nought all his thunders, and even suffered themselves to
be excommunicated rather than part with their acquisitions.
Uladislas entered the territory of Culm, which he laid waste History
with fire and sword; and although opposed by the joint ^ -J'
forces of the Marquis of Brandenburg, the knights, and the
Duke of Mazovia, he obtained a complete victory, after a
desperate and bloody engagement. Without following up
the blow, however, he returned to Poland, where he re¬
cruited his army; and being reinforced by a body of auxi¬
liaries from Hungary and Lithuania, he a second time
ravaged all the dominions of the Teutonic knights. A
treaty was concluded under the mediation of the kings of
Hungary and Bohemia. But in a few months the knights
not only refused to evacuate Pomerania, as had been stipu¬
lated in the treaty, but even endeavoured to extend their
usurpations, and for this purpose assembled a very con¬
siderable army. Uladislas, enraged at their treachery,
once more took the field, and gave them battle with such
success that 4000 knights were left dead on the ground,
and 30,000 auxiliaries killed or taken prisoners. Though
the king had it in his power to destroy the whole order, he
satisfied himself with obtaining the territories which had
occasioned the war, after which he spent the remainder of
his life in tranquillity and peace.
Uladislas was succeeded by his son Casimir III. surnamed Casimir III.
the Great. Having in a single campaign subdued the pro¬
vince called Black Russia, he turned his arms against Ma¬
zovia, which he overran with great rapidity, and annexed
as a province to the crown. Lie then applied himself to
domestic affairs, and was the first who introduced a written
code of laws into Poland. He was a most impartial judge,
a rigid observer of justice, and the most submissive to the
laws of any potentate mentioned in the history of Europe.
He was a great patron of industry as well as an eminent
legislator, and through his encouragement numbers flocked
into his kingdom from various parts of Germany. He for¬
tified many of his chief towns, which he also embellished;
whilst colleges, hospitals, churches, and other public build¬
ings, attested alike his genius, his magnificence, and his
patriotism. His reign is considered as the golden age of
Poland. &
Casimir was succeeded in 1370 by his nephew Louis, Louis.
King of LIungary ; but as the Poles looked upon him as a
foreign prince, they were not happy under his administra¬
tion. He left Poland almost as soon as he was crowned,
leaving the government in the hands of his mother Eliza¬
beth. But at that time the state of Poland was too
disturbed to be governed by a woman. The country
was overrun with gangs of robbers, who committed the
most horrid cruelties ; the kingdom was likewise invaded
by the Lithuanians, the province of Black Russia had re¬
volted, and the land was universally filled with dissension.
Ihe Poles, displeased to see their towns occupied by Hun¬
garian garrisons, sent a message to the king, informing him
that they thought he had been sufficiently honoured in
being elected king of Poland himself, without suffering the
kingdom to be governed by a woman and his Hungarian
subjects. Upon this, Louis raised a numerous army, in¬
tending to subdue the refractory spirit of his subjects. His
first operations were directed against the Russians, whom
he defeated, and again reduced to subjection. He then
turned his arms against the Lithuanians, expelled them
from the kingdom, and re-established public tranquillity.
He died after a reign of twelve years, and his daughter
Hedwig was proclaimed queen.
This princess married Jagellon, Duke of Lithuania, who uladislas
was converted to Christianity, and baptized by the name
of Uladislas. By this marriage, the duchy of Lithuania, as
well as the vast provinces of Samogitia and Black Russia,
were annexed to the crown of Poland. Such a formidable
accession of power excited the jealousy of the Teutonic
knights, and they assembled a large army, and suddenly
invaded his territory. Uladislas raised a strong force with
Li
142
POLAND.
History, the utmost celerity, which he committed to the care of his
^ r J brother Skirgello. The Teutonic knights were defeated,
and obliged to abandon all their conquests.
After some years of peace, a long series of wars broke
out between Poland and Prussia. The knights having
now got possession of Samogitia, Mazovia, Culm, Silesia, and
Pomerania, Uladislas resolved to punish them before they
became too powerful; and with this view he assembled an
army composed of several different nations. He then pene¬
trated into Prussia ; took several towns ; and was advancing
to Marienburg, the capital of Pomerania, when he was met
by the army of the Prussian knights, who determined to
hazard a battle. When the engagement began, the Poles
were deserted by all their auxiliaries, and obliged to stand^
the brunt of the battle. But the courage and conduct of
their king so animated them that, after a most desperate
struggle, they obtained a complete victory ; nearly 40,000
of the enemy being killed on the field, and 30,000 taken
prisoners. Uladislas did not improve his victory, and a
peace was concluded upon easier terms than his adversaries
had any reason to hope for.
Uladislas Uladislas V. died in 1434, and was succeeded by his son
VI. Uladislas VI., at that time only nine years of age. He had
scarcely ascended the throne, when the kingdom was in¬
vaded by the Tartars, who defeated the general of the Po¬
lish forces ; and, committing everywhere dreadful ravages,
returned to their own country loaded with booty. A few
years afterwards the nation was involved in a war with
Amurath, the sultan, who threatened to break into Hun¬
gary. But before the young king took the field, a strong
body of auxiliaries was despatched under John Hunniades,
woivode of Transylvania, to oppose the lurks, and like¬
wise to support the election of Uladislas to the crowm of
Hungary. This detachment surprised the Turkish army
near the river Morava, and defeated Amurath with the loss
of 30,000 men ; after which Hunniades retook all the
places which had been conquered by Amurath, the sultan
was forced to sue for peace, and Uladislas was raised with¬
out opposition to the crown of Hungary. A treaty was
concluded, by which the Turks promised to relinquish their
designs upon Hungary, and to give up all their conquests
in Bosnia and Servia. This treaty was sealed by mutual
oaths; but Uladislas broke it at the persuasion of the Pope’s
legate, who insisted that now was the time for humbling
the power of the infidels, and produced a special commis¬
sion from the Pope, absolving the king from the oath he
had taken at the late treaty. The result of this perfidy
was, that Uladislas was entirely defeated and killed at
Varna, and the greater part of his army cut in pieces.
fasimirIV. Uladislas VI. was succeeded by Casimir IV., in whose
’ reign the Teutonic knights were subdued, and obliged to
yield up the territories of Culm, Michlow, and the duchy
of Pomerania, together with the towns of Elbing, Marien¬
burg, Talkmith, Schut, and Christburg, to the crown of Po¬
land. On the other hand, the king restored to them all
the other conquests he had made in Prussia; granted a seat
in the Polish senate to the grand-master; and endowed him
with other privileges, on condition that, six months after
his accession, he should do homage for Prussia, and take an
oath of fidelity to the king and republic.
About this time the crown of Bohemia having become
vacant, the barons w'ere induced to bestow the crown upon
Uladislas, eldest son of Casimir, in opposition to the in¬
trigues of the King of Hungary. Not satisfied with this
acquisition, Uladislas took advantage of the dissensions in
Hungary, in order to unite that crown to his own, and
thereby he greatly augmented his power. Casimir died in
1492. In the reign of this prince, the deputies of the pro¬
vinces first appeared at the diet, and assumed to themselves
the legislative power; all laws before that time having
been framed by the king in conjunction with the senate.
During the succeeding reigns of John Albert and Alex- History
ander, sons of the last monarch, the affaiis of Poland fell
into decline, the kingdom being harassed by continual wars John Al-
with the Turks a.ul Tartars. But they were retrieved by bert
Siaismund I., who ascended the throne in lo07. This Alexand,
monarch, having reformed some internal abuses, set about Sig'Bmur
renderin(T the kingdom as formidable as it had formeily
been He first quelled an insurrection which broke out in
Lithuania; after which he drove the Wallachians and Mol¬
davians out of Black Russia, and defeated the Russians in
a pitched battle, with the loss of 30,000 men.
After this victory, the king turned his arms against the
Teutonic knights, who had elected the Marquis of Branden¬
burg as their grand-master; whilst this prince not only re¬
fused to acknowledge the sovereignty of the crown of Po¬
land, but even invaded the Polish territories. Sigismund
marched against him, and gained possession of several im¬
portant places in Brandenburg; but as he was pursuing his
conquests, the marquis, reinforced by 14,000 Germans led
by the Duke of Schonenburg, ventured to lay siege to
Dantzic, after having ravaged the neighbouring country.
The Dantzicers, however, defended themselves so bravely
that the besiegers were soon obliged to relinquish their
enterprise ; whilst in their retreat they were attacked by a
strong detachment of Polish cavalry, who made prodigious
havoc amongst them, compelling the wretched remains
to take shelter in Pomerania, where they were massacred
by the peasants. Soon after this the marquis was obliged
to submit to the clemency of the conqueror. To secure
him in his interest, howeveV, Sigismund granted him half
the province of Prussia as a secular duke, dependent on
the crown of Poland.
In the reign of Sigismund the kingdom of Poland may
be considered as having attained its greatest pitch of glory.
This monarch possessed, in his own person, the republic of
Poland, the great duchies of Lithuania, Smolensko, and Sa-
veria, besides vast territories lying beyond the Euxine and
the Baltic; whilst his nephew Louis possessed the kingdoms
of Bohemia, Hungary, and Silesia. But this glory received
a sudden check in 1548, by the defeat and death of Louis,
who perished in a battle fought with Solyman the Great,
sultan of the Turks. The daughter of this prince had
married Ferdinand of Austria, an alliance by which the
dominions of Hungary, Bohemia, and Silesia became in¬
separably connected with the hereditary dominions of the
Austrian family. Sigismund, then in the eighty-fourth year
of his age, did not survive the news of this defeat many
months, but died of a lingering disorder, leaving behind him
the character of a complete general, an able politician,
a good prince, and one of the strongest men in the North.
Sigismund Augustus, who succeeded his father Sigis- Sigismu
mund I., proved also a very fortunate prince. At that time 1 *
the most violent and bloody wars were carrying on in Ger¬
many, and indeed throughout other parts of Europe, on
account of religion; but Sigismund wisely avoided inter¬
fering in these disputes. He would not admit into his
dominions any of those divines who were taxed with holding
heterodox opinions, nor even allow his people the liberty
of corresponding with them; yet he never persecuted, nor
employed any other means for the preservation of the state
than those of a vvell-conducted and regular policy. He
applied himself diligently to the reforming of abuses, en¬
forcing the laws, enriching the treasury, promoting industry,
and redeeming the crown-lands where the titles of the
possessors appeared illegal. Out of the revenue recovered
in this manner he raised a formidable standing army
without laying any additional tax upon his subjects; and
though he preferred peace to war, he was always able to
punish those who offered indignities to his person or his
crown.
His knowledge of the art of war was soon tried in a con-
POLAND.
History, test with the Russians, who, encouraged by the disputes
which had subsisted between the Teutonic knights and
the Archbishop of Riga, cousin of Sigismund, had made an
irruption into Livonia. The province was at that time
divided between the knights and the prelate; and the Rus¬
sians, under pretence of assisting the former, had seized
great part of the dominions of the latter. The archbishop
had recourse to his kinsman the King of Poland, who, after
fruitless efforts to accommodate matters, marched towards
the frontiers of Livonia with an army of 100,000 men.
The knights were in no condition to resist such a formid¬
able power; and therefore, deserting their allies, they put
themselves under the protection of the King of Poland.
But the czar, John Basilides, though deserted by the
knights, did not lose his courage. His army consisted of
300,000 men, with whom he imagined himself able to reduce
all Livonia, in spite of the utmost efforts of the King of Po¬
land ; but having met with some checks in that quarter, he
directly invaded Poland with his whole army. At first he
carried everything before him; but the Poles soon made a
vigorous opposition ; and the Russians, though everywhere
defeated, still continued their incursions, which Sigismund
at last revenged by invading Russia in his turn.
These mutual desolations and ravages at last made both
parties desirous of peace, and a truce for three years was
agreed on ; but during the continuance of the armistice the
King of Poland died, and with him was extinguished the
house of Jagellon, which had governed Poland for nearly
two hundred years. On the death of Sigismund, Poland
became a prey to intestinal divisions; and intrigues were
set on foot at the courts of Vienna, France, Saxony, Swe¬
den, and Brandenburg, each of them endeavouring to esta¬
blish a prince of their nation on the throne of Poland.
The result of all this was, that the kingdom became one
universal scene of corruption, faction, and confusion. The
members of the diet consulted only their own interest, and
were ready on every occasion to sell themselves to the best
bidder. The Protestants had by this time got a consider¬
able footing in the kingdom, and thus religious disputes
were intermingled with political ones. One good effect,
however, flowed from this confusion. A law was passed’
by which it was enacted that no difference in religious opi¬
nions should occasion any contention amongst the subjects
of the kingdom ; that all the Poles, without discrimination,
should be capable of holding public offices and trusts under
the government; and that the future kings should swear
expressly to cultivate the internal tranquillity of the realm,
and to cherish without distinction their subjects of all per¬
suasions. 1
V hilst the candidates for the throne were severally at¬
tempting to support their own interest in the best manner
they could, John Crasoski, a Polish gentleman of great
meiit, but diminutive stature, had just returned from France
whither he had travelled for improvement. His humour’
wit, and diverting size had rendered him universally agree¬
able at the court of France, and in a particular manner en¬
gaged the esteem of Catharine de’ Medicis, which the little
Pole had the address to make use of for his own advantage.
He owed many obligations to the Duke of Anjou, whom
out of gratitude, he represented in such favourable terms,
that the Poles began to entertain thoughts of making him
their king. These sentiments were confirmed and encou¬
raged by Crasoski, who returned into France by order of
several leading men in Poland, and acquainted the kin- and
queen-mother that nothing was wanting except the fbrma-
hty of an embassy to procure the crown for the Duke of
Anjou, almost without opposition. Charles IX., king of
rranee, at that time also promoted the scheme; bein- jeal¬
ous of the Duke of Anjou’s popularity, and willing to have
him removed to as great a distance as possible. The parties
accordingly came to an agreement, in which it was stipu-
143
lenry II.,
fuke of
injou.
ated that the Duke of Anjou should maintain the laws, ,
liberties, and customs of the kingdom of Poland, and of the lstoiT*
grand duchy of Lithuania; that he should transport all his
effects and annual revenues in France into Poland ; that the
French monarch should pay the late King Sigismund’s debts-
that he should maintain a hundred young Polish gentlemen
at his court, and fifty in other places; that he should send
a fleet to the Baltic to assist Poland against the Russians;
and, lastly, that Henry should marry the Princess Anne,
sister of the late King Sigismund, though this article Henry
refused to ratify till his return to Poland. Everything being
thus settled, the young king quitted France, attended by a
splendid retinue, and was accompanied by the queen-mo¬
ther as far as Lorraine. He was received by his subjects
on the frontiers of Poland, and conducted to Cracow, where
he was soon afterwards crowned. The affections of the
Poles were soon engaged by the youth and accomplish¬
ments of Henry; but scarcely had he been seated on the
throne, when, by the death of Charles IX., he became heir
to the crown of France. Being informed of this by re¬
peated messages from Catharine, he repented his having
accepted the crown of Poland, and resolved to leave it for
that of France. But being sensible that the Poles would
oppose his departure, he kept his intentions secret, and
watched an opportunity of stealing out of the palace in dis¬
guise during the night-time. The Poles, as might well be
expected, were irritated at being thus abandoned, from the
mere motive of interest, by a prince whom they had so much
loved and honoured. Parties were despatched after him
by different roads; and Zamoski, a nobleman who headed
one of these parties, overtook him some leagues distant
from Cracow. All the prayers and tears of that nobleman,
however, could not prevail on Henry to return; he rode
post to Vienna, and then passed into France by the way of
Italy. On the 15th of July 1575 he was in full diet so¬
lemnly divested of the regal dignity, and the throne declared
vacant.
After the deposition of Henry, commotions and factions
again occurred, but the contending parties were now re¬
duced to two,—one who supported the interest of Maximi¬
lian, Emperor of Germany; and the other, who were for
electing the Princess Anne, and marrying her to Stephen
Batory, prince of Transylvania. The latter prevailed ; and Batorv.
Batory having ^married the princess, was crowned on the ^
1st of May 1576. No opposition was made to his autho¬
rity, except by the inhabitants of Dantzic, who adhered to
the interest of Maximilian, and after his death had the pre¬
sumption to demand from the king an oath acknovvledgin —
their absolute freedom and independence. This led to a
war in which the people of Dantzic were worsted; but
it was not until after suffering severely that they were at
length induced to submit.
The war with Dantzic had no sooner been ended than
the king directed his whole strength against the Czar of
Muscovy, who had laid siege to Revel, and made himself
master of several important cities in Livonia. The czar
behaved everywhere with the greatest cruelty, slaughtering
without distinction all who were able to bear arms, and
abandoning the women and children to the brutality of the
Tartars who served in the army. At length, in 1578, a
body of forces was despatched into the province ; the towns
of Wender and Dwinaburg were surprised; and an army
sent by the czar to surprise the former was defeated. That
unhappy province was at this time also invaded by the
Swedes, who professed themselves to be enemies equally to
both parties, and who in cruelty were scarcely inferior to the
Russians themselves. The king, however, nothing daunted
by the number of his adversaries, called to his assistance
Christopher, prince of Transylvania, with all the standin-
forces of that country, and took the field in person against
the Muscovites. He laid siege to Polocz, a town of great
144
POLAND.
History, importance, situated on the river Dwina ; and the Russians,
in order to strike terror into the enemy, put to death all
the citizens of the town. The river was dyed with blood,
and a vast number of human bodies, fastened to planks
and terribly mangled, were carried down the stream.. but
this barbarity, instead of intimidating the Poles, initate
them to such a degree that nothing could resist them.
Finding that their cannon made little impression upon the
walls of the city, which were constructed of wood, they
advanced to the assault with burning torches in their hands,
and reduced them to ashes. The Russian barbarians were
thus obliged to surrender at discretion ; and it reflects the
highest honour on Batory that, notwithstanding the dread¬
ful instances of cruelty which he had before his eyes, he
did not suffer his soldiers to retaliate. _
After the reduction of Polocz, Batory continued the
war, and with great success. Two detachments fiom the
army penetrated the enemy’s country by different roads,
wasted all before them to the gates of Smolensko, and
returned with the spoils of 2000 villages which they had
pillaged and destroyed. The czar was obliged to sue tor
peace, which he obtained on condition of relinquishing
Livonia, after having thrown away the lives of more than
400,000 of his subjects in attempting to conquer it.
A peace was likewise concluded with the Swedes, and
Batorv being thus freed from war, applied himself to the
internal government of his kingdom. He regulated the
Polish cavalry in such a manner that they became foimi-
dable to the Turks and other neighbouring nations; and
this is the military establishment to which the Poles have
o-iven the name of qnartienne, because a fourth part of the
revenue was employed in supporting it. Batory sent this
body of cavalry towards the frontiers of fartary, and by
its means the Ukraine, a vast tract of desert country, was
filled with flourishing towns and villages, and became a
strong barrier against the Turks, Tartars, and Russians.
The last memorable action of this prince was his attaching
to Poland the Cossacks, whom he civilized and instructed
in the arts of war and peace. All kinds of manufactures
at that time known in Poland were likewise introduced
among the Cossacks; the women were employed in spin-
ning and weaving woollen cloths, whilst the men were taught
agriculture and the mechanical arts.
Whilst Batory was employed in this manner, the bwedes
broke the convention into which they had entered with
Poland, and were on the point of obtaining possession of
Ricra. To this, indeed, Batory himself had given occasion,
by attempting to impose the Catholic religion upon the^
inhabitants, after having promised them entire liberty of
conscience; a proceeding which so irritated them that
they revolted, and were on the point of admitting a Swedish
garrison into the city, when the king became informed of
what was going forward. He resolved to take a most ex¬
emplary vengeance on the inhabitants of Riga; but before
he could execute his intention, he died in 1586, the fifty-
fourth year of his age, and tenth of his reign.
The death of Batory involved Poland in fresh troubles.
Four candidates appeared for the crown: the princes Er¬
nest and Maximilian, of the House of Austria; Sigismund,
prince of Sweden ; and Theodore, czar of Muscovy. Each
of these had a separate party; but Sigismund and Maxi¬
milian managed matters so cleverly that in 158/ both of
them were elected. The result was a civil war, in which
Maximilian was defeated and taken prisoner; and thus,
without opposition, Sigismund III., surnamed \asa, ob¬
tained the throne of Poland. He waged a successful war
with the Tartars, and was otherwise prosperous ; but though
he succeeded to the crown of Sweden, he found it impos¬
sible for him to retain both kingdoms, and he was formally
deposed from the Swedish throne. In 1610 he conquered
Russia, and placed his son on the throne of that country ;
Sigismund
III.
but the Polish conquests of that country have always been History,
short-lived. The young prince was soon afterwards de-
posed; and the Russians not only regained their liberty,
but began to make encroachments on Poland itself. . very
unfortunate war also took place with Sweden, whieh was
now governed by the great Gustavus Adolphus ; but the
particulars of that contest, with the other exploits of that
renowned warrior, are elsewhere related. At ast, Sigis¬
mund, worn out with cares and misfortunes, cued in IbtL.
After Sigismund’s death the affairs of Poland seemed Uladislas
to revive a little under Uladislas VIE, who obliged the VII.
Russians to sue for peace, and Sweden to restore some of
her conquests ; but an attempt being made to abridge the
liberty of the Cossacks, they revolted, and gave the t oles
several terrible defeats; nor did the war terminate in the
lifetime of Uladislas, who died in 1648. His successor,
John Casimir, concluded a peace with these dangerous John
enemies, but the war was soon after renewed ; and wmlst oaamir.
the kingdom was distracted between the hostility of the
Cossacks and the discontents of its own inhabitants, the
Russians took the opportunity of invading and pillaging
Lithuania. , , ,. , i
In a little time afterwards, the whole kingdom was sub¬
dued by Charles Gustavus, successor to Christina, Queen
of Sweden. Happily for Poland, however, a rupture took
place between the courts of Sweden and Copenhagen, and
the Poles were thereby enabled to drive out the Swedes
in 1657. This was succeeded by civil wars and contests
with Russia, which so much vexed the king that he re¬
signed the crown in 1668. For two years alter the resig¬
nation of Casimir the kingdom was filled with confusion ;
but on the 17th September 1670, one Michael Koributh Michael
Wiegnowieqki, collaterally descended from the House otW.1ee5^0'
Jagellon, though in a very mean situation at that time, was wieS 1<
chosen king. His reign continued only for thiee yeais,
during which time John Sobieski, a celebiated 1 olish ge¬
neral, gave the Turks a dreadful overthrow, though then-
army consisted of more than 300,000 men ; and if this
blow had been followed up, the Cossacks would not only
have been entirely subdued, but very advantageous terms
might have been obtained from the sultan. Of that vast
multitude of Turks, no more than 15,000 made theii
escape, the rest being all either killed or taken. How¬
ever, the Polish soldiers, being only bound by the laws of
their country to stay a certain time in the field, refused to
pursue this signal victory, and suffered the king to make
peace on any terms he could procure.
Wieqnowiegki died before the news of this transaction Johp _
reached Cracow; and after his death a new scene of con- Sobieski.
fusion ensued, till at last the fortune of John bobieski pie-
vailed, and he was elected king of Poland in 1674. He
was a most magnanimous and heroic prince, and by his
valour and good conduct retrieved the affairs of Poland.
The Turks were everywhere defeated; but notwithstand¬
ing his great qualities, Poland was now so thoroughly cor¬
rupted, and pervaded by such a spirit of disaffection, that
the latter part of this monarch’s reign was involved in
troubles, through the ambition and contention of some pow¬
erful noblemen. Sobieski died in 1696, and with him the
glory of Poland descended into the tomb.
Most violent contests now took place about the sue- Auguste
cession, but the recital of these would far exceed our limits.
At last, Frederick Augustus, elector of Saxony, prevailed;
but as some of the most essential ceremonies were wanting
in his coronation, because the primate, who was in an oppo¬
site interest, would not perform them, he found it ex¬
tremely difficult to keep his subjects in proper obedience;
and, to add to his misfortunes, having engaged in a league
with Denmark and Russia against Sweden, he was attacked
with irresistible fury by Charles XII. The particulars
of this war, however, as they form great part of the
POLAND.
145
History.
Degene¬
racy of the
Poles.
Interfe¬
rence of
foreign
powers in
behalf of
the Dissi-
dents.
exploits of that northern hero, more properly foil to be re-
' lated under the head of Sweden. Here, therefore, we shall
only observe, that Augustus was reduced to the humiliat¬
ing necessity of renouncing the crown of Poland on oath,
and even of congratulating his rival Stanislas upon his ac¬
cession to the throne. But when the power of Charles
was broken by his defeat at Pultowa, the fortune of Augus¬
tus again prevailed; Stanislas wTas driven out; and the for¬
mer, being absolved from his oath by the pontiff, resumed
possession of the throne of Poland.
After this Poland makes no figure, except in the history
of political iniquity. Weakened by internal dissensions, it
became unable to resist foreign aggression, and fell an easy
prey to the ambitious powers by which it was surrounded.
On oth October 1763, Augustus II., elector of Saxony and
king of Poland, died, and was succeeded by Count Ponia-
towski, a Polish grandee, who, on 7th September 1764, was
proclaimed king by the name of Stanislas Augustus, and
crowned on 25th November the same year. During the
interregnum which took place between the death of Augus¬
tus III. and the election of Stanislas, a decree had been
passed by the convocation-diet of Poland, with regard to
the Dissidents, as they were called, or dissenters from the
Catholic faith, by which they were prohibited the free ex¬
ercise of their religion, and excluded from all offices and
places under the government. On this occasion several
of the European powers interposed, and the courts of
Russia, Prussia, Great Britain, and Denmark, tendered
remonstrances to the Diet; but, notwithstanding these, the
decree was confirmed by the coronation-diet held soon
after the king’s election.
On the 6th of October 1766, an ordinary Diet was as¬
sembled. Here declarations from the courts above men¬
tioned w'ere presented to his Polish majesty, requiring the
re-establishment of the Dissidents in their civil rights and
privileges, and the peaceable enjoyment of their modes of
worship secured to them by the laws of the kingdom, which
had been observed for two centuries. These privilege5, it
was alleged, had been confirmed by the treaty of Oliva,
concluded by all the northern powers, and could not now
be altered except by the consent of all the contracting par¬
ties. The Catholic party contended strongly for a confir¬
mation of some decrees against the Dissidents, made in the
years 1717, 1723, and 1736. The deputies from the foreign
powers replied, that those decrees had passed in the midst
of intestine troubles, and were contradicted by the formal
protestations and express declarations of those powers. At
last, after a violent contest, the matter was referred to the
bishops and senators for their opinion ; and upon a report
from them, the Diet came to a resolution that they wrould
maintain the Dissidents in all the rights and prerogatives
to which they were entitled by the laws of their country
and by treaties; and that as to their complaints with re¬
gard to the exercise of their religion, the college of arch¬
bishops and bishops, under the direction of the prince pri¬
mate, would endeavour to remove all those difficulties in a
manner conformable to justice and charity. In the mean
time, the court of Russia, resolved to enforce her remon¬
strances, marched a body of troops to within a few miles of
W arsaw. Ihese resolutions of the Diet were by no means
agreeable to the Dissidents. The latter dated the begin¬
ning of their sufferings from the year 1717. Referring their
grievances to the archbishops and bishops was looked upon
as a measure the most unreasonable that could be imagin¬
ed, as that body of men had always been their opponents,
and in fact the authors of the evils which had befallen them.
W'hen matters came to be considered in this view, an ad¬
ditional body of Russians, to the number of about fifteen
Conse- thousand, entered Poland.
1 thfsTnt ^ ^lle D^idents, being now pretty sure of the protection
ference.er" foreign powers, entered, on the 20th of March 1767, into
YOL. XVIII.
two confederacies, at Thorn and Sluck. One of these was History,
signed by the Dissidents of Great and Little Poland, and ''—"'v—
the other by those of the grand duchy of Lithuania. The
purpose of these confederacies was, an engagement to ex¬
ert themselves in the defence of their ancient privileo-es,
and the free exercise of their religion ; professing at the
same time the utmost loyalty to the king, and resolving to
send to him a deputation to implore his protection. They
even invited those of the Catholic communion, and all true
patriots, to unite with them in maintaining the fundamental
laws of the kingdom, the peace of religion, and the rights
of men in society. They also claimed, by virtue of public
treaties, the protection of the powers who were guarantees
of their liberties, namely, Russia, Sweden, Great Britain,
Denmark, and Prussia. And they protested, that they had
no intention of acting to the detriment of the Roman Ca¬
tholic religion, which they duly respected, but only asked
liberty for their own, and the re-establishment of their an¬
cient rights. The three cities of Thorn, Elbing, and Dant-
zig, acceded to the confederacy of Thorn on the 10th of
April; as did the duke and nobles of Courland to that of
Sluck on the 15th of May. In the mean time the empress
of Russia and the king of Prussia continued to issue forth
new declarations in favour of the Dissidents ; and the Rus¬
sian troops in Poland were gradually augmented to thirty
thousand men. Great numbers of other confederacies were
also formed in different parts of the kingdom ; but these at
first took little part in the affair of the Dissidents. They
complained chiefly of the administration of public affairs, in
which they alleged that innovations had been introduced,
and were therefore for some time called Confederations of
Malcontents. All these confederacies published manifes¬
tos, in which they recommended to the inhabitants to re¬
ceive and treat the Russian troops as the defenders of the
liberties of Poland.
The different confederacies of malcontents formed in the Genenu
twenty-four districts of Lithuania united at Wilna on theconfede-
22d of June ; and that general confederacy re-established racy-
Prince Radzivil, who had married the king’s sister, in his
liberty, estates, and honour, of which he had been deprived
in 1764 by the states of that duchy. On the 23d of June
Prince Radzivil was chosen grand marshal of the general
confederacy of all Poland, which then began to be called
the National Confederacy, and was said to be composed of
seventy-two thousand noblemen and gentlemen. The gene¬
ral confederacy now took such measures as appeared most
proper for strengthening their party. They sent to the se¬
veral woivodes of the kingdom, requiring that all the gen¬
tlemen who had not signed the confederacy should do it
immediately ; that all the courts of justice should subsist as
formerly, but not judge any of the confederates ; that the
marshals of the crown should not pass any sentence without
the participation of at least four of the confederates ; and
that the marshals of the crown and the treasurers should be
immediately restored to the possession of their respective
rights. In the mean time the Catholic party were not idle.
The bishop of Cracow sent a letter to the Diet assembled
at Warsaw on the 13th of August, in which he exhorted
them to arm their nuncios with courage, by giving them
orthodox and pious instructions, that they might not grant
the Dissidents new advantages beyond those which were se¬
cured to them by the constitutions of the country and the
treaties with foreign powers. The pope also sent briefs to
the king, the great chancellor, the nobility, the bishops of
the kingdom, and to the prince primate, with such argu¬
ments and exhortations as were thought most calculated to
ward off the impending danger. Councils in the mean time
were frequently held at the bishop of Cracow’s palace, where
all the prelates at Warsaw assembled. On the 26th of Sep¬
tember 1767 the confederacy of Dissidents was united with
the general confederacy of malcontents in the palace of
T
146
History.
POLAND.
Prince Radzivil, who on that occasion expressed great
v,’“—v'""-' friendship for the Dissidents. In a few days afterwards the
Russian troops in the capital were reinforced, and a con¬
siderable body of them wTas posted at about five miles dis¬
tance.
Tumults in On the 5th of October an extraordinary Diet was held,
the Diet. J3uj; affajr 0f the Dissidents met with such opposition,
that it was thought necessary to adjourn the meeting till
the 12th, during which interval every expedient was used
to gain over those who opposed Prince Radzivil’s plan. This
was, to appoint a commission furnished with full power to
enter into conference with Prince Repnin, the Russian am¬
bassador, concerning the affairs of the Dissidents. But not¬
withstanding all the pains taken, the meeting of the 12th
proved exceedingly tumultuous. The bishops of Cracow and
Kiow, with some other prelates, and several magnates, de¬
clared that they would never consent to the establishment
of such a commission ; and at the same time they spoke with
more vehemence than ever against the pretensions of the
Dissidents. Some of the deputies replied with great warmth ;
and this occasioned such animosities, that the meeting was
again adjourned till the 16th.
Violent On the 13th the bishops of Cracow and Kiow, the pala-
proceed- tine of Cracow, and the starost of Domski, were carried off
ings of the Russian detachments. The crime alleged against them,
Russians. jn a declaration published next day by Prince Repnin, was,
that they had been wanting in respect to the dignity of the
empress of Russia, by attacking the purity of her intentions
towards the republic ; though she was resolved to continue
her protection and assistance to the general confederacy
united for preserving the liberties of Poland, and correcting
all the abuses which had been introduced into the govern¬
ment of that country.
Confedera- It was probably owing to this violent proceeding of the
cy of Bar. Russians that Prince Radzivil’s plan was at last adopted,
and several new regulations were made in favour of the Dis¬
sidents. These innovations, however, soon produced a civil
war, which at last ended in the ruin of the kingdom. In
the beginning of the year 1768, a new confederacy was
formed'in Podolia, a province bordering on Turkey; it was
afterwards called the Confederacy of Bar, and the inten¬
tion of it was to abolish, by force of arms, the new consti¬
tutions, particularly those in favour of the Dissidents. The
members of the new confederacy likewise expressed great
indignation at the carrying away the bishops of Cracow,
Kiow, and others, and still detaining them in custody.
Podolia was reckoned the fittest place for the purpose of
the confederates, who imagined that the Russians could not
attack them there without giving umbrage to the Ottoman
court. Similar confederacies, however, were quickly enter¬
ed into throughout the kingdom. The clergy excited all
ranks of men to exert themselves in defence of their religion;
and so effectual did their exhortations prove, that even the
king’s troops could not be trusted to act against these com¬
binations. The empress of Russia threatened the new con¬
federates as disturbers of the public tranquillity, and de¬
clared, that if they persisted, her troops would act against
them. It was some time, however, before the Russian
troops were considerably reinforced; nor did they at first
seem inclined to act with the vigour that they might have
exerted. A good many skirmishes soon occurred between
the contending parties, in which the confederates were for
the most part defeated. In one of these encounters, the lat¬
ter being worsted, and hardly pressed, a number of them
passed the Dniester and took refuge in Moldavia. This
province had formerly belonged to Poland, but was now
subject to the grand signior. The Russians, howrever, pur¬
sued their enemies into Moldavia ; but in order to prevent
any offence being taken by the Porte, Prince Repnin wrote
to the Russian resident at Constantinople, that the conduct
of the Russian colonel who commanded the party was quite
contrary to the orders of his court, and that he would there- ^ History.
fore be dismissed. _ .
Great cruelty was in tbe mean time exercised against the War be-
Dissidents where there were no Russian troops to protect tween this
them. Towards the end of October 1768, Prince Martin “n“a-
Lubomirski, one of the southern confederates, who had been RJussians<
driven out of Poland, and had taken shelter with some of
his adherents amongst the mountains of Hungary, caused a
manifesto to be posted up on seveial of the churches of Cra¬
cow, in which he invited the nation to a general revolt, as¬
suring them of the assistance of the Ottoman Porte, with
whom he pretended to have concluded a treaty. The un¬
happy kingdom of Poland became the first scene of this war,
and in a short time it was reduced to the most deplorable
situation. In the end of the year 1768, the peasants of the
Greek faith in the Ukraine took up arms, and committed
the greatest ravages, having, as they pretended, been threat¬
ened with death by the confederates unless they would be¬
come Roman Catholics. Against these insurgents the Rus¬
sians employed their arms, and made great numbers of them
prisoners. The rest took refuge amongst the Haidamacks,
by whom they were soon joined, and in the beginning of
1769 they entered the Ukraine, committing everywhere the
most horrid massacres. Here, however, they were at last
defeated by the Polish troops, at the same time that several
of the confederacies in Poland were severely chastised.
Soon afterwards, the khan of the Crim Tartars having been
repulsed with loss in an attempt on Servia, entered the Polish
territories, where he left frightful marks of his inhumanity;
which, with the cruelties exercised by the confederates, in¬
duced the Polish Cossacks of Braclau and Kiovia, amount¬
ing to near thirty thousand effective men, to join the Rus¬
sians, in order to defend their country against these destroy¬
ers. Matters continued much in the same state during the
rest of the year 1769; and in 1770 skirmishes frequently
occurred between the Russians and confederates, in which
the latter were almost always worsted ; but they took care
to revenge themselves by the most barbarous cruelties on
the Dissidents, wherever they could find them. In 1770,
a considerable number of the confederates of Bar, who had
joined the Turks, and been excessively ill used by them,
came to an accommodation with the Russians, who took
them under their protection upon very moderate terms. In
the mean time agriculture had been so much neglected, that
the crop of 1770 proved deficient. This encouraged a num¬
ber of desperadoes to associate, who, under the denomina¬
tion of Confederates, w'ere guilty of still greater excesses
than those who had been under some kind of regulation ;
and thus a great part of the country was at last reduced to a
mere desert, the inhabitants being either exterminated, or
carried oft' to stock the remote Russian plantations.
In the year 1771, the confederacies, which appeared to New con-
have been extinguished, sprang up afresh, and increased to federates,
a great degree. This was occasioned by their having been
secretly encouraged and supplied with money by France.
A great number of French officers also engaged as volun¬
teers in their service; and having introduced discipline
amongst their troops, they acted with greater vigour than
formerly, sometimes proving more than a match for their
enemies. But these gleams of success served only to light
them on to their ruin. The Russians were reinforced and
properly supported. The Austrian and Prussian troops en¬
tered the country, advancing on different sides ; and in a
short time the confederates found themselves entirely sur¬
rounded by enemies, wdio seemed to have nothing less in
view than an absolute conquest of the country, and sharing
it amongst themselves.
Before matters came to this crisis, however, the confede- Attempt to
rates had formed a design of assassinating the king, on ac-assass.'nate
count of his supposed attachment to the Dissidents. A Po- ^le
lish nobleman, named Pulaski, a general in the army of the
POLAND.
147
History, confederates, was the person who planned the enterprise;
and the conspirators who carried it into execution were
about forty in number, headed by three chiefs, named re¬
spectively Lukawski, Strawenski, and Kosinski. On the
2d of September they obtained admission into Warsaw,
unsuspected and undiscovered. On Sunday night, the 3d
of September 1771, a few of these conspirators remained
in the skirts of the town; but the others repaired to the
place of rendezvous, the street of the Capucins, where his
majesty was expected to pass about his usual hour of re¬
turning to the palace. The king had been to visit his
uncle Prince Czartoryski, grand chancellor of Lithuania,
and was on his return from thence to the palace between
nine and ten o’clock. He was in a coach, accompanied by
at least fifteen or sixteen attendants, besides an aide-de-
camp in the carriage. Scarcely was he at the distance of
200 paces from Prince Czartoryski’s palace, when he was
attacked by the conspirators, who commanded the coach¬
man to stop on pain of instant death. They fired several
shots into the carriage, and almost all the other persons
who preceded and accompanied his majesty were dispersed;
the aide-de-camp having also abandoned him, and attempted
to conceal himself by flight. The king himself attempted
to escape under cover of the night, which was extremely
dark, but they immediately laid hold of him by the collar,
and, mounting on horseback, dragged him along the ground
between their horses at full gallop for nearly 500 paces
through the streets of Warsaw. Finding that he was in¬
capable of following them on foot, they set him on horse¬
back, and then redoubled their speed for fear of being
overtaken.
The night was exceedingly dark, and they were abso¬
lutely ignorant of the wjay; so that they wandered through
the open meadows without getting to any distance from
Warsaw. At length they were suddenly alarmed by a
Russian patrole or detachment, and instantly a number of
the assassins disappeared, leaving only three with the king.
Scarcely a quarter of an hour after, a second Russian guard
challenged them anew, and two of the assassins then fled,
leaving Kosinski alone with the king. At length, by means
of expostulation and entreaty, the king prevailed on Kosinski
to restore him to liberty, and upon his return to Warsaw,
he was received with the utmost demonstrations of joy. But
neither the virtues nor the pqpularity of the sovereign could
allay the factious spirit of the Poles, nor prevent the dis¬
memberment of his kingdom.
The partition of Poland was first projected by the King
of Prussia. Polish or Western Prussia had long been an
object of his ambition. Exclusively of its fertility, com¬
merce, and population, its local situation rendered it highly
valuable to that monarch: it lay between his German do¬
minions and Eastern Prussia, and whilst in the possession
of the Poles it cut off at their will all communication be¬
tween them. The period had now arrived when the situa¬
tion of Poland seemed to promise the easy acquisition of
this valuable province. Frederic, however, pursued it
with all the caution of an able politician. On the com¬
mencement of the troubles, he showed no eagerness to in¬
terfere in the affairs of this country; and although he had
concurred with the Empress of Russia in raising Stanislas
Augustus to the throne of Poland, yet he declined taking
any active part in his favour against the confederates.
Afterwards, when in 1769 the whole kingdom became
convulsed with civil commotions, and desolated by the
plague, he, under pretence of forming lines to prevent
the spreading of the infection, advanced his troops into
Polish Prussia, and occupied the whole of that district.
Though now completely master of the country, and by no
means apprehensive of any formidable resistance from the
disunited and distracted Poles, yet, as he was well aware
that the security of his new acquisition depended upon the
First parti¬
tion of
Poland.
acquiescence of Russia and Austria, he planned the parti- History,
tion of Poland. He communicated the project to the ''•v**'
emperor, either upon their interview at Niess in Silesia in
1769, or in that of the following year at Nieustadt in
Austria, and from him the overture met with a ready con¬
currence. To induce the Empress of Russia to acquiesce
in the same project, he despatched to St Petersburg his
brother Henry, who suggested to the empress that the
House of Austria was forming an alliance with the Porte,
with which she was then at war ; that if such alliance took
place, it would create a most formidable combination
against her; that nevertheless the friendship of that
house was to be purchased by acceding to the partition;
that, upon this condition, the emperor was willing to re¬
nounce his connection with the grand signior, and would
suffer the Russians to prosecute the war without interrup¬
tion. Catharine, anxious to push her conquests against the
Turks, and dreading the interposition of the emperor in
that quarter; perceiving, likewise, from the intimate union
between the courts of Vienna and Berlin, that it would
not be in her power at the present juncture to prevent
the intended partition ; closed with the proposal, and se¬
lected no inconsiderable portion of the Polish territories
for herself. The treaty was signed at St Petersburg in
the beginning of February 1772, by the Russian, Austrian,
and Prussian plenipotentiaries. It would be tedious to enter
into a detail of the pleas urged by the three powers in
favour of their several demands ; nor would it be less un¬
interesting to lay before the reader the answers and remon¬
strances of the king and Senate, as well as the appeals to
the other states which had guaranteed the possessions of
Poland. The courts of London, Paris, Stockholm, and
Copenhagen remonstrated against these usurpations; but
remonstances without assistance could be of no effect. Po¬
land submitted to the dismemberment not without the
most violent struggles; and now for the first time that
unhappy country felt and lamented the fatal effects of fac¬
tion and discord.
A Diet being demanded by the partitioning powers, in
order to ratify the cession of the provinces, it met on the
19th of April 1773; and such was the spirit of the mem¬
bers that, notwithstanding the deplorable situation of their
country, and the threats and bribes of the three powers,
the partition-treaty was not carried through without much
difficulty. For some time the majority of the nuncios ap¬
peared determined to oppose the dismemberment, and the
king firmly persisted in the same resolution. The ambas¬
sadors of the three courts enforced their requisitions by
the most alarming menaces, and threatened the king with
deposition and imprisonment. They also gave out by their
emissaries that, in case the Diet continued refractory, War¬
saw should be pillaged. This report was industriously cir¬
culated, and made a sensible impression upon the inhabi¬
tants. By menaces of the same sort, by corrupting the
marshal of the Diet, and by bribes, promises, and threats,
the members were at length prevailed on to ratify the dis¬
memberment.
The partitioning powers, however, did less injury to the
republic by dismembering its fairest provinces than perpe¬
tuating the principles of anarchy and confusion. Under
pretence of amending the constitution, they confirmed all
its defects, and took effectual precautions to render this un¬
happy country incapable of ever emerging from the deplo¬
rable state into which it had fallen, as was seen in the
failure of the most patriotic attempt ever made by a king
to reform the constitution of his kingdom.
The kings of Poland were anciently hereditary and Govem-
absolute, but afterwards became elective and limited. In meat,
the reign of Louis, towards the end of the fourteenth cen¬
tury, several limitations were imposed on the royal prero¬
gative. In that of Casimir IV., who ascended the throne
148 ' POLAND.
History. |n 1445, representatives from the several palatinates were
first called to the Diet; the legislative power till then hav¬
ing been lodged in the states, and the executive in the
king and Senate. On the decease of Sigismund Augustus,
it was enacted by law that for the future the choice of a
king should perpetually remain free and open to all the
nobles of the kingdom ; and this law was accordingly ob¬
served, to the great injury of the kingdom.
As soon as the throne became vacant, the authority was
transferred to the primate, who in quality of interrex, had
in some respects more power than the king himself. He
notified the vacancy of the throne to foreign princes, and
issued the universalia, or circular letters for the election.
The place of election was the field of Vola, at the gates
of Warsaw ; and all the nobles of the kingdom had a right
of voting. The Poles encamped on the left side of the
Vistula, and the Lithuanians on the right, each under the
banners of their respective palatinates. The field of elec¬
tion was surrounded by a ditch provided with three gates ;
one to the east for Great Poland, another to the south for
Little Poland, and a third to the west for Lithuania. In
the middle of the field was erected a great building of wood,
named the Szopa, or Hall of the Senate. All who aspired
openly to the crown were expressly excluded from the
field of election, that their presence might not constrain
the voters. The king must be elected nemine contradi-
cente, by all the suffrages without exception. The primate
in few words recapitulated to the nobles on horseback the
respective merits of the candidates; he exhorted them to
choose the most worthy, invoked heaven, gave his blessing
to the assembly, and remained alone with the marshal of
the Diet, while the senators dispersed themselves into
the several palatinates to promote a unanimity of senti¬
ment. If they succeeded, the primate himself went to col¬
lect the votes, at the same time naming again all the can¬
didates. “ Szoda,” answered the nobles, “ that is the man
we choose and instantly the air resounded with his name,
together with cries of “ Vivat” and the noise of pistols. If all
the palatines agreed in their nominations, the primate got
on horseback, and then, the profoundest silence succeeding
to the greatest noise, he asked three times if all were satis¬
fied, and after a general approbation, three times pro¬
claimed the king; upon which the grand marshal of the
crown repeated the proclamation three times at the three
gates of the camp.
The pacta Before the king was proclaimed, the pacta conventa were
conventa. rea(j aloud to him, which, on his knees at the altar, he swore
to observe. This contract, which had been drawn up, me¬
thodized, and approved by the Senate and nobility, was
deemed the great part of the charter of Poland. It pro¬
vided that the king should not attempt to encroach on the
liberty of the people by rendering the crown hereditary in
his family; that he should preserve all the customs, laws,
and ordinances respecting the freedom of election ; that he
should ratify all treaties subsisting with foreign powers,
which were approved by the Diet; that it should be his
chief study to cultivate peace, preserve the public tranquil¬
lity, and promote the interest of the realm ; that he should
not coin money except in the name of the republic, or
appropriate to himself the advantages arising from coinage ;
that in declaring war, concluding peace, making levies,
hiring auxiliaries, or admitting foreign troops upon any
pretext within the Polish dominions, the consent of the
Diet and Senate should be necessary; that all offices and
preferments should be given to natives of Poland and
Lithuania; that the king should not marry without the
approbation of the Senate ; that he should administer jus¬
tice by the advice of the Senate and his council; that he
should not diminish the treasure kept at Cracow; but, on
the contrary, endeavour to augment it, as well as the num¬
ber of the crown jewels ; that he should not borrow money
without the consent of the Diet; that he should not equip History,
a naval force without the consent and full approbation of
the republic; that he should profess the Roman Catholic
faith, and promote, maintain, and defend it, throughout all
the Polish dominions; and, finally, that all their several
liberties, rights, and privileges should be preserved to the
Poles and Lithuanians in general, and to all the districts
and provinces contained within each of these great divi¬
sions, without change, alteration, or the smallest violation,
except by the consent of the republic.
The Diet of Poland was composed of the king, the The Diet<
Senate, the bishops, and the deputies of the nobility or
gentry of every palatinate, called, in their collective capa¬
city, comitia togata^ that is, when the states assembled in
the city without arms and horses; or comitia paludata,
when they met in the fields armed, as during an interreg¬
num, at the Diet of election. When it was proposed to
hold a general Diet, the king, or, in case of an interreg¬
num, the primate, issued writs to the palatines of the
several provinces, specifying the time and place of the
meeting. A sketch likewise was sent of the business to be
deliberated on by the assembly ; the Senate was consulted
in this particular, and six weeks were allowed the^members
to prepare themselves for the intended session. I he Diet
never sat more than six weeks even in the most critical
conjunctures and pressing emergencies. On receipt of the
king’s writ, the palatine communicated the meeting of the
Diet to all the castellans, starosts, and other inferior offi¬
cers and gentry within his jurisdiction ; requiring them to
assemble on a certain day to elect deputies, and take into
consideration the business specified in the royal summons.
These meetings were called petty diets, dietines or lantage,
in the language of the country, every gentleman possessing
three acres of land having a vote, and matters being de¬
termined by a majority; whereas in the general Diet de¬
crees were only valid when the whole body was unanimous.
Every palatinate had three representatives, though the
business devolved on one called a nuncio, who was elected
on account of his ability and experience ; and the other two
were added only to give weight to this leading member.
As these deputies, since the reign of Casimir III., had
seats in the Diet, it naturally divided the general assembly
into two bodies, the upper and lower ; the one being com¬
posed of the Senate, the superior clergy, and the great offi¬
cers ; and the other of the representatives of the palati¬
nates, who prepared all business for the superior body.
Among the inconveniences which attended the consti¬
tution of the Diet of Poland was a spirit of venality in
the deputies, and a general corruption, that possessed all
ranks and degrees in that assembly. There, as in some
other countries, the cry of liberty was kept up for the
sake of private interest. Deputies came with a full reso¬
lution of profiting by their patriotism, and not lowering
their voice without a gratification. Determined to oppose
the most salutary measures of the court, they either with¬
drew from the assembly, and protested against all that
should be transacted in their absence, or else excited such
a clamour as rendered it necessary for the court to silence
them by some lucrative pension, donation, or employ¬
ment. Unanimity was necessary to the passing of any
bill.
Perhaps the most respectable department of the Polish The Senate
government was the Senate, composed of the bishops,
palatines, castellans, and ten officers of state, who derived
a right from their dignities of sitting in that assembly, and
amounting in all to 144 members, who were styled “sena¬
tors of the kingdom,” or “ counsellors of the state,” and
had the title of Excellency,—a dignity supported by no pen¬
sion or emoluments necessarily annexed to it. The Senate
presided over the execution of the laws, and was the guar¬
dian of liberty, the judge of right, and the protector of
POLAND.
History.
Phe Per-
nanent
Council.
'he new
onstitu-
ion of
791.
justice and equity. All the members except the bishops,
1 who were senators ex qfficiis, were nominated by the king,
and took an oath to the republic before they were permitted
to enter upon their functions. 1 heir honours continued
for life.
Such was the constitution of Poland before being new-
modelled by the partitioning powers. That it was in all
respects a very bad one, needs no proof whatever. But
those foreign reformers did not improve it. For two cen¬
turies at least the Poles had with great propriety denomi¬
nated their government a republic, because the king was
so exceedingly limited in his prerogative that he resembled
more the chief of a commonwealth than the sovereign of
a powerful monarchy. That prerogative, already too con¬
fined to afford protection to the peasants, groaning under
the tyranny of the nobles, was, after the partition-treaty,
still further restrained by the establishment of the Perma¬
nent Council, which was vested with the whole executive
authority, leaving to the sovereign nothing but the name.
The Permanent Council consisted of thirty-six persons,
elected by the Diet out of the different orders of nobility ;
and though the king, when present, presided in it, he
could not exert a single act of power without the consent
of the majority of persons, who might well be called his
colleagues.
That Stanislas should have laboured to extricate himself
and the great body of the people from such unparalleled
oppression, and that the more respectable portion of the
nation should have wished to give to themselves and their
posterity a better form of government, was surely very
natural and very meritorious. The influence of the parti¬
tioning powers was indeed exerted to render the king con¬
tented with his situation. His revenues, which before did
not exceed L. 100,000, were now increased to three times
that sum. The republic likewise agreed to pay his debts,
amounting to upwards of L.400,000. It also bestowed on
him, in hereditary possession, four starosties or govern¬
ments of castles, with the districts belonging to them, and
re-imbursed him for the money which he had laid out on
account of the state. It was likewise agreed that the re¬
venues of the republic should be raised to 33,000,000 of
florins, or nearly L.2,000,000 sterling; and that the army
should consist of 30,000 men. Soon after the conclusion
of peace with Turkey, the Empress of Russia also made the
king a present of 250,000 rubles, as a compensation for
that part of his dominions which had fallen into her hands.
These bribes, however, were not sufficient to blind the
penetration of Stanislas, nor to cool the ardour of his pa¬
triotism. He laboured for posterity, and with such appa¬
rent success that, on the 3d of May 1791, a new constitu¬
tion of the government of Poland was established by the
king, together with the confederate states assembled in
double number to represent the Polish nation. That this
constitution was perfect, we are far from asserting; but it
was probably as much so as the inveterate prejudices of
the nobles would admit of. It deviated as little as possible
from the ancient forms, and consisted of eleven articles
respecting the government of the republic, to which were
added twenty-one sections, regulating the dietines or pri¬
mary assemblies of Poland.
The first article of this constitution established the Ro¬
man Catholic faith, with its various privileges and immu¬
nities, as the dominant national religion; but to all other
people, of whatever persuasion, it secured peace in matters
of faith, and the protection of government. The second
article guaranteed to the nobility or the equestrian order all
the privileges which it enjoyed under the kings of the House
of Jagellon. The third and fourth articles granted to the
free royal towns internal jurisdictions of their own ; and ex¬
empted the peasants from slavery, declaring every man
free as soon as he set his foot on the territory of the re¬
public. The fifth article, after declaring, that in civil so¬
ciety all power should be derived from the will of the
people, enacted that the government of the Polish nation
should be composed of three distinct powers ; the legis¬
lative, in the states assembled ; the executive, in the kinl¬
and the Council of Inspection ; and the judicial power, in
the jurisdictions existing or to be established. According
to the sixth article, the Diet, or the legislative power, was
to be divided into two houses,—viz., the House of Nuncios
or deputies, and the House of Senate, where the king was
to preside. The former, being the representative and
central point of supreme national authority, was to possess
the pre-eminence in the legislature ; therefore all bills were
to be decided first in this house. The Senate was to consist
of bishops, palatines, castellans, and ministers under the
presidency of the king.
These ordinary legislative Diets were to have an unin¬
terrupted existence, and be always ready to meet. The
length of sessions was to be determined by the law con¬
cerning diets. If convened upon some urgent occasion
out of ordinary session, they were only to deliberate on
the subject which occasioned such a call, or on circum¬
stances which might arise out of it. No law or statute
enacted by such ordinary Diet could be altered or annulled
by the same. The majority of votes was to decide every¬
thing and everywhere. Every twenty-five years an ex¬
traordinary constitutional Diet was to be held for the revi¬
sion of the constitution, and making such changes and
alterations as might be found requisite. The seventh article
intrusted to the king and his council the highest power of
executing the laws. The duty of such executive power
was to watch over the laws, and to see them strictly exe¬
cuted according to their import, even by means of public
force, should it be found necessary. The throne was to cease
to be elective, and on the death of the present king was to
become hereditary in the family of the Elector of Saxony.
Every king, on his accession, was to take a solemn oath to
support the present constitution, and to fulfil the pacta con-
venta. The king’s person was sacred and inviolable. As
no act could proceed immediately from him, he could not
in any manner be responsible to the nation ; he was not
an absolute monarch, but the father and the head of the
people ; and his revenues, as fixed by the pacta conventa,
were to be sacredly preserved. All public acts, the acts of
magistracies and the coin of the kingdom, \yere to bear
his name. He had the right of pardoning those who were
condemned to death, except the crimes were against the
state ; and in time of war he had the supreme command
of the national forces, but he might appoint the command¬
ers of the army, with the consent of the states. The
nomination to all offices and dignities was vested in him.
The king’s Council of Inspection was to consist of the
primate as the head of the clergy, and the president of the
commission of education, or the first bishop in or dine ; of
five ministers,—viz., those of police, justice, war, finances,
and foreign affairs ; of two secretaries to keep the proto¬
cols, one for the council and another for the foreign de¬
partment, but both with a decisive vote. The hereditary
prince, on coming of age, and having taken the oath to
preserve the constitution, might assist at all sessions of the
council, but could have no vote therein.
The eighth article regulated the administration of jus¬
tice. It constituted primary courts of justice for each pa¬
latinate or district, composed of judges chosen at the die-
tine ; and appointed higher tribunals, one being erected in
each of the three provinces into which the kingdom was
divided, with which appeals might be lodged from the pri¬
mary courts. It likewise appointed for the trial of persons
accused of crimes against the state one supreme general
tribunal for all classes, called a comitial tribunal, or court
composed of persons chosen at the opening of every Diet.
150
P CLAN D.
History.
This con¬
stitution
opposed by
Itussia.
General
rising.
Russian de
claration.
The ninth article provided a regency during the king’s
minority, in case of his settled alienation of reason, or upon
the emergency of his being made a prisoner of war. I he
three great divisions of the kingdom (Great and Little Po¬
land, and Lithuania) were entitled to send sixty-eight de-^
puties each to the House of Nuncios. Every possessor ot
land, however small, had the right of voting at the elec¬
tion of representatives to the Diet. Every person of the
equestrian order that paid territorial tax to government was
eligible to all the elective offices in bis district.
Such were the chief heads of the Polish constitution es¬
tablished by the king and the confederates in 1791. It cannot
be compared with systems that have been matured by long
experience; but it is surely infinitely superior to the mot¬
ley form of government which, for a century previous, ren¬
dered Poland a perpetual scene of war, tumult, tyranny,
and rebellion. Many of the corrupt nobles, however, per¬
ceiving that it would curb their ambition, deprive them of
the base means which they had long enjoyed of gratifying
their avarice by setting the crown to sale, and render it im¬
possible for them to continue with impunity their tyranni¬
cal oppression of the peasants, protested against it, and
withdrew from the confederates. This was nothing more
than what might have been expected, or than what the
king and his friends undoubtedly expected. But the mal¬
contents were not satisfied with a simple protest; they pre¬
ferred their complaints to the empress of Russia, who, ever
ready on all occasions, and on the slightest pretence, to in¬
vade* Poland, poured her armies into the republic, and sur¬
rounding the king and the Diet with ferocious soldiers, com¬
pelled them, by the most indecent menaces, to undo their
glorious labour of love, and to restore the constitution as
settled after the partition-treaty.
On the 21st of April 1792, the Diet received the first no¬
tification from the king, of the inimical and unjust intentions
of Russia. He informed them that, without the shadow of
pretence, this power had determined to invade the territory
of the republic with an army of sixty thousand men. This
formidable force, commanded by Generals Soltikof, Mi-
chelson, and Kosakowski, was afterwards to be supported by
a corps of twenty thousand, and by the troops then acting
in Moldavia, amounting to seventy thousand. The king,
however, professed that he was not discouraged; and he
declared his readiness to put himself at the head of the na¬
tional troops, and to terminate his existence in a glorious
contest for the liberties of his country. Then, and not be¬
fore, the Diet decreed the organization of the army, and its
augmentation to a hundred thousand. The king and the
council of inspection were invested with unlimited autho¬
rity in everything that regarded the defence of the king¬
dom. Magazines were ordered to be constructed when it
was too late, and quarters to be provided for the army. The
Diet and the nation rose as one man to maintain their in¬
dependence. All private animosities were obliterated, all
private interests were sacrificed; the greatest encourage¬
ments were held forth to volunteers to enroll themselves.un-
der the national standard ; and it was unanimously decreed
by the Diet that all private losses should be compensated
out of the public treasury.
On the 18th of May the Russian ambassador delivered
a declaration worthy of such a cause. It asserted that this
wanton invasion, which was evidently against the sense of
almost every individual Pole, was intended solely for the
good of the republic. It censured the precipitancy with
which the new constitution had been adopted, and ascribed
the ready consent of the Diet to the influence of the mob
of Warsaw'. It represented the constitution as a violation
of the principles on which the Polish republic was found¬
ed ; complained of the licentiousness with which the sa¬
cred name of the empress was treated in some speeches of
the members ; and concluded by professing, that on these
accounts, and in behalf of the emigrant Poles, her imperial ^tory^
majesty had ordered her troops to enter the territories ot
the republic. At the moment when this declaration was
delivered to the Diet, the Russian troops, accompanied by
Counts Potocki, Rzewuski, Branicki, and a few Polish re¬
negades, appeared upon the frontiers, and, before the close
of the month, entered the territories of the republic in se¬
veral columns. . . „ . . „
The spirit manifested by the nobility was truly honour-Spirit of
able to that body. Some of them delivered in tbeir plate the nob.es
to the mint. Prince Radzivil engaged voluntarily to fur¬
nish ten thousand stand of arms, and another noble offeied
to provide a train of artillery. The courage of the new and
hastily embodied soldiers corresponded with the patriotism
of their chiefs. Prince Poniatowski, nephew of the king,
was appointed commander-in-chief ; and though his foice ^
was greatly inferior to the enemy, it must be confessed that
he made a noble stand.
The perfidy, the meanness, and the duplicity manifested Conduct a |
by Prussia on this occasion is probably without a parallelthecourt
in history. By the treaty of defensive alliance, solemnlyot i3erlm*
contracted between the republic of Poland and the king of
Prussia, and ratified on the 23d of April 1790, it is express¬
ly stipulated, that the contracting parties shall do all in their
power to guarantee and preserve to each other reciprocal¬
ly the whole of the territories which they respectively pos¬
sess ; that, in case of menace or invasion from any foreign
power, they shall assist each other with their whole force,
if necessary ; and that if any foreign power whatever should
presume to interfere in the internal affairs of Poland, his
Prussian majesty w'ould consider this as a case falling with¬
in the meaning of the alliance, and assist the republic ac¬
cording to the tenor of the above article, that is, with his
whole force. What, then, was the pretext for violating this
treaty ? It was this, that the empress of Russia had shown
a decided opposition to the order of things established in
Poland on the third of May 1791, and was provoked by
Poland presuming to put herself into a posture of defence.
It is ascertained, however, by the most authentic documents,
that nothing was effected on the 3d of May 1791, to which
Prussia had not previously assented, and which she did not
afterwards sanction ; and that Prussia, according to the as¬
sertion of her own king, did not intimate a single doubt re¬
specting the revolution till several months after it had taken
place; in short, to use the king’s own words as explanatory
of his double politics, “ not till the general tranquillity of
Europe permitted him to explain himself.” Instead, there¬
fore, of assisting Poland, Prussia insultingly recommended
to Poland to retrace her steps; in which case, she said that
she would be ready to attempt an accommodation in her
favour. But this attempt was never made, and probably
never intended ; for the empress pursued her measures with¬
out opposition.
The duchy of Lithuania was the great scene of action in War with
the beginning of the war. But the Russians had made Russia,
little progress before the middle of the month of June. On
the 10th of that month, General Judycki, who commanded
a detachment of the Polish troops between Mire and Swi-
erzna, was attacked by the Russians ; but, after a combat
of some hours, he obliged them to retire with the loss of
five hundred men dead on the field. The general was de¬
sirous of profiting by this advantage, by pursuing the ene¬
my, but was prevented by a violent fall of rain. On the
succeeding day, the Russians rallied again to the attack ;
and it then too fatally appeared that the Poles, being young
and undisciplined, were unable to contend with an inferior
force against experienced troops and able generals. By a
masterly manoeuvre, the Russians contrived to surround
their antagonists, at a moment when the Polish general
supposed that he had obliged the enemy to retreat; and
though the field was contested with the utmost valour by
I
POLAND.
History
The king
proposes
ubmis-
lion.
. the troops of the republic, they were at length compelled
^to give way, and to retire towards Nieswiesz.
On the 14th another engagement took place near Lu-
bar, on the banks of the river Sluez, between a detachment
of the Russian grand army anti a party of Polish cavalry
despatched by Prince Joseph Poniatowski to intercept the
enemy. The patriotic bravery of the Poles proved victo¬
rious in this contest; but upon reconnoitring the force of
the enemy, the prince found himself incapable of making a
successful stand against such superior numbers. He, there¬
fore, gave orders to strike the camp at Lubar, and com¬
menced a precipitate retreat. During their march, the
Polish rear was harassed by a body of about four thousand
Russians. The Polish army next directed its course to¬
wards Zielime, where meeting, on the 17th, with a rein¬
forcement from Zaslow, it halted to give battle to the
enemy. The Russians were upwards of seventeen thou¬
sand strong, with twenty-four pieces of cannon, and the
force of the republic much inferior. After a furious contest,
from seven in the morning till five in the afternoon, the
Russians were at length obliged to retreat, and leave the
field of battle in possession of the patriots.
Notwithstanding these exertions, the Poles were obliged
gradually to retire before their numerous and disciplined
enemies. Nieswiesz, Wilna, Minsk, and several other places
of less consequence, fell one after another into their hands.
On a truce being proposed to the Russian general Koch-
owski, the proposal was haughtily rejected; whilst the de¬
sertion of vice-brigadier Rudnicki and some others, who
preferred dishonour to personal danger, proclaimed a tot¬
tering cause. The progress of the armies of Catharine was
marked with devastation and cruelty ; whilst such was the
aversion of the people, both to the cause and the manner
of conducting it, that, as they approached, the country all
around became a wilderness, where scarcely a human being
was to be seen.
In the mean time, a series of petty defeats, to which the
inexperience of the commanders, and the intemperate va¬
lour of newly-raised troops, appear to have greatly contri¬
buted, served at once to distress and dispirit the defenders
of their country. Prince Poniatowski continued to retreat;
and on the 1/th of July, his rear being attacked by a very
superior force, it suffered a considerable loss, although the
skdl and the courage of General Kosciuszko enabled him to
make a most respectable defence. On the 18th, a gene¬
ral engagement took place between the two armies. The
Russian line extended opposite Dubienka, along the river
Bug, as far as Opalin ; and the principal column, consisting
of fourteen thousand men, wTas chiefly directed against the
division of General Kosciuszko, which consisted only of five
thousand men. After a most vigorous resistance, in which
the Russians lost upwards of four thousand men, the troops
o t ie republic were compelled to give way before the su¬
perior numbers of the enemy, and to retire further into the
country.
i ThmvUnie^Ual c°ntest was at last prematurely terminat¬
ed. I he king, whose benevolent intentions were, perhaps,
overpowered by his mental imbecility, and whose age and
infirmities, probably, rendered him unequal to the difficul¬
ties and dangers which must attend a protracted war, in¬
stead of putting himself at the head of his army, determin¬
ed at once to surrender at discretion. On the 23d of Julv
he summoned a council of all the deputies at that momen t
n Warsaw, and laid before them the last despatches from
the empress, which insisted upon total and unreserved sub-
mission. He pointed out the danger of a dismemberment
of the republic, should they delay to throw themselves up¬
on the clemency of the empress, and to entreat her protec¬
tion. _ He also mentioned the fatal union of Austria and
russia with Russia, and the disgraceful supineness ma¬
nifested by every other court in Europe. Four citizens,
151
the intrepid Malachowski, and the Princes Sapieha, Rad- History,
zivil, and Soltan, vehemently protested against these das-
tardly proceedings ; and the following evening a company
of gentlemen from the different provinces attended for the
same purpose. The assembly immediately waited upon
these four distinguished patriots, and returned them their
acknowledgements for the spirit and firmness with which
they had resisted the usurpations of despotism. The sub¬
mission of the king to the designs of Russia was no sooner
made known than Poland was bereft of all her best and
most respectable citizens. Malachow'ski, as marshal of the
Diet, and Prince Sapieha, grand marshal of Lithuania, en¬
tered on the journals of the Diet strong protests against
these proceedings, and declared solemnly that the Diet le¬
gally assembled in 1788 was not dissolved;
On the second of August a confederation was formed at The former
Warsaw, of which the renegade Potocki was chosen mar-c.onstitu-
shal. Ihe acts of this confederation were evidently theta5n r,e*
despotic dictates of Russia, and were solely calculated tostore
restore the ancient abuses, and to place the country under
the aggravated oppression of a foreign yoke. It is remark¬
able, however, that at the very moment when Poland was
surrendering its liberties to its despotic invaders, the gene¬
rous sympathy of Great Britain was evinced by a liberal
subscription, supported by the most respectable characters
in the nation, of every party and of every sect, for the pur¬
pose of assisting the king and the republic to maintain their
independence ; and though the benevolent design was frus¬
trated, yet the fact remains on record as a noble testimony
of the spirit by which Britons are animated in the cause of
freedom, of the indignation which fills every heart in this
empire at the commission of injustice, and of the liberality
with which all are disposed to assist those who suffer from
the oppression of tyrants.
Not satisfied with restoring the old wretched constitu- Part of the
tion, the empress of Russia seized upon part of the terri-t.er-
tory which, at the last partition, she and her coadjutors ha{ir^oryseized
left to the republic; and her ambassador entering into the
Diet with a crowd of armed men, compelled the king and
that assembly to grant the form of legality to her usurpa¬
tions. 1 he nation, however, did not submit.
In February 1794 General Kosciuszko appeared in the Gallant ef-
neighbouihood of Cracow with a small force of armed pea-^?r^0^ Kos-
sants. He beat some detachments of Russians and Prus-culszko-
sians, compelled them to evacuate Cracow, and there pro¬
claimed the constitution of 1791. Everywdiere the people
and the nobles flew to arms. The Russians, who occupied
Yv arsaw with fifteen thousand men, began to seize suspect¬
ed persons, and demanded possession of the arsenal. But
at that moment the news arrived of a defeat sustained by a
coips of six thousand Russians, with the loss of a thousand
killed, and their general, Woronzow, made prisoner. En¬
couraged by this event, the people rose on the garrison,
and after forty-eight hours’ hard fighting, drove them out,
with the loss of six thousand killed, three thousand prison¬
ers, and fifty pieces of cannon. The whole country wTas
now in arms. Russia and Prussia, however, sent a bun¬
dled and ten thousand men into Poland. Kosciuszko, press¬
ed by superior forces, made an able retreat upon Warsaw.
I he king of Prussia, after besieging the city during three
months, was compelled to retire towards his own territories
with the loss of tw enty thousand men. Here he was harassed
for some time by Madalinsky with a small corps of cavalry.
Kosciuszko, relieved from the Prussians, marched against the
new Russian armies, which, during the siege of "Warsaw,
had reconquered Lithuania and Volhynia. But the battle of
Noezylac, on the 10th of October 1794, in which the Poles
fought with heroic resolution against overpowering num¬
bers, proved fatal to their unhappy country. Kosciuszko
was made prisoner and carried to St Petersburg, where he
languished in a dungeon until the death of Catharine. The
15?
POLAND.
History. Russians, after this event, united their forces and marched
^ y^—'' upon Warsaw, where the Poles had named Wawrzecky ge¬
neral-in-chief. He had only ten thousand men to oppose to
fifty thousand, but an obstinate resistance was nevertheless
offered. The last remains of the national army were con¬
centrated at Praga, on the right bank of the Vistula, im¬
mediately opposite Warsaw ; but they were soon broken by
the furious charges of the Russian general Suwarof, who
gratified his natural cruelty by the most frightful carnage.
The fate of Poland was now decided. After the capture
of Praga, Warsaw capitulated. Nine thousand Poles fell in
the fight; thirty thousand persons of all ages and either
sex were destroyed in cold blood ; and thirty thousand
more, who still refused to submit, were suffered to leave
the place, and afterwards hunted down by the soldiery.
The most distinguished chiefs were carried away to distant
provinces ; and the wretched king was sent to Russia, where
he ended his days in 1798.
Treaty of The two powers were proceeding to divide the remaining
partition, provinces between them, when Austria interfered, and de¬
clared that she would not permit the destruction of Poland
unless she received a share. At that moment it was not
thought prudent to raise up a new enemy ; and Austria ob¬
tained a considerable addition of territory, without having
struck a blow or expended a florin. The negotiation con¬
tinued till 1795, when the definitive treaty of partition was
signed, which closed a series of transactions unparalleled
for perfidy, cruelty, and infamy in the history of Europe.
Austria received Cracow, with the country lying between
the Pilitsa, the Vistula, and the Bug. Prussia had the ca¬
pital, with the territory as far as the Niemen. The lion’s
share, as usual, fell to Russia. After an existence of neal
ten centuries, the republic was thus erazed from the list of
nations. No people on earth, perhaps, have evei shown so
much personal bravery as the Poles. Their whole history
indeed is full of wonderful victories. But with such a vi¬
cious frame of society as we have already described, the most
chivalrous valour, and the most splendid military successes,
could avail nothing. It could not enforce obedience to the
laws, nor maintain domestic tranquillity ; it could not pre¬
serve the proud nobles from dissipation, nor prevent them
from receiving bribes to repair their shattered fortunes ; it
could not restrain the powers which lavished the means of
corruption from interfering in the affairs of the kingdom ;
it could not dissolve the union of these powers with the
malcontents at home; it could not infuse vigour into a go¬
vernment corrupted by foreign gold, nor avert the invasion
of foreign armies to support the factious and rebellious; it
could not, while divided against itself, uphold the indepen¬
dence of the nations against foreign and domestic treason ;
in a word, it could not effect impossibilities, and though it
might dazzle by its glory, it could not counteract those slow
but sure-working causes which determined the inevitable
doom of Poland.
This great The extinction of the Polish republic afforded ample
crime com-SCOpe for political declamation. The tribunes of France,
mittedwitlithe parliament of England, and the press of both countries,
impunity. resounded with eloquent invectives against the perfidy and
violence of the partitioning powers, and general sympathy
was awakened in favour of a people whose great actions
were entitled to admiration, whilst their misfortunes moved
our commiseration. But complete impunity awaited the de-
spoilers of that unhappy country. The troubled state of af¬
fairs throughout Europe did not permit any power to intei-
fere in behalf of the oppressed. A selfish and shortsighted
policy paralysed every arm, and chilled every heart. I he
great cause of public justice and national independence
found no advocates, whilst the attention of all was absorb¬
ed in a narrow and confined struggle for their own preser¬
vation. The three potentates were therefore enabled to
perfect their common wickedness without the slightest hin¬
drance ; to repress the indignant efforts of the sufferers; HUtory.
to crowd their prisons with the best and bravest, who had
either distinguished themselves in the recent strugg e, or
had ventured to express dissatisfaction with the new state
of things ; to disarm the inhabitants of the great towns, and
to establish formidable garrisons of foreign troops, who were
ready to crush the very first attempt at insurrection
ICly to crusil Uie veiy   ” . c , fnmnart it
The Poles had no longer a country to fight for or de-
fend ; they had lost everything but honour and the feeling with F I
of revenge. They carried all they had left, namely, their
valour, into the market, and soon entered into a compact
with republican France. At Cracow was formed a secret
confederation, the members of which offered to the I rench
Directory to sacrifice their lives at the first call of the re¬
public. Nor was this a vain or futile offer. Hundreds ot
the warlike nobles, escaping from bondage at home, pro¬
ceeded to Venice or to Paris, and under Dombrowski, their
brave leader, were formed Polish legions, in aid of the
newly-created Italian republics, and ready to act wherever
their services might be required. Their pay and subsist¬
ence were to be furnished by the Italian states ; they pre¬
served their national arms and dress ; and, taking as their
motto that all freemen are brothers, they fully participated
in that daring spirit which then shook Europe to its centre.
That they were allured by the prospect which had been held
out to them of their country’s restoration, is well known ;
and if their faith was rather the measure of their own ar¬
dent hopes than the result of any rational or well-grounded
conviction, it may at least be pleaded in their favour, that
the unfortunate are naturally credulous, and that a true Pole
can never eradicate from his heart the belief that all his
fondest wishes will one day be gratified. But be this as it
may, their martial prowess contributed essentially to the
success of the republican cause. Their number was in¬
creased by fresh recruits, which more than compensated
the casualties of the field ; their brilliant valour shone re¬
splendent in every battle where they were engaged; pa¬
triotism and revenge alike nerved their arms for the con¬
flict. But they soon had occasion to distrust the fair pro¬
fessions of the"' republican hero. When anxious, by his
means, to preserve an entrance to the congress of Rastadt
for a representative of Poland, they were coolly told that
the hearts of all friends of liberty were for the brave Poles,
but that time and destiny alone could restore them as a
nation. Still they did not despair. If the day of regene¬
ration was deferred, might it not yet arrive, perhaps at no
distant period, when a more favourable conjuncture of cir¬
cumstances would render it impossible for the French go¬
vernment any longer to evade urging their claims ? W here
justice, and freedom, and independence were concerned,
they could not believe that fortune would always frown on
their cause, or that iniquity in high places would secure for
itself an immunity from all retribution. _
The connection of the Polish legions with France exhi-The natui
bits the same unvaried picture of gallant services perform-
ed, and of hope deferred. Their loyalty was sustained by pra]](
a strong passion for military fame ; to them the tent was
their home, the battle-field their country; and though they
suffered severely, particularly during the absence ot Napo¬
leon in Egypt, yet they repaired their losses with astonish¬
ing promptitude, and, in the year 1801, amounted to fifteen
thousand. But their blood flowed in vain. In every treaty
which their valour had been instrumental in winning, their
services were overlooked, and their country was forgotten.
In Italy and on the Danube, Generals Dombrowski and
Kniaziewicz, with their legions, represented the Polish na¬
tion, and maintained its ancient renown in arms, though to
little purpose, as far as regarded their country, for five
years, their bravery proved unavailing, in as far as concern¬
ed the main object for which they had fought and bled.^
But with the year 1806 new hopes began to revive. The
POLAND,
History.
cf1806
and 1807.
fj rand
iliichy of
Warsaw.
brilliant campaign of that year, the simultaneous victories
of Jena and Auerstadt, and the advance of the French ar-
my into Poland, seemed an earnest of future success, a sure
pledge of approaching restoration. A general burst of en¬
thusiasm followed. Polish regiments were organized with
amazing rapidity, and the approach of Kosciuszko was pro¬
claimed. On the 27th of November, Napoleon entered
Posen in triumph ; in December Warsaw received him with
not less enthusiasm ; a commission of government was im¬
mediately organized ^ and as his purpose was announced,
his armies were recruited by thousands of the best troops
in Europe. The battle of Eylau had been a mere butchery,
unproductive of any result; but on the field at Friedland,
Dombrowski had given signal proofs of his own talents and
the valour of the heroes he commanded ; and the opening
of the negotiations at Tilsit was hailed by the Poles as the
dawning of a bright and auspicious futurity. But the re¬
sult proved that they had been far too sanguine in their an¬
ticipations. Napoleon in effect, though not probably in in¬
tention, betrayed them, and at the same time lost the op¬
portunity of erecting a powerful barrier against the en-
cioachments of Jlussia. Instead of restoring the kingdom
of Poland in something like its ancient power and dimen¬
sions, he contented himself with forming a small portion of
his conquests into the grand duchy of Warsaw, which he
united with Saxony.
The duchy of Warsaw, thus established, consisted of the
departments of Posen, Kalisch, Plock, Warsaw, Lomza, and
Bydgoszcz, with a population somewhat exceeding two mil¬
lions. With this shred and mockery of a country the Poles
were highly dissatisfied. They had been taught to expect that
the ancient kingdom, if not Lithuania itself, would become
irrevocably their own; and their mortification may there¬
fore be conceived on finding that Prussia was to retain se¬
veral palatinates, that Austria was guaranteed in her Polish
possessions, that the provinces east of the Bug were to re¬
main in the power of Russia, and that a considerable por¬
tion of the ancient republic west of that river, as far as the
department of Bialystok, was ceded in perpetual sovereignty
to the czar. Still the establishment of this duchy was pro¬
bably intended as a point of departure in a new order of
things, the ultimate term of which should be the restoration
of Poland. By the new constitution, the Catholic religion
was declared to be the religion of the state; but ample to¬
leration, and even a community of civil rights, were allow-
ed to the Dissidents. Serfage was abolished. In the king
of Saxony, as grand duke of Warsaw, was vested the ini¬
tiative of all bills or projects of law, the selection of sena¬
tors, the nomination of the presidents of the dietines and
the communal assemblies, and the appointment of all offi¬
cers, civil and military ; and the Code Napoleon was sub-
sequently admitted as the basis of all judicial proceedings,
r ^‘phoi.s Something had thus been gained, though the arrange-
erment Trf 0m being ^factory; indeed, by some the
L f?106 “f T,lslt regarded as the grave of all their hopes.
But the greater number, reposing an unexhausted faith in
the justice of their cause, consoled themselves with the be¬
lief that eventually Poland would be recalled into political
existence, and her independence re-established upon a sure
foundation. Accordingly, in the war with Austria in 1809,
they rendered the most important services to Napoleon.
Ihey conquered Gallicia, without the smallest aid from
I ranee; they reduced Cracow and the adjoining territory •
they regained possession of the capital, which the archduke
had temporarily occupied; and they humbled their enemies
on every side. What their own arms had won, they con¬
ceived that they had a right to retain, and they regarded as
inevitable the incorporation of these conquests with their in-
rant state. ^ But they were destined to be speedily unde-
Ceiy, - .Not a fo°t of ground were they allowed to retain
m Gaihcia ; and half of their other conquests between the
VOL. XVIII.
capital and the Austrian frontier was wrested from their
hands. Four departments were indeed incorporated with'
the grand duchy, viz. Cracow, Pradom, Lublin, and Siedlec
I his acquisition, however, afforded but a small compensa¬
tion for the sacrifices which had been made, the forcible
loans which had been raised, the lives which had been wast¬
ed, and the misery which afflicted every class of the inhabi¬
tants. In truth, the policy pursued by Napoleon in regard
to the Poles bore traces of doubt and hesitation ; it was al¬
ways timid, seldom judicious, never generous. He had not
the courage to break through the entanglements of diplo-
macy, by which his inclinations were fettered, and to do a
great act of retributive justice, leaving the consequences to
Providence. He suffered himself to be paralyzed by con¬
flicting pretensions, and sacrificed his own glory to conciliate
powers who took the earliest opportunity of betraying him.
Nevertheless, when the war with Russia became inevi-Invasion ol
table, Napoleon, with the view of interesting the Poles inRussiain
his behalf, had recourse to all the arts of popular excitement,
and, strange as it may seem, with his usual success. The
more reflecting portion, wearied out and disgusted, refused
to be again deluded. “ We are flattered when our services
are required,” said they. “ Is Poland always to be fed on
hope alone ?” The mass, however, swayed by their feel-
ings, listened to the representations of the imperial agents,
and a great body of Poles took the field, whilst a general
confederation of nobles declared the republic restored, the
declaration being signed by the king of Saxony, in whose
house the hereditary monarchy was to be vested. But the
enthusiasm thus excited proved short-lived. The reply of
Napoleon to the Polish deputation, which had followed him
to Wilna, at once dissolved the spell, by showing the de¬
puties that he had guaranteed to the Emperor Francis the
integrity of the Austrian possessions in Poland. Illyria there¬
fore could not, as they had hoped, be exchanged for Gallicia;
and as to Lithuania, Napoleon not only considered, but even
pi oclaimed it a hostile country, and treated it accordingly.
But still the deputation erred egregiously in giving up all
for lost. Everything depended on the success of the expe¬
dition, which would have enabled Napoleon to give the law
to Austria as well as to Russia; and hence, when he exhorted
them to fight for their own independence, and assured them
that if all the palatinates combined they might reasonably
expect to attain their object, he gave them advice which they
would have done well to follow. At a moment so critical he
could not give Austria a fair pretence for betraying him on
the occurrence of the very first reverse; this would indeed
have been the height of folly in one who had risked every¬
thing upon the issue of a single campaign. But, on the other
hand, the success of the expedition must have proved highly
beneficial to Poland; and, in chilling the national enthusiasm
at this time, the deputation were innocently instrumental in
inflicting the greatest evils on their unhappy country.
I his is not the place to dwell on the unexampled disas-Resulis.
ters of the Russian campaign, which were greatly aggravat¬
ed by the apathy of the Poles, and their refusal to co-ope-
iate in covering the retreat of the French army. The de¬
tails a®? in the memory of all. The work of Napoleon was
destroyed; the grand duchy of Warsaw ceased to exist; the
king of Saxony was stripped at once of it and of a portion of
his hereditary dominions; the allied, who were also the par¬
titioning powers, again took possession of the towns which
they had held previous to the invasion of Napoleon ; and
in this state matters remained, awaiting the meeting of a
congress, which was to assemble to decide, amongst other
things, the fate of this unhappy country.
The negotiations which commenced with the downfall of Treaty of
Napoleon, and were completed by the treaty of Paris in Paris.
1814, necessarily embraced the future condition of Poland Poland,
which, though then occupied by Russian troops, had from
previous cession to France become a fit subject of arrange-
154
POLAND.
History, ment, not for the eventual benefit of Russia alone, but for
v'-*-'' that of the whole European commonwealth. Public opinion,
the interests of rulers, and the sympathies of the governed,
were all in favour of the re- establishment of the kingdom in
its ancient integrity; and the side of justice, policy, and
humanity was powerfully advocated by France and Eng¬
land, whose ministers regarded the Polish question as one
in comparison of which all others were of but secondary
importance. But neither of these powers, nor both of them
united, were in a situation to control the views of those in¬
terested in maintaining the state of things created by the
successive dismemberments of Poland. France, exhausted
by long wars, and now restricted within her ancient, limits,
had no"longer a voice potential in the decision. Britain, with
the right of remonstrance, which her minister freely exer¬
cised, was in no condition to brave two great military powers;
and although Austria not only expressed a desire for Polish
independence, but a readiness to surrender part of hei Gal-
lician provinces in order to endow the new kingdom, yet all
this might have been easily counteracted by the predomi-
nant influence of Russia and Prussia. At that period, in-
deed, the Emperor Alexander displayed or affected a spirit
of liberality, which appears to have owed its origin to vari¬
ous circumstances; but whether he was sincere or the con¬
trary, “ an accident,” as Madame de Stael described him,
or merely the impersonation of hypocrisy and perfidy, it was
certain the genius of the Russian system would govern the
ultimate determinations of his policy on a subject of so much
importance to his empire.
The king- At this juncture, however, Napoleon escaped from Elba,
dom of Po- and the whole question assumed a newphasis. In the com-
land. mon danger, Poland was scarcely remembered; and the
czar, finding that his aid would be indispensable in the ap-
preaching contest, was enabled to insist on a measure which
he had long contemplated, namely, the union of the grand
duchy with Russia as a separate kingdom. The facility
with which he carried his object proves the alarm that had
been occasioned by the re-appearance of Napoleon, and the
anxiety felt to adopt any measure calculated to prevent
Polish partisanship from swelling the ranks of the invader.
It was therefore decided that the grand duchy of Warsaw
should be attached to the empire of Russia, under the name
of the kingdom of Poland, and that it should be governed
by separate institutions. “ The duchy of Warsaw, with
the exception of those provinces and districts which are
otherwise disposed of, is united to Russia. It shall be ir¬
recoverably bound to the Russian empire by its constitu¬
tion, to be enjoyed by his majesty the emperor of all the
Russias, his heirs and successors, for ever.” Such are the
expressions employed in an article relating to this point in
the treaty of Vienna. The two sovereignties were united
by the constitution alone, and not otherwise. This was the
connecting link which bound them together. Austria and
Prussia acceded to a similar arrangement, and also agreed
to confer on their Polish subjects a national representation
and national institutions. The concessions required by
public opinion were made, and certain bases were solemnly
sanctioned by the treaty of Vienna.
These were four in number. In the first place, Galhcia
and the salt-mines of Wieliczka were restored to Austria.
Secondly, the grand duchy of Posen, forming the western
Bases of
the union
between
Poland and paiatjnat;es bordering on Silesia, and containing a popula
Russia. r - - . , i i 1- —-
tion of about eight hundred thousand souls, was surrender
ed to Prussia; which power was also confirmed in the con¬
quests made at the period of the first partition. Thiidly,
the city and district of Cracow, about 445 English squaie
miles in extent, and containing a population exceeding an
hundred thousand souls, was formed into a free and inde-
pendeht republic, under the guarantee of the three powers.
Fourthly, the remainder of ancient Poland, comprising the
chief part of the recent grand duchy of Warsaw, with a
population of about four millions, reverted to Russia, and History,
was to form a kingdom irrecoverably bound, by the consti- ‘
tution which the czar had engaged to confer upon it, to
the Russian empire. “ The kingdom of Poland, said the
Emperor Alexander, “ shall be united to the empire of
Russia by the title of its own constitution, on which lam
desirous of founding the happiness of the country. Thus
a part of Poland was re-established as a separate state, by
the act of all the powers of Europe; and although the em¬
peror of Russia was to be king of that state, still the indepen¬
dence and separate existence of the kingdom were not only
recognised in the fullest manner, but at the same time so¬
lemnly guaranteed. _
The new kingdom of Poland was proclaimed on the 20th The const
of June 1815, and on the 24th of December following atuEonal
constitutional charter was granted to the Poles. The ar¬
ticles of this charter, by which Poland became united to
Russia, were of so liberal a nature as to astonish all Europe.
According to some, they prove that, at the time of their pro¬
mulgation, Alexander was no enemy to liberal institutions.
But the more probable supposition seems to be, that the
earnest and loyal interposition of Great Britain and France,
favoured by the declared disposition of Austria, and strength¬
ened by the public opinion of Europe, had more effect on
the mind of the czar than any presumed inclination towards
liberal institutions, of which he afterwards became the most
uncompromising opponent. The principle articles, which
are now only matter of history, were as follow.
The Catholic religion was declared to be the religion of The princi-
the state; but all dissidents were placed on a footing of per- pal articles!
feet equality as to civil rights, with the professors of the char-
established faith. The liberty of the press was recognised
in its fullest extent. It was provided that no subject could
be arrested prior to judicial conviction. The inviolability of
person and property was, in the strictest sense, guaranteed.
All public business was to be transacted in the Polish lan¬
guage ; and all offices, civil or military, were to be held by
natives alone. The national representation was to be vested
in two chambers, one of senators and another of deputies.
The power of the crown was not greater than seemed neces¬
sary to give due weight to the executive. All kings of Po¬
land were to be crowned at Warsaw, at the same time swear¬
ing to maintain the full observance of the charter ; and du¬
ring the absence of the sovereign for the time being, the
chief authority was to be vested in a lieutenant and coun¬
cil of state. The great public departments of the state were
to be presided over by responsible ministers. The legislative
power was vested in the king and the two chambers ; an or¬
dinary Diet to be held every two years, and to sit thirty days,
and an extraordinary Diet to be convened whenever this
should be judged necessary by the king. No member of the
Diet could be arrested during a session, except for great of¬
fences, and not even then without the concurrence of the as¬
sembly. The deliberations of the Diet extended to all pro¬
jects submitted to it by the ministry, affecting the laws and
the whole routine of internal administration. The delibera¬
tions of the Diet were to be public, except when committees
were sitting. All projects of law originated with the coun¬
cil of state, and were laid before the chambers by order ot
the king; such projects, however, being previously examined
by committees of both houses. In the case of all projects
or bills, the majority of votes was to decide. The senators
were to be nominated by the king, and to exercise their
functions during life. The deputies, a hundred and twenty-
eight in number, were seventy-seven for as many districts,
and fifty-one for communes, or about double the number
of senators. To become a member of the second or lower
chamber, the qualifications were, citizenship, the age of
thirty, possession of some portion of landed property how¬
ever small, and the payment in annual contributions to the
state of a hundred Polish florins. No public functionary
POLAND.
Remarks
thereon.
History, was eligible to a seat without the consent of the head of
his department. The nobles of each district were to meet
in dietines for the purpose of electing one of their body to
the general Diet, and returning two members to the pa¬
latine assemblies, all dietines being convoked by the king.
The class of electors was numerous, comprising, first, all
landowners, however small, who paid any contribution to¬
wards the support of the state ; secondly, every manufac¬
turer or shopkeeper possessing a capital of ten thousand
florins ; thirdly, all rectors and vicars ; and, lastly, all ar¬
tists or mechanics distinguished for talent. The electors
required to be enrolled, and to have attained the age of
twenty-one years. The tribunals W'ere to be filled with
judges partly nominated by the king, and partly elected by
the palatinates; the former being appointed for life, and
removeable only for misconduct, or judicial iniquity, in the
discharge of their functions.
Such were the principal provisions of the charter which
was thus conferred on the Poles, and received by them as
the first instalment of that restitution which they hoped
would one day be made effectual and complete. Its great¬
est defect consisted in the incompetency of either chamber
to propose laws, the initiative being confined exclusively to
the executive, or the king and the council of state, and an
effectual check thereby applied to legislative amelioration.
Nor was any provision made in the charter for the esta¬
blishment of trial by jury, an institution which, however
suitable to our habits and modes of thinking, may not have
been equally so to those of the Poles. But it is neverthe¬
less certain that Alexander, on his return from witnessing
the prosperity of this country, which he attributed in part
to our judicial system, ordained the establishment of trial
by jury throughout Poland within six months; being in this
carried by mere impulse, without any regard to the fitness
or unfitness of the institution to the wants, habits, and pre¬
judices of the people amongst whom he proposed to natura¬
lize it. It is not thus that national benefits are really con¬
ferred, or that new systems can ever be advantageously in¬
troduced.
From the re-establishment of the kingdom in 1815, until
the year 1820, the affairs of Poland were conducted appa¬
rently in conformity with the constitution. The benefits of
the government had to a certain extent disarmed the pre¬
judices and antipathies of the people; the opposition to mi¬
nisters in the lower chamber was comparatively trifling;
the emperor’s lieutenant, Count Zayonczek, a Pole, endea¬
voured to attach the Poles to his sway ; and Alexander,
congratulating himself on the liberal policy which he had
adopted towards his new subjects, declared in full senate at
Warsaw, that he only waited to try the effect of the free in¬
stitutions he had given them, in order to extend those in¬
stitutions over all the regions which Providence had placed
under his sway. But all this fair promise proved hollow
and deceptive. From the very first there had been per¬
petual breaches in the constitution ; and after the Spanish
revolution of 1820, followed as it speedily was by the esta¬
blishment of the Holy Alliance, all disguise was thrown
aside, and an attempt made to suppress entirely the spirit
of national independence in Poland. Count Zayonczek
was only nominally the king’s lieutenant. The real power
was invested in the Grand Duke Constantine, who held
the appointment of commander-in-chief of the army. This
personage, who played so conspicuous a part in the affairs
ol Boland, is deserving of notice, in consequence of the po¬
sition in which he was placed. Although possessed of con¬
siderable talents, he was, in fact, an untamed tiger, giving
way on all occasions to the most violent paroxysms of pas^
sion. He had a strong sense of the rights of his order, and
155
Perfidy of
Russia.
Constan¬
tine.
 ft X11S
held as nought the feelings of every other class. As soon
therefore, as he found that his brother was no longer the
liberal patron of constitutional rights, he gave the most un¬
restrained license to his natural violence and caprice. The History
outrages ascribed to him display a mixture of ferocity, cruel-' 
ty, and cowardice, altogether unparalleled. With him no
right was respected, and no condition safe. Females were
insulted, abused, sometimes kicked; shaving the heads of
such women as displeased him was a common occurrence •
and to this was added tarring and feathering, a favourite*
recreation of the commander-in-chief, whose delight it was
to witness these barbarities. He kept in his employment a
legion of spies; and the liberty or life of every man was at
the mercy of a common informer. With him suspicion was
a sufficient warrant to exclude the proof of innocence, and
accusation led at once to conviction.
But whilst acts of private oppression were calling forth Political
all that hatred of Bussia which is the birthright of every tyranny su«
Pole, political tyranny was superadded, as if it were desir-Pera(!ded
able to concentrate upon one point the entire indignation ofto Pnvate
a brave and devoted people. The liberty of the press was °PpreSS10ri*
abolished, and a censorship established, in violation of ar¬
ticle sixteenth of the constitutional charter. This was ef¬
fected by an ordinance dated the 31st of July 1819 ; and
not long afterwards the patriotic association formed by Ge¬
neral Dombrowski, who had modelled it almost after the
recommendation of Alexander, was suppressed, and a mi¬
litary commission appointed, which tried and condemned
civilians without any of the prescribed formalities. “ What
have we to hope,” exclaimed Dombrowski; “ what have we
not to fear ? This very day might we not tremble for the
fate which may await us to-morrow?” Meanwhile, the secret
police pursued its fatal career, and arbitrary arrests, followed
by hidden condemnations, the banishment of many and the
imprisonment of more, signalized its hateful activity. The
university of Wilna was also visited with severity by the agents
of this dreaded institution. Twenty of its students Mere seized,
and subjected to different punishments. Nor were those of
Warsaw treated with greater leniency. A state-prison mas
likewise erected in the capital, and its dungeons were soon
crowded with inmates, victims of the execrable system
adopted by the government. Nor were these the only griev¬
ances of which the people had reason to complain. Al¬
though the constitutional charter had provided that Russian
troops, when required to pass through Poland, were to be
maintained at the sole charge of the Russian treasury, yet
for years they had been stationed at Warsaw, and paid by
the inhabitants of the capital, whom they were employed
to overawe. Further, independently of the violations of in¬
dividual liberty, the difficulty of procuring passports, the
misapplication of the revenue to other objects than those
for which it had been raised (as the maintenance of the se¬
cret police), and the nomination of men as senators, without
the necessary qualifications, or any other merit than that of
being mere creatures of the government, were infractions of
the charter as wanton as they were intended to be humili¬
ating. But the worst of all yet remains to be told. In the
dietines Russian money and influence were unblushingly
employed to procure the return to the general Diet of such
members only as were known to care less for the honour of
their country than the advancement of their own fortunes.
Instead of a Diet being held every two years, in accordance
with article eighty-seventh of the charter, none was con¬
voked from 1820 to 1825, and only one from the year 1825
until after the accession of Nicolas in 1829. Finally, an or¬
dinance issued as early as 1825 had abolished the publica¬
tion of the debates in the two chambers; and on one occa¬
sion, the most distinguished members of opposition were for¬
cibly removed from Warsaw the night preceding the open¬
ing of the Diet. Add to all this the constant irritation pro¬
duced by the ungovernable temper and consequent excesses
of Constantine; the useless but vexatious manoeuvres he in¬
troduced into the army; his rigorous mode of exercise, ex¬
ceeding the ordinary measure of human strength and endu-
156
POLAND.
History, ranee ; his overbearing manner towards the best and high-
x'—""V”’--' est officers in the service; and, above all, that progressive
increase in cruelty which a regimen of terror presupposes
and almost necessitates : take these matters into considera¬
tion, along with all the other circumstances of grievous op¬
pression which have already been stated as affecting tie
mass of the people, and it will easily be seen that it was
vain to whisper peace, and that the grand duke was trea¬
suring up to himself wrath against the day of wrath.
Universal It has been matter of some surprise to foreigners that the
discontent. Poles did not take advantage of the Russo-Turkish wai to
Favourable erect the standard of independence. The reverses expe-
momentforrienced . t]ie Russian army on the Danube in the cam-
Revolution paign of 1823, were so great, that an insurrection in Poland
of Paris at that critical and perilous moment would have had almost
July 1830. every chance in its favour. But at that period the plan ot
the Poles had evidently not been matured. That it was even
soin November 1830 may reasonably be doubted. In fact,
no preparations seem to have been made, and when the ex¬
plosion actually took place, it was wholly unexpected by the
leading patriots, who conceived that the propitious moment
had not yet arrived. At the same time it must be confessed,
that the French Revolution of July 1830 produced an al¬
most electric effect on the whole Polish nation, and, by its
daring character and its splendid success, disposed the ini¬
tiated to anticipate the time for a general rising. Besides, it
is generally believed that emissaries from Warsaw had held
confidential meetings with the leaders of the Revolution ol
July, and were instigated to rouse their countrymen by the
promise of immediate aid from the government of the citi¬
zen king ; and that such aid w'as confidently relied on by
the Polish patriots themselves, must be known to all who
have conversed with those who acted a prominent part in
the national insurrection, and seems to be further confirmed
by the universal impression of the people. Two other cir¬
cumstances also contributed to accelerate the catastrophe.
The army began to entertain a notion, not altogether un¬
founded, that it was to be removed to the south of Europe, to
assist in extirpating freedom in France and other countries;
and that its place was to be supplied by a native Muscovite
force. The students of the military school likewise found
ample cause of apprehension in the previous arrest of several
of their number, upon suspicion of being connected with
secret associations, which had for their object to promote a
general rising. The repugnance of the army to the service
intended for them; the apprehensions of the students, who
had everything to fear from the grand duke, should he try
their companions by martial law, as he had threatened to
do, and most probably meditated; the conviction that the
whole populace of the capital were friendly to the project
of an insurrection; the secret encouragement held out by
France ; the eagerness of the enterprising to court danger
for its own sake; the number of those who had personal
wrongs or insults to avenge; and, lastly, the presumed, or
rather the certain, approbation of the free in all countries
towards the insurrection itself, if not towards the time and
the circumstances : all these, therefore, concurred to hasten
the opening of the great tragedy, the enacting of which all
Europe regarded with such deep and thrilling interest.
The first object of the actors in this enterprise was to
seize the person of the grand duke, their most obnoxious
enemy, and to detain him as a hostage for their own safety
in the event of failure. The students of the military school
were the voluntary leaders of the movement, which burst
forth on the 29th of November 1830. Early in the even¬
ing of that day, several of them repaired to their barrack,
in accordance with a preconcerted plan; and having address¬
ed their comrades, summoned them to take up arms. The
call thus made was instantly obeyed. On their way to the
residence of Constantine, who had established himself at the
palace of Belvedere, in the outskirts of the city, their num¬
ber was increased by the students of the university, and the
young men attending the public schools. Constantine had
no troops about his residence, but at a short distance from
it were the barracks of three regiments of Russian guards.
The hour chosen for the attack was seven o clock, and at
that time the assailants proceeded to the bridge of Sobies-
ki, where the main body posted themselves, whilst some of
the most determined pressed forward to complete their ob¬
ject. They forced their way into the palace, where they
were first opposed by the director of the police, Lubowi-
dizki, who, on being wounded, took to flight. Next they
encountered the Russian general, Gendre, a man obnoxious
for his cruelties and crimes, who was killed in the act of
resisting. Lastly, when on the point of reaching the bed¬
chamber of the grand duke, whom the alarm had just awak¬
ed from his evening siesta, they were stopped by a valet,
Kochanowski, who, closing a secret door, thus enabled his
master to escape undressed through a window. Constan¬
tine fled to his guards, who instantly turned out. Disap¬
pointed in their prey, the devoted band rejoined their com¬
panions at the bridge of Sobieski, where they had been
awaiting the result of the attack on the palace. On finding
that their first object had failed, they now resolved to gain
the city, and at once proclaim a general insurrection. Their
retreat was opposed by the Russian guards, close to whose
barracks it was necessary to pass. But such was the spirit
which animated them, such were the skill and courage they
displayed, that they killed three hundred of their opponents,
and triumphantly effected their retreat. On reaching the
city, they instantly liberated every state-prisoner, and were
joined by the school of engineers and the students of the
university. A party entered the only two theatres which
were open, calling out, “ Women, home; men, to arms.’
Both requisitions were instantaneously complied with. The
arsenal was next forced, and in less than two hours from
the first movement, so electrical was the cry of liberty, forty
thousand men of all descriptions were in arms. Ihe sap¬
pers and the fourth Polish regiment declared early in favour
of the insurrection ; and by eleven o’clock the remainder
of the Polish troops in Warsaw, w ith the exception of two
regiments of guards whom Constantine had forced along
with him, espoused the popular cause, declaring that their
children were too deeply compromised to be abandoned.
Never perhaps was any popular movement more universal
or more triumphant.
By the morning of the 30th of November the commotion
had subsided, and the results could be calmly surveyed.
Besides the troops of the line which had joined the patriots,
nearly thirty thousand citizens had taken up arms, and now
swelled their dense ranks. In twelve hours the revolution
had been begun and completed. In vain did the grand duke,
who lay without the walls, meditate the recovery of the in-
trenchments and fortifications. His isolated though des¬
perate efforts to re-enter the city were repulsed with serious
loss; and finding it hopeless to contend with the mass op¬
posed to him, he not only desisted from all further attempts
of the kind, but removed to a greater distance fi’om the
walls. In the excitement consequent on this extraordinary
commotion, no one will be surprised to learn that, notwith¬
standing the regularity with which every part of it was
conducted on the part of the principal actors, some exces¬
ses were committed. But these were neither many in num¬
ber nor aggravated in character ; and although some Rus¬
sians lost their lives, as did also several Poles, who were
known to have been on terms of intimacy with Constantine,
yet these men courted their fate by recklessly interming¬
ling amongst an excited population when their passions were
inflamed by the heat of battle, the tumult ot victory, and
the feverish excitement of revolution.
The functionaries of the government having abandoned
their posts, an administrative council was immediately form-
History.
POLAND.
157
History, ed to preside over the destinies of the new state. It con-
sisted of men distinguished for their talents, their charac¬
ter, or their services, and numbered amongst its members
Czartoryski, Radzivil, Niemcewicz, Chlopicki, Pac, Kocho-
nowski, and Lelewel. But no good resulted from this
heterogeneous assemblage of persons professing moderate
and ultra opinions, or what may be called Whigs and Radi¬
cals. The former were not men made for revolutions,
though in this instance they obtained the direction of the
movement; and in the hope of accommodation, which from
the first was desperate, they allowed the grand duke to
retire under a convention, when they might have captured
his entire army, and detained himself as a hostage. At
first they evidently entertained no intention of throwing off
their allegiance to the Czar. All their proclamations ran
in his name, and their claims were confined to a due exe¬
cution of the charter. On the part of the provisional
government, however, this seems to have been the very
excess of weakness. Men who engage in revolutions, if
they hope or wish to succeed, should, when they draw the
sword, throw away the scabbard. Besides, as nothing less
than unconditional submission would gratify the Czar, it is
obvious that negotiation was at once a waste of time, and a
confession of indecision. The next blunder of the council
was in the opposite direction. As their patriotism appears
to have risen with their success, they at length insisted on
the incorporation of Lithuania, and the other Polish pro¬
vinces subject to Russia, with the kingdom; and, as if this
had not been enough, they some months afterwards de¬
clared the throne vacant, an act which, upon their own
principles, was equally rash and impolitic. But, what was
worst of all, they lost precious time. The force of the first
impulsion wras wasted. The great and sudden outburst of
national enthusiasm was allowed to exhaust itself. Russia
had been braved at a time when all her energies might be
concentrated to enforce submission; when neither foreign
war nor domestic disturbance distracted her councils or
divided her means; yet, so far from profiting by the only
advantage resulting from the wild improvisation so rapidly
nationalized, the provisional government acted as if their
sole object had been to forego the chances which the
national movement had, in the first instance, accumulated
in their favour.
But all these errors were nobly redeemed. When it
appeared that negotiation was vain, and that nothing but
unconditional submission would satisfy the Czar, they gal¬
lantly prepared themselves for the unequal struggle. Their
plans were evidently not matured. Neither from Lithuania,
nor from any ’of the other Polish provinces incorporated
with Russia, did they receive the aid on which they had
relied ; so that the honours of the first campaign were ex¬
clusively their own. Their efforts were stupendous, and
their bravery was worthy the age of Boleslas and Sobieski.
rlhe laurels which Diebitsch Zabalkanski had reaped in his
campaign against the Turks, protected by mountains and
fortresses, were blighted and withered in the plains of
Poland. On the 25th of February 1831 his dense masses,
first brought into contact with the patriotic forces at Gro-
chow, recoiled from the shock, after one of the most unequal
and sanguinary conflicts of modern times. March was
illustrated by the victories of Dembewielki and Wawr; and
in May was fought the celebrated battle of Ostrolenka,
where, after performing prodigies of valour, the Polish army
retired from the field, unpursued, towards Modlin. In the
meantime, Diebitsch had perished, the victim of disease
chagrin, and fatigue. Paskewitsch, distinguished by his
Armenian campaigns, succeeded, and, following the exam¬
ple of his predecessor Suwarof, concentrated all his means
for an attack on the capital. On the 5th, 6th, and 7th of
September was fought the ever-memorable battle of War¬
saw, which ended in the defeat of the patriot forces and the
loss ot that city, after a struggle unparalleled in history. History.
This blow proved decisive. European interference had v—^
been hoped for, but in vain ; the faith of treaties had been
appealed to without effect; the interests and the sympa¬
thies of the civilized nations of the West and the South had
been invoked to no purpose. A powerful force still re¬
mained, and, for a time at least, a partisan warfare might
have been carried on ; but thus abandoned to its own re¬
sources, Poland must at last have yielded to her gigantic
antagonist. That country had no mountain fastnesses, where
her children, when overpowered by numbers, might take
shelter; it had no fortresses capable of arresting and break¬
ing the force of her assailants. Nothing could have saved
her but a prompt and active interposition, founded on the
treaty of Vienna; and such was the situation of France and
England at the time that neither judged it safe or expe¬
dient to interfere otherwise than by remonstrance.
The Poles submitted. With reluctance they laid down
those arms which they had taken up in the hope of re-con-
quering their national independence, and which they had
so gloriously employed in many a hard-fought field. But
all former experience of Muscovite vengeance could scarcely
have prepared them for the miseries which have since been
accumulated, in new and fearful forms, on their unhappy
country. To say nothing of proscription and confiscation,
her plains have been covered with ruins, her resources ex¬
hausted, her industry and commerce destroyed; abundance
has given place to wretchedness and want ; she has no
longer a name or a place amongst the nations; her lan¬
guage, her literature, and her history cannot any more be
publicly taught in her schools; and every effort has been
made to destroy that sentiment of nationality which is part
of the inheritance of every Pole. And all this has been
done in the face of the public guarantee of the powers of
Europe, if not without remonstrance, at least without any
effectual opposition.
The history of the little republic of Cracow forms an ap- Cracow,
propriate sequel to that of the unhappy kingdom of Poland.
That small state, created by the treaty of Vienna, and
having its independence guaranteed by the same general
compact, enjoyed the constitution which had been con¬
ferred on it until the year 1846, when it was seized upon
by Austria, Russia, and Prussia ; and by decree of 9th
November its freedom w’as abolished, and it was annexed
to Austria. (See Cracow.) A greater outrage against
every principle of public law or public faith was never
probably perpetrated. It was an act of naked despotism,
done in defiance of the other powers of Europe, and in
open contempt of the most sacred principles of public law and
public justice. Soon afterwards the kingdom of Poland was
incorporated with Russia, and made a Russian province; and
the history of Poland becomes a part of the history of the
countries with which it has been united. (See Russia,
Prussia, and Austria.)
In former times the commerce of Poland was very con- Commerce,
siderable ; the natural resources of the country and liberal
commercial regulations opened a wide field for the activity
and enterprise of foreign merchants. During the fourteenth,
fifteenth, and sixteenth centuries, Poland not only carried
on a lucrative commerce with the Levant, the Black Sea,
and the Mediterranean, and maintained a commercial inter¬
course with the Italian republics, particularly Venice, but
she also exported her corn and other raw materials to the
western countries of Europe, especially Holland, Sweden,
and Denmark, and formed an entrepot of oriental merchan¬
dise for the northern part of Germany and the countries
adjoining. Owing to their commercial activity, Cracow
and Dantzic were at an early period admitted into the
Hanseatic League.
Besides wood, flax, tallow, and some other products, corn
158
POLAND.
Poland.
Manufac¬
tures.
Literature.
has always been the principal article of export. Accord¬
ing to Cellarius, who wrote in the sixteenth century, the
amount of corn exported in one year was 10,950,000 kor-
zec, or 4,380,000 English quarters. Opalinski, a writer of
the seventeenth century, states that in his time Dantzic
alone received from the interior of the country more than
6,000,000 korzec, or 2,400,000 English quarters, of different
kinds of grain for exportation. The importation of foreign
produce was of course proportioned to the exportation of
home produce ; and it was abundantly supplied to Poland
both by national and foreign bottoms. Holland and Venice
were extensively engaged in trade with this country. But
with the political misfortunes of Poland its commercial im¬
portance declined; and its destruction has been completed
in consequence of the system of monopoly pursued by the
governments of Russia, Prussia, and Austria. In that part
of Poland which is under the dominion of Russia, the con¬
sumption of every article of foreign produce is strictly pro¬
hibited, and every branch of industry is discouraged ; whilst
the governments of Austria and Prussia overwhelm their
Polish subjects with disproportionate taxes, in the hope of
thereby retaining them in more complete subjection. The
consequence is, that the farmers have no motive or inter¬
est to produce more grain than they require for their own
consumption ; and hence, whenever any unforeseen con-
tingencjr occurs, a famine must ensue, as has actually hap¬
pened in some parts of Volhynia, Podolia, and the Ukraine ;
countries the soil of which is perhaps the most fertile of
any in Europe.
Poland never was a great manufacturing country. Her
natural resources consisted in the produce of her soil, and
her commerce in exchanging these for the cheaper and su¬
perior manufactures of other countries. With more than
80,000 square miles of fine wood ; with the richest mines
of salt Europe possesses at Bochnia and Wieliczka; with
the fertile plains of the Ukraine, Podolia, Volhynia, and
Landomierz; with the flax of Samogitia (so much employed
in the English manufactures), the wool of Great Poland
imported into Saxony, fine cattle and horses, abundance of
tallow and other products; Poland possessed resources
which, under a good government, might have made her,
not indeed a manufacturing, but certainly one of the most
commercial nations of Europe,
Before the introduction of Christianity in the tenth cen¬
tury, the Polish language could boast of numerous tradi¬
tional tales, warlike songs, and pastoral poems, which have
been collected by Wodrich, and show that this language,
having already attained to some degree of perfection, had
consequently taken the lead of almost all the other Sclavonic
tongues. It is no doubt true that the introduction of Chris¬
tianity at first retarded the natural improvement of the lan¬
guage, by an admixture of foreign terms; but it enlarged
and purified the ideas of Polish writers, and opened a new
and attractive field for their talents and genius. It may
appear surprising to some that, from the tenth till the end
of the sixteenth century, Poland should have produced
such a number of writers in the native idiom and in Latin;
especially considering the continual wars in which she was
engaged for the defence of her frontiers. But the wonder
will cease when it is known that schools and colleges were
then thrown open to every one ; that education was eagerly
sought after and freely imparted; that the order of St
Benedict, assisted by other religious communities, devoted
their whole time and attention to the gratuitous education
of every class, implanting in all a love of science and lite¬
rature, a taste for the arts, a knowledge of the classics, and
an affection for the Muses; and that, under these same
orders, the youth of the country were, both by precept and
example, trained up to the practice, and excited to aspire to
everything that was liberal, generous, and manly. Hence,
prior to the foundation of the university of Cracow, which
took place during the reign of Casimir the Great, in 1347,
and preceded that of the universities of Prague, Vienna,
and Leipsic, Poland possessed several historians and other
learned men, whose writings still survive to attest the early
cultivation of literature in that country.
Amongst these, the first place is due to the chroniclers.
Gallus wrote his Chronicle of Poland between 1110 and
1135. Matthias Choleva, Bishop of Cracow, who wrote a
Chronicle of Poland, died in 1165. Kadlubek Vincent, born
at Cracow in 1160, enjoyed the favour of Casimir surnamed
the Just, and officiated as tutor to Lesko the Fair. He
wrote his Chronicle under the title of Historia Polonica,
which was first published in 1612. Godislas Reszko, dean
of Cracowr, composed Annals of Great Poland. Martinus
Polonus is known by his numerous writings, and particularly
by his Chronicles of the Popes and Emperor. He died
at Bologna in 1278. To this period also belong several
men of science. Amongst these may be mentioned Octa-
vian Wolener of Cracow, an architect who, a little before
1044, was invited to Vienna to erect the church now called
St Stephen’s. Ciolek, in Latin Vitellio, a native of Cracow,
was celebrated as a naturalist and mathematician. He
lived in the middle of the thirteenth century, and was con¬
sidered as having contributed to improve and extend the
science of optics. His works were printed for the first
time at Nuremberg in 1533, under the title of Vitellionis
Perspectives libri decern.
But whilst the intellectual superiority of Poland at this
period was owing to her frequent and direct intercourse
wfith Italy, it is to be observed that after the foundation of
the university of Cracow, about the middle of the four¬
teenth century, she herself became the centre and source
of civilization to the neighbouring nations. From this
time Hungarians, Bohemians, Germans, Swedes, and Danes,
who formerly used to repair to Italy for study, resorted al¬
most exclusively to the university of Cracow. Of those
who added celebrity to the university, there were some
whose reputation was not confined to their own country.
George of Sanok, born about 1400 and died in 1477, was
first professor of moral philosophy in the university of Cra¬
cow, and afterwards archbishop of Leopol. His biography
was written by Buonacorsi, surnamed Callimachus, a cele¬
brated Italian philosopher. John of Glogau, born in 1440
and died in 1477, was also a professor in the university of
Cracow, and left numerous manuscripts on different subjects,
but mostly on the Aristotelian philosophy, several of which
were afterwards published. Dlugosz, in Latin Dlugossius,
born in 1415 and died in 1480, was a statesman and histo¬
rian. As great treasurer of Poland, he, on many occasions,
rendered important services to his native country ; he also
protected science, established hospitals, and founded an ex¬
hibition or bursary in the university of Cracow. Of his
numerous writings, the most important is his History of
Poland. Brudzewski, born in 1445 and died in 1497, studied
at Cracow, and afterwards became professor of mathematics
in that university, where he had the distinction of being the
master of Copernicus. He left several works, the principal
of which treat of astronomical subjects and the construction
of the astrolabe. Nicolas Copernik, called in Latin Coper¬
nicus, born in 1473 and died in 1543, studied at Cracow,
and by divining, through the mists of error rendered vene¬
rable by time, the true system of the world, established for
himself a name which will live whilst sun and moon endure.
Martin of Olkusz, the school-fellow and friend of Copernicus,
died in the year 1530.
These men, however, with all their individual merits,
were only the precursors or harbingers of a period of higher
excellence and greater refinement. Free at home and
powerful abroad, Poland during the sixteenth century oc¬
cupied a distinguished place amongst the states of Europe;
and the period of her political glory was also the golden age
Poland
POLAND.
159
Poland, of her literature. Amongst the poets of this period, the
first place belongs to John Kochanowski, born in 1530 and
died in 1584, who is justly regarded as the father of Polish
literature. He was the author of works both lyrical and
dramatic, and translated Anacreon, Horace, some paits of
the Iliad, and also the Psalms of David, which are remark¬
able for purity and vigour of style. Rey of Naglowice also
wrote several works in verse and prose; whilst Peter
Kochanowski left translations of 1 asso s Gsrusalemme
Liberata, and Ariosto’s Orlando Furioso, which were
printed at Cracow in the year 1618. Miaskowski, Sarzynski,
Rybinski, Grochowski, and Klonowitz, were likewise emi¬
nent as poets. As prose writers, may be mentioned Micho-
wita, who wrote several important works, particularly on
Polish history; Kromer, the son of a peasant, who by his
talents obtained the highest ecclesiastical dignity in Poland
(that of Prince-Bishop of Warmia), and left important works
on the history of his country; Bieliski, who wrote on sub-
. jects of moral philosophy and history ; Gornicki, an eminent
writer on politics and history, and whose style is remarkable
for its purity; Stryjkowski, a poet and historian ; and Or-
zechowski, an apostate priest, but a distinguished writer
and speaker, who, by his defence of the principles of the
Dissidents, attracted the notice of Pope Julius HI., with
whom he maintained a long and animated controversy.
This period also produced several men distinguished in
law, ethics, mathematics, and astronomy, the natural sciences,
medicine, and agriculture. Amongst the lawyers and juris¬
consults may be mentioned Herbert, secretary of Sigis-
mund Augustus, who published a collection of statutes and
privileges; Malecki, who wrote a book entitled The Law¬
ful Marriage of Bishops, Priests, and Monks ; Groicki, a
civilian of eminence, the author of a work on the statute
law of Magdeburg; besides lanuszewski, Lazarowitz, and
Smiglecki. In ethics, Rey, Koszucki, and particularly
Petrycy, distinguished themselves, though in different de¬
grees. Petrycy translated the Ethics of Aristotle, and also
the Policy of the same author, which he published at Cra¬
cow in 1618, along with his own commentaries. In mathe¬
matics and astronomy, Poland could boast some of the most
distinguished men of the age; but as most of them published
their works in Latin, it is only necessary to mention here
those who wrote in Polish. These were Klos, author of a
treatise on arithmetic, published at Cracow in 1538; Grzeb-
ski, professor in the university of Cracow, whose works on
geometry were published in 1656; and the astronomers
Latos, Rosciszewski, Zebrowski, and Bernat. Nor were the
cultivators of the natural sciences either few in number or
inferior in zeal and knowledge. Amongst the more eminent
may be mentioned Spiezynski, who wrote several works on
botany, published at Cracow ; Martin of Urzadow; Fali-
mierz Syrenski, professor of medicine in Cracow, whose
work on the properties and uses of plants, published after
his death, is highly esteemed; Peter ofKobylny, Andrew
Glader, Valenti of Lublin, Oleszko, and Umiastowski, skil¬
ful physicians, who published important works on different
maladies ; Trzecieski, author of several works on agricul¬
ture and husbandry published at Cracow in 1540 and 1571;
and Dubrawski, whose work on fishes, published in 1600,
is still considered a work of great merit. There were also
during this period several writers on the art of war, amongst
whom may be mentioned Strubiez, Paprocki, and Cielecki.
This, the golden age of Polish literature, continued from
the middle of the fifteenth until the commencement of the
seventeenth century. But from the reign of Stephen Ba-
tory, in 1586, we may date the temporary decline of Polish
literature and the corruption of the Polish language. Dur¬
ing the seventeenth century the introduction of the Latin
language into official transactions, and the great political
crisis which Poland had to undergo, obstructed the tendency
of the national literature, and directed the energies of the
Poles towards one great object, namely, the preservation of Poland,
their political existence. Amidst growing internal disorder,
at once the cause and the effect of national calamity, the
peaceful pursuits of science were neglected; and under the
two princes of the houses of Saxony, Augustus I. and his
son Augustus II., Poland sunk into a state of both politi¬
cal and intellectual degradation ; nor was it until towards
the end of the eighteenth century that the national mind
awoke from its long trance, and a reform was effected
which has since produced good fruit. Whilst Konarski
and a few others began to combat that maccaronic mixture
of Latin and Polish which was then so much in fashion, a
number of distinguished men, such as Krasicki, Archbishop
of Warmia, a poet and political writer; Naruszewicz, Arch¬
bishop of Luck, a poet and historian; the two brothers
Augustus and Michael Czartoryski, Albertandy, Zamojski,
Potocki, Kollontay, Czacki, and many others, opened a new
career for Poland; and by the impulse thus given the rege¬
neration of literature was assured, although the liberties of
the nation have been destroyed.
The first place amongst modern Polish writers is com¬
monly assigned to John Paul Woronicz, born in 1757 and
died in 1829, the archbishop of Warsaw, metropolitan pri¬
mate of the kingdom of Poland, and an eminent poet and
prose writer. Julian Ursyn Niemcewicz, distinguished alike
as a poet, a historian, and a statesman, has been elevated by
his tales to a high place amongst modern Polish writers;
whilst in some of his other productions, particularly his
Powrot Posla, or the Return of a Deputy to his Home,
he has exhibited a most lively and animated picture of
Polish habits and manners. Karpinski is the Burns of
Poland; and Brodzinski, Felinski, and Ossolinski are like¬
wise popular poets. Of the patriotic bards, Adam Mickie-
wicz is the head and prince. His effusions are generally
of a plaintive character, except when they dwell with rap¬
ture on the past glories of Poland. The muse of freedom
is indeed the idol of his poetical worship, and like many
other great poets, he has taken from the altar of liberty
that hallowed fire, the divine flame of which warms and
animates his strains. Lastly, in the class of modern his¬
torical writers, no one can claim precedence of Joachim
Lelewel, a name venerable in literature, and honourably
known for his strict regard to truth and the liberality of
his political writings.
Lastly, in closing this brief survey, a melancholy feeling
is awakened in the mind. We are, in fact, writing of the
past, without almost any reference to the present. Since
the failure of the insurrection of 1830-1831, literature
may be said to have expired in Poland, or rather to have
been destroyed by the barbarous despot who has sought
to proscribe her history, and even to eradicate her lan¬
guage ; but amongst the exiles there are many men of dis¬
tinguished literary acquirements whose talents and learning
enable us to form a tolerable estimate of the general state
of education in their native country previously to the revo¬
lution ; and we know from history that high mental culti¬
vation has long co-existed in Poland with that chivalrous
heroism for which they have always been pre-eminently
distinguished.
At the date of the first partition Poland had an area of Area and
about 282,764 English square miles, and a population ofP0Pula-
about 12,216,000. tl0n-
Square miles.
In the first partition, Russia obtained 41,804
Prussia ,, 13,335
„ Austria „ 27,093
In the second partition, Russia „ 96,372
,, Prussia „ 22,436
In the third partition, Russia „ 42,968
„ Prussia „ 21,103
Austria „ 17,653
Inhabitants.
1,800,000
416,000
2,700,000
3,000,000
1,100,000
1,200,000
1,000,000
1,000,000
Total  282,764 12,216,000
n
160
POL
POL
Poland.
A.D.
550. Lech.
Visimir.
12 Woivodes.
700. Cracus.
Lech IL
750. Venda.
12 Woivodes.
760. Lesko I.
776. Lesko II.
804. Lesko III.
810. Popiel I.
815. Popiel II.
830. Piast.
861. Ziemowitz.
892. Lesko IV.
913. Ziemovislas.
List of the Dukes and Kings of Poland.
A.D.
964. Miecislas I.
999. Boleslas I.
1025. Miecislas II.
1034. llixa.
1041. Casirnir I.
1058. Boleslas II.
1081. Uladislas I.
1102. Boleslas III.
1138. Uladislas II.
1146. Boleslas IV.
1173. Miecislas III.
1177. Casimir II.
1194. LeskoV.
1200. Miecislas IV.
1203. Uladislas III.
1206. Lesko V. (restored).
A.D.
1227. Boleslas V.
1279. Lesko VI.
1296. Prezemislas.
1300. Uladislas IV.
1300. Wenceslas.
1305. Uladislas IV. (restored).
1333. Casimir III.
1370. Louis.
1385. Hedwig.
1399. Uladislas V.
1434. Uladislas VI.
1445. Casimir IV.
1492. John Albert.
1501. Alexander.
1507. Rigismund I.
1548. Sigismund II.
Poland,,
A.D.
1574. Henry.
1576. Stephen Batory.
1587. Sigismund HI.
1632. Uladislas VII.
1648. John Casimir.
1670. Michael-Koributh-Wiej-
nowi9ki.
1674. John Sobieski.
1697. Frederick-Augustus.
1704. Stanislas I.
1709. Frederick-Augustus (re¬
stored).
1734. Frederick-Augustus II.
1764. Stanislas II., who died a
state prisoner at St Pe¬
tersburg in 1798.
(J. B—E.)
POLAND (Pol. Polska, Germ. Polen, Fr. Pologne),
a kingdom or ezarat of European Russia, forming the most
westerly portion of the empire, and hounded on the N.E.
and E. by Western or Polish Russia, S. by the Austrian
empire, and W. and N. by the kingdom of Prussia. It is in
the form of an irregular square, with a long and narrow
strip of territory extending from its N.E. angle; and it lies
between N. Eat. 50. 4. and o5. o., and E. Long. 11 • 30.
and 24. 18. The length and breadth, exclusive of the pro¬
jecting tract (which is about 120 miles long, and fiom 20
to 50 broad), are each about 200 miles ; and the area of
the whole is 49,408 square miles. Though Poland derives
its name irom the flatness of its surface, and is in geneial
a verv level country, yet there are some hills and undula¬
tions'to break the uniformity of this extensive region. A
branch of the Carpathian chain, not exceeding 2000 feet
in height, extends northwards between the Vistula and its
affluent the Pilica. The rest of the country slopes very
gradually towards the N., being in the highest parts only
300 or '500 feet above the sea. In the more elevated
regions there are numerous small lakes and moiasses, and
extensive portions of the country are occupied with forests
and heaths. The largest river in Poland is the Vistula,
which, rising at the foot of the Carpathians in Austrian
Silesia, flows N.E., forming the boundary between Poland
and Galicia, and then flows northwards through the king¬
dom. After receiving the Bug, it turns to the west, and
enters the kingdom of Prussia a shoit distance above
Thorn. It then takes a northerly course, and falls into the
Baltic at Dantzic. It receives from the right the Bug and
its affluent the Narew, both of which constitute, the foimer
for a considerable, and the latter for a very short distance,
the boundary of Poland towards the E. I he Vistula also
receives from the right the Wieprz; and from the left its
chief affluent is the Pilica. The other rivers of Poland are
the Warta in the west, flowing westwards to the Oder;
and the Niemen, which forms the N.E. boundary, and flows
into the Baltic. The Vistula and Niemen aie both navi¬
gable as far as they flow through Poland or along its bor¬
ders, and the Bug, Narew, and Warta, for a considetable
portion of their course. In the hilly parts of the countiy
various kinds of minerals are obtained, chiefly iron, copper,
lead, zinc, cadmium, and sulphur. In 1849 the govern¬
ments of Warsaw and Radom contained seventy-two private
iron mines, producing ore to the value of L.47,305 ; and
ten imperial mines producing ore to the value of L.3399.
The copper obtained and worked in the same year amounted
in value to L.31,127, the lead to L.437, the cadmium to
L.28,311, and the sulphur from one mine alone to L.2265.
The soil of Poland is fertile, producing more grain, hemp,
flax, tobacco, &e., than is necessary for home consumption.
Wheat is grown only among the hilly regions; in other
parts, rye, oats, and buck-wheat are the crops chiefly raised.
The forests supply large quantities of timber. The country
contains many horses, cattle, and pigs ; fewrer sheep; but
immense swarms of bees, which produce excellent honey.
Game abounds in the forests; and there are also bears,
wolves, and lynxes. The climate is warm in summer, but
very cold in winter, when the country is frozen and covered
with snow for four or five months of the year. Manufac¬
tures, which were formerly little attended to, and almost
unknown in Poland, have recently made great advances.
At the close of 1849 the country contained 82 wool-spin¬
ning factories, with 1175 machines, and 48,606 spindles;
2405 woollen cloth factories, employing 8200 hands, and
producing in the course of the year 2688 cwt. of goods,
valued at L.277,965 ; 5 cotton-spinning factories, with
460 machines, and 52,197 spindles; 9317 establishments
for cotton-weaving, employing 14,156 hands, and producing
L.413,785 worth of goods; 4242 linen-weaving factories, em¬
ploying 7288 hands, and producing in all about 11,518,500
yards of cloth; 16 silk-mills, with 109 looms, employing
152 hands, and producing goods to the value of L.19,709 ;
24 manufactories of liqueurs, 47 of oil, and 20 of vinegar,
producing L.26,694 worth of liqueurs, L.17,659 worth of
oil, and L.10,029 worth of vinegar; and 12 breweries,
producing beer and porter to the value of L.15,144. Po¬
land also produced in the same year L.4116 worth of sur¬
gical and other instruments, L.2331 of arms, L.27,761
of glass and crystal ware, and L.48,660 of paper, &c. The
trade of the country is considerable : corn, wool, oil, tim¬
ber, and zinc, the chief articles of export, are conveyed
down the Vistula to Dantzic; and many goods are also
carried into Austria. The value of the exports to Prussia
in 1851 was L.627,480, to Austria L.214,615; that of the
imports was L. 1,496,342. The commerce of Poland is
for the most part in the hands of the Jews. The capital
is Warsaw, and the kingdom is divided into five govern¬
ments as follows:—
Area in Square Arrondisse- Pop. (1855).
Miles. ments. x
Augustowo  7,242 5 613,921
Ljublin 11,627 8 1,007,251
Block   6,744 6 550,643
Radom  9,631 8 923,355
Warsaw   14,164 12 1,702,675
Total 49,408 39 4,797,845
The kingdom contained in 1855, 3,714,016 Roman Ca¬
tholics, 572,052 Jews, and 270,412 Protestants; and the
capital had 156,072 inhabitants.
161
POLAR REGIONS.
Arctic This title embraces the Antarctic as well as the Arctic seas
Regions. an(] ]ancls ; but we mean to confine ourselves mainly to the
North Polar Regions, which, cold and inhospitable as they
are, have witnessed many of the most strenuous and mas¬
terly efforts of British seamen, placed under circumstances
of extraordinary peril and privation. The intensely in¬
teresting narratives of the exploits of these “ marine wor¬
thies” will continue to incite the youth of the land to
deeds of daring enterprise as long as Britain enjoys the
blessings of free government, and its accompanying liberty
of thought and action.
Phoenician From the ancients we get but a few glimpses of the
royages. northern regions. It is true that in the very dawn of history
the tin of Cornwall and the amber of the Baltic were known
on the coasts of Palestine and Asia Minor, and that the Phoe¬
nicians,1 and after them the Carthaginians, extended their
commerce and commercial establishments coastwise from
Tartesus or Gaddir, in the Bay of Cadiz, to the CEstrym-
nades, Cassiterides, or Fetis, in the south of Albion. These
skilful mariners may even have penetrated in their coasting
voyages into the Baltic through the Sound or Belt; but
there is no evidence of their ever having crossed, or even
approached, the Arctic Circle.2 Commercial jealousy kept
the secret of these voyages concealed from the Greeks, but
at a later period the conquest of Britain must have given
to the Romans some knowledge of the seas which wash its
shores; yet it was not until 138 years after Caesar had first
ventured across the Straits of Dover that Agricola circum¬
navigated the island. In process of time, the Roman sea¬
men espied the Scandinavian peninsula, which they be¬
lieved to be a cluster of islands; but they did not cross the
Arctic Circle, that feat being reserved for a hardier race of
mariners, nurtured in a ruder clime, and on more stormy
seas. After Roman civilization had been overthrown in
England by invading hordes of Jutes, Angles, and other
heathen tribes, and the Saxon dominion in that island was
acquiring strength under the authority of one ruler, the
raven flag of Scandinavia appeared in the narrow seas, car¬
rying terror and rapine to all the coasts of Europe. Con¬
sidering warfare the only honourable employment, death
in the battle-field the only desirable termination of a hero’s
life, and accustomed to all the vicissitudes of a variable sky, Arctic
the Northmen were no summer sailors; but, on the con- Regions
trary, often chose the winter time for their piratical descents, v ■- .
as being the season when they were least expected. And so it Norman
happened that, either from being casually driven out of their voyages,
course by tempests, or urged by the spirit of daring enterprise
to roam over the waters in quest of new lands,—the mythic
white islands and seas of the early ages,—they acquired a
general knowledge of the coasts of the Northern Ocean.
About the year 890, “ Octher (aliter Audher) said to
King Alfred that he dwelt the furthest north of any other
Norman at Helgoland” (on the coast of Norway, in Lat.
66. N.), and that “ upon a time he fell into a fantasie to
prove and know how tar that land stretched northwards;”
whereupon he made sail directly to the north for six days;
then, after delaying till he had another fair wind, plain east
for four days more ; and, lastly, after waiting again for a
wind, went due south, to the mouth of a large river, from
whence he turned back. (Hakluyt, i. 4, 235.) Octher must
have sailed 60 miles a day to have doubled the North
Cape, which is a large allowance ; yet as an Arctic summer
would give him light enough by night, he might have gone
at that rate for the twenty-four hours, and have reached the
Varanger Fiord, or perhaps the mouth of the Kola; but
the time is evidently too short for him to have traversed
the White Sea, and attained the mouth of the Dwina, as
Hakluyt supposes. Octher found the banks of the river
from whence he returned so well peopled by Biarmes that
he was afraid to land. The country he had previously
coasted was very sparingly inhabited by fishermen, fowlers,
and hunters, who were all Fynnes or Terfynnes. The
Queenes (Kwaens, Kainulainen, or Fins of Latham), he
further stated, were in the habit of crossing the mountains
at times to the maritime coasts of Norway, for the purpose
of invading and spoiling the Normans.
In 860, or thirty years before Octher made this commu¬
nication to King Alfred, Iceland was discovered by the
Norwegian Naddodr, visited in the following season by
Gardar, a Swede, and colonized in 874 by Ingolfr and
other Norsemen. Some years later, one Gunbiorn having
been driven by a storm to the westward of Iceland, dis-
1 Such voyages in the Northern Atlantic from one advanced commercial colony to another would be easy to the seamen who, by com¬
mand of Pharaoh Necho, had in the seventh century B.C. sailed from the Red Sea round the south end of Africa, and in the third year
of their voyage entered the Mediterranean by the Pillars of Hercules. Herodotus, from not being able to understand one of the phy¬
sical phenomena reported by the mariners, discredits this voyage ; but the very circumstance of the sun having had a northerly bearing
as they rounded South Africa is an evidence of its truth, and full credit is now given by competent geographers to the report. (Raw-
linson’s Herodotus, Introduction ; Prideaux’s Connect., Ezekiel, c. xxvii., &c.)
2 The volumes of Heeren on the African and Asiatic Nations (translated in 1832) contain references to all the known authorities on
this subject. We there find that Gades (Gaddir) and Utica were founded about the same time, and 270 years prior to the building of
Carthage, or 1130 B.c. Aristotle, quoting from the Phoenician annals, also records the foundation of Utica. (Diod. Siculus and Pompo-
nius Mela.) Pestus Avienus, in his Ora Maritima, composed after consulting the Punic records, mentions the naval armaments of
Hanno and Himilco, sent from Africa to found colonies outside of the Straits of Gibraltar, the former on the African coasts, and the
latter on the western shores of Europe. A record of the widely-diverging Phoenician trade is supposed to be preserved in the peculiar
and very ancient glass-heads still in existence on the western coast of Africa, in Cornwall, and in Ireland. (Rawlinson’s Herod, ii., p. 50.)
The Carthaginian vessels were flat-bottomed barks, so constructed for more conveniently navigating shoal waters. Himilco’s voyage
northwards lasted four months, when he reached the country which yielded tin and lead. From the (Estrymnades, whether these were
promontories or islands, communication with the rest of Albion was kept up in skin boats by the natives, whose chief employment was
commerce. Diodorus also mentions that the inhabitants of Britain were very skilful in obtaining tin, which they conveyed at low-water
to the island of Fetis (supposed to be St Michael’s Mount). Much of the Cornish tin seems to have been carried across Gaul to Massilia
(now Marseilles); and Pythias, a Massilian Greek, is reported to have sailed in the year 333 B.C. out of the Straits of Gibraltar along
the coasts of Spain, Gaul, and Jutland to the Scaw, where he turned to the east, and passed onwards into the Baltic. This voyage was
probably prompted in part by a wish to visit the amber coasts at the mouths of the Vistula. Herodotus seems to have been much puzzled
by the Greek name of Eridanus applied to that river, but the appellation of Rho-daun or Rauden is still that of one of the affluents of
the Vistula. (Larcher in Beloe’s Herodotus ; circa, 111-106 B.C.) G. Cornewall Lewis does not believe that the Phoenicians reached the
Baltic, but thinks that the ancients acquired their knowledge of that sea solely from the overland traders. Yet Pliny, speaking of the
Basilia of Timaeus, a navigator who succeeded Pytheas, says that it is the same island with the Bahia of others. If the word Baltic did
not originate in the latter name, the similarity of sound is at least remarkable. (See a paper on the Amber Trade, Notes and Queritr*
2d series, vi. 131 and 134; by G. C. Lewis.) Juba, the Mauritanian prince, sent ships to examine the Canaries; and Sertorius, »
general under Marius, meditated a retreat to these “ Fortunate Islands ” in the year 82 B.C.
VOL. XVIII. x
162
POLAR REGIONS.
Arctic covered first a few low rocks or skerries, and afterwards an
Regions, extensive land, whose remarkable snowy southern head-
land he named Hvidscerk (White Shirt) ; and about 982
Erikr RauSi, being banished for a term from Iceland for
manslaughter, sailed in quest of Gunbiorn’s Land, and
having found it, coasted along towards the south, and
rounding the promontory of Hvarf, or “ the turning point,”
spent three years in exploring the country ; then returned
to Iceland, where he made so favourable a report of the
western land, that in 985 or 986 twenty-five vessels, car¬
rying colonists, set out with him on his second voyage.
Half of these ill-fated ships perished in the ice, but the re¬
mainder reached their destination, and in a few years there¬
after all the habitable spots of Greenland were occupied.
A barren district of about 80 miles divided the settlements
into two groups, named the East and West Bygd, both
being, nevertheless, on the western coast. Lieutenant
Graah, after criticising elaborately the published accounts
of these voyages, concludes that Hvidscerk (aliter Muckla
Jokel and Blaascerk) is the lofty island now known as Cape
Farewell, which is visible at the distance of 80 miles; Hvarf
is Cape Egede, or some promontory near it; and Herjulfrnes
(Hernoldus Hook), lying between the two, is the southern
point of the East Bygd. The West Bygd was included
within the parallels of 62^. and 66. N. Lat. One of the
colonists who accompanied Erikr to Greenland was Herjulfr
Bardson, a descendant of Ingulfr, the first settler in Ice¬
land. This man’s son, Bjarni, was in Norway at the time
of Erikr’s migration; but returning from thence in the
spring of 985 or 986 to Eyras in Iceland, he found that his
father had sailed for Greenland, and immediately resolved
on following him, that they might spend the winter to¬
gether. The crew of his ship consenting to his proposals,
they put to sea again ; but encountering thick, stormy
weather, were driven far to the southward and westward.
On the sky clearing, they found themselves in sight of a
wooded part of the American coast, which, not agreeing
with the description Bjarni had received of Greenland,
they turned their prow northwards ; and after passing seve¬
ral of the projecting headlands of Newfoundland and La¬
brador, but without landing on any, or even naming them,
they finally came in sight of White Sark, where they for¬
tunately met with a boat, and were directed to Herjulfr¬
nes, his father’s new abode.
Erikr’s son Leifr, who had gone to Norway at the close
of the tenth century, being, by command of the king Olaf
Triggeweson, instructed in the principles of Christianity,
was by him sent back to Greenland, attended by a priest,
who baptized Erikr and his followers. In the year 1000,
Erikr having purchased the ship in which Bjarni had traded
with Norway after his discovery of America, sailed to ac¬
quire more perfect knowledge of the western country. He
wintered in Vinland, now recognised by its position and
productions as comprising Rhode Island and Massachusetts.
The peninsula named at present Nova Scotia he ca\\e& Mark-
land, on account of its woods. Newfoundland and Labrador
were termed Litla Helluland and Helluland it mikla, or the
Lesser and Greater Slaty Lands. Leifr’s Booths, the winter¬
ing station of the expedition, is identified by Professor Rain
with the banks of Taunton River ; Slraumfiorftr of the
Norsemen with Buzzard’s Bay ; and Kialarnes with Cape
Cod. Leifr, on his way back to Greenland, rescued the
crew of a Norwegian vessel that had struck on a rock, and
being enriched by the salvage of her merchandise, took
thenceforth the appellation of Leifr hin hapni, or Leifr the
Fortunate. Vinland was afterwards sought with the view of
forming settlements by Thorwaldr Erikson, Leifr’s brother, Arctic
Thorfinn Karlesefne, and others ; but the hostility of the Regions,!'
Skraellings frustrated all attempts at permanent habitation.
In 1008 Snorre Thorfinnson was born at Thorfinn’s Buftr,
near Taunton, being the first child of European extraction
born in America. The intercourse between America and
Greenland seems to have been kept upas late as 1347, chiefly,
it would appear, to procure wood for building purposes.
In the palmy days of the Greenland Icelandic colonies
the West Bygd had 4 churches and 90 farms (some authors
say 110) ; and the East Bygd a cathedral, 11 churches, 190
farms, a town, and at least 2 cloisters. The Kongskugg-
sio, or Speculum JRegale, supposed to have been written in
the twelfth or thirteenth century, mentions that the in¬
terior of Greenland is covered with ice, but that the habit¬
able banks of the fiords abound in good pasturage, and that
the colonists subsisted by raising cattle and sheep, and by
the chase of the rein-deer, walrus, and seal, the climate
being adverse to the production of grain. The country
was governed by Icelandic laws, and had a series of
bishops, beginning with Arnold, who was elected at the
instance of Sokke, Leifr’s grandson, in 1121, and ending
with Endride Andreason, who was consecrated in 1406.1
Before this date the colony had begun to decline. In 1348
a black pestilence had committed wide ravages among
the people of the North; and in 1379 the Skrsellings
had utterly destroyed the West Bygd. Ivar Bere or
Bardsen (translated Botg by Barentzoon)2, a principal man
in the bishop’s court, sailing to the rescue with a levy of
East Bygd people, found no man, neither Christian nor
heathen, but onjy sheep running wild, of which he brought
away as many as he could. The East Bygd held out some
time longer ; but in the beginning of the fifteenth century
Margaret, the Queen of Denmark and Norway, called the
“Semiramis of the North,” having imprisoned the merchants
who traded with Greenland on the charge of intercepting
the tribute due to her from the colonists, and interdicted
all her subjects from going thither, the settlement languished
away. The final blow was, according to a pastoral letter of
Pope Nicholas V., given by a hostile fleet (suspected by
Graah to have been English), which in 1418 laid waste
the country, and carried into captivity all the vigorous in¬
habitants that were found, a few dwellers in remote parishes
only escaping. By a treaty between our Henry VI. and
King Erik of Norway in 1433, the captives in England
were set at liberty ; but nevertheless the neglect of the
mother country continuing, the colonists either returned to
Iceland or perished under the repeated assaults of the
Skrsellings. Vestiges of the ancient colonization have been
traced in ten different localities within the bounds of the
West Bygd ; and the ruins are yet more numerous and in
better preservation in the East Bygd, where the walls of
several churches are still standing. Runic inscriptions have
moreover been discovered at the ancient episcopal site of
Gardar in Eriksfior<5, and in other places. One of these, found
by an Eskimo Greenlander named Pelinut, at Kingitorsoak,
in Lat. 72. 55. N., Long. 56. 5. W., bears the date of
1135, and informs us that on the Saturday before gangday
of that year, Erling Sighvatsson, Bjarni Thorftarson, and
Eindrid Oddsson, cleared the ground and raised these
marks. This inscription is important, as furnishing incon-
testible evidence of the Norraenu Greenlanders having
carried their sealing expeditions into Baffin’s Bay. The
usual summer resort of the sealers was Greipar, whose site
is placed by Rafn in Lat. 67., to the south of Disco, where the
fiords resemble the intervals between a man’s fingers, which
^ Professor Finn Magnusen and several other learned Icelanders deduce their pedigree from a couple who were married in Greenland
in 1409 by Bishop Endride. The sculptor Thorwaldsen also traced his descent from these ancient stocks. See Kongs Skugg Sio,
Islands Landnamabok, and Rafn’s Antiquitates Americanos. For translations, see Beamish, 1841; Blackwell’s Mallet, 1847 ; Ueograph.
•Journ., 1858.
^ Purchas, ii., p. 518. In the Relation du Groenland, par Isaac de La Peyrere, Paris, 1663, Ivar Bardsen’s name becomes Iver Bert.
POLAR REGIONS.
Arctic greipar signifies. Disco itself was called Bjarney by the
Region, old colonists, meaning “ bear island.” We learn further from
the Hauksbok that in 1266 the priests of Gardar, in conse¬
quence of information obtained from those who returned
from Norftursceta, or the northern summer haunts, sent out
a vessel on discovery, which, leaving Greipar far behind,
came to an inlet that was named, from its curvature, Kroks-
Jiorftr, beyond which they were driven in thick weather by
a southerly gale. On the weather clearing, the mariners
found themselves in an archipelago, amid much ice, with
the sun as high above the horizon at midnight as it is in
the inhabited parts of Greenland when in the north-east
quarter of the sky in the same season of the year. It is
unsafe on such data to fix on the sound into which this vessel
was driven, as Rafn has done; but we must conclude that
these adventurous Northmen, passing far within the Arctic
Circle, had seen much of the shores of Baffin’s Bay upwards
of three centuries before it received the latter appellation.
The fate of the Greenland colonies, and the existenceof the
western land, had been almost wholly forgotten until the suc¬
cess of Columbus produced a search for ancient records, which,
however, instead of being honestly published, were quoted
as vouchers for many fables and much inaccurate cosmogony.1
Southern During the latter third part of the thirteenth century,
enterprize. when Venice was in the zenith of its prosperity, and mono¬
polized the overland trade of Europe with India, Marco
Polo, following the steps of his uncles and other merchants,
travelled across Asia to Khan-balik, or Pekin, the seat of
the Tartar conqueror of China, Kublai-khan. By his nar¬
ratives Europe became acquainted with the condition and,
approximately, with the position of China; but the project
of reaching the fabulously rich lands of the extreme East by
sea does not seem to have presented itself at that time to
northern navigators ; and maritime enterprise lay dormant
until the middle of the fifteenth century, when Prince Henry
of Portugal gave the impulse by which his countrymen went
forth to trace the western coast of Africa down to the Cabo
Tormentoso, the haunt of the Genius of Tempests, that most
poetical creation of Camoens. In 1492 Columbus made
his glorious discovery of the Western Indies ; and six years
afterwards Vasco de Gama, doubling the storm-beaten ex¬
tremity of Africa, which had become the Cape of Good
Hope, reached India by an eastern route. These splendid
achievements of the peninsular mariners stirred the spirit of
northern adventure ; and the sagacity of Henry VII.
secured to England the services of John Cabot, and of his
greater son Sebastian. How far the doings of the Norse¬
men in the Greenland seas were known at this period to
the English cannot be easily ascertained, but it is difficult
to believe that the merchants of Bristol, who traded to
Iceland in the time of Edward IV., did not retain
some memorials of Engrbneland, Helluland, Markland,
and Vinland, of which they must have heard ; yet in the
absence of correct topographical description, and the entire
defect of astronomical observations, these words would be
mere names of remote places. No printed detail of the
Norwegian discoveries was given to the world until 1705,
more than two centuries after Columbus had made the first
of his great voyages across the Atlantic, though, as men- Arctic
tioned below, some obscure notices had appeared in authors Regions,
after the middle of the sixteenth century.2 Certain it is
however, that from the Columbian epoch, whether in the
spirit of enterprise inherited from their ancestral Scandina¬
vian kindred, or, what is more likely, in pure rivalry of the
Portuguese and Spaniards, the project of a passage to China
in a high latitude, either by the N.W. or by the N.E., or
directly across the Pole itself, began to stir the minds of
English seamen. Robert Thorne, a merchant of Bristol,
who had dwelt long in Spain, was the first who distinctly
proposed the bold speculation of a north polar passage,
which he did in two letters, one of them addressed to Henry
VIII. in the year 1527, and the other to the ambassa¬
dor of that monarch residing at the court of the Emperor
Charles V. He adduces as one of his chief reasons
for sending a naval armament that way, the discovery of
three parts of the world by other princes ; so that the fourth
way by the north was the only one that remained to be
tried. His second letter is accompanied by a map,3 in
which Asia is drawn 120 degrees of longitude too far to
the east, and the North-East Passage consequently abbre¬
viated to that extent; while China is placed lar to the west
of oriental Cathayo.
It does not enter into the plan of this article to give a
chronological list of all the voyages to the Arctic regions
which, with short intervals of rest, have succeeded each
other from the time of Henry VII. down to the reign of
Victoria; but having already mentioned those of former
ages as fully as our limits would allow, we purpose to
notice those merely of the post-Columbian ones which
have brought material additions to our knowledge of the
coasts of the Northern Ocean. The reader desirous of
entering fully into the interesting histories of Arctic ex¬
ploits may have recourse to the many valuable compilations
wdiich have of late years issued from the press.4
On the 5th of March 1496,3 Henry VII. granted letters English
patent to John Cabot, a Venetian, and to his three sons voyages
Lewis, Sebastian, and Sancius, to sail with five ships to all
parts and seas of the East, of the West, and of the North,
and to discover and possess all lands previously unknown.,
1 he expedition did not sail until the following year ; and
the most explicit account of its doings, though a very brief
one, is that wdiich Hakluyt copied from an engraving by
Clement Adams of a map drawn by Sebastian himself, in
which the discovery of the land named Prima Vista, and
the island of St John lying off it, are ascribed to John
Cabot, and Sebastian his son, as having been made on the
24th of June 1497, at five in the morning. In his transla¬
tion of this Latin manuscript, Hakluyt has interpolated in
brackets “ with an English fleet from Bristol and
Master Robert Thorne, above mentioned, in his letter to
the English ambassador in Spain, states that his “ father, a
merchant of Bristowe, and Hugh Eliot, were discoverers of
the Newfound lands” (being doubtless adventurers in the fleet
of John Cabot). Master Thorne further intimates that if
the seamen would have followed their pilot’s mind, they
would have gone southward, and discovered the West India
The adventures of the Zeni in Frieslanda, Eslanda, Engrovelanda, Estotilanda, Drogeo, and Icaria, under the Arctic pole, in 1380-9.
qU, (10. TU ,1S 6 a J ’ ^re ev gently a compilation of reports, mostly fabulous, collected probably in Bristol or Scandinavii
Szkoln, (bcolvus, Sc olvus, or Scalve), a Polish pilot in the service of Christian H. of Denmark, is said to have landed in Groetlan
i ■°r ’ u el\ V1®1 lnS Greenland. Master Thorne’s map places Groetland in Lat. 72.; but its position is wholly uncertaii
North!wesgt Passage611*10 deta‘iS °f the voyaSe extant. Sir Humfrey Gilbert calls him Scolmus, and says that he entered far into tt
di?C°V,e7 ^ America by the Scandinavians is alluded to by Adam of Bremen in his Hist. Eccl. Hamh. et lirem., written i
Amt 6jfiioatd-ln 1i579 : 0rsstellu1s ln hl« ^Wr. Orbis, 1601; by Mylius, De Antiq. Ling, Belg. 1611 ; and by Grotius, De Orig. Gen
a V t CC\X11i ’ ee a^so ^or^8eus) Hist. Vinlandias, 1705; and Olaus Magnus, Hist. Gent. Sept., lib. ii., c. ix
0f’ T Y0y-t0 Am-’ Hakluyt Soc- Pub- 1850- A maP of North America, dated 1544, or 17 years after th
t °7e s’ Pu 1S 16 ln 1 ’6 Atlas of Baptista Agnese, of which Trinity College, Dublin, possesses a copy, and contains evidentl
tee time ont! ol ^ as far as New.foundland and Labrador, made by Cabot, Cortoreale, and the Basque and Breton fishermen up t
« N7lLT C°nSt™fr ; bU' ther,e 18 1,0 lndicati°" of land as high as Hudson’s Strait. * Coxe, Burney Barlow &c
Not 1495, as in Hakluyt. Consult Div. Voy., Hakl. Soc., ed. J. W. Jones, Esq., p. Ixviii. ’ ° ’ C-
164 POLAR REGIONS.
Arctic Islands. Sebastian’s map is not known to be in exist-
Regions. ence n0Wj though Hakluyt says that in his time it was in
many ancient merchants’ houses, as well as in “ Her Ma-
jestie’s privie gallerie ” at Westminster. The name of the
English vessel that first touched the American shore is said
to have been the Mathew of Bristol.
A second patent was granted in February 1498 to “John
Kabotto, Veneeian,” in which reference is made to the
“ londe and isles of late found by the said John.” It was
probably under this patent that Sebastian armed two ships
at the expense of King Henry VII., as related by Pietro
Martire. This author, who was a member of the Council of
the Indies to the Catholic king, says that “ Sebastian Cabot,
his very familiar friend, was called out of England after
the death of Henry VIE, and made one of our council and
assistants as touching the affairs of the Indies,” and further
that he was told by him, that at the time in question, having
two ships manned by 300 men, he directed his course
towards the North Pole, and found, even in the month of
July, in a manner continual daylight, and monstrous heaps
of ice swimming in the sea, so that he was enforced to turn
his sails and follow towards the west, along the land, where
the heat of the sun had melted the ice. He coasted this
land, which he named Baccalaos, until he reached the same
parallel of latitude as the Straits of Gibraltar, in the longi¬
tude of Cuba. Authors disagree as to the northern latitude
attained by Sebastian. Petro Martire, as reported by Hak¬
luyt, and by Ramusius in one part of his compilation, says
that it was 55° N. Butrigarius, the Pope’s legate, who had
his information from Sebastian himself, calls it 56° N.; and
Gomara states it to have been 58° N., beyond the Cape of
Labrador. Ramusius, again, in his Discorso sopro la terra
ferma dette del Lavorador et de los Bacchalaos, says that
‘Sebastian searched the land up to the 67th degree; and in
his general Preface to the same volume he informs us that
“ II Signor Sebastian Gabotto nostro” wrote to him many
years past that, having sailed a long time W. and by N.
behind the islands of Nova Francia up to the 67. 30.
N. Eat, he found the sea open, and would have gone on
to Cataio Orientals, if the malignity of the shipmaster and
mutinous seamen had not forced him back. Sir Humfrey
Gilbert, in his Discourse on the North-West Passage,
published by Hakluyt, uses nearly the words of Ra¬
musius, stating the latitude reached by Cabot to be 67£
degrees, and referring, like Hakluyt, to the map in the
Queen’s private gallery as his authority. Sir George
Peckham, in a treatise on the same subject, also in Elak-
luyt’s collection, mentions 63 degrees as the northern limit
of the discoveries of the Cabots. Sebastian’s “ owne mappes
and discourses, drawn and written by himself,” were, Hak¬
luyt says, “ in the custodie of the worshipful Master William
Worthington and though it is probable that they were, as
Mr Biddle conjectures, afterwards suppressed at the instance Arctic
of Philip IE, they appear to have been accessible to geogra- Regions,
phers in the time of Elizabeth. Mr Richard Willis, in his
argument on a North-West Passage (in Hakluyt), men¬
tions the “ table of our countryman Sebastian Cabot, which
the Earl of Bedford hath at Cheinies, in which a gulf is
left between 61° and 64° N., as Gemma Frisius also hath
it in his globes.” Taking these various reports into account,
it seems probable, but by no means proved, that Sebastian
Cabot anticipated Frobisher in the discovery of the strait
now known as Hudson’s. Thorne’s chart, carries the land
up to the North Pole ; Ramusius’ stops short at the Arctic
Circle ; but it was evidently the custom of the map-makers
of the times to carry the contour of the land a few degrees
beyond the limits of the coasts actually traced. Ramusio,
though he corresponded with Cabot, does not seem to have
been accurately acquainted with the dates of his several
voyages ; and being consequently ignorant of his claim to
the discovery of Labrador, he says that Gasparo Cortoreale
was, as far as he knows, the first who sought to find a short
way to the Spice Islands by the N.W.1
This able and adventurous navigator, he tells us, sailed Cortoreale
from Portugal with two caravels in 1500, and discovered of Portu-
Terra Verde lying between the N. and N.W-, coasting itgal-
from Rio Nevada (Hudson’s Straits), in Eat. 60., to Rio
San Lorenzo and its gulf, called Quadrato, which turns at
the end of Los Bacchalaos, whose highest point, named
Cabo di Buenovista, lies in 48^°.2
The memorial of Master Thorne, mentioned in a pre- English
ceding page, took, as Hakluyt says, present effect; and in voyages.
May *4527 King Henry VIII. sent forth two ships, well
manned and victualled, to seek strange regions. These
ships were the Sampson, which was lost in a storm, and the
Mary of Guildford, which returned to England after touch¬
ing at Newfoundland, when her master, John Rut, gave a
very meagre account of the voyage. Other Englishmen
made at this time private adventures to the new continent,
some of which Hakluyt mentions ;3 and Rondelet, whose
work appeared in 1554, states that even thus early the
fishery for cod had been established by the Bretons and
Normans on the banks of Newfoundland.4 The enterpris¬
ing seamen of Bristol are not likely to have been tardy in
seeking the same lucrative employment.
The first expedition, however, which we have specially Voyages to
to mention is that of which Sir Hugh Willoughby wasthe ]S•E•
captain-general, and which sailed in 1553, after preparations
on a scale beyond all previous example. The fleet, con¬
sisting of the admiral, named the Bona Esperanza, the
Edward Bonaventure (Captain Richard Chancelor), and
the Bona Confidentia (Cornelius Durfoorth master), drop¬
ped down from Ratcliffe to Greenwich, passing under the
windows of the young king, then confined to his chamber
1 When the war with Scotland engaged Henry VIIL’s attention, to the exclusion of enterprises of discovery, Sebastian Cabot went to
Spain and was employed in exploring the Brazil coasts, nominated one of the Council of the Indies, and finally salaried as pilot-major.
In 1548 he returned to England, was made grand pilot by King Edward VI., receiving, for that age, a large pension; and in the reign of
Philip and Mary was invested with the office of “ Governor of the Mysterie and Companie of Merchant Adventurers for the discovery
of New Trades ” Ramusio, in the Discorso prefixed to his third volume, attributes to Cabot a desire of discovering a short way to
Cataio Orientale as the motive of his voyages; so that it must have been from ignorance or inattention to dates that he gave Cortoreale
the credit of being the first to seek a passage to China by the north-west. . • i. at .7,
2 Ramusio quotes Cortoreale’s letters to the King of Portugal; but Mr P. Frazer Tytler, in his Progress of Discovery in the Northern
Parts of America says that the most authentic account of Cortoreale’s voyage is to be found in a letter of the Venetian ambassador re¬
siding at Lisbon to Pietro Pasquiligi, written only eleven days after the return of Cortoreale to Portugal. The Terra Verde (which
must not be confounded with the Scandinavian Grdnland), is named, according to Mr Tytler, Terra Cortoreahs in a Roman map dated
1508, which we have not seen. The name is preserved in Michael Lok’s map of 1582. In Thorne’s map of 1527 the whole coast is de¬
signated Nova terra lahoratorum dicta ah Anglis primum inventa. Baptista Agnese’s map of 1544 represents Labrador (but not so naming
it) as a very broken coast, with the bottoms of the very numerous inlets left open. Its most northern part is a gulf or strait called Da
Fortuna, and probably intended for the Golfo di Castelli (the Straits of Belleisle). Baccalaos is a small island lying south of Ilhas de los
Aves, and five or six degrees north of Terra de los Bertones (Cape Breton). A chart in Ramusius, designed to illustrate the narratives
of Verrazzano and Jacques Carthier, represents a large Isola de Demoni immediately to the north of Terra Nuova, which is smaller, but
still a large island. Baccalaos is one of several islets, Capo de Has (Cape Race) being the most southern of them; Isola de Bertom is
more to the west, and Cape Breton adjoins the mainland of Nuova Francia or Terra de Nurumbega. In the French charts of early date
Nurumbega is identified with the territory of the present state of Maine. _ _ _
3 Hakl. ii^ p. 129; Purchas, iii., p. 809; Div. Voy., Hakl. Soc., p. 54. 4 Rondeletius (Ramusius, 111., p. 419j.
POLAR REGIONS.
Arctic by illness. The outfit was carefully directed by Cabot, who,
Regions, as Mr Richard Eden has recorded, had long before had the
secret of this voyage to Cathay in his mind; and he also
drew up a detailed code of instructions for the mariners. On
the 2d of August Sir Hugh took a departure from Seynam
in Lat. 70. on the coast of Norway; and on the 14th saw
land, computed to bear from that place E. by N. 160 leagues,
and lying on the 72d parallel of latitude. This discovery,
named “ Willoughby’s Land,” is on the S.W. coast of Novaya
Zemlya, between the North and South Gousinoi Nos, and
has been named by Liitke the “ Goose Coast,” because of
the numbers of these birds which breed there.1 After
plying about and sighting the land on various days, he
finally bore round, and returned to the haven of Arzina in
Lapland, which had been previously examined by him.
Here he and his whole crew, and that of the Bona Confi-
dentia, were miserably frozen to death, as was ascertained
in the spring by some Russian fishermen. The English
agent at Moscow, on hearing of the sad event, sent men to
conduct the ships, the goods, and the dead bodies to Eng¬
land; but the ships, having become leaky, sunk by the way,
carrying to the bottom both dead and living navigators.
From the recovered papers, it appeared that Sir Hugh
Willoughby and most of his company were alive in January
] 554; but as the provisions, though calculated to last
eighteen months, were found to be in part corrupt, it
seems probable that the crews, weakened by low and bad
diet, and their sure concomitant scurvy, were rendered
incapable of resisting the severity of the climate. The
great expenditure of carbon by respiration in the high
latitudes, and the consequent requirement of a large increase
of food, was not understood in those days, and is even at
the present time seldom sufficiently provided for in regu¬
lating the diet of seamen employed within the Arctic Circle ;
nor are recent instances wanting of the food being bad as
well as scanty.
The Edward Bonaventure, under command of Chancelor,
captain and pilot-major, was better, or, at all events, more
fortunately managed. A storm off Seynam having driven
the other two ships out of sight, Chancelor made for
the rendezvous at Wardhuis, from whence, after waiting
seven days for the admiral, he again sailed, and eventually
reached St Nicholas in the White Sea. From that place
he proceeded overland to Moscow, delivered his credentials
to the Czar Ivan Vasilovitch, and obtained from him many
privileges for Cabot’s company, which thereafter assumed
the appellation of the Muscovy Company. In the follow¬
ing season he returned to England with his ship.
In 1556 Stephen Burrough, otherwise Burrowgh or Burro,
late master of Chancelor’s ship, and William his brother,
subsequently comptroller of the navy, were furnished with
the pinnace Serchthrift for the further prosecution of the
North-East Passage. On Monday the 27th of April, the
right worshipful Sebastian Cabot went on board with divers
gentlemen and gentlewomen, who, after they had tasted of
the cheer, and viewed the pinnace, gave to the mariners
right liberal rewards ; and the good old gentleman, Master
Cabota (then eighty-eight years of age), gave to the poor
most liberal alms, willing them to pray for the success of
the Serchthrift. Then he and his friends banqueted at
the sign of the Christopher, and for very joy of the for¬
wardness of the intended discovery, he entered into the
dance himself among the young and lusty company. Up
to the 7th of June the Serchthrift was accompanied by the
Edward, Captain Chancelor, and another of the Muscovy Arctic
Company’s vessels on their way to the White Sea, after- Regions,
wards it held on its course alone to the Petchora and v «- v-».'
Waigatz Straits, which it passed through ; and Stephen Bur-
rough thus became the discoverer of the south-eastern ex¬
tremity of Novaya Zemlya. Accumulations of ice prevented
further progress; and the Serchthrift returned to England.
Richard Johnson, one of the mariners, wrote at a later date
some notices of Novaya Zemlya, and of the customs of the
Sambeids, which are to be found in Hakluyt. Chancelor, on
the other hand, bringing back an ambassador from Russia,
together with commodities to the amount of L.20,000, had
a most disastrous voyage. Only one of his ships reached
the Thames, two were wrecked on the coast of Norway,
and the Edward was driven ashore in a very dark night at
Pitsligo in Scotland, when the ambassador succeeded in
reaching the land, but Chancelor himself was drowned.
Though the Muscovy Company were much occupied in
prosecuting their inland commerce through Russia to Persia,
they renewed from time to time their attempts to find a
passage eastward along the northern coasts of Europe and
Asia. With this view, they instructed their agents to col¬
lect information respecting the mouths of the Ob and other
large rivers that flow into the Arctic Sea; and they sent
out at least two sea expeditions, one in 1568, under Bassen-
dine, Woodcocke, and Browne, of whose proceedings no¬
thing is now known ; and the other in 1580, under two able
and persevering seamen, Arthur Pet and Charles Jack-
man, but they also, after visiting Novaya Zemlya, and
entering the Sea of Kara by the opposite side of Waigatz
Island to that by which Burrough had passed, were arrested
in their progress eastward by large masses of ice. Purchas
has preserved some papers written by Antonie March, a
chief factor of the Moscovy Company, from which it
is clear that, previous to the year 1584, an English vessel
had crossed the Sea of Kara to the mouth of the Ob,
where it was wrecked, and the crew murdered by the
natives.
The Netherlanders had witnessed with no small com- Dutch
mercial jealousy the progress of the English in Russia, and north-east
after trying in vain, through the agency of John de Walle, voyages,
merchant-ambassador at the court of the Czar, to shake
the credit of the Muscovy Company, determined to com¬
pete with them in the search for the North-East Passage.
Middleburgh, Enkhuysen, and Amsterdam were the towns
chiefly concerned in this enterprise; and the citizens of
the latter wisely entrusted their ship to William Barentzoon
(by abbreviation Barentz),2 who was peculiarly fitted to direct
an expedition of discovery, being endowed with courage
and perseverance, to which he united nautical and astro¬
nomical skill, with great fertility of resource. His writings,
preserved by Purchas, further indicate that he had pre¬
pared himself for such a service by consulting the Icelandic
records of the ancient voyages.3 In his first voyage, per¬
formed in 1594, Barentzoon rounded the north end of No¬
vaya Zemlya, to the islands of Orange, at its extreme point.
In the second, undertaken in the succeeding year, Barentzoon
was nominated pilot-major of a squadron, of which Corne¬
lius Corneliszoon was admiral-superintendent. The fleet
entered the Sea of Kara, but effected no discovery. In the
third and most memorable of these Dutch voyages, Barent¬
zoon was again chief pilot, while Jacob Van Heemskerck
and Jan Corneliszoon Rijp were captains. It was Barent-
zoon’s intention to have proceeded to Cape Taimur4 by the
1 Rundall, Foy. to North-East, Hakl. Soc., p. ii., Introd.
2 Meaning the son of Barent, or Bernard. Purchas, iii., p. 518. Beke, Three Voy., &c. Hakl. Soc. 1853.
. Ivar Bardson, a Greenlander by birth, mentioned in a previous note, was proctor of the episcopal city of Gardar about the begin-
mng of the fifteenth century. His description of Greenland was preserved by Erik Wakkendorph, Archbishop of Drontheim, and a
translation of it occurs in Torfasus’ Greenlandia. Purchas calls the author Ivar Boty, and gives a translation of an imperfect copy of
^oun(^ 4n Islands, made out of High Dutch into Low Dutch by William Barentzoon, and out of Low Dutch by Mr
otybre in 1608, for one Henrie Hudson, &c. *■ De Caep Tabijn, the N.E. end of Siberia, the Tabis of Pliny, Beke, &c.
166
POLAR REGIONS.
Arctic
Regions.
north end of Novaya Zemlya; but, yielding to the urgency of
Rijp, he kept much to the westward, and on the 9th of June
discovered Bear Island, which seven years later was named
Cherie Island by Stephen Bennet, a shipmaster in the
service of the Moscovy Company. From Bear Island
Barentzoon held a northerly course; and on the 19th of
the same month fell in with land in 74. 49. N. Lat., being
the N.E. land of Spitzbergen, but thought by him at the
time to be part of Greenland. Passing to the S. of this
land, through Vaigats or Henlopen Strait, he rounded the
north end of that island now known by the appellations
of New Friesland and North Spitzbergen, and passing a
few miles above the 80th parallel, and then steeling S.
along the western shores of Spitzbergen, he returned to
Bear Island on the 1st of June. Here Rijp separated from
him, and sailed to Bird Cape, in the north of Spitzbeigen,
and from thence home; while Barentzoon, resuming his
original design, made for the north end of Novaya Zemlya,
which he succeeded in doubling, but was eventually ice¬
bound on the 26th August in Ice Haven, lying in Lat. 75.
45. N. There he and his companions were forced to stay,
“ in great cold, poverty, misery, and grief all that winter,”
till the 14th of June 1597, when, having previously buried
two of their company, and being all reduced by scurvy to
a state of extreme weakness, they departed in two open
boats or schuits, to retrace the W. coast of Novaya Zemlya,
and to strike over to the Russian and Norwegian coasts. The
death of William Barentzoon almost at the commencement
of this perilous boat voyage, says Gerit de Veer, one of the
company, put us in no small discomfort, as he was the chief
and only pilot on whom we reposed ourselves undei God. De¬
prived of their skilful leader, the survivors made a greater
circuit than they intended, and suffered grievously from
want of provision; but at length they reached the river
Kola, where they were most unexpectedly welcomed and
tenderly relieved by Corneliszoon Rijp, from whom they
had parted the year before at Bear Island, and who had,
fortunately for them, come that year to Lapland on a trad¬
ing voyage.1
p r . The further exploration of the seas and coasts of North-
north-west ern Europe and Siberia having been made at much later
voyages, dates by the subjects of Russia, we now turn to the English
voyages undertaken for the discovery of a North-West Pas¬
sage; and first in order are the three voyages of Sir Martin
Frobisher in the years 15/6—77—78, and consequently
eighteen or nineteen years prior to those of Barentzoon,
above mentioned. Frobisher’s projected entei prise was
met at the outset by strong opposition on the part of the
Muscovy Company, which was overcome by a mandate
from the lord treasurer; and Michael Lok pledged his
means and credit for the equipment of the ships. The first
expedition, projected on a small scale, consisted of two barks
of 20 or 25 tons a piece, and a pinnace of 10 tons, manned
• by 35 men in the aggregate, victualled and found for twelve
months. At Greenwich the mariners, apparelled in sky-
coloured cloth, discharged their ordnance, according to
the order of warand Queen Elizabeth, standing at an
open window, returned the salute by waving her hand.
On the 11th of July land was discovered in Lat. 61.,
“ rising like pinnacles of steeples, and all covered with
snow ” which is now known to have been Cape Desolation,
or Torsukatek, at the N.W. extremity of the deserted colony
of East Bygd in Greenland, but which was thought at the
time by our navigators to be « Friseland.” At this period
Greenland was supposed to lie to the N., in the position of
what was afterwards ascertained to be Baffin s Bay. Uft
Friesland the pinnace foundered in a storm, carrying down
her crew of four men; and the Michael, one of the barks,
“ mistrusting the matter,” returned to England, and re¬
ported that Frobisher had been cast away. Frobisher, how¬
ever, stood on to the westward in the Gabriel, and, “ knowing
that the sea at length must needs have an ending, and that
some land should have > beginning, determined therefore
at least to bring true proofe what land and sea the same
might be, so farre to the north-westwards beyond any man
that has heretofore discovered.” On the 28th of July (20th,
G. Best) he saw a headland which he named “Queene Eliza¬
beth’s Foreland,” but was prevented from approaching the
coast by ice till the 11th of August, when the latitude at
noon was 63° 8', and that day he entered the strait, “ which
he named after his name, Frobisher’s Streights, like as
Mao-ellanus at the S.W. end of the world.” So he entered
the&same, and passed above 80 leagues therein, having on
the “ right hand as he sailed westward a great maine, which
he judged to be Asia, there divided from the firme of
America, which lieth upon the left hand.”2 * * * The strait was
subsequently ascertained to be bounded on both sides by
islands and not by continuous land. The entrance is de¬
scribed by Best in his account of the second voyage as
follows:—“About noone we made the North Foreland
(Cape Labrador of Hall), otherwise called Halles Island ;
also the small island bearing the name of the said Hall,
whence the ore was taken. . . . 1 his North Foreland is
thought to be divided from the continent of the norther-
land by a little sound which maketh it an island, and is
thought to be little less than the Isle of Wight, and is the
first entrance of the straights upon the norther side, and
standeth in the latitude of 62° 50' N. . . . Queene Eliza¬
beth’s Foreland being the entrance of the streits of the
southerland, standeth in the latitude of 62 30 N., north¬
wards of Newfoundland, and upon the same continent, for
anything that is yet known to the contrary. . . . The nar¬
rowest place of the straights from land to land, between
Jackman’s Sound and the Countesse of Warwick’s Sound,
which is reckoned scarcely thirty leagues within the straights
from Queene’s Cape, was judged nine leagues over at least.”
Gabriel’s Island is 10 leagues within the straits, and Prior’s
Sound 10 leagues farther. Beyond that is Thomas Wil¬
liams’ Island ; and N.W. from it, at the distance of 10
leagues, is Burcher’s Island, which is the farthest land at¬
tained by Frobisher. Trumpet Island is between Williams’
and Gabriel’s islands, Mount Warwick is on the S. side of
the straits, and Leicester Island and the Countess of War¬
wick’s Sound on the N.
Frobisher, on his first return to England, “was highly
commended of all men for his great and notable attempt,
but specially famous for the great hope he brought of the
passage to Cataya;” and the queen condescended to name
the islands on both sides of the straits Meta Incognita. A
piece of black stone, brought home by one of the company,
Arctic
Regions.
i The most remarkable event during the winter in Novaya Zemlya was the unexpected re-appearance of the sun on the25th ofjanuary
no? Hainan™ Q nf a0 49'. (For explanations and comments on this occurrence, we refer to the pages of Dr Beke, lib. cit.)
1597, indicating a refraction of 3° 49'. (For explanations   - , t r . hut hv
8 i0ng debated, and some charts placed them at the southern point of Greenlana , but by
2 The true position of Frobisher’s Straits was   , —    x- - , - , ., , . Afj.
the aid of Sir Ilumfrey Gilbert’s map, bearing date 1576, and of modern surveys they are doubtless correctly laid down in the Ad
miralty circumpolar chart of 1855. Hakluyt gives two narratives of each of Frobisher s three voyages which do not always coincide
in the dates and names of places. ’The astronomical observations appear to have been ascertained, or at least recorded chiefly by Chris-
F _ - _ a* . r X.1 A 3 ~ ^ 4-U a* a. ax a* axal ax «x a3 axVixsvf vxi 1 sxf + L r» 41 oof 1 r» f Vi O f V» 1 1*0 I J1 P11L0II cl H t
All KXAXa VA**V\aU U-XJ.V*. ill l* I »»Vat» yj A 1/iCXVaVaO. xa xvxawaxa—— -a ** •/»•! 1 2. * , x , a • j
topher Hall, master of the Gabriel in the first voyage, of the Ayde in the second, and chief pilot of the fleet in the third
George Best occasionally quotes the sayings of Frobisher, his chief, but seems to have copied Hall s latitudes. Neither Master Diomse
Settle nor Thomas Ellis notice the latitudes or longitudes. The latitudes were taken with the stage rather than the astrolabe, because
the degrees of the latter were too small to observe minutes.
POLAE REGIONS.
Arctic being submitted to one Agnello, who (by coaxing nature, as
Regions, he privately said to Michael Lok) obtained therefrom a
^ grain of gold; thereupon the gold-finers promised great
matters for more of the same, and a greater opinion was
kindled in the hearts of many to advance the voyage again.
On the second and third voyages, accordingly, discovery
was repressed, cargoes of ore being the sole object; fifteen
sail were engaged to bring home this worthless stuff in 1578 ;
and luckless Michael Lok again pledged his credit for the
outfit. On this third voyage, off the Queen’s Foreland, the
fleet encountered a great storm, in which the bark Dennis
foundered. A swift current from the north-east meanwhile
carried the fleet into Frobishers Mistaken Strait, now
known by the name of Hudson’s Straits. Part of the fleet
following the general, “ entered within the said doubtful
and supposed straights, having alwayes a faire continent
upon the starboorde, and a continuance still of an open sea
before them; and had it not been for the charge and care
he had of the fleete and fraughted ships, the general both
would and could have gone through to the South Sea, and
dissolved the long doubt of the passage which we seek to
find to the rich countrey of Cataya; . . . and where in
other places we were much troubled with yce, as in the
entrance of the same, so, after we had sayled fifty or sixty
leagues therein, we had no lets of yce.” After many days,
Frobisher turned through a great sound into Frobisher’s
Straits; and the Gabriel having been sent round, proved
the Queen’s Foreland to be an island.1 Best tells us nearly
as much of Meta Incognita, its natural productions and
inhabitants, as we know in the present day. “It is now
found,” he says in one passage, “ that Queene Elizabeth’s
Cape, being situated in latitude 61£°, which was before sup¬
posed to be part of the firme land of America, and also all
the rest of the south side of Frobisher’s Straites, are all
several islands and broken land, and likewise so will all the
north side of the said straites fall out to be; and some of
our companions being entered above sixty leagues within
the Mistaken Straites, in the third voyage mentioned,
thought certainly that they had descryed the firme land of
America towards the south, which I think will fall out to
be. These broken lands and islands being very many in
number, do seem to make there an archipelagus, which, as
they all differ in greatnesse, form, and fashion, one from
another, so are they in goodnesse, colour, and soyle much
unlike. They are all high lands, mountanous, and in most
parts covered with snow all the summer long.”2
On each of the three voyages, “ Frizeland,” as they con¬
tinued to call the Greenland coast, was seen; and on the
third voyage, on the 20th of June, after sailing for a time
along “ a very hie and cragged land, almost cleane covered
with snow, they landed on a place somewhat void of ice.
i here they saw certain tents made of skins, and boats
(kayacks), much like those of Meta Incognita; but along
with the usual Eskimo furniture there was found a box of
na,ils, whence it was conjectured that the natives had traffic
with other nations. Ellis, who mentions this fact, adds no
description of the nails, from which we might learn whether
they had been extracted from some ancient colonial build¬
ings, or from the timbers of some wreck. Frobisher was
the first who is known to have landed on Greenland after
167
the Scandinavian settlements had perished, and he took Arctic
possession of the country in the name of Queen Elizabeth Regions
calling it West England, and naming a high cliff “ Charin^
Crosse.” °
The search for the North-West Passage was again pro¬
moted in 1585-6 and 1857 by the merchants of London
who committed the charge of the enterprise to Master John
Davis. In his voyages, as in Frobisher’s, the coast of
Greenland was always either sighted or landed upon, though
it was generally named Friseland, the appellation of Green¬
land (Danice Grdnland) being at that epoch restricted to
the coasts opposed to Iceland, and lying in the vicinity of
Cape Farewell. A portion of the west coast was, as has
been mentioned, named West England by Frobisher; and
Davis called a part of the same coast, still further north, the
Land of Desolation. On one fiord, lying in Lat. 64. 15.,
which he termed Gilbert’s Sound, and where he had many
interviews with the Eskimos or Skraellings, the Moravian
missionary settlements of Godhaab and Nye Hernhut have
been established in modern times. Leaving this fiord,
Davis stood to the westward, and discovered land in 66. 4o!
N. Lat., altogether free from the “pester of ice, and an-
kered in a very faire rode, under a brave mount, the cliffes
whereof are orient as golde.” This conspicuous hill was
named Mount Raleigh, the anchorage Totnes Rode, and
the sound which compasses the mount, Exeter Sound; the
foreland towards the north was called Dier’s Cape, and the
southern one, which projected farther, Cape Walsingham.
Coasting the land southwards, Davis came to the Cape of
God’s Mercy ; and keeping close to the north shore because
of fogs, found, when clear weather came, that he had shot
into a very fair passage, in which he sailed sixty leagues,
when he ai rived at certain islands having an open passage
on both sides. These islands were named, on the third
voyage, in honour of the Earl of Cumberland; and Davis
then ascertained that the inlet was separated merely by a
chain of islands from Frobisher’s Straits, which was re¬
named by him Lumlie’s Inlet, and described as a great
passage twenty leagues broad. The southern headland of
Lumlie’s Inlet, named Warwick’s Foreland, stands near the
62d parallel of latitude. This headland is also the north
promontory of another very great inlet, whose southern
cape he terms “ Chidleis.” Warwick’s Foreland is evi¬
dently the north or back of Resolution Island of the mo¬
dern charts, and Cape Chidley the south portal of the
Mistaken Strait of Frobisher, or Hudson’s Strait. Cum¬
berland Strait has of late years been explored by the
whale fishers, and chiefly by Captain Penny, who has named
an arm of it running to the north Hogarth Sound. There
he has wintered for several years, and carried on a very
successful fishery.
In the earlier part of his third voyage, Davis, keeping
near the Greenland coast, as the whalers are at the present
time accustomed to do, in the spring reached Lat. 72.14. N.,
and on the 30th of June had the sun five degrees above
the horizon at midnight. The land lying to die east he
named the London Coast, and a passage south of Uper-
navik, called by him Sanderson’s Hope, is now identified
with the Kosarsuik of the natives.3
Of the northern passage now known as Davis’ Straits,
-rsz b5r mistake' b,“ •fi™is f“""d
'iriFniitivirH 7^“"^ Lok’ “ns u“Me 40
evident and in ’a f 11 +1 ^ •°+ avis/°yages, the necessity of increasing the daily allowance of food in high latitudes is made
dislike of th ? C f.entally the exlstence of the Newfoundland cod fishery is indicated in the following passage The men fell in
Stir. r I™*' 0",Which "“y h*fl f°" ‘ Wve wi„° ™rt°
of Davis’ fleet a’,a!n e flesh days a gill of pease more; so we restrained them from their butter and cheese” Part
lunLl^/h: ^ BUktt”? “d ” r WM' «h. rest we« on discovery in north” .n'dhTnienL:
deserves to he nimtor) «wvo-i filing, as he judged, for whales, of which there were many in that sea. Another nassasre
hut I coild not lWhl!f was. rowing to the shore (of Greenland), our men saw woods on the rocks ^
rn em. ns illusive vision of woods was evidently an instance of the strange effects of refraction so common
Igg POLAR REGIONS.
Arctic Davis himself says,—“ I departed from the London Coast Hudson through the Str:“'^ h Cam’s Swanks Nest, Region!.
Regions. (of Greenland), thinking to discover the north parts of Southampton
' America; and after I had sailed towards the west forty he he called it
leagues, I fel upon a great hanke of yce (the middle ice of because it atrestedh s progress m^t ^ Ne|s(jn,s
the whalers): the wind being north, blew much, and I was ]0 an| there wintered. Theestuaryof
constrained to coast the same towards the south, not seeing iv ‘ , Button’s Bay and the adjacent country
any shore west from me, neither was there any yce towards the nver he S “/n’c“d the usial miseries „f
the north,but a great sea-free, large, very salt and blew, New Wales. His crew expe ^ a„tities „f birds
Sem^r^ Tfh™7inPrrumrK
northwards Jong the coast of the conunenh a strong^
death, the voyage was omitted, and never sithens attempted.
   7 J -r\ .1-rr A.:^r»rl non a rrlnhn
Llcdlll, l/IIC/ »» c* 7 t n • 111
Mr Sanderson, however, Davis’ steady friend, had a globe
constructed, exhibiting all that navigator’s discoveries, and
which is said to be still preserved in the Middle Temple.
Henry Hudson is the next north-west discoverer of note.
His first voyage, in 1607, was a bold attempt to cross the
Pole. After passing the latitude of Iceland, he held to the
west, with the intention of rounding the north end of
Greenland, but on the 14th of June he descried a high and
bold headland, with a castellated hill behind it, which he
named the Mount of God’s Mercy ; and afterwards he came,
in Lat. 73. 30., to a cape, which he named Hold with Hope
—. .* . -i    ** 4. ««A Va /"v T V O f ^ O TCI i n f" \/ 1 w
northwards along the coast of the continent, a strong
was felt off the mouth of the Missimppi or Churchill river,
and being considered by the pilot to be a favourable sign,
the locality was designated, after him, Hubbart his Hope.
On the 29th of July the voyage out ended in Lat. bo.,
somewhere near Whale Point, and the land south of it was
named Ut Ultra. On the homeward voyage Cape South¬
ampton was rounded, and an island to the eastward of it
discovered, and named Mansel, since erroneously written
Mansfield on our charts. . ~
In 1612 further acquaintance was made with the coast or
Greenland by James Hall and William Baffin, who went
thither to look for a gold mine reported to have been
, . -w-v _1 LI  _. A rim it'd I IV1 11TA O _
in Lat. 73. 30., to a cape, which he named Hold with Hope, unu... - ^ Danes° probably under Admiral Munck.
Steering from thence north-eastward, he had a am view wag gouo.jlt for at Cunningham’s river or fiord, in the
of Spitzbergen enveloped in fog ; and pushing onwards . f Holsteinburg ; but no metal was found, though
the ice and weather permitted he reached the parallel f re^of former digging*. Baffin, asso-
81£., and saw continuous land stretching to 82. N. T . i h B lot afterwards passed through Hudsons
land must have been a north-easterly exte,;S10" °‘ j Strait; and Mr Rundall has published an unmutilated ver-
land, for Spitzbergen does not go beyond 80*. N and Miait ano^ h his chart which fur.
nish0coiicIusive^evidence°of hisjnowledge of the.art of
Kane’s Grinnell Land. His further progress being barred
by ice, he came home, and reported most favourably of the
Greenland seal fishery. , .
Another voyage of Hudson had for its result the disco¬
very of Hudson’s River, at whose mouth the most import¬
ant city of the New World has since arisen ; but his fame
rests chiefly on his last voyage, on which he perished mit,ei-
, , i i   VC*, vwqtv TVpvirms to this most
ably through a mutiny of his men. Previous to this most
lamentable end of his honourable career, he had sailed
■navigation, but add nothing to Sir Thomas Button’s pre¬
vious discoveries. One passage, however, of the journal
deserves quotation “ Doubtless there is a passadge, but
within this strayte, whom is called Hudson’s Straytes, I am
doubtfull, supposing the contrarye. But whether or no 1
will not affirm, , ... and my judgment is, if any passadge
within Resolution Island, it is but some creek or inlett,
but the mayne will be up Fretum Davis.
In accordance with the above opinion, the same navi-
lamentable end of his honourable caieer, e .ax sai t p.ators sailed in 1816 up Davis Strait, and coasted the whole
through Hudson’s Straits into the bay which also bears h.s  ;L i„ succession Woman’s Mauds,
name, its northern and southern portals ctllle^rn; J 72. ^ Horn !|W, in 73.45.; Digges Cape, in
spectively Wolstenholme and Sir D 1 . t m 76. 3.3.; and 12 leagues onward, Wolstenholme SoundMv-
ing to the south, past the latter, he coaste t . inland in its entrance. They were next embayed
shore of Labrador; but at this point his own narrative ng an of \Vhaie Sound, in Lat.
closes, and for the rest we have only the doubtful story o g passing Hakluyts Island, saw another
Abbacuck Prickett, one of the mutineers, though, he avers, 77. 30., and atter passing nani </ ^  
an unwilling one. He reports that a convenient winter
harbour was not found till the 1st of November; that the
crew suffered greatly from their ignorance of the climate,
and became discontented, disobedient, wasteful, and selfish.
On the 21st of June, when they had left their harbour, the
mutiny came to a head; and Hudson was seized, bound,
and driven, along with his son, into the shallop. The car¬
penter being overpowered, after a gallant defence, insiste
on sharing the fate of his master; and six sick and infirm
seamen were also forced into the boat. None o t ic par y
thus inhumanly abandoned were ever heard of again ; but
retribution speedily fell on the leading mutineers, who were
killed at Cape Digges in an assault of the Eskimos. After
great sufferings from famine, the survivors reached Eng¬
land, Bylot, who became a celebrated pilot, being of the
Sir Thomas Button, accompanied by Bylot and Prickett,
| 4 * KJ\J» J CHIU dil LV_v 1 ' 1 *
great sound running to the north of 78 , and observed with
surprise that their compass varied five degrees to the
westward. This sound was named after Sir Thomas
Smith. Descending along the western side of Baffin s
Bay, Carey’s Islands were next seen ; and, on the 10th ol
July, the boat being sent on shore at the entrance of a
fair sound, to which they gave the name of Alderman
Jones, brought back a report of plenty of sea-morses, but
no inhabitants. On the 12th, Sir James Lancaster s Sound
was discovered, but a ledge of ice then lying across it pre¬
vented Baffin from crossing the true threshold of the N °rth-
West Passage. In his letter to his patron Sir John Wol-
stenholm, this able and adventurous navigator explains why
these various sounds were not explored. Off Wolsten¬
holme the ship drove with two anchors ahead, and was
obliged to haul off shore with a low sail. At Whale Sound
an anchor and cable were lost; and the wind continued to
propel,^ ^ stron^ When he ^ ’0lf Sir Th01mS Smlth’S a"d
in an icy sea, and well iltatrated by Dr torestyjM^ was ^'^“’irfnS™ a'sollition to the story
of Frobisher’s beet, and the f.bl, of the S—« <>/*—
1 Rundall, Hakl. Soc.
POLAR REGIONS.
Arctic Whale sounds that the ship could not remain at anchor,
Regions, and the crew of seventeen were wholly employed in work-
v—ing her during the rough weather. Baffin, however, came
to the conclusion that he had been coasting a great bay,
and that there was no passage, nor hope of a passage, that
way,—an opinion now known to be erroneous, but singu¬
larly coincident with that of a late navigator who retraced
Baffin’s course. The chart of Baffin’s voyage was subse¬
quently published by North-West Foxe. Nothing further
was effected in this direction till 1819, notwithstanding that
the Davis Strait whale-fishery was actively carried on dur¬
ing the two intervening centuries ; but no charts were pub¬
lished by the whalers, either through incapacity, or from
the narrowness of commercial jealousy, and geographers
continued to give fanciful delineations of James’s Island,
and of the position of Baffin’s Bay, till a recent date. The
strongly-expressed opinion of Baffin had probably much
weight in turning the search for a passage from this quarter
to the northern outlets of Hudson’s Bay; and thither, ac¬
cordingly, various expeditions were directed.
Jens The Danes had not seen unmoved the efforts of Eng-
Munck. ianc|; and Jens Munck, who had previously made some
voyages to Greenland, entered Hudson’s Bay in 1619, and
wintered in Churchill River, to the estuary of which he
gave the name of Munckenes Winterhaven. The neigh¬
bouring coasts were called New Denmark; and in like man¬
ner he bestowed the name of his sovereign Christian IV.
on Hudson’s Strait and Bay, but discovered no new lands.
All his people, except two, perished of famine, or its dire
attendant, scurvy ; but with these two he managed to navi¬
gate the smaller of his vessels back to Europe.
English The voyages of Captain Luke Foxe, or, as he delighted to
north-west ca|j himself, “North-West Foxe,” and of Captain James,
voyages, undertaken independently in 1631-32, aided the search for a
North-West Passage by negativing a westerly outlet from
Hudson’s Bay, below the highest latitudes to which they
attained. Foxe in his first year went to the westward of
Southampton Island, and named a small island, lying in
Lat. 64. 10., Sir Thomas Roe's Welcome, a designation
which was afterwards transferred to the channel in which
the island is situated. In the following season he tried the
other side of Southampton Island, and coasting the eastern
shore of Bylot and Baffin’s North Bay, attained the latitude
of 66. 47., which became Foxe's Farthest. The various
headlands of a large island lying across the western ex¬
tremities of Frobisher’s and Cumberland straits were named
by him King Charles his Promontory, Cape Maria, Lord
Weston’s Portland, and Point Peregrine ; the latter being
the northern extremity of the island. By a deep arm of
Cumberland Sound, running to the westward, and bearing
the native name of Tenudiakheek, there is an Eskimo route
from Davis Strait to the coast, near Point Peregrine, a large
sheet of water named Lake Kennedy, lying midway.
For almost a century after these voyages, or from the
time of Charles I. till after the accession of George I.,
civil wars and revolutions at home, and the wars of Marl¬
borough abroad, engaged the attention of the nation, to
the exclusion of maritime discovery, the only effort in
that cause being an abortive attempt by Captain James
Wood in 3 676, undertaken through the influence of the
Royal Society, to make the North-East Passage by way of
Novaya Zemlya.
In 1719 the Hudson’s Bay Company fitted out an expe¬
dition of discovery, consisting of a frigate commanded by
Captain George Barlow, and a sloop by Captain David
Vaughan, but placing over both Mr James Knight, ex¬
governor of several of their factories, who had attained the
mature age of eighty years. This expedition sailed north¬
wards between Southampton Island and the main ; but not
169
returning when expected, was at first supposed to have Arctic
reached the Pacific. In 1722, however, one Scroggs be- Regions-
ing sent to look for them, found himself to be incompetent
to contend with the shoals and rocks of that coast, and re¬
turned after having picked up some fragments of ships’
fittings on Marble Island, which is identical with the
White Island and Brook Cobham of Foxe. In 1747 other
remains were found on the same island by Captain Smith ;
but it was not until 1748 that a Hudson’s Bay sealing-
smack discovered the wrecked ships lying under water in a
cove of the island, and ascertained the fate of the crews
from the Eskimos. That people reported that when the
English entered the cove, with their vessels much damaged,
their numbers were about seventy. At the close of the
winter only twenty remained alive, though they received
occasional supplies of provision from the natives, in ex¬
change for articles of iron, which the blacksmith was con¬
stantly employed in forging. A second winter made a still
greater breach in the numbers of the unfortunate outcasts,
and when the Eskimos next visited them in summer, only
two remained alive. These sad survivors went frequently
to the top of a rock, and gazed earnestly to the S.E., as if
they expected relief from thence, but seeing no friendly
sail, they sat down and wept. At length one of these
melancholy men died, and the other, exhausted in the at¬
tempt to bury him, fell into the unfinished grave, and
therein breathed his last.1
In 1741-42 Captain Middleton, a shipmaster of the
Hudson’s Bay Company, was engaged by the Admiralty to
attempt further discoveries up the Welcome, as the passage
to the west of Southampton Island had come to be called.
After wintering in Churchill River, he proceeded north¬
wards, and discovered Wager Inlet and Repulse Bay, the
south headland of which he named Cape Hope. Further
advance being impeded by ice, he walked over high land
to the north-eastern extremity of the bay, and from thence
beheld a frozen strait running round the north end of
Southampton Island towards Cape Comfort and the North
Bay of Baffin. Sir Edward Parry, eighty years afterwards,
proved the perfect correctness of Middleton’s report; but
Mr Dobbs, who had stood out as the patron of the voyage,
could not brook his disappointment in the result, and be¬
came a bitter controverter of Middleton’s honest and sea¬
man-like statements. The voyages of the Dobbs and Cali¬
fornia in 1746-47, in the same direction, fell short of Repulse
Bay, but, as far as they went, the reports made of them
agreed with those of Middleton. Dobbs, who took an active
part in sending the ships out, seems to have infused a spirit
of contention among the officers, and, as a result, we have a
double set of names imposed on the headlands, and two
polemical narratives. James Douglas Bay is synonymous
with Rankin’s Inlet, Chesterfield Inlet with Bowden’s In¬
let, and so on. (The correct positions of the inlets and
promontories of this coast have been very recently ascer¬
tained by Dr Rae, chief factor of the Hudson’s Bay Com¬
pany. This enterprising and skilful traveller in 1854
ascended the River Quoich, from the north side of
Chesterfield Inlet, for two degrees of latitude, until he
crossed the parallel of Wager Inlet, passing within about
20 miles of its head waters, and at about 80 geographical
miles direct from the nearest bend of the Great Fish River.)
After slumbering for a quarter of a century, the spirit of
North-West discovery was again awakened by the Hudson’s
Bay Company, who sent Samuel Hearne to the mouth of
the Coppermine River. This fur-trader had few of the
qualifications of a discoverer, except a knowledge of the
customs of the country and some acquaintance with the
native languages. His astronomical observations were al¬
together erroueous, and he placed the junction of the river
VOL. XVIII.
1 Hearite.
Y
POLAR REGIONS.
170
Arctic with the sea in Lat. 71. 54. N., and Long. 120. 30. W.;
Regions, while the true numbers, as afterwards ascertained by Sir
v—^ J0hn Franklin, were 67. 48., and 115. 47. The latter saw
the sun set there on the 17th and 18th of July, while
Hearne reports it to have been “ some height,” or, in his
manuscript, “ a handspike” high at midnight on the same
day of the year. Hearne’s narrative of his journey is in¬
teresting ; but that he was able to reach the Coppermine
at all was owing to the energy of his guide and leader Ma-
tonabbee, an intelligent Northern Indian chief.1
The Admiralty expedition in 1773 to Spitzbergen, under
Captain Phipps, afterwards Lord Mulgrave, effected nothing
in the way of discovery ; but the press at this period teemed
with publications on the probability of a North-West Pas¬
sage ; and this expedition was a feeble compliance with
the public desire for an effort towards its accomplishment.
Russian We turn to the progress of Arctic discovery on the
voyages. coasts 0f the Russian empire ; and it may simplify our state¬
ments if we premise that we know now the Sievero Vos-
tochnoi Noss, or the “ North-East Cape,” to be the most
northerly point of Asia. It lies on the 100th meridian, and
reaches the 78th parallel of latitude, extending higher than
Cape Taimura, is much to the N. of any part of the Ame¬
rican continent, and has never been doubled in a sailing-
vessel or boat. It is the Cape Cheliuskin of Middendorf
and Peterman.
No ship coming from Europe has passed to the eastward
beyond the Sea of Kara or Korskoie, and the whole N.
coast of Asia has been discovered exclusively by Russian
subjects, mostly Cossacks, employed to compel the Sambe-
ids, Ostiaks, Tunguses, Jakuts, and Tchuktches, to ac¬
knowledge the imperial authority, and pay the customary
yassak or tribute. In 1598 Fedor Dyakow demanded yas-
sak from the Sambeids of the Jenisei; and in 1610 some
fur-hunters descended to the mouth of that river, and
traced the coast-line eastward to the Passida. The Cos¬
sacks in 1630 discovered the Lena; and in the course of a
few years thereafter, that river, the Olekma, and the Lana,
were pursued down to their efflux in the Arctic Sea, the
Tunguses of the district being then for the first time sub¬
jected to yassak. At the same epoch Ivanoio discovered
the Indigirka, and carried the survey of the coast onwards
to the Alaseia, 153 degrees E. of Greenwich. In 1644
the Cossack Michael Staduchin formed a winter establish¬
ment on the delta of the Kolyma, which has since expanded
into the town of Nijnei Kolymsk ; and this adventurer was
the first who got intelligence of the Tchuktches who in¬
habit the north-eastern extremity of Siberia. The same
Staduchin afterwards navigated the Polar Sea eastward to
Cape Chelagskoi or Erri Noss; and in 1648 Semen
Deshnew, also a Cossack, sailing from the Kolyma, rounded
the north-eastern corner of Asia, and passing the strait
now bearing the name of Bering, entered the Gulf of
Anadyr, where he suffered shipwreck. The Svdtoi Noss,
or Sacred Promontory of this voyager, is the same with
Cape Chelagskoi; but the true Swatoi Noss, so named by
the Russians because of its dangerousness, projects between
the Indigirka and the Lena, and was first doubled by
the Cossack Timolei Buldakow in 1650.
In 1728 Captain Bering2 and Lieutenant Tchirikow
sailed from Nishnei Kamtschatka Ostrog, on the E. coast
of the peninsula of Kamtschatka, and coasted the W.
side of the straits which divide Asia from America, leav¬
ing St Lawrence Island on the right, seen dimly through a
fog. Other portions of the northern coasts have been traced
by traders or officials in the employ of the Russian govern¬
ment, among whose names those of Demetrius Laptew and Arctic
of the merchant Liakhow stand out prominently. The Regions,
efforts of the former were chiefly directed to doubling the v--
Sieveroi Vostochnoi Nos, but he could not bring his vessel
within two degrees of latitude of its extremity, and there¬
fore he crossed the promontory on sledges, by which he
reached Lake Taimura and the bay of that name. Liak¬
how also partially explored the islands that lie to the N.
of the Swatoi Noss, which, by decree of the Empress Ca¬
therine, were named after him. He likewise coasted the
continent to the eastward of the Kolyma. Much of the
survey here briefly alluded to was very imperfectly mapped,
and as the narratives were scanty and vague, it was not
until Baron Wrangel and Lieutenant Anjou had accu¬
rately surveyed the coasts between the 125th meridian and
Bering’s Straits, that it was possible to understand what
their predecessors had effected.
Until the eighteenth century, expeditions of discovery Arctic
from England had been equipped chiefly by private adven- merica,
turers, with ulterior mercantile views, and even when the
sovereign countenanced the enterprise, it was as patron
merely, or as a small shareholder. Captain Middleton’s
voyage to Repulse Bay began a new order of things, in
which naval expeditions, fitted at the national expense,
sailed under the direct authority of the Admiralty. Later
in the century voyages round the world were made in
king’s ships by Byron (1764), Wallis (1768), Carteret
(1769), and on a more systematic plan, and with more
important results, by Cook in 1768-71. Ihe third voy¬
age of this great navigator was undertaken in 1776, mainly
for the purpose of ascertaining the existence or non-ex¬
istence of a passage between the Northern Pacific and
Atlantic oceans. His careful examination of the Ame¬
rican coasts from the 58th parallel of latitude northwards,
proved that there was no passage lower than ley Cape,
which was the limit of his voyage within Bering’s Straits.
He was, it is true, prevented by a gale of wind from ex¬
amining the place of the pretended Strait of Da Fonte,
supposed to lie between the 50th and 55th parallels ; but
he considered the reports of its existence to be “ impro¬
bable stories that carry their own refutation with them ; ”
a judgment which was confirmed by Vancouver’s minute
and accurate survey, made between the years 1790 and
1795. The Russian surveyor Gwosden had seen the
American side of Bering’s Straits in 1730; and Bering,
Tchirikow, and De Lisle had rounded the peninsula of
Alaska, and touched on the coast near Mount St Elias,
and also in Lat. 55. 30. in 1741 ; but Cook was the
first who made a continuous and effective survey of those
coasts. The failure of Phipps in the Spitzbergen seas,
of Cook by way of Bering’s Straits, and of vessels sent on
two successive seasons to Davis Strait to co-operate with
him, satisfied the Admiralty of the day ; and for forty
years the North-West Passage was unheard of in the go¬
vernment bureaus.
In 1789 Sir Alexander Mackenzie, a member of the
North-West Fur Company, trading from Canada, disco¬
vered the great river which continues to bear his name, and
traced it to its termination in the Arctic Sea ; and in 1790-3
the Hudson’s Bay Company sent out Mr Duncan to seek
a passage by following in the track of Middleton; but his
crew mutinying when he had got as far as Chesterfield
Inlet, compelled him to return. Lieutenant Kotzebue of
the Russian imperial navy made a voyage, at the cost of
Count Romanzoff, in 1815-17, from the Baltic to Bering’s
Straits, in which he discovered Kotzebue Sound, but added
1 Matonabbee was much attached to the English, and when La Peyrouse attacked Fort Churchill, he offered to cut off the assailing
party with his Indians. Hearne, who had charge of the fort, preferred surrendering without striking a blow, which Matonabbee took
so much to heart that he committed suicide.
2 Bering was a Dane, and his family retain the orthography we have adopted. (Baer Nachricht, &c.)
POLAR REGIONS.
Arctic nothing else to the surveys of Cook on that coast. This
Regions. Russian enterprise, however, together with the publications
of Dr Scoresby and the personal influence of Sir John
Barrow, secretary of the Admiralty, incited the British go¬
vernment to undertake a new series of enterprises, which
have resulted in the discovery of the entire northern
coasts of the American continent and of the islands be¬
yond it up to a high northern latitude. The annexed list1
of the ships and overland expeditions connected with this
movement is long enough to show the impossibility of
describing the doings of each within the compass of a few
pages; and we shall therefore confine ourselves to the
simplest sketch of the actual geographical discoveries.
The Trent and Dorothea, sent out in 1818 to attempt
the Polar route, failed, owing to damage received by the
former in the ice; but the Isabella and Alexander, which
took the route of Davis Strait, were more fortunate, in
being able to return without injury to England before the
close of the season. By this voyage Baffin’s survey of the
bay which bears his name was confirmed, and the various
sounds that he had described were found in the exact po¬
sitions he had assigned to them. Lancaster Sound was
closed to Baffin by a barrier of ice, and this was the only
inlet attempted by Captain John Ross, who sailed with¬
out impediment to Long. 81. 30. W., in Lat. 74. 3. N., a
short way within its headlands, Capes Charlotte and Fan-
shawe. But his progress on so promising a course was sud¬
denly arrested by the vision of a mountain barrier closing the
bottom of the sound, seen by few or none in the ship except
himself. Without ascertaining by a nearer approach whether
the Croker Mountains were firm land or merely one of the
atmospheric deceptions so common in those seas, he forth¬
with returned to England, tracing on his way the W.
coast of Davis Strait; but too cursorily, and at too great
a distance, to negative the existence of passages through
that line of coast.
Doubts of the reality of the Croker Mountains being
entertained by most of Captain Ross’s associates, and the
171
report of that officer not being thought conclusive by the Arctic
Admiralty, the Hecla and Griper were despatched, in 1819, Regions-
to clear up the matter, which they did triumphantly by
sailing westwards to Melville Island. After being inclosed
in the ice of Winter Harbour for ten months, and mak¬
ing new but fruitless attempts to penetrate the icy barrier
to the westward, the expedition returned to England.
The success of this voyage, so far exceeding every pre¬
vious attempt, the preservation of the health of the crews
during the long Arctic winter, and the perfection of the
commanding officer’s general arrangements, placed Lieu¬
tenant Parry at once in the van of Arctic discoverers ;
and he was speedily raised, amid the gratulations of his
country, through the grade of commander to that of cap¬
tain. Reckoning in round numbers the distance between
Baffin’s Bay and Bering’s Straits at 110° of longitude,—
viz., from 60° W. to 170° W.,-—Captain Sir William Edward
Parry explored his way up to Cape Dundas through 54 of
these degrees, or nearly a half of the whole distance ; and
he saw on the verge of his western horizon, Banks’ Land,
2^° farther off. He also laid down the chain of islands
on the N, side of his track, with the openings between
them, including the entrance of Wellington Channel, and
on the S. side Regent’s Inlet, North Somerset, and Cape
Walker. By his subsequent voyages, enumerated in the
table, he effected the surveys of the upper end of Regent’s
Inlet, and of the eastern side of Melville Peninsula from
Repulse Bay to the Fury and Hecla Strait, leading into
the above-named inlet; confirming completely the accu¬
racy of Middleton’s account of Repulse Bay. Finally,
having found no navigable passage to the westward in those
latitudes, he attempted, in 1827, to make the Polar voyage
in boats, and actually reached Lat, 82. 40. 30. N., being
the highest authentic position attained by any voyager.
At the same time that Sir Edward Parry was seeking a
passage through the Arctic archipelago, Lieutenant (after¬
wards Captain and Rear-Admiral Sir) John Franklin was
prosecuting the survey of the northern shores of the con-
1 LIST OF MODERN NORTH-WEST VOYAGES.
1818
f Trent  Comm. David Buchan.
\ Dorothea Lieut. John Franklin.
1818 ( Jsal)e^a ,...Capt. John Ross.
1 Alexander Lieut. William Edward Parry.
Igl9_ 'i
189-7 I 9ver^ai1^ (canoes) Lieut. John Franklin.
1819- ( Hecla Lieut. W. E. Parry.
1820 \ Griper Lieut. Mathew Liddon,
1821- j Fury Comm. W. E. Parry.
1823 \ Hecla    „ G. F. Lyon.
1824 ...Griper Capt. G. F. Lyon.
1824- f Hecla  Capt. W. E. Parry.
1825 j Fury  „ H. P. Hoppner.
Z* } ^ i K„b„“so„.
1825- 8..Blossom Capt. W. F. Beechey.
1827 ...Hecla   Capt. W. E. Parry.
1829 ...Victory    ( ?aPfc; JTohn R°s,s- , „
J { Lieut. James Clark Ross.
1833— 1
1835 I Overland and Boats...Capt. George Back.
1836 ...Terror  Capt. George Back.
^1839 } Overland and Boats
1845- f Erebus Capt. Sir John Franklin.
1850 \ Terror  „ Crozier.
^1847 } •^orRl Ro^e Ougger)...Dr John Rae, Hud. Bay Co.
| Plover   Capt. Thomas Moore.
^1859 ) Herald. Capt. Henry Kellett.
1848_ ^
1850 I HaneyDawson(yacht) Shedden, Esq.
J P. W. Dease and Thomas Simpson,
\ Esqs., Hudson’s Bay Company.
^1850 } Overland (boats)
^1851 } H°rth Star 
1849 ...Advice (whaler)
1850- j Enterprise..., 
1855 \ Investigator 
1850- j Resolute 
 \ Assistance 
1850- j Lady Franklin...
1i85i}Felix (yacht)--
.Sir John Richardson.
Master Saunders, R.N.
,Dr R. A. Goodsir.
.Comm. Robert M‘Clure.
.Capt. Richard Collinson,
.Capt. Horatio Austen.
.Commander Ommaney.
Master Wm. Penny.
. „ Alex. Stewart.
.Capt. Sir John Ross.
1851 ...Daedalus.
^ISS9 } R“nce Albert.
1852 ...Amphitrite....
1852 ...Isabel 
1852- j Plover 
1855 \ Boat 
1853 ...Phoenix 
1852-
1854
Assistance.
Resolute....
Pioneer 
Intrepid ...
.North Star.
1853 ...
1853 ..
1853 ...
1853 ..
1854 ...
1857- \
1859 J
.Breadalbane
.Diligence ...
.Rattlesnake
.Boats 
.Phoenix 
Fox 
.Capt. G. G. Wellesly.
William Kennedy, master.
Lieut. Bellot.
.Capt. Chas. Frederick.
.Comm, E. A. Inglefield.
.Comm. Rochfort Maguire.
Dr M‘Cormick.
.Capt. E. A. Inglefield.
,Capt. Sir Edward Belcher, C.B.
.Capt. H. Kellett, C.B.
.Lieut. Sherard Osborn.
.Comm. M‘Clintock.
Comm. W. J. S. Pullen.
.Lieut. Fawckner.
.Lieut. Elliott.
,Comm. H. Trollope.
.Dr John Rae, Hudson’s Bay Co.
.Capt. E. A. Inglefield.
Capt. M'Clintock
(not yet returned).
172
A retie
Regions.
POLAR REGIONS.
tinent. In 1819-1822, after travelling overland from Hud¬
son’s Bay to the Coppermine River ot Hearne, he de¬
scended to the mouth of that stream, and traced the coast
of Cape Turnagain through nearly 7° of longitude; but
owing to the deep indentations of the coast-line, having
actually performed a sea voyage in canoes of 550 geogra¬
phic miles in the seven weeks during which the navigation
was open. In 1825—7 Franklin descended the Mackenzie,
and traced the coast westward to Return Reef, 158. 52.
W. Long., or about 22^° from the principal mouth of
the Mackenzie. In connection with this expedition, Cap¬
tain Beechey, in the Blossom, had gone through Bering’s
Straits, and by means of his boats, had explored the Ameri¬
can coast to Point Barrow, 120 miles beyond Cook’s Icy Cape,
and only 160 miles distant from Franklin’s Return Reef.
While Franklin was employed to the westward of the
Mackenzie, Dr John Richardson was tracing the coast be¬
tween that river and the Coppermine, comprising, to Cape
Krusenstern, his most easterly point, 21 degrees of longi¬
tude in a direct line, having seen in his passage through
Dolphin and Union Strait a considerable portion of Wollas¬
ton Land. This officer also circumnavigated Great Bear
Lake, and ascertained the geographical positions of its head¬
lands, being aided in the sea voyage and in part of the lake
survey by Lieutenant Kendall. In Franklin’s two voyages,
therefore, including the operations of the detachment under
Dr Richardson, the Arctic coast was surveyed to the extent
of 50 degrees of longitude, making, with the portion ex¬
amined by Beechey, more than half the distance from
Bering’s Straits to Baffin’s Bay, and considerably over¬
lapping Parry’s tract, but in a lower latitude ; his sur¬
veys, moreover, included a very long inland navigation,
comprising Winipeg, Athabasca, Great Slave and Great
Bear lakes, with the Mackenzie and Coppermine rivers.
A passage lying N. and S., connecting the tracks of Parry
and Franklin, would have solved the North-West problem; as
would also an easterly continuation of Franklin’s discoveries.
In the years 1829-33, funds having been provided by
the munificence of Sir Felix Booth, Bart., Captain Sir John
Ross, accompanied by his nephew, Lieutenant James Clark
Ross, passing through Lancaster Sound, surveyed the west
side of Regent’s Inlet, Lieutenant Ross carrying on the sur¬
vey on foot southwards to Lord Mayor’s Bay, and west¬
wards to the western side of Boothia, the magnetic pole,
and Cape Nikolai; also rounding Maty Island, and tracing
the northern coast of King William’s Island. This voyage
was remarkable for the number of winters spent in a high
latitude; and fears being at length raised for the safety of
the party, an expedition was organized for their rescue, com¬
manded by Captain (now Rear-Admiral Sir) George Back,
funds being raised by public subscription. During the
prosecution of his humane enterprise this officer surveyed
the east end of Great Slave Lake, previously unknown, and
the Great Fish River, to its estuary, bounded by Cape Bri¬
tannia and Point Richardson, but still leaving a small space
incomplete between his northern limits and the southern
ones of Lieutenant Ross. Having been made acquainted,
on the eve of his summer voyage, with Sir John Ross’s
safe return, Captain Back’s further extension of the voyage
was no longer desirable except for geographical purposes.
To complete the intervals left between these surveys of
the northern coasts of the continent, the Hudson’s Bay Com¬
pany employed in 1836-39 one of their chief factors, P.
W. Dease, and Mr Thomas Simpson, a junior officer of
great activity and enterprise. Proceeding first from the
Mackenzie, they succeeded in reaching Point Barrow, thus
finishing the discovery of the coast-line on that side, and
then, after passing two winters at the north end of Great
Bear Lake, they descended the Coppermine, and sailing
eastward far beyond Franklin’s Point Turnagain, crossed the
estuary of Back’s Great Fish River, and traced the coast
some way farther to the eastward ; but owing to the rapid Arctic
approach of winter, and strong contrary winds, they were Regions,
under the necessity of turning back without having actu-
ally reached Captain Ross’s discoveries in the peninsula of
Boothia. On the homeward voyage to the Coppermine,
Simpson, on whom the geographical survey devolved, laid
down most of the south coast of Victoria Land. A small
part of this extensive island had been seen by Franklin s
party from the lofty summit of Cape Barrow, but it was
somehow omitted from his map; and Simpson duly exer¬
cised the right of a discoverer by naming it, though, as it
is now known to be continuous with Wollaston Land, this
appellation has the priority.
In 1845-7 Dr John Rae, in the employment of the
Hudson’s Bay Company, by a most hazardous enterprise
considering the means at his command, and after wintering
in Repulse Bay, where for ten months the lives of his party
were dependent on his personal skill in the chase, surveyed
the bottom of Regent’s Inlet up to Fury and Hecla Strait
of Parry, on the east, and on the west to James Ross’s Lord
Mayor’s Bay, thereby ascertaining that an isthmus 4 de¬
grees of longitude wide interposed between the bottom of
Regent’s Inlet, or the Gulf of Boothia, as it was re-named by
Ross, and the eastern part of the sea explored by Simpson.
At the beginning of this period,—that is, in 1845,—the
Admiralty, after having for a time intermitted the prosecu¬
tion of a North-West Passage, commissioned the Erebus and
Terror to renew the attempt under the command of Capt.
Sir John Franklin, who had recently returned from Tas¬
mania, of which colony he had been lieutenant-governor
for five years. The two ships were made as strong as the
skill of the shipwrights, perfected by previous experience,
could effect, and were crammed full of stores and provisions,
not, however, amounting in all to three years’ consumption,
at full allowance. This expedition was seen in Davis
Strait, in the same year, proceeding prosperously; but
three years having elapsed without further intelligence,
active measures were taken by the Admiralty in 1848 for
tracing and relieving it.
The Herald and Plover were despatched, towards the close Searching
of the year just mentioned, to Bering’s Straits, with orders expedi¬
te remain there, and afford aid to the expedition, should ittions*
have succeeded in accomplishing the passage. In 1849
Captain Kellett, in the Plover, discovered a group of high
islands in Lat. 71. 20. N., near the meridian of the Asiatic
Cape North ; also the loom of distant mountains, probably
part of the chain which Baron Wrangel mentions as visible
at times from Jakan.
Sir John Richardson, accompanied by Dr Rae, left Eng¬
land early in 1848, and having landed at New York, pro¬
ceeded without delay to the head waters of the Mackenzie,
where, having joined their boats that had been sent out to
Hudson’s Bay in the previous summer, they descended the
river just named, and minutely examined the coast east¬
ward to the Coppermine, which they ascended and fixed
their winter quarters at the north end of Great Bear Lake.
Lieutenant Pullen, despatched in the succeeding year
(1849) from the ships in Bering’s Straits, passed in boats
along the coast from Point Barrow to the Mackenzie, but
neither he nor Sir John Richardson found any vestiges
of Franklin’s ships, nor did they receive any intelligence
of them from the Eskimos. The search was at the
same time proceeding by way of Lancaster Sound under
the direction of Captain Sir James Clark Ross. This officer
wintered with his ships at Leopold Harbour, on the ex¬
tremity of North Somerset, having previously examined
various points on both sides of Barrow’s Strait. In the
spring he sent exploring parties in several directions ; and
himself headed a sledge expedition along the west side of
North Somerset, down to Lat. 72. 38., within a short
distance of Bellot Strait, which is said to separate North
POLAR REGIONS.
173
Arctic Somerset from Boothia Felix. No traces of the Erebus
Regions, and Terror were found, though it is now known that at that
very time they were on or near the west coast of Boothia,
or off King William’s Island. Next summer Sir James, on
leaving Port Leopold for the purpose of continuing the
search, was suddenly inclosed in a pack of drift ice, and
carried helplessly out of Lancaster Sound into Davis Strait.
His ships were not released until the 25th of September,
when the navigation for the season having come to a close,
he reluctantly bore up for England. The want of success
of the land and sea searching expeditions did not diminish
the desire of the people of England to carry succour to
their countrymen imprisoned in the ice ; on the contrary,
the popular feeling raised by the devoted exertions and pa¬
thetic appeals of Lady Franklin was expressed in terms that
would admit of no denial. The Admiralty accordingly pre¬
pared again for the search on a most extensive scale, re¬
gardless of expense. The Enterprise and Investigator
(late Ross’s ships) were despatched on the 20th of January
1850, to enter the Arctic Sea by way of Bering’s Straits,
and to pursue the search eastward from thence. In the
same year a large force was sent to Lancaster Sound,—viz.,
Captain Horatio Austen, with two stout vessels and two
steam-tenders under his command; Captain William Penny,
of the mercantile navy, with two vessels, also under the di¬
rections of the Admiralty ; Captain Sir John Ross in the
Felix schooner, equipped principally by the Hudson’s Bay
Company; the Albert, Commander Forsyth, sent out at
the expense of Lady Franklin ; and two vessels from the
United States, under the command of Lieutenant De Haven,
and equipped by the munificence of Mr Grinnell, a New
York merchant. Such a squadron, though it did much,
might, if it had been well distributed, have effected more;
but, as it happened, they all, with the exception of the Al¬
bert, pressed on directly to the westward, and at the close
of the season were congregated on the coast of North
Devon. The Admiralty showed a want of judgment in
sending officers of the royal navy and of the merchant ser¬
vice with independent commands to the same quarter, and
prepared the way for misunderstandings and bickerings
which did not fail to follow. Captain Ommaney, on the
23d of August, in one of Austen’s tenders, found traces of
one of Franklin’s encampments on Beechey Island, but
hastened on after his commanding officer without exploring
the island further. The American expedition also landed
at the encampment; but it was reserved for Captain Penny,
who made a more leisurely and extensive search, to discover
Franklin’s w-inter quarters, and the tombs of three of his
men, who had died early in 1846; yet no memorial w^as found
of Franklin’s proceedings, nor any indication of the course
he intended to pursue on leaving that harbour. The Ame¬
rican vessels, when the navigation was about to close, bore
up to return home, when, being caught in a floe, they were
carried by the winds and currents first into Wellington
Sound, by which they became the discoverers of Grinnell
Land, and the lower part of that channel; next into Baf¬
fin’s Bay, and there, and in Davis Strait, they remained
shut up in the ice, drifting all the time to the southward,
until the approach of the following summer released them.
Captain Penny during the winter explored both sides of
Wellington Sound with his sledge parties in the spring, to
beyond the straits formed by the chain of islands named by
him Dundas and Baillie Hamilton. Captain Austen, also,
by a skilfully combined system of sledge expeditions, ex¬
amined the north shore of the sea named in the Admiralty
charts Melville Sound ; also the openings northwards on
each side of Byam Martin Island, which were followed for
some way. He likewise traced the coast of Prince of Wales
Land on the south of Melville Sound, down to the 72d pa¬
rallel of latitude on the west, and to the 73d parallel on the
east. This survey embraced a visit to Cape Walker, which
is the eastern extremity of Russell Island. The examina- Arctic
tion of this line of coast was most important, as it was to- -Regions,
wards Cape Walker that Franklin’s instructions directed
him to go, but no indications were discovered of the miss¬
ing ships having touched at any part of the coast thus mi¬
nutely explored. To Captain Austen the merit is certainly
due of having brought the sledge equipments to a degree of
efficiency that they had not previously attained on the ice
of the Arctic Sea, and he was well seconded by his officers
and men, who made journeys remarkable both for the num¬
ber of days that they were absent from the ships, and for
the great extent of coast that was traversed. This year,
also, the North Star, Master Saunders, carrying stores to
Lancaster Sound, was driven by stress of weather into
Wolstenholme Sound, and wintering there, surveyed that
indentation of the Greenland coast.
On the return of the various ships employed in Lancas¬
ter Sound to England, at the close of the summer of 1851,
complaints were made by Captain Penny that he was pre¬
vented from proceeding as far up Wellington Sound as he
could have done, had he received the assistance that he
asked from Captain Austen : the public press took up his
cause warmly ; and many writers, led away by their imma-
ginations, expressed their opinions that Franklin had sailed
far north into a Polynia, or open Polar sea, the existence of
which was supported by plausible reasons. This line of
argument, perseveringly urged, had an injurious effect on
the future arrangements for continuing the search; and
notwithstanding Franklin’s known strict adherence to orders,
which, as we have said, were to get to the southward from
the neighbourhood of Cape Walker, search in that direc¬
tion was comparatively neglected by the ships which left
England in 1852, being pursued only by Lady Franklin’s
schooner the Albert, and by her but for a short way.
The preparations in 1852 were more complete than in
any previous year, and Sir Edward Belcher sailed in com¬
mand of a most thoroughly efficient squadron. Pursuing
the plan that had been recommended to the Admiralty by
General Sabine, and practised by Captain Austen, of em¬
ploying the ships merely as a base of operations, and se¬
conded by able officers already trained to conduct sledge
parties, Sir Edward explored the upper outlets of Welling¬
ton Channel, and mapped the archipelago of Parry’s Islands,
from Prince Patrick Island, on the west, to Polynia Islands
and North Cornwall, not far from the 78th parallel, on the
north, and nearly to Jones’ Sound on the east. The lower
part of this sound had been entered by Captain Austen on
his homeward voyage; Wolstenholme Sound was fully ex¬
plored by Master Saunders; and at this period three of
Baffin’s five sounds had therefore been partially or fully exa¬
mined. The other two, Whale Sound and Smith’s Sound,
were also looked into this year (1852) by Commander Ingle-
field, in charge of Lady Franklin’s screw-steamer Isabel.
Lady Franklin’s other vessel, the Albert, which left
England in 1851, wintered that season in Regent’s Inlet,
and Mr Kennedy, her commanding officer, aided by the
gallant Lieutenant Bellot of the French navy, a volunteer,
made a winter journey of sixty-three days, in which they
discovered a strait to the north of Boothia Felix, to which
the name of Bellot was given ; then crossing and re-crossing
Prince of Wales’ Land diagonally, they touched at Cape
Walker; and after rounding the end of North Somerset,
regained their vessel on the 30th of May 1852. The great
length of this journey, performed in the severe cold of the
early months, is highly creditable to the ability and endur¬
ance of the party ; but had it been directed to the exami¬
nation of the lower end of Peel Sound, and the channels
round King William’s Island, it is more than probable that
the fate of Franklin’s party would then have been ascertained
by the discovery of the remains of the ships, though two
years too late to have found any of the crew surviving.
POLAR REGIONS.
174
Arctic Mr Kennedy did not know that the north part of Peel
Regions. Sound had been surveyed by Captain Austen’s officers ; and
s—on looking in that direction from the west end of Bellot
Strait, the islands appeared like a continuous barrier denying
a passage to ships. He therefore thought it needless to
search the southern part, though that was more open. Lieu¬
tenant Bellot was unfortunately drowned after the breaking^
up of the ice in Wellington Sound, to the great regiet ot
all who knew him.
In 1851 Dr Rae, who, in 1850, had been frustrated by
ice in an attempt to reach Wollaston’s Land in a boat, pro¬
ceeded thither from the Coppermine river on foot before
the opening of the navigation, and traced the coast fiom
Simpson’s most westerly point of Victoria Land to Prince
Albert Sound of Wollaston Land, proving that Victoria
and Wollaston are parts of the same island. Crossing
again to the Coppermine, he rejoined his boat, descended
the river in her, and steering to the eastward through
Dease Strait, turned towards the north, round the east end
of Victoria Land, as far as Pelly Point. The state of the ice
prevented him from proceeding farther than Lat. iO. 2. 30.
and Long. 101. 18. W., in that direction, or from crossing
over to King William’s Island, which he was very desirous
of doing. Previous to turning back, he picked up a bit of
the stanchion of a ship’s ice-plank, doubtless a fragment of
the fittings of the Erebus or Terror.
The Enterprise and Investigator, commissioned in 1849
to take part in the search for Franklin by way of Bering’s
Straits, sailed from England in January 1850, the former
under the command of Captain Richard Collinson, C.B.,
the latter under that of Commander Robert Le Mesurier
M‘Clure. The latter was fortunate in being able to pass
through Bering’s Straits a year before his senior officer, and,
pushing along the north coast of the continent in the sum¬
mer of 1850, discovered the south end of Banks’ Land, and
the strait between that island and Wollaston or Albert Land,
for the parts of the coast bearing the latter name are con¬
tinuous with Victoria Land. His officers surveyed the noi th
shore of Wollaston Land as far eastward as Point Reynolds,
which is situated in the same parallel of latitude with Os¬
born’s extreme point, and at the distance of 4 of longitude,
or about G5 geographical miles. The existence of a passage
in this unexplored interval, through which Franklin s ships
may have gone, if they did not pass southwaid by Peel s
Sound, is still an open question. Captain (Sii Robeit)
M‘Clure also surveyed the west coast of Albeit, or rather
Wollaston Land, down to Prince Albert Sound ; and Lieu¬
tenant Haswell reached the north side of that inlet exactly
ten days before Dr Rae arrived on its southern shore, as
already mentioned. Failing in an attempt to enter Mel¬
ville Sound from Prince of Wales’ Strait, Captain M Clme
circumnavigated Banks’ Land by the west, and the Inves¬
tigator, after narrowly escaping shipwreck, was finally shut
up in the Bay of Mercy at the northern point of the island.
Here, in 1853, the ship was abandoned, and the debilitated
crew, travelling over the ice to Dealy Island, weie xe-
ceived into the Resolute, and tenderly cared for by Cap¬
tain Kellett. No one can deny the merit of great nautical
skill, resolution, and perseverance to the commanding of¬
ficer of the Enterprise, who was admirably supported by
his officers and crew, nor that the parliamentary grant and
other rewards which they received were fully merited; but
it is surely a misnomer to describe this voyage as the Dis¬
covery of a North-West Passage.” Sir Edward Parry alone, Arctic
of several navigators from the eastward, was able to con- Regions,
duct his ship as far as Cape Dundas, frorn whence he looked
over an impenetrable waste of ice, his view being bounc ed
bv the land rising over the Bay of Mercy. From that bay
Sir Robert M‘Clure and his followers travelled eastwards
on foot, and the space intervening between the points
reached by his ship and Parry’s has never been crossed
even by a boat, nor seen in a navigable condition, bir
Edward Parry was stopped by fast ice in the summers
of 1819 and 1820; Sir Robert M'Clure found it equally
impassable in 1850-51 and 1852; Captain Colhnson adds
the weight of his testimony to the same fact; Captain
Austen, in 1850-51, was unable to advance westward be¬
yond Cape Cockburn; and Captain Kellett got no farther
than Dealy Island.1 , ,
To Captain Collinson belongs the credit of having made
the longest voyage along the northern shores of America
in a ship. A year later than McClure in getting round
Cape Barrow, like him he failed in passing beyond the
northern end of Prince of Wales’ Strait; and after win-
terino- on the west side of Wollaston Land, he carried Ins
ship, in the summer of 1852, through Dolphin a.nd Union
straits eastward to Cambridge Bay, on the south side of ^ ic-
toria Land. His sledge parties came upon the traces of Dr
Rae, and learnt from one of his records that he had already
examined that coast, but were not able to extend the search
farther than Gateshead Island, or 20 miles beyond him. Be¬
tween this and the 72d parallel of latitude, where Kennedy
crossed Peel Sound, there is a space of 92 geographical miles
not yet explored, in which, as we have already said, a pas¬
sage from Osborn Bay, at the south side of Melville Sound,
may exist. The west shore of Boothia Felix, from Cape
Nikolai of James Ross to Bellot Strait is also unknown to
the extent of about 90 miles ; but that there is a strait here
continuous with Peel Sound, there can be no reasonable
doubt, and it has been named Victoria Strait in Kennedy s
account of his voyage. Captain Collinson’s voyage, though
the longest in the Arctic seas, was, owing to his late arrival
in the field of search, productive of but few additions to
the map. The Eskimos who visited his ship in Cambridge
Bay, had in their possession a piece of an iron bolt, and a
fragment of a hutch-frame, which are believed to have come
from the Erebus or Terror. A deficiency of coals induced
Captain Collinson to return by the way he came, instead of
spending another year in forcing a passage to the eastwaid,
and after a third winter in the Arctic seas, he brought his
ship safely to England.
In 1854 Dr Rae returned to Repulse Bay for the pur¬
pose of ascertaining beyond cavil the continuity of the
neck of land that separates Regent’s Inlet, or the Gulf
of Boothia, from the bay into which the Great Fish River
falls, and also in the hope of carrying the search for the
Erebus and Terror along the west coast of Boothia up to
Bellot Strait, Part of this design he effected, establishing
the absence of a passage through the isthmus ; and crossing
from Pelly Bay to Inglis’ Bay, he traced the west side of
Boothia Felix until he connected his surveys ot that coast
with Sir James Ross’s in 1830. Continuing his route
northwards to a little beyond Cape Suisse, he was there
compelled to turn back by the state of the weather, the
failure of his commissariat, and the sufferings of one ot his
crew from frost bite. By this journey, however, in com-
1 Sir Edward Parrv savs —“ It now became evident, from the combined experience of this and the preceding year, that there was
something peculiar about the south-west extremity of Melville Island, which made the icy sea there extremeiyunfavourabietonavig -
tion, and which seemed likely to bid defiance to all our efforts to proceed much farther to the westward in this parallel of lat .
{North-West Passage, 1819-20, p. 241.) Captain Osborn, in his narrative of M'Clure s voyage, also remarks,— The heavy pack
ville Strait, lying across the head of the channel, was supposed to be the reason of the ice of Prince of Wales Strait ceasing to
to the north-east; and the impassable nature of the pack in the same direction in the following year confirmed this hypothesis. .
A writer in the Natural History Review for April 1858 attributes the fixity of the packed ice in this quarter to the meeting o
Atlantic and Pacific tides in Banks’ Strait.
POLAR REGIONS.
175
Arctic bination with his voyage of 1851, he ascertained the in-
Regions. sular character of King William’s Land, though from its
distance he could not lay down all its coast-line. From a
party of Eskimos that he met on this journey, he learnt
that in the spring of 1850 another small party of that na¬
tion were killing seals on the north shore of King William’s
Land, when they saw about forty white men travelling
to the southward along the west side of the island, and
dragging a boat and sledges. None of the white men could
speak Eskimo so as to be understood, but by signs they in¬
timated that their ships had been crushed by ice, and that
they were going where they expected to find deer to shoot.
All the men, with the exception of one officer, were haul¬
ing on the drag-ropes, and were looking thin. The Eski¬
mos sold them a piece of seal. At a later period in the
same season, but before the ice broke up, some thirty dead
white men were discovered on the continent a long day’s
journey to the west of the Great Fish River, and five
more bodies lay on an adjoining island. Some of this un¬
fortunate party must have survived till the end of May or
beginning of June, when wild fowl arrive, as the neigh¬
bouring Eskimos heard shots at that period, and feathers of
geese and fresh bones of birds were found by the natives
at the spot. F rom the Eskimos Dr Rae purchased so many
pieces of silver plate, and such a variety of other articles that
were recognised as having been the property of officers of
both ships, as to lead to the conclusion that the party who
there perished were the sole remnants of the two crews.
None of the Eskimos with whom Dr Rae spoke had seen
the white men alive or dead, and the information they
gave him, through an able interpreter, had been got by
them from others of their nation.
In consequence of the intelligence brought to England
by Dr Rae, the Hudson’s Bay Company, at the instance of
government, despatched Mr Anderson, one of their chief
factors, down the Great Fish River in 1855, to visit the
spot wheie the party had perished, and to communicate
with the neighbouring Eskimos. Unfortunately, no inter¬
preter could be procured, there being in fact none within
2000 miles; and the only conversation Mr Anderson could
carry on with the Eskimos he saw at the mouth of the
river, was by the unsatisfactory medium of signs. From
them, however, he obtained many additional articles found
on the deceased; and on Montreal Island he discovered
the spot where the boat had been broken up by the natives
for its wood and nails. By expressive and unmistakeable
pantomime, the Eskimos told him that the white men had
died of hunger. A minute and patient search of the whole
peninsula of Point Ogle, and an adjacent island to the west¬
ward, as well as of Montreal Island to the eastward, revealed
to him neither books nor scraps of paper, nor arms, nor a
single human bone or grave. His supposition, that all the
dead were concealed by drift sand can scarcely be acceded
to; and the more obvious conclusion is, that he had not
arrived at the exact place of the death of the party. The
act of an enfeebled party having dragged a ship’s boat
to Montreal Island leads fairly to the inference, that no
land was crossed by them, and that their weary journey
was wholly over ice. Their ships must have been aban¬
doned in the unexplored space of about 90 miles diameter
above mentioned, and their journey southward discovered
an ice-bound strait forming a link or a barrier (according
as it is permanently closed or occasionally open) in the
North-West Passage, some months earlier than Sir Robert
,1 lure crossed one of a similar character in a higher lati¬
tude. A regard for the fame of her gallant husband and
his brave companions has led Lady Franklin to seek for
written records of this discovery by a further search, and
perhaps the humane promptings of a hope surviving in her
breast, though extinguished elsewhere, that even yet relief
may be carried to some forlorn survivor of the catastrophe.
V
Government having declined any further proceedings,
Lady Franklin, in 1857, placed the Fox yacht under charge
of Captain M‘Clintock, who volunteered once more to en¬
counter the hardships and hazards of an Arctic search.
He sailed, with a crew of twenty-four, including Anton
Christian, a Greenland Eskimo, intending to seek the re¬
mains of the ships in the unexamined space already several
times alluded to as lying to the N. of King William’s Island.
That summer he was unable to cross Baffin’s Bay, but being
caught in the “ middle ice,” he drifted with it to the south-
Arctic
Regions.
ward all the winter, during which northerly winds blew al¬
most continuously. On being released in the summer of1858,
with his crew in good health and spirits he touched on the
Greenland coast for supplies, and afterwards gained the west
side^ of the bay, being, when last heard of, near Pond’s Bay.
I he narrative of this melancholy search, which has added
so largely to the geography of the Polar seas, has led us to
postpone the notice of an enterprise the most remarkable
of all, and prior in point of time to some of those above
mentioned. We allude to Dr Kane’s wonderful exploration
of Smith’s Sound. That he should have sought the Erebus
and 1 error at all in such a direction is due perhaps to the
adoption of the Russian theory of a Polynia, and the argu¬
ments of a party expounded in the periodical press, forget¬
ting that I ranklin would unquestionably pursue, if able,
the course pointed out by his instructions, of penetrating by
the first opening he could find near Cape Walker to the
open channel along the continental shore. Be this, how¬
ever, as it may, Dr Kane, having chosen his line of search,
pursued it unflinchingly under difficulties, arising from the
severity of the climate and scantiness of means, that would
have appalled and driven back any one not possessed of that
fixedness of purpose and fertility of resource which formed
parts of his character. His voyage commenced in 1853,
and he reached home, after passing two winters in Smith’s
Sound, and finally abandoning his ship, in 1855. According
to Dr Kane’s view of the structure of the coast, Greenland
terminates at Cape Agassiz by the stupendous Humboldt
Glacier, issuing from a mer de glace a little above the 79th
parallel; this glacier, 60 geographical miles wide, being the
boundary between it and Washington Land. The highest
point of Washington Land is Cape Constitution, in Lat.
80. 56. N. This is not far S. of the land seen by Hudson
in 1607, to the W. of Spitzbergen, which may therefore be
considered as part of the eastern coast of Washington
Land. On the western side of Smith’s Sound, the extreme
point seen by Dr Kane’s party is Mount Parry, which was
laid down approximately by reckoning in Lat. 82. 30.
N., and Long. 66. W., or 82. 14. reduced lat. Ross’s
Inlet, the extreme rock of the Seven Islands, and the most
northerly land previously correctly known, is 100 miles
more to the S.; and even the somewhat conjectural posi¬
tion of Hudson’s northernmost point falls short of Kane’s
Mount Parry. Smith’s Sound, or Kane’s Channel, as it is
otherwise named, is 33 geographical miles across at its
narrowest places. During Dr Kane’s residence in Smith’s
Sound, an unbroken bridge of ice remained across the sound
up to the 81st parallel of latitude. Northwards of this
there was open sea between Washington and Grinnell
lands, whose waters had a temperature of + 36° F., while
the thermometer marked - 60° F. of atmospheric cold.
Physical Geography of the Arctic Polar Basin.
The residents on the shores of Hudson’s Bay are aware
that pools of water, recognisable from a distance by the mist
rising from them, exist in the depth of winter amid the ice
of that sea. Sir Edward Parry and other voyagers observed
similar pools in higher latitudes, with Dovekies lingering in
them all the winter ; and Baron Wrangell and Lieutenant
Anjou, in attempting to travel northwards over the ice from
176
POLAR REGIONS.
Arctic
Regions.
Physical
aspects.
Ocean
currents.
the estuaries of the Lena and Kolyma, were stopped by
open water. Middendorf also, in 1843, found an open sea
at Cape Taimura. It is not surmised that the small pieces
of water seen by Parry were otherwise than accidental,—
that is, not having a fixed locality, but recurring in different
situations in different winters ; and indeed the winter drift
of large ice-fields experienced by Lieutenant De Haven s
vessels, by the Resolute after Captain Kellett had reluc¬
tantly obeyed the command to abandon her, and last year
by Captain M‘Clintock, indicates that open spaces must be
left by the removal of such extensive fields. That this drift
is normal, and not the casual effect of winds in one or two
exceptional seasons, is proved by the annual descent m win¬
ter of ice-fields and large bergs down Davis Strait, and the
similar route of several whalers that have passed a winter
in the ice. But the Russian geographers and others have
coniectured that, in addition to the comparatively small
pools observed in the accessible parts of the Ledovintoe
More, or Frozen Ocean, there exists at all seasons, nearer
the Pole, a Polynia, or open sea of warmer water, whose
verge was reached by W rangel, and more recently by Kane.-
Lieutenant Maury, reasoning from various facts which
he adduces, infers that there must be an under-current in
Davis Strait from the S., which rises to the surface some¬
where in the N., and there produces an area of warm water
of considerable extent, tempering the climate of high pa¬
rallels, and being one of the beautiful compensating actions
of nature. Baer also takes it for granted that there must
be an under-current towards the S.in Bering s Straits, result-
inw from the superficial one in the opposite direction.
'Sir Edward Parry, when he reached the parallel of
82. 45. N. in his memorable boat voyage from Spitzbergen,
had to contend with a current setting to the S. at the rate
of more than 4 miles a day, which was increased when a
northerly wind blew. The natives of the E. coast of
Greenland are familiar with the drift of what they call the
“ great ice,” which, coming down from the N., often fills the
strait between Greenland and Iceland, and is piobably an
extension of the drift experienced by Parry. At Cape
Farewell the great ice occasionally forms a belt from 120
to 160 miles wide, but in general only a narrower stream,
known to the whalers as the Cape Farewell ice ; and m
some seasons the navigation at that extremity of the land
is quite free from port to port. Part of the great ice is
deflected to the N. along the W. coast of Greenland, pro¬
bably by the action of the under-current spoken of by
Lieutenant Maury. The main surface current, however,
sets out of Davis" Strait, and the sounds connected with it,
both in summer and winter. On the disruption of the ice
off Meville Island, Parry saw it move to the eastward ; and it
took a similar course many years afterwards, when Captain
Kellett wintered at Dealy Island. Sir James Ross s voyage
of 1849 was also brought prematurely to an end by drift ice
taking in summer a course out of Lancaster Sound nearly
identical with the drift of the American ships in winter.
At Bering’s Straits, on the contrary, the current, according
to general testimony, sets in to the N.; and Commander Ma¬
guire, the latest of the Arctic voyagers in that quarter, calls
it strong, and of great assistance to him in his passage north¬
wards against contrary winds. He mentions that the whalers,
even with favourable winds, were obliged to warp w en
going against the current. Ihe same current, setting to
the northward and eastward, was powerful off Point Barrow.
In the narrow seas bounding the American continent
between Point Barrow and Great Fish River the tides are
perfectly regular, though of small velocity, and producing
but little rise of water, rarely amounting to 4 feet. Some
of the late Arctic navigators have thought that they per¬
ceived a prevailing current setting to the eastward on this
coast. Between the Mackenzie and Coppermine rivers Sir
John Richardson found the flood-tide setting to the east-
ward ; but on an indented coast the real direction of the
tide can scarcely be ascertained by a passing voyager ; and
he remarks that a gale of wind produces a greater rise of
water on that coast than an ordinary spring-tide, three days
of a strong north-wester being sufficient to flood for many
miles the low-lying meadows east of the Mackenzie, and
deposit long lines of drift timber at the foot of the rising
grounds. In the Strait of the Fury and Hecla the tides
rise 9 feet; but the stream of the current was to the east¬
ward throughout the twenty-four hours, with in-shore eddies
running the other way. This easterly current was as much
as 4 mtles an hour at times J and the observers thought
that in the summer season it was so much stronger than in
the winter as to mask the small westerly stream of the
ebb-tide. From Dr Sutherland’s register of tides, kept
near Cape Hotham, the western portal of Wellington
Sound, we learn that the rise and fall varied from less
than a foot to a little more than 6 feet. At Cape Becher,
on the N. side of the upper extremity of Wellington Sound,
the flood-tide flowed about nine hours, and the ebb only
three, the fall of tide being rapid. The strength of the
current, according to some of Captain Penny s officers, was
4 miles an hour. Farther to the N. (on the 7/th parallel)
Sir Edward Belcher observed the ebb running strong to
the E. towards Jones’ Sound. As this was an isolated
observation, it may be that the ordinary current setting out
of the Polar Sea overpowered the feeble westerly ebb-tide,
as in the preceding instance. In this quarter also the rise
of spring-tides was 7 feet, and that of the neaps 2. In
Prince of Wales’ Strait the flood came from the S.; and
M‘Clure ascertained the rise and fall to be about 3 feet at
spring-tides, but scarcely perceptible at the neaps.
Lieutenant Maury affirms that a tidal wave cannot be
propagated through a barrier of ice 80 or 100 miles wide,
and that the ebb and flow of the iceless sea discovered by
Dr Kane under the 82d parallel must have been the move
  _ . .1 . 1 1 L. IXl /-V v+ 1\ 1 C
Arctic
Regions.
ments of a Polynian tide generated about the North Po e.
The Eskimos reported to Sir Robert M‘Clure the existence
of an unbroken barrier of ice of unknown width, extending
westward from Parry’s Island to the meridian of Point
Barrow, at the distance of 30 or 40 miles from the continent.
This leaves too narrow a space for the generation of a tide,
if Maury’s opinion be well founded ; and the origin of the
coast tide must in that case be sought lor elsewhere.
Middendorf records a tidal rise of 36 feet in I aimur
Bay.2 If the gulf-stream doubles the extremity of Norway,
as Lieutenant Maury’s chart indicates, a body of compara-
lively warm water may strike against the North-East Cape
of Asia, raising the flood to the height mentioned by Mid¬
dendorf, and be deflected into the Polar basin round that
far-projecting promontory. That a current sets in that
direction along the western shores of Novaya Zemlya as
far as Cape Nassau, has been ascertained by Admiral
Lutke. Henry Hudson also, at a much earlier date, ex¬
perienced the same current, which drifted his ship to the
N. in a calm. Martens could not detect an ebb and flow
of tide at Spitzbergen ; nor could Barentzoon in the sea of
Kara, or, as it is called from its calmness, Marmora, but
he found the height of water at its entrance or waygatz to
be largely influenced by the wind. Our information, there¬
fore, respecting the movements of the Arctic Sea tends to
show that warmer currents from the Atlantic and Pacific
set round the North-East Cape of Asia, and also into
Bering’s Straits; while there is an outward flow, carrying
with it much ice, between Spitzbergen and Greenland, as
well as out of Davis Strait and down Foxs Channel.
How far the under-currents spoken of by Baer and Maury
1 Parry’s Second Voyage, p. 336.
2 Beke, N.E. Voyage, Hakl. Soc. Map.
POLAK REGIONS.
177
Arctic operate in preserving the level is not so apparent. Maury
Regions, considers one of the causes of the gulf-stream to be the in-
creased gravity of the water resulting from tropical evapo¬
ration. In like manner, the freezing of the sea within the
Arctic Circle, by precipitating the saline ingredients, must
augment the gravity of the deeper unfrozen water; while the
lighter surface water, freed from salt, is carried southwards
in form of ice. Wrangel informs us that the Great Polynia
is from 16 to 18 English miles to the N. of Kotelnoi and
New Siberia, and keeps at the same distance from the
continent of Asia between Cape Chelagskoi and Cape
North.1 In its vicinity northerly winds always enveloped
his party in damp air. During the summer the current
between Svatoi Noss and Koliutschin Island is from E. to
W., or towards Bering’s Straits, and in the autumn from
W. to E. A current to the S.E., which prevails in spring,
is attributed by Wrangel to the N.W. winds of that season.
Winds. Mr J. H. Coffin, in a treatise published in the sixth
volume of the Smithsonian Contributions to Knowledge
(1854), places a meteorological pole in Lat. 84. N., Long.
105. W., and states that it is encircled by a zone, 23^- de¬
grees in breadth, of westerly or north-westerly winds f en¬
compassed on the south, between the parallels of 60. and
66. of N. Lat., by a belt of easterly and north-east winds, as
indicated by observations made at Great Bear Lake, Great
Slave Lake, Fort Enterprise, two stations in Greenland,
and one at Reikiavik in Iceland. Lieut. Maury’s wind-
chart also marks the prevailing direction of the winds in the
polar basin and northern seas as being westerly, but does
not indicate the easterly encompassing belt of Coffin. Baron
Wrangel observes that in Arctic Siberia, though the south¬
east winds prevail in summer, the north-west winds are
most frequent, taking the general yearly average, and are
especially common in the winter time; they are cold
winds in summer, and bring snow-storms in winter. The
south-west wind is, however, the most piercing to the sen¬
sations in the winter, and on that account receives the
name of Shalonik from the native Siberians. Captain
M‘Clintock reports that during his eight months’ drift in
Davis Strait the wind was northerly. At Fort Con¬
fidence, on Great Bear Lake, for seven months of winter in
1848-9, the mean direction of the wind was from S.E. -J E.,
the southing becoming more decided as the spring ad¬
vanced : this observation, made within the verge of the
Arctic Circle, being at variance with the general position laid
down by Mr Coffin. The pressure of the atmosphere at
that place was greatest when the wind was S.E., decreased
greatly with a due south or due east wfind, and was least
when the wind blew from any point to the northward
of east. The force of the wind was least in mid-winter ;
and from December to March, both months inclusive, calms
were very frequent, but* became rare in April. The sky
wras comparatively cloudy in October and November; re¬
markably clear in December and the succeeding four
months. In the summer of 1848 little or no rain had fallen.
Ihe theory of opposite aerial currents, which are such
important agents in transferring heat, was considered by
Professor Leslie to lead theoretically to the same conclu¬
sions, with respect to the gradations of temperature in dif¬
ferent latitudes, as the empirical formula of IVleyer, which
represents the mean heat at the sea-level as proportional to
the sine of twice the latitude; but Leslie erred in stating
the mean temperature at the Pole to be 32° or 28° F.; and
on the observations of Arctic voyagers provino- this to be
greatly above the truth, he was led to assert that there was
some latent material inaccuracy in their thermo metrical
records. That there were in fact great defects in the gra¬
duation of the alcoholic thermometers formerly in use, is
now well ascertained, but this is remedied by the employ¬
ment of absolute alcohol only, and fixing the point "of
- 40° F. by freezing large masses of mercury. Thermo¬
meters are now tested for the Board of Trade at the Kew
Observatory ; and every Arctic traveller may find the error
of his thermometer for himself by plunging the bulb into
freezing mercury as soon as the temperature is sufficiently
low. In consequence of this easily-applied test having been
neglected, there is generally error more or less in the ear¬
lier thermometric records of the recent Arctic voyages, but
not nearly to the extent which Professor Leslie supposes.
The able philosopher just named also informs us that the
limit of perpetual congelation forms a curve which is nearly
the same as the companion of the cycloid, bending gra¬
dually from the equator, reverting its flexure at the 45th
parallel, and grazing the surface of the sea at the Pole; the
mean height of eternal frost under the equator, and at lati¬
tudes 30. and 60. being respectively 15,207, 11,484, and
3,818 feet. He is probably correct in stating that the snow¬
line keeps near the sea-level in the north polar regions,
though the mean temperature of the atmosphere may be
30° or 40° below what he supposed it to be; and the
explanation of the fact ought to be sought in the influence
of a sun constantly above the horizon in the summer months
compensating in a great degree for the obliquity of its rays,
in the aerial currents above alluded to, and perhaps in a
greater degree to the oceanic currents. The observations
of Flumboldt and Dr Hooker, and of others, show how very
much the height of the snow-line, in different sides of the
same range of mountains, is influenced by radiation from
adjoining plains and conditions of aspect. That the reflec¬
tion of the sun’s rays from a snowy surface has a most
powerful effect in a clear atmosphere, has been surmised by
Professor James Forbes ; and it will also be found, we doubt
not, that there is a difference between the upper and lower
limits of perpetual snow within the Polar Circle as great as
on the sides of high mountain ranges. It is certain that
phsenogamous vegetation is not extinct in the most northern
lands that have been attained.
In Dove’s isothermal charts, constructed on Baron Hum¬
boldt’s plan, an elliptical area of greatest cold is placed in
Northern Siberia, reaching from Lat. 60. to 81., and includ¬
ing the whole valley of the Lena, with the western part of
New Siberia, and the adjoining border of Wrangel’s sup¬
posed Polynia. Round this (mesocheimal) lines of mid¬
winter temperatures are protracted in curves, which are far
from being regular, but which have all a tendency to form
ellipses. Taking these curves as expositions of facts so far
as known, they indicate the mildest winters to be in the
meridians of Bering’s Straits and of the Spitzbergen seas,
the most severe being in the parts of Asia and America
farthest from these seas. The curves or ellipsoids of mid¬
summer (mesothaeral) heat have their long axes almost at
right angles to the winter ones, the summers of Bering’s
Straits and Spitzbergen being cool compared with those of
the continental projections to the north. The district of
greatest heat round which the very irregularly flexed meso¬
thaeral lines circulate embraces the Persian Gulf and Red
Sea, with the intervening Arabian peninsula and the eastern
coast of Nubia. The annual iso thermals take of course an
intermediate direction between the isothaerals and isochei-
mals ; and the mean of 32° F., or the freezing-point, passes
from a point on the 60th parallel someway south of Bering’s
Straits, cuts off the southern quarter of Kamtschatka, part
of the Sea of Ochotsk, curves regularly by Sagalien on the
Amour, and, after touching the 49th parallel, ascends gra¬
dually by the south of Tobolsk to the White Sea, north of
Archangel; and then, having first dipped suddenly to the
Arctic
Regions.
his assistants a,ir;nrr w d ^ Ta^arinow an(i Pschemtza in 1811, Hendenstrom m 1810, Lieutenant Anjou in 1823, and by Wrangel and
ms assistants during his various journeys performed between 1820 and 1823 > j b
VOL. XVIII.
z
178 ' POLAR REGIONS.
Arctic
Regions.
f
Gulf of Bothnia, rises rapidly beyond the North Cape to the
72d parallel; whence, taking a descending curve, it grazes
the north end of Iceland, cuts the south point of Green¬
land, and reaches its second southern apsis near the 49th
parallel, in the bottom of James’s or Hudson’s Bay; then,
rising in its course through Rupert’s Land and the basin of
the Mackenzie to the 63d parallel, descends through Rus¬
sian America to meet the point in Bering’s Sea from whence
w?e commenced tracing it.
Though the subjoined thermometric table partakes of the
inaccuracies which result from causes alluded to above, it is
an abstract of the most complete series of observations that
we have been able to collect. By it we are led to infer that
the winter cold increases with the latitude on the same meri¬
dian within the Arctic Circle, while there is a great unifor¬
mity of summer temperature between the parallels of 70° and
75°’ from Lancaster Sound to Bering’s Straits. Between
the parallels of 76° and 81° the summer heat of Spitzber-
gen, Smith’s Sound, and Wellington Sound is nearly alike,
and a degree or two below that of Lancaster and Melville
sounds. These observations may be neither sufficiently
continuous nor correct to disprove the existence of an open
Polar basin, yet as far as they go they tend that way.
Table of Temperatures.
Parry  
Forster 
Franklin...
Kane 
Belcher ...
ftae  
Belcher ....
Pullen  
Sutherland
Parry  
M'Clure ....
Parry   
M'Clure ....
Collinson..
Collinson..
Parry  
Collinson..
Richardson
Parry ..
M-Murray..
Richardson
Forsell.
Spitzbergen, on ice 
I)o., Hecla Cove
Do., at sea  
Smith’s Sound 
Northumberland Sound
Wolstenholme Sound ...
Wellington Channel ....
Beechey Island  
Barrow Strait 
Melville Island  
Banks’ Land  
Port Bowen .....
Prince of Wales’ Strait-
Do 
Camden Bay  
Strait of Fury & Hecla
Cambridge Bay 
Great Bear Lake  
Lyon Sound 
Yukon  
Great Bear Lake  
Godhaab 
Yakutsk  {
Enontokis.
1827
1827
1818
1854
1852- 3
1853- 4
1853
1850- 1
1819-20
1851- 2
1824- 5
1850- 1
1851- 2
1853-4
1822-3
1852- 3
1848-9
1821-2
181G-7
1825- 6
Many
years
1802-6
Lai. Long.
JN.
8U-82:
80
m
77
7fii
754
74;}
m
741
74
731
7U
70
691
69
67
661
66
651
611
62
684
E.
17-23'
Hi
10
w.
7«1
97
70
92
92
94
111
118
89
118
1174
1454
814
105
H8i
83
147
1231
524
E.
394
+ 33-0
+ 38-1
4* 34’5
+ 33 0 —16-S
+ 30-8 —11*8
+ 37-8
+ 32-6
+ 36-5
+ 35-9
+ 37-1
+ 35'5
4 36-9
+ 37-1.
+ 38-2
+ 381
+ 35-1
+ 37-5
+ 49- ?
+ 351
+ 56-7
+ 50-4
+ 40-6
+ 61-6
+ 54-6
— 6 8
-13-7
— 6*3
— 8-6
-10-6
8-7
— 6-7
96
— 2-2
— 3-8
— 1-4
— 7't
— 0-8
+ 1-2
+ 2-7
+ 2-3
+ 22 2
— 4-1
+ 16-7
— 3’2
— M
+ 45
— 1-7
+ 2-8
+ 2*5
+ 1-4
+ 1-8
+ 4-3
+ 1-1
+ 7-9
+ 6-2
+ 5'8
+ 4-t
+ 90
+ 9-8
+ 14-6
+ 17-7
+ 26-8
+ 14-0
+ 27-0
It is an established fact, that as we descend into the in¬
terior of the earth through the shafts of deep mines, the
temperature rises,—according to some at the rate of one
degree of Fahrenheit’s scale for every forty-five feet of de¬
scent ; but the increment varies in different localities, and
cannot be considered as having been as yet perfectly ascer¬
tained over any one extensive district. The superficial
crust or soil is moreover influenced by the direct impact of
the sun’s rays in summer, and, in winters of high latitudes,
by radiation into space, and long-continued contact of a cold
atmosphere. In all cases, how’ever, the thermal effects of
seasons descend like tides through the soil, becoming gra¬
dually less and less distinct as the distance from the sur¬
face increases, and finally blending and vanishing at depths
which vary with the latitude and also with local causes. In
severe Polar climates the result is a permanently frozen
substratum, whose southern limit is placed by Baer in co¬
incidence with the isothermal line of 32° F., its thickness
increasing of course with the decrease of mean temperature
calculated for a series of years. At Yakutsk in Siberia,
where the mean heat of the year is +14° F., the frozen
earth is 382 feet in thickness ; but at York Factory, a few
miles from Hudson’s Bay, where the mean temperature is
+ 251° F-> the frozen substratum was cut through at the Arctic
depth of 20i feet: at that place the superficial summer Regions,
thaw penetrated about three feet. At Fort Simpson on
the Mackenzie, five degrees to the north of York Factory,
but possessing nearly the same mean annual temperature,
the soil was thawed at the close of summer to the depth of
eleven feet, beneath which lay a stratum of only six feet of
permanently frozen soil, the underlying loose sandy soil
being unfrozen at the deptli of seventeen feet from the sur¬
face of the ground. Throughout the northern shores of the
American continent, and in the islands beyond it, the sum¬
mer thaw penetrates from ten inches to a foot, or a little
more ; but. no shafts have been sunk in America within the
Arctic Circle to ascertain the thickness of the permanently
frozen substratum.
Spitzbergen lies on the verge of the snow-line,—some
low-lying tracts of meadow becoming bare in summer, and
also the steep faces of hills; so that enough of grass and
lichens are produced to nourish herds of rein-deer ; but
the higher grounds are covered with snow, and the valleys
occupied by glaciers. In Smith’s Sound (Lat. 78. 79.) some
patches of ground became visible in the first weeks of July
on which many flowering plants flourished. Hesperis pyg-
mcea and Vesicaria arctica were found in fruit by Dr
Kane as far north as 81°, accompanied by other phasno-
gamous plants of various families, whose fruits require a
considerable number of summer days for ripening. Even
dwarf, shrubby Vaccinia, Empetra, and Salices attain the
height of Smith’s Sound. The east side of that strait, and
a great part of Greenland in general, has its valleys and the
gorges of its fiords occupied by glaciers; and it is probable
that the interior of the northern parts at least are, like
Spitzbergen, covered permanently with snow, the only
bare spots in summer being steep acclivities lying well to
the mid-day sun, or strips of meadow land on the coast.
Farther to the westward, in latitude 77° north of Welling¬
ton Sound, Sir Edward Belcher observed the lower grounds
to become partially denuded of snow early in June ; and in
the spring of 1851 Mr Goodsir saw patches of bare earth
on the 10th of June, the snow at that period being in pro¬
cess of rapid waste. Sir Edward Parry notes a period ot
seventy days, from June to September, during which vege¬
tation goes on in the low grounds of Melville Island, lati¬
tude 74J-°. Snow showers are of occasional occurrence in
those quarters in every summer month, but soon after the
beginning of September the snow that falls is permanent
for the winter.
In no part of America within the Arctic Circle where
cereals have been sown has success attended the operation,
though the cultivation of barley reaches the 70th parallel
on the Scandinavian peninsula. On the Mackenzie, turnips
and radishes alone of the culinaiwr vegetables could be
raised on the 67th parallel. At Shredoi Kolymsk, in 67|-°,
on the Kolyma, radishes and cabbages without heads were
the poor rewards of the kitchen gardener’s toil; and a
degree farther north, at Nijnei Kolymsk, the climate is so
severe that in a low marsh near the village, ice, mixed with
vegetable earth, remains frozen the whole year. There the
river freezes in September, and the winter is nine months
long. Baron Wrangel mentions the occasional occurrence
of warm winds, named teploi teeter, which blow from the
south-east by south in the middle of winter, and raise the
temperature in the course of twenty-four hours from 47°
below zero to 35° above it. Similar warm winds recur once
or twice in the winter in the higher latitudes of America,
sometimes in December, more frequently in January or
February; so that sometimes one, sometimes another, ot
these months is the coldest in the year. The great effect
of these temporary winds proves how much aerial currents
may influence the mean temperature of a locality.
The northern termination of the ivoods, though in some
POLAR REGIONS.
Arctic degree dependent on soil, and still more on elevation and
Regions, vicinity of the sea, yet furnishes an approximate measure
of the climate of various meridians. In Northern Asia the
line of woods undulates considerably, yet its general course
rises from the verge of the Arctic Circle in Bering’s Straits
to 71° on the deltas of the Jana and Lena. On the Lulean
Alps, Scotch firs (which there ascend above the spruces,
and 200 feet above the limit at which barley ceases
to ripen) terminate at an altitude of 1300 feet, and the
lower edge of the snow-line varies there from 3100 to 4100
feet above the sea, according to aspect. Some Ranunculi
and similar plants grow above the snow-line in the crevices
of steep rocks, where the sun’s rays have power ; and a few
lichens (Gyrophoraf) ascend 2000 feet higher. At the
island of Magerbe, off the North Cape of Europe, the line
of perpetual congelation is about 1100 feet above the sea-
level, and trees grow at no great distance from the sea on
the northern coasts of Lapland and Finmark. In Green¬
land there are no trees ; but on the west side of Hudson’s
Bay the line of woods commences between the 60th and
61st parallels, and, inclining to the north as it runs west¬
ward, reaches the 68th parallel on the alluvial banks of the
Mackenzie, though it does not come so far north on the
higher grounds. On Noatak River, which foils into Esch-
seholtz Bay, the wood-line is coincident with the Arctic
Circle ; and that curve probably represents its course from
Noatak eastward to the Mackenzie, except on the Colville,
where the low fertile alluvium may cause it to bend to the
north. In the severe Arctic climates, trees are frozen to the
centre in winter, but under the influence of the spring sun,
travelling above the horizon throughout the twenty-four
hours, they are thawed long before there is any material
diminution of the snow which covers the frozen soil in
which their roots are fixed ; yet the deciduous trees show
neither leaves nor flowers until the snow has wholly or
nearly disappeared.
Animals. Our restricted space will not permit us to extend those
very general remarks on the climate and vegetation of the
Polar regions. Certain animals, such as the Canadian lynx,
the American hare, and the Moose-deer, are limited in their
range by the line of woods,—the latter wandering north¬
wards of the woody country only on river banks whereon
thickets of willows grow. The goat antelope (Aploceros
montanus) and the small Pika or tailless hare, are confined
to the Kocky Mountain ridge, which they follow to within
the verge of the Arctic Circle; and the magnificent Argali
or Big-horn also ranges to the northern termination of the
same ridge, in the parallels of 68° or 69°. The Rein-deer
has been found in the most northern lands to which navi¬
gators have attained; and the Musk-ox, though more par¬
tial in its distribution, also attains a high latitude ; while
the Polar hare and several kinds of Lemmings are residents
on all 'the Arctic islands which produce any kind of vegeta¬
tion. 1 hese herbivorous quadrupeds are accompanied by
the Wolf, Wolverine, and Arctic Fox. The Brown Bear also
roams over the Arctic wastes of the continents of Europe,
Asia, and America; while the White Bear is the tyrant of
the Polar seas, making the seals which abound therein its
peculiar prey. Some small herds of rein-deer and musk¬
oxen having been seen on the islands of Melville Sound in
the winter, have led some to deny the migrations of these
animals ; but only a few can find food in the Polar islands
during winter, and it is unquestionable that the rein-deer
retire in vast herds southwards on the close of summer to
the borders of the woody country, where the males and
females congregate in the rutting season. In the spring
the females, travelling alone, seek the sea-coast to bring
forth their young. At that season the Cenomyces, Corni-
cularioe, and Cetrarice which clothe the more barren dis-
179
tricts like a carpet, become soft and tender amid the melting Arctic
snow, and furnish fitting food for the does and their youn£ Regions.
The grasses and carices also, which grow freely in tlfe
alluvial meadows on the coast, are only then sheddino- their
seeds, and still retain some sap in their culms, the sudden
autumn frosts having arrested their fructiferous functions
which are not completed till the snow is disappearing on
the approach of midsummer. The same may be said of
the berry-bearing plants, the Empetra, Vaccinia, and Ruin,
whose frozen fruits remain pendant over winter, and when
uncovered by the melting snows, supply bears and geese
with stores of food.
The Polar regions are the native country of many geese,
ducks, and aquatic birds. The Canada goose is the only
North American member of that genus which breeds be¬
low the Arctic Circle, and many bands even of them travel
as far as 68°; while the Barnacle, Brent, Laughing-Goose,
and Snow-Goose go to the extreme north to breed. Ptar¬
migan and Dovekies may be said to be constant residents
in the highest latitudes; but the bulk of both these species
go southwards for their winter food, though a few dovekies
linger behind in the open pools of the Polar Sea. The
Raven and Snowy Owl are the only birds of prey that find
food within the Arctic Circle in the winter time.
Whales and seals must not be overlooked in any notice,
however brief, of the animals of the Polar regions. Taken
in conjunction with marine and fresh-water fish and the
rein-deer, they are the productions which render the hyper¬
borean lands and seas habitable for the Eskimos. Like the
rein-deer, the Right Whales produce their young in the
solitudes of the icy seas, but have their equatorial limits
between the 30th and 45th parallels.1 This range of the
Right Whale may be called a zoological district, and it is
not dissimilar in extent to the ranges of the Snow and Bar¬
nacle Geese, which leave their Polar native places to pass
the winter on the elevated Mexican plateaux.
The Eskimos are a people fitted peculiarly to dwell Eskimos,
within the Arctic Circle. They occupy the whole of the
sea-board of Arctic America, continent and islands, the
entire coast of Greenland, and both sides of the peninsula
of Labrador. In Greenland, Labrador, and Hudson’s Bay
only,have Europeans fixed themselves on the Eskimo lands;
and though in one or two districts the American red races
have, through the more early possession of fire-arms, been
able to restrict the southern range of the Eskimos, they have
nowhere dwelt among them in America, except on Bering’s
Sea, where there is a fusion of races. The Eskimo not
only subsists in the high latitudes, but has much enjoyment
in his routine of duties, which vary with the seasons, and
he even prefers his frigid wastes to what we consider more
favoured lands. He may be said to be wholly independ¬
ent of vegetable food, his chief luxury of that kind being
the nerooks or half-digested lichens which he finds in the
paunch of the rein-deer. Occasionally, also, he eats, when
the chase fails, a few bistort roots, a little scurvy-grass, or
whortle or crow berries in the autumn ; but these make no
important part of his diet. The nation is, in fact, more
strictly carnivorous than any other that we know of; and
as a diet consisting exclusively of animal food requires to
be very plentiful, the skill and energy of the Eskimo hunter
are fully taxed. In summer, at the epochs of the rein-deer
migrations, he lays the passing herds under contribution in
various ways. He snares them, traps them in pounds and
pit-falls, spears them while crossing lakes or rivers, or stalks
them, and shoots them with arrows. The skins, especially
those of the young, furnish warm clothing for himself and
family, the women being skilful in converting the hide into
shamoy, or in dressing the fur; the back sinew, split into
fine fibres, makes excellent thread; and the antlers and
1 Maury’s Chart, * “y-J. Geogr. of the Sea.
180
Arctic
Regions.
POLAR REGIONS.
'•*1
bones are shaped into knives, spear-heads, and fishing-hooks,
or are used in the framing of sledges. Twisted into lines,
the sinews, or sometimes thongs of the skin, are employed
in making nets. The flesh of the rein-deer, dried in the
sun or stored in a natural ice-cellar, is reserved for winter
food ; geese and other birds yielding abundant provision
during the season of the autumn deer-hunt. In Septem¬
ber, after the deer have passed southwards, the Eskimo
families assemble on certain promontories to hunt the
whale, and, if successful, they spend a luxurious winter, the
blubber and oil of the whale, as well as its flesh, being
pleasing to their palates. The oil also supplies their lamps,
so essential in the dark winter months. The lamps are made
of pot-stone, and the same material is excavated to make
cooking-kettles; but these heavy utensils are less valued since
the more portable copper kettles of Europe have become
known in Eskimo-land. Of the whale’s intestines, sails for
the women’s boats (oomiaks) are made, the gut being neatly
sewed together in stripes ; and of the same material water¬
proof shirts are formed, to be worn by the men when seated in
their small kajucks. The ribs and other bones of the whale
are used in framing sledges or canoes when drift-wood can¬
not be had, and also for rafters to the turf roofs of houses.
These houses, whether framed of wood or bone, are half
sunk in the ground, and are thickly covered with earth, so
as to exclude the cold atmosphere ; and, with the same
viewy the passage by which they are entered is long, low, and
subterranean. In these igloacks the height of the winter is
passed; but when the return of the sun brings length of
day, though as yet the air continues very cold, the winter
houses are evacuated, and the families travel seaward on
the ice to hunt for seals. By a skilful application of his
knowledge of the habits of that wary animal, the expert
Eskimo hunter brings a daily supply to his family. I he
seal-flesh is the most favourite food of the people, and its
skins are dressed to make durable waterproof coverings for
the kajacks and oomiaks, or cut into thongs for lines, which
being slit circularly from the skin, are made of considerable
length without knots. The skins of the lesser seals also
are stripped off in the form of a bag, and the various aper¬
tures being very effectually and neatly plugged, are blown
up to form an excellent buoy, used in hunting whales or
large seals and morses. The Eskimo women are, more¬
over, very skilful in manufacturing waterproof boots of the
seal-skin, or jackets for summer wear. During the spring
seal-hunt the family is encamped on the ice in huts most
elegantly built of blocks cut from the compact snow, and
which endure until the ice begins to break up. In autumn,
when the snow is neither deep enough nor sufficiently com¬
pact to serve for a building material, the Eskimo knows
how to substitute slabs of ice—the cold acting the part of a
cement. The only domestic animal the American Eskimo
possesses is the dog, which he employs both for the draught
and the chase. Formerly it is probable that the Eskimos
crossed Bering’s Straits, and occupied the coast as far as the
Kolyma, or even farther towards Europe. I he Namollos
of the Gulf of Anadyr are, according to Sauer, a tribe of
Eskimos; and traces of Eskimo dwellings have been dis¬
covered along the northern shores of Asia as far as the
160th meridian. The more powerful Rein-deer Tchuktche,
supposed to be of Tatar origin, are considered as the in¬
vaders of the Namollo territory. Throughout the vast
linear range of the Eskimos the variations in the language
are merely dialectic. The Samoeids have much physical
resemblance to the Eskimos, which, as far as such evidence
goes, points to a common Mongol origin; but neither the
Tchuktche, the Yeniseians, Yukahivi, Samoeids, nor Laps
seem to have the nautical skill of the Eskimos, to be able
to hunt the whale on the high seas, or to obtain a living on
an ice-bound ocean. The domestic habits of the nations
just named rather resemble those of the American red races
Arctic
Regions,.
in high latitudes, especially their modes of cradling their
infants, and are to be attributed to the precautions
that experience has taught them to use against the *v-"»
severity of the climate. The Eskimo kajack is peculiar to
the nation. Olaus Magnus mentions that in the year 1505
he saw two suspended in the cathedral church of fet Hal-
vard at Aslo, which were reported to have been brought
from Greenland by King Haco when he visited that country
with a hostile fleet.
In Arctic America, part of Baffin’s Bay, the east end of Minerals
Barrow’s Strait, and the continental coast and adjoining
islands of Melville Peninsula, the S. end of Boothia, and
from thence to the Coppermine, the rocks are mostly granitic,
ancient trap, or metamorphic. Farther to the W., and in
the islands more to the N., there are considerable tracts of
Silurian limestone, and also carboniferous limestones and
sandstones; and as far N. as 76g- , at. Prince Patricks
Island, liassic fossils have been found. The coal beds of
Melville Island belong to the true coal formation, and the
beds are supposed to be low in the series; but there is a
tertiary coal at Disco in Greenland, on Cape Bathurst on
the 127th meridian, and on the Garry Islands at the mouth
of the Mackenzie, very similar to the coal higher up the
Mackenzie, at the influx of Bear Lake River, and which,
from the fossil plants it contains, was judged to be of the
miocene age. Moreover, a pleistocene drift seems to be
to the height of 500 feet above the present sea-level.
But perhaps the most interesting of all the deposits of Fossils,
past times are vast multitudes of animal remains, in forms
very similar to, and in some cases not to be distinguished
from, those which are still inhabitants of the face ot the
earth. The bones brought from the extraordinary ice-cliffs
of Eschscholtz Bay, on the verge ot the Arctic Circle, were
those of the Elephasprimigenius ; the Equusfossilis, in no
respect different from the bones of the existing horse of
the same medium size ; the Cervus tarandus ; the Ovibos
moschatus, both of them equally like the bones of the ex¬
isting species; Ovibos maximus, of larger size than the
musk-ox, but of the same genus; Bison prisons (?) vel ame-
ricanus (?); Bison crassicornis ; Cervus aloes. The ele¬
phant tusks have been for many years an object of traffic
with the natives, who find them in abundance on the Kus-
kokwim River, on the 60th parallel, and several of the inlets
communicating with Bering’s Sea and Strait; and an entire
skeleton of an elephant was found far inland in the elevated
country near the sources of the Yukon, but none has as yet
been discovered to the E. of the Rocky Mountain chain.
The two fore extremities of a Mastodon, found far to the
S., not a great way from the W. side of Lake Winipeg, are
the only fossil bones that have been met with in Rupert’s
Land. The Eschscholtz Bay deposits, full of interest as they
are, sink into insignificance when compared with the vast
masses of fossil bones on the islands N. of the Asiatic Svia-
toi Noss, lying between the 73d and 76th degrees ot north
latitude. Some of these islands, which are of considerable
extent, seem to consist mostly of organic remains, which
occupy more space than the solidly frozen matrix in which
they lie, and from which, as it thaws annually under the
direct influence of the summer sun, the bones drop or are
quarried by the natives. Ever since that coast was disco¬
vered by the Yakutsk hunters the removal of bones has
been going on; and in the year 1821, 20,000 lb. of fossil
ivory was procured from the island of New Siberia alone,
some of the tusks weighing 480 lb. The skull, flesh, and
skin of the Ehinoceros tichorinus have been obtained from
thence, and the discovery of the entire carcase of a mam¬
moth at the mouth of the Lena in 1779 has been re¬
peatedly commented upon in popular works. Ihe charnel-
house smell, and the remains of hair and horn in the Esch¬
scholtz ice-cliffs, tell a similar story of the slow progress of
POLAR REGIONS.
Antarctic decay since these vast and curious assemblages of animals
Regions, were entombed in these two localities, lying 50° of longi-
tude apart. The elephant and rhinoceros do not exist on
the American continent at the present day, nor in Siberia.
The horse was introduced into the former by the Spaniards;
and of the other species enumerated above, the musk-ox
at the same geological epoch existed in Europe, Professor
Owen having identified a skull found in England with the
American species. The conditions of sea and land when
such accumulations were possible are subjects of conjec¬
ture and speculation on which we cannot enter here.
ANTARCTIC POLAR REGIONS.
Our knowledge of the North Polar seas and lands is the
result of the search for a strait leading to the Pacific ; but
the exploration of the Antarctic regions is mainly due to
quests after a Terra Australis incognita. The belief in
the existence of an Antarctic continent can be traced back
to the year 1576, when Juan Fernandez sailed from the
coast of Chile on a W.S.W. course, and was reported to
have arrived, after a month’s voyage, at a tierra ferme, a
pleasant, fertile land inhabited by highly civilized white
people, dressed in woven cloth. If this story be not alto¬
gether apocryphal, it may be explained in part by suppos¬
ing that Fernandez reached the coasts of New Zealand. At
this time reports were in circulation respecting the Saloman
Islands, discovered by Alvaro Mendanade Neyra in 1567,
but which that seaman was unable to find on a second
voyage made in 1595. The Saloman Islands were sup¬
posed so to abound in silver that in one place an entire
mountain was composed of the precious metal. Mendana,
however, did not realize the hopes that had prompted his
enterprise: he and many of his companions died at Santa
Cruz or Egmont Island, and the chief pilot, Pedro Fernandez
de Quiros, conducted the shattered remnant of the squadron
to Manilla. I his same Quiros was the first who sailed
professedly to seek the Tierra Austral. His voyage, per¬
formed in 1605-6, had for result the discovery of Pitcairn’s
Island, the New Hebrides, and various other islands ;
and the passage of two vessels of the squadron, led by
Luis Vaes de Torres, through the strait between Australia
and New Guinea; but neither Quiros nor his second in
command, I orres, went far to the south. Seven vears
previous to Quiros’ voyage, or in 1599, Dirk Cherrits, in
endeavouring to enter Magelhaen’s Strait, in company with
some ships belonging to Rotterdam, was separated from
them in tempestuous weather, and driven southwards to
latitude 64 , when he saw a high snowy land, since
known by the name of South Shetland, and ascertained to
extend southwards across the Antarctic Circle. Other
voyages to the S. followed; but Captain Cook is the first
navigator who is known to have actually entered within
the circle just named. His voyage in 1773-4 was under¬
taken, as he states, to ascertain whether the unexplored
pait o toe Southern Hemisphere be only an immense mass
of water, or contains another continent, as speculative geo-
grap .y seemed to suggest Of the discoveries that our
great navigator made exterior to the Antarctic Circle this
ts not the place to speak; and it is merelv necessary to say
that he saw no land to the S. of Southera Thule or Sand¬
wich Land on the parallel of 60. S.; and that he entered
within the Antarctic Circle only thrice, and for short dis¬
tances,—namely, near the meridian of 40. E., between
100. and 110. W., and between 135. and 148. W.; the
most southerly point attained to by him being 71. 10. S
on the 107th meridian, and on the 30th of January 1774.
the Russian Bellinghausen discovered Petra Island in
January 1821 ; Weddell in 1823 proceeded 3 degrees far-
ther S. than Cook ; Biscoe in 1831-3 discovered Enderby
and Kemp islands, lying between the meridians of 45. and
181
60. E. Balleny in 1839 discovered Sabrina Land and the Antarctic
small islands which bear his name; and Dumont D’Ur- Regions,
ville saw Adeiie Land in 1840. these lands are mostly v v '■ '
exterior to the Antarctic Circle ; the S. end of South Shet¬
land, Balleny, and Petra islands being the only lands that
actually cross it. South Victoria, containing Mount Ter¬
ror, 10,880 feet high, and the active volcano Mount Ere¬
bus, 12,400 feet high, is the discovery of Rear-Admiral
Sir James Clark Ross. The farthest point of south lati¬
tude reached by this persevering and enterprising officer
was 78. 4. S.; and the Parry Mountains, the most
southern known land, were seen extending about as far
S. This southern land was traced from N. to S. for about
460 miles, and found everywhere barricaded by a high
ledge of ice, on which a heavy surf was beating; so that
landing was impossible, except on some small islands, which
consisted of igneous rocks. 1 he surface was everywhere
thickly covered with snow, and there was not the smallest
vestige of vegetation; but on the islands there were incon¬
ceivable myriads of penguins, whose deposits had formed a
deep bed of guano. Cockburn Island, one of the South
Shetland group, and not above a mile in diameter, but rising
2760 feet above the sea, lying in Lat. 64. 12. S., Long.
59. 49. W., is the most southern land on which vegetation
has been detected. Its flora contains nineteen species, all
belonging to the orders of mosses, algae, and lichens. The
cliffs were streaked with the yellow Lecanora miniata ; the
Ulva crispa grew on the beach in decaying organized sub¬
stances ; and the minute mosses in the fissures of the
rocks. One of the algae inhabited a pool of fresh water
hardly two spans across, and sheltered by a projecting
rock ; the earth at the bottom, perhaps half an inch below,
was hard frozen, and the water itself just thawing in the
unusual warmth of the day which had raised the thermo¬
meter to 40 Fahrenheit. Collema crispa grew on the
borders of the pool, and with it a green microscopic
Conferva lecanora. I he sea-weeds Iridcea micans and
Adenocystis Lessoni, gathered on the shores of the island,
were all floating. Vegetation could not be traced above a
ledge of rocks which girt the island at the height of 1400
feet. The lichens ascended the highest. This land, there-
fore, lying 34° from the Antarctic Circle, on the outside,
has a climate approaching closer to the absolute and per¬
petual snow-line than Arctic land approaching 17° nearer
to the Pole. No terrestrial quadruped inhabits the lands
within the Antarctic Circle, the marine cetaceans and
seals being the only mammals that enter its area or ap¬
proach it within many degrees of latitude. Organized spe¬
cially to inhabit the chilly Antarctic waste of waters, the
almost scaly Penguins resemble the Walrus and Seals in
being able to travel long and far beneath the surface of the
ocean, in seeking their food in its depths, and in scarcely
quitting it except for the purposes of incubation. Indeed
one species, the Solitary Penguin, carries its egg with it
in a fold of skin when it roams far in search of food. The
existence of such a creature, and of the Dodo, Moa, &c.,
furnishes an argument of certain species having been created
solely for limited districts.
A glance at the north and south circumpolar maps will
show the great contrast between the Arctic and Antarctic
areas,—the one mostly of land, the other of sea. Aerial and
marine currents operate in both in modifying the climate,
and meet with less interference in the south ; yet the sum¬
mer temperature of the Antarctic Circle is the inferior
one. Sir James Ross ascertained the mean temperature
within the Antarctic Circle in 1841, for January, Febru-
ary, and March, to be 27 '3,—that of February, passed in
the highest latitude, being only 240,3 Fahr.; while the
temperature of the surface sea-water for the first two
months, passed between Lat. 664. and 78., scarcely varied
from 29°'2 Fahr. (j. K Nf)
182 POL
Tolariza- POLARIZATION OF LIGHT. See Optics,part vii.
tion of POLE, Reginald, cardinal, and Archbishop of Canter-
bury, a younger son of Sir Richard Pole, Lord Montague,
Pole. vvas korn at Stoverton Castle in Staffordshire, in the year
v ir v-> 1500. At seven years of age he was sent to a Carthusian
monastery at Shene, near Richmond in Surrey; and thence,
when he was about twelve years old, removed to Magdalen
College in Oxford, where, by the instruction of the cele¬
brated Linacre and Latimer, he made considerable progress
in learning. In 1515 he took the degree of Bachelor of Arts,
and was admitted to deacon’s orders some time afterwards;
in 1517 he was made prebendary of Salisbury; and in 1519
dean of Wimborne and of Exeter. We are not surprised
at this young nobleman’s early preferments, when we con¬
sider him as the kinsman of Henry VIII., and that he was
bred to the church by the king’s special command.
Being now about the age of nineteen, he was sent, ac¬
cording to the fashion of the times, to finish his studies at
Padua in Italy, where he resided some time in great splen¬
dour, having a handsome pension from the king. In 1525
he returned to England, where he was most graciously
received at court, and universally admired for his talents
and address ; but preferring study and sequestration to the
pleasures of a court, he retired to the Carthusian convent
at Shene, where he had continued about two years, when
the king began to divulge his scruples of conscience con¬
cerning his marriage with Catharine of Spain. Pole fore¬
saw that this affair would necessarily involve him in difficul¬
ties ; he therefore determined to quit the kingdom, and
accordingly obtained leave to visit Paris. Having thus
avoided the storm for the present, he returned once more
to his convent at Shene; but his tranquillity was again
interrupted by the king’s resolution to shake off the Pope’s
supremacy, of which Pole’s approbation was thought indis¬
pensably necessary. How he managed in this affair is not
very clear. However, he obtained leave to revisit Italy,
and his pension was continued for some time.
The king, having now divorced Queen Catharine, mar¬
ried Anne Boleyn ; and being resolved to throw off' the
papal yoke, ordered Dr Richard Sampson to write a hook
in justification of his proceedings, which he sent to Pole
for his opinion. To this Pole, secure in the Pope’s protec¬
tion, wrote a vehement answer, entitled Pro Unitate Eccle-
siaslica, and sent it to the king, who was so much offended
with the contents that he withdrew his pension, stripped
him of all his preferments, and procured an act of attainder
to be passed against him. In the meantime Pole was
created a cardinal, and sent in quality of nuncio to different
parts of Europe. Henry made several attempts t^. have
him secured and brought to England, but all of them
proved abortive. At length the Pope fixed him as legate
at Viterbo, where he continued till the year 1543, when
he was appointed legate at the council of Trent, and was
afterwards employed by the Pope as his chief counsellor.
Pope Paul HI. having died in 1540, Pole was twice
elected his successor, and, we are told, twice refused the
papal dignity,—the first time, because the election was made
in too great haste; and the second, because it was done in
the night. Cardinal Maria de Monte obtained the triple
crown ; and Pole, having kissed his slipper, retired to the
convent of Magazune, near Verona, where he continued
till the death of Edward VI. in the year 1553. On the
accession of Queen Mary, Pole was sent as legate to Eng¬
land, where he was received by her Majesty with great
veneration, and conducted to the archbishop’s palace at
Lambeth, Thomas Cranmer being at that time prisoner in
the Tower. He immediately appeared in the House of
Lords, where he made a long speech; and this being re¬
ported to the Commons by their speaker, both these
Houses concurred in an humble supplication to be recon¬
ciled to the see of Rome. They presented it on their
POL
knees to her Majesty, who interceded with the cardinal, Pole,
and he graciously condescended to give them absolution. ||
This business being ended, the legate made his public Polevo|
entry into London, and immediately set about the extirpa- ''““v-*
tion of heresy. The day after the execution of Cranmer,
which he is falsely said to have advised, he was consecrated
archbishop of Canterbury. In the same year, 1556, he was
elected chancellor of the university ot Oxford, and soon
afterwards of Cambridge, both which he visited by his
commissioners. He died oi a double quartan ague in the
year 1558, about sixteen hours after the death of the queen,
and was buried in the cathedral oi Canterbury.
As to his character, the Catholic writers ascribe to him
every virtue under heaven ; and even Bishop Burnet is
lavish in his praise, attributing the cruelties of Mary’s reign
to the advice of Gardiner. In this Mr Hume agrees with
the bishop, and represents Pole as the advocate of tolera¬
tion. By every impartial account, he seems to have been a
man of mild manners and of real worth, though undoubtedly
a zealous member of the Church of Rome. His Life was
written by T. Phillips, 2 vols., 1767; a Review of the Life,
by Dr Gloster Ridley, and animadversions upon it, by Dr
T. Neve, 1766.
POLE (ttoAos, a hinge), was applied formerly to the
extremities of the axis of the celestial sphere in the ancient
astronomy ; and hence it has come to signify the extre¬
mities of the axis on which the earth turns. From this
primary signification all the various uses of the word have
been derived. It came to be applied to those points which
would become poles of rotation if any great circle of the
sphere became the equator. In Physics it signifies, in
general, any tendency towards polarity ; and in Geometry
it is equally loose.
POLE. See Perch.
POLEMARCHUS. See Archon.
POLET7E (yrwXrjTaL, those who let) were ten officers at
Athens, who, like the Roman censors, let out the taxes and
other revenues to the highest bidders, and sold confiscated
property.
POLEVOY, Nikolai Alexieyich, a voluminous Rus¬
sian author, was born at Irkutsk in Siberia in 1796. His
first notoriety was gained in the character of an infant pro¬
digy. Learning seemed to come to him by instinct. At
the age of six, he picked up a knowledge of reading from
an elder sister. Although sent to work soon afterwards in
his father’s brandy distillery and pottery, he busied his
little head with nothing else but literature. The composi¬
tion of newspapers and dramas became the amusement of
his leisure hours. No book fell in his way which his mind
did not eagerly devour, and his memory did not easily re¬
tain. Thus by the time that he had reached the age of
fifteen he was a practised author, had read a thousand vol¬
umes, and could repeat long scraps of his readings off by
heart. Equally remarkable for its enthusiasm was the
manhood of Polevoy. Adopting the literary profession at
Moscow in 1825, he mitered upon a career of almost unex¬
ampled activity. The Moscow Telegraph was conducted,
and its best material supplied, by his own hand. Plays and
romances followed in rapid succession from his pen. An
elaborate History of Russia at the same time advanced till
it had reached the twelfth volume. Still more intense did
his ardour become when he had removed to St Petersburg.
Not content with editing several journals, his prolific mind
threw off tragedies, comedies, farces, tales, essays, and
translations from Shakspeare. He soon, in fact, outran
both his readers and critics, and produced books which were
doomed to neglect. The result was, that his fame began to
decline, and his health at the same time began to give way.
He died in 1846, with a body which had been worn out
by incessant exertion, and with a reputation which had not
fulfilled its early promise. Among the most important
POL
Poll works of Polevoy are Sketches of Russian Literature, in
|| 2 vols. 8vo, St Petersburg, 1839; Dramatic Works and
Police. Translations, in 4 vols., St Petersburg, 1842-43 ; and Life
qf Peter the Great, in 4 vols., 1843. (See Knight’s Eng¬
lish Cgclopcedia of Biographyi)
POLI, Giuseppe Xaverio, the “ Neapolitan Pliny,”
was born at Molfetta, in the kingdom of Naples, in 1746.
He passed through a course of training which was pecu¬
liarly fitted to develop his talent for natural history. At
the university of Padua, Morgagni the anatomist was his
professor, and Scarpa the anatomist was his friend and fel¬
low-student. In 1776 his promotion to the chair of geo¬
graphy in the military academy at Naples encouraged his
scientific zeal. Still more useful was the appointment which
he shortly afterwards received to visit the educational esta¬
blishments of France, Germany, and England. He seized
the opportunity of making a collection of shells in all the
different districts which he visited, and of gathering hints
POL
183
on natmal history from the various eminent foreigners Policastro
whom he met. Accordingly, after Poli had returned home
and had been installed in the chair of experimental philo- Police,
sophy at Naples, the result of this long course of education
began to appear. In 1791-95 the first two volumes of his
great work Testacea Utriusque Sicilice, illustrated with
beautiful steel engravings, were published. He was en¬
gaged in preparing the remaining volume when he died in
1825. It appeared not long afterwards.
POLICASTRO, a town of Naples in the province of
Principato Citra, on the shore of the gulf of the same name,
22 miles S. of Diano. It has a Gothic cathedral, and was
once a place of much importance ; but it was taken and
sacked by the Turks in the sixteenth century, and has
never since recovered its former prosperity. There is a
good harbour; and the inhabitants are actively engaged in
fishery. Pop. 7000.
P 0 L I C E.
Few political questions have been discussed, from time to
time, with greater conflict of opinion, or with more of con¬
troversial keenness, than have those which relate to the
functions, the limitations, and the control of Police. The
very definitions of the word which we meet with in our
ordinary dictionaries and legal text-books, indicate, by their
vagueness and elasticity, how various are the points of view
from which police arrangements may be regarded, and how
numerous are the links which connect a subject, familiar
even to triteness under some of its aspects, with not a few
of the most complex problems of the thorny science of go¬
vernment.
iirrent Johnson tells us that by “ police” is meant “the regu-
jefinition?. lation and government of the city and country, so fir as
regards the inhabitants” (adding that the word is a French
one); which is little more than an abridgment of the pas¬
sage in which Blackstone says,—“ By the public police and
economy, I mean the due regulation and domestic order of
the kingdom, whereby the individuals of a State, like mem¬
bers of a well-governed family, are bound to conform their
general behaviour to the rules of propriety, good neigh¬
bourhood, and good manners; and to be decent, indus¬
trious, and inoffensive in their respective stations.”1 This,
certainly, is a comprehensive definition ; elastic enough to
include alike the police systems of countries where indivi¬
dual liberty is jealously guarded, and those which exist
where statecraft has victoriously established its most re¬
pressive agencies.
mtham s Bentham’s definition will contrast favourably with these,
finition. as respects both precision and limitation. Police, he says,
“ is, in general, a system of precaution, either for the pre¬
vention of crimes or of calamities. . . . Its business may
be distributed into eight distinct branches,—!. Police for
the prevention of offences; 2. Police for the prevention of
calamities; 3. Police for the prevention of endemic dis¬
eases; 4. Police of charity; 5. Police of interior commu¬
nications ; 6. Police of public amusements; 7. Police for
recent intelligence and information ; 8. Police for registra¬
tion.”2 There is here, we think, a definition clerTr and
practical, and little open to exception, save in the phrase
“ police for recent intelligence,” which is vague enough to
cover a system of espionage, always more fruitful of evil
than of good; and although by no means unattempted in
this country, invariably condemned as soon as detected.
But in Britain the chief arena of conflicting opinion on Conflict of
this subject lies rather in the control of police than in its local mul
functions. The claims of local self-government come here central ad-
into contact with those of central administration, and the ministra-
questions recur, “ Is it wise to sacrifice something of exe- tion'
cutive efficiency for the better maintenance of the old con¬
stitutional safeguards ?” And if it be, “ How can the sacri¬
fice be made as small as possible ?” Nor is it uninteresting
to remember that in all these current discussions about
“ dangers of centralization,” and the like, we have but
mediaeval questions under a new phase. The citizens and
burgesses who, now-a-days at very short intervals, call
meetings, sign petitions, and appoint deputations, to pro¬
test against the subtle designs of Boards of Health and
of Secretaries of State, are but imitating, in modern
fashion, those early burghers who made the willed town
a sturdy rival to the feudal castle, and who were in the
habit of keeping their weapons at least as sharp as their
words.
To attempt, even in briefest form, a historical review of
the police institutions of all the prominent countries of
Europe would greatly exceed the needful limits of this
article. For such an account there are ample and little-
used materials, and it might be made a useful contribution
to our political literature. But here it must suffice to look
mainly at the experience, in this matter, of France and of
Britain. The one will present us with the most elaborate
police machinery that human ingenuity has yet built up, by
dint of long-continued application, and under little check
from without; the other, until a very recent date, with a
series of mere hand-to-mouth expedients, each of them
postponed to the last moment, adapted to meet some press¬
ing emergency, and watched in its working by a jealous
public opinion. On the one hand, we shall have to keep
in view the plain truth, that a nation may pay too dearly
even for the repression of crime, and may after all far over¬
shoot the mark; on the other, grave facts will be frequently
suggesting the readiness with which petty and tortuous in¬
terests assume the mask of a care for liberty, and the neces¬
sity that instruments of police,—those especially which
strike at the roots of crime, and not merely at its spray,—
should have free scope and be held in a firm grasp, if they
are to be used effectively.
1 Blackstone, Commentaries, iv. 13, § 5.
2 Bentham, View of a Complete Code of Laws, c. vi. (Works, by Bowrin/j, iii. 169).
184
POLICE.
French
Police.
The rise of
police in
France.
I. The Police of France.
French
Police.
State of
France un¬
der Charles
VIL
Establish¬
ment of a
royal con¬
trol over
the police
of the
kingdom.
In France, as elsewhere, the organization of police for
the repression of crime has its beginnings amidst the strife
of conflicting powers. Manorial lordships and clerical pri¬
vileges of sanctuary are found to present tough obstacles to
the due punishment of evil-doers, and those to whom the
task is committed have to cast about for some effectual
means of surmounting the difficulty. If the same body of
men, whose claim to accord the privilege of sanctuary has
become a covert to the vilest criminals, is found inflicting
atrocious punishments on its own dependants for slight
offences, an opening is made for innovation, of which a re¬
solute hand can hardly fail to make good use. When
Blanche, regent of France and mother of St Louis, at the
head of some servants, hastily gathered at the news of the
sufferings which the Chapter of Notre Dame was inflicting
on men, women, and children, for default in a village tax,
struck with her staff at the door of the Capitular prison,1 she
did something more than bring relief to its suffocating
tenants. That blow had many echoes.
But we must pass rapidly over the initiative stage of the
police of Paris. It will suffice to say that, until the end of
the fifteenth century, the maintenance of the peace of the
city, the pursuit and custody of criminals, and the suppres¬
sion of vagrancy, were the functions of the provost of
Paris. Towards 1450 much of the real power of that
officer, in the police department, had passed into the hands
of his lieutenants {lieutenant civil du Chdtelet; lieu¬
tenant criminel du Chdtelet), although the ultimate con¬
trol lay still with him. Paris was divided into sixteen dis¬
tricts, each presided over by a commissary of police, with
a certain number of sergeants [sergents) under him.
The state of France at this period might well seem
almost desperate. The long struggle with the English
invaders was indeed almost at an end ; but the departing
foes left behind them devastated provinces and half-deserted
towns. In many parts of the country, barbarism seemed
to have resumed its reign. The bands called flayers {ecor-
cheurs) were still striking a terror into the minds of the
scanty population, the traces of which remained for cen¬
turies afterwards in oral tradition,2 and may be seen still
in the popular literature of the time. In Paris itself, wolves
ranged the streets by night. Deserted, but not yet dis¬
mantled houses, stood in groups, closely shut up, but with¬
out claimants.3
To re-organize the police at such a time must have been
a formidable task. Charles VII. took one resolute step, by
vesting in the provost of Paris a general jurisdiction over
the vagrants and malefactors of the kingdom. There was
a great outcry; but some degree of order ensued, and the
highways became passable. “ The traders in various parts,”
says a chronicler, “ began to resume their journeys; the
peasants set to work to rebuild their cottages, to clear their
fields, to trim their vines, and to weed their gardens.
Towns and districts were restored and re-peopled. After
having been so long in tribulation and sorrow, it seemed
that God had at length extended to them his mercy and
pardon.”4 This first step was followed up by the royal ap¬
pointment of tax-assessors, who, in 1448, in addition to their
ordinary functions, were directed to choose at least one
man for each parish (propice pour estre archer), to be
equipped as a bowman. 1 he purpose was to get the nu¬
cleus of a militia; but the Franc-archer seems to have —v—
been occasionally policeman as well as militiaman. He
was always a favourite subject of the jokers and the satiiists
of the dav.
About 1520 Francis I. created a special officer, called Police
Provost-Marshal (Prevot des Marechaux), for the city and measures of:
district of Paris, and gave him power both to apprehend rancisi-
and to punish vagrants and disorderly persons, without ap¬
peal. Thirty constables were placed under his orders.
Francis I. also doubled the number of the commissaries of
police, and that of their sergeants. The night-watch and
town militia were at this period, as they had been for a
long time before, distinct bodies, in which the towns-people
were obliged to serve by rotation ; but numerous exemp¬
tions had reduced both of them to inefficiency. Francis I.
annulled most of the exemptions. Henry II. imposed a
watch-rate on the traders and artizans, releasing them from
their compulsory service, and replacing them by paid
watchmen. He also established a municipal guard, com¬
posed of three companies,—bowmen, constables, and arque-
busiers, or men with fire-arms.0 These also were paid from
municipal funds.
Drunkenness, ill-regulated lodging-houses, and the op- Retrospect
portunities offered to thieves by shows and crowds in the at the mam
public streets, are matters which we find pressing on the ° SJC
attention of the police functionaries of Paris in the four- F
tenth and fifteenth centuries, much as they do on those of
our own towns in the nineteenth. As early as 1372, regu¬
lations occur for the regular closing of taverns, the responsi¬
bility of lodging-house keepers, and the restriction of street
minstrels.6 °But here, as elsewhere, the regulations look
more formidable on the record than the offenders in many
cases found them to be in practice. Sturdy beggars and ;
disbanded soldiers flocked to the capital in crowds, and the
municipal force found itself ill able to make head against
them. Even as late as 1560 it counted but 500 men of all
ranks.7
The repression of crime was also especially impeded by Sale of
a monstrous abuse which had grown up at periods of finan- ™yal Fa¬
cial embarrassment,—that, namely, of selling royal pardons ona'
for money. So far was this abuse carried, that we find in¬
stances of the release of criminals, at various stages of the
procedure against them, by mere verbal order of the king,
carried to the provost or his lieutenant, by a chamberlain, a
secretary, or a court usher. On strong remonstrance from
the Parliaments, edicts appeared laying the blame on the
importunities of courtiers, and forbidding the future release
of persons in custody, save on the production of letters-
patent passed in council, and sealed with the royal seal.
But the evil was rather checked than cured.
The police of markets and of public health is an inter- Police of
esting branch of this topic, the history of which in France™^613
is copious and remarkable. In our own country a consi_ ijg health,
derable change has taken place of late years in public
opinion on such matters. Measures of precaution which,
not very long ago, were by turns ridiculed as puerile, or
denounced as tyrannical, have commended themselves to
legislative attention as both wise and essential. It has
come to be increasingly apparent that the free use of weights
1 Leboeuf, Histoire du Diocese de Paris, ix. 360-367, as quoted by Fregier, Histoire de VAdministration de la Police de Paris, i. 119.
2 Michelet tells us that an English captain of one of these bands, named Matthew Gough {Gallic^ a Mathago”) is known to this day in
some parts in the shape of u marionnette, which is a standing bugbear to children. (Histoire de France, v. 213, note.)
3 “ Les gens du Roy s’informaient curieusement de ces maisons abandonnees, des morts, des testaments, des heritiers afin d'en tirer
quelque chose. 11s alloient parmy Paris, et quant ils veoient buys fermes, ils demandoient aux voisins d’entour : Pourquoi sont ces
buys fermes? Ha ! sire, respondoient, ils les gens en sont trespasses. Et n’ont-ils nuls hoirs qui y fussent demoure ? Ha ! sire, ils de-
mourent ailleurs,” &c. (Journal d’an Bourgeois de Paris, edit., 1827, as quoted by Michelet, ut supra, v. 216.)
4 Mathieu de Coucy, 532, 533; Michelet, ut supra, 257.
6 Isambert, Jourdan and others, Recueil des Anciennes lois Franqaises (Ordonnances de 1539), xii. 660; Fregier, ut supra, i. 194.
6 Eegistres du Chdtelet (Ordonnances de Police, 12 F6v. 1367 ; 29 Mars, 27 Oct., 1372); Fregier, ut supra, i. 261, 262.
7 Fregier, i. 275.
i
POLICE.
185
French
Police.
Police ar~
and measures forms no part of the true doctrine of free
trade, and that the liberty of wholesale poisoning is a very
undesirable development of the liberty of the subject. A
view of French practice in this department can hardly fail
to be instructive, both when erroneous and when wisely
directed. And it should be noticed, that the regulations
made immediately for Paris were substantially those which
governed the other cities and towns of the kingdom. In
some particulars, very similar regulations will be found in
the English statute-book, but with less of system and co¬
herence.
As early as 1350 we find a royal ordinance of police
which provides public weighing-offices, regulates the loca¬
lities and the hours of open markets, and establishes an
inspection of millers, bakers, and butchers. The last named
proved to be an especially troublesome race. They took
an active part in the disturbances occasioned by the quar¬
rels of the dukes of Burgundy and Orleans and made
themselves formidable partisans of the Burgundian faction,
a service which was rewarded by special privileges accorded
to the fraternity. Hence arose a sort of monopoly in course
of time, and much employment for the police.
The cleansing of the city was another troublesome de¬
rangements partment of duty. During the fourteenth and fifteenth
for clean- centuries there were repeated enactments directing its dis-
!nS/ charge by the inhabitants, the owner or chief tenant of each
drainin'* ^ouse being bound to keep his own share of the street or
1399-1557. highway free of encumbrance and dirt. But these were so
little operative, that at length (in 1506) a cleansing rate
was established. In order to make the novelty work as
smoothly as possible, a committee of rate-payers was orga¬
nized to co-operate with the commissaries of police.1 It
seems strange to read that, when contagious diseases were
prevalent, this rate was tacitly suspended, and the cleans¬
ing left to the goodwill of each inhabitant. The reason
assigned is, the probability that such an impost, added to
existing privations, would excite disturbances.2 Other re¬
gulations, however, of a sanitary kind, as, for example, the
removal of noxious trades, were at such times enforced with
more than usual strictness.3 The earliest police enactment
respecting sewers—such as they were,—and their appur¬
tenances, is of the time of Charles VI.; but there are long
anterior municipal regulations as to the provision of latrines
to every house, on pain of confiscation of rents. Under
Francis L, the houses themselves were forfeited if the law
continued to be neglected.4 The paving of streets, and the
survey of houses in course of construction, are also the sub¬
ject of many enactments {e.g., 5th April 1399,5 28th July
1500, 16th Feb. 1533, 10th May 1538, March 1557-66).
Here the chief difficulties of the police seem to have arisen
from the stringent rules of those wardenships and [corpora¬
tions of arts and trades (^jurandes et communautes des arts et
metiers'), the procedures and influence of which, especially
but not exclusively in France, form so striking a feature in
the later portions of mediaeval history, and in the earlier
epochs of the history of modern Europe.7 This conflict of
authorities resulted in the increase of the powers of the
provost and his officers.
In 1577 a new development was given to the admini¬
stration of police in Paris, by the power accorded to the
The trade
Corpora¬
tions.
Elective
police ma¬
gistrates
ippointed.
inhabitants of each of the seventeen districts (the number French
had then recently been so augmented) to elect two Police,
police magistrates, empowered to hear and determine petty
charges, involving only a small fine. The appeal from
this summary jurisdiction lay to the weekly general meet¬
ing of police functionaries, presided over by the provost or
one of his lieutenants. In addition to their judicial duties,
these new magistrates acted, jointly with the commissaries
of police, in the inspection of markets, workshops, and
lodging-houses.8 A further step towards the suppression
of the baronial and manorial jurisdictions was taken in 1639,
by the transfer of their powers in matters of police to the
Chatelet.
It was also in the reign of Louis XIII. that new mea- Work-
sures w'ere originated with a view to the suppression of houses pro¬
mendicity. Workhouses in the faubourgs St Victor, St vide(1 for
Marcel, and St Germain were provided for the reception 0f al)le-hodied
all vagrants. The first was assigned to able-bodied men, who ^SraIlts>_
were employed in grinding wheat, in pounding cements, ^isfordie
in brewing, and other hard labour; the second to women infirm,
and children, whose task was knitting, button-making, and 1612-1618.
other feminine occupations; the third was made an hospi¬
tal for the infirm.9 Within a week, a very large portion of
the Paris mendicants were safely housed: sturdy beggars
entirely disappeared from the streets; and for some years
the plan was vigorously carried out; but eventually it
proved to be a failure.
In the Histoire Generale des Larrons w e have an au¬
thentic and singularly graphic account of the criminal and
vagrant classes of the French, and especially of the Paris
population, as they were under Louis XIII. They were
organized much on the plan of the incorporated trades; had
their system of apprenticeship, and of “freedom” on proof
of competency ; and their common fund, fed by a pro rata
contribution from the proceeds of robberies. There are
but few of the stratagems which excite attention for their
ingenuity in the criminal reports of the nineteenth century,
that were not practised with frequent success in the six¬
teenth and seventeenth centuries.
Those extensive changes in the administration of police Police sys-
which the power and energy of Louis XIV. enabled him to tem esta-
introduce, with so much temporary profit to the predomi- Dished by^
nance of the royal authority, tended undoubtedly to check Louis Xivr*
ordinary crime, and to strengthen the hands of the judicial
magistrates. But this increased vigour of the laws wras ob¬
tained, as we shall see presently, at the cost of frightful
abuses. The manorial and other exceptional jurisdictions
were now wholly absorbed in the functions of the Chatelet.
To meet the increase of its business, the single bench was
divided into two, each with its separate provost and staff,
but both collectively forming one body. A lieutenant-
general of police was created, whose functions absorbed
those of both the existing lieutenants, by whom the police
duties of the provost had long been discharged. The
double bench of the Chatelet lasted only for ten years, the
inconveniences of the division having been found to exceed
its advantages. But the office of lieutenant-general of
police lasted from the 26th March 1667, when its functions
were first conferred on M. de la lleynie, until the memor¬
able 14th July 1789, when its last holder, M. Thiroux de
2 Ibid. 3 Delamare, i. 658.
6 Ordonnances des Hois de France, viii. 319.
Delamare, Traitt de la Police, iv. 208; Fregier, ut supra, i. 518.
4 Isambert, xii. 651; Delamare, i. 568-570, as quoted by Fre<*ier i. 521.
6 Delamare, iv. 174, 175, 183, 186; Fregier, i. 531. °
In France these bodies retained many of their privileges until 1776. See the edict for their suppression in Isambert and others,
Kecueil des Anciennes Lois Franchises (from a.d. 420 to 1789), xxiii. 370-386. 8 Fregier, ut supra, ii. 5.
v,- . 1 i' u A110*;111!? Heglement sur les Hopitaux affectts aux Mendiants, Aug. 27, 1612, in the Lamoignon MSS. preserved in the ar-
c ives o t e prefecture of police, x. 727.. M. Fregier s book, we may add, is one of great labour and of great value ; but it is impos¬
in' 6 ° P1"11136 1[8 arrangenient- '-The periods which form its leading divisions are arbitrary and unmeaning ; what, at first glance, looks
^ U14 aPP['oach to chronological order proves on examination to be chaotic, and the baffled reader seeks in vain for an index. The
§ ec o c eainess of dates becomes in many parts of the book quite ludicrous. In other respects, M. Fregier’s work is praiseworthy
we are muc indebted to it. Its continuation (on a better plan) from 1789 to the second empire would be a public service
VOL. XVIII. re.
2 A
f-
186
POLICE.
Character
of De La
lleynie,
first lieu¬
tenant-ge¬
neral of
police.
Crosne, hastened to place his post at the disposal of the
conquerors of the Bastille as soon as they had established
themselves in the Hotel de Ville.
De La lleynie filled the office of lieutenant-general for
thirty years, a period twice as long as that of the most tena¬
cious of his successors. If we bear in mind what those thirty
years were, the fact of itself almost paints the man’s portrait.
Able, supple, stern, and unscrupulous, we feel little sur¬
prise at meeting with him in that instructive chapter of
French history which narrates the revocation of the edict
of Nantes. In that fatal business he was a commissioner,
and one of the most rigorous. Apart from that, the ordi¬
nary regulations of criminal procedure, in the preparation
as well as the execution of which he had doubtless his
share, are animated from the first page to the last by the
principle that vigorous repression is everything,—the pos¬
sible risk of condemning the innocent nothing. Scarcely
was the accusation lodged, when the accused person began
to be treated as guilty.1 Of the many remarkable trials in
which De La lleynie presided or held a prominent place,
that perhaps of a female poisoner named La Voisin, is best
remembered, from its having elicited a smart reply from
the Duchess of Bouillon. The prisoner in this case (who
was burnt in the Place de Greve in February 1680) had
. accused certain persons of high rank, of whom the duchess
was one, of having “ made a compact with the devil.”
“ Have you ever seen the devil ? ” asked De La Reynie of
the duchess in the course of her examination. “ Sir,” said
she, “ I see him now; he is very ugly, very stupid, and is
disguised as a councillor of state.” The incident, and the
scene of it, throw light on many other things, in the France
of 1680, than the quickness of a woman’s tongue.
Sumptuary The sumptuary laws still in force, and frequently re¬
laws of newed at this period, gave occasion to innumerable ordi-
Louis XIV. nances of police, and were amongst those laws which were
most easily abused to the injury of inoffensive persons.
That such laws, in any form, should emanate from a mon¬
arch whose taste for ostentation and extravagant expen¬
diture amounted to mania, is but a proof the more how
strikingly near together were the periods of ripeness and
rottenness in the tumid monarchy of France.
De La Reynie was succeeded by the Marquis of Argen-
son, who was lieutenant-general from 1697 to 1718. In
his dealings with the remnant of the Protestants, he pre¬
sented a marked contrast to his predecessor. He was suc¬
ceeded, within four years, by Machault d’Arnouville (June
1718 to 1720) ; by the Count d’Argenson (January to July
1720); and by Tasehereau de Baudry (July 1720 to April
1722). The "administration during this period presents
little occasion tor remark; but on the return of the Count
d’Argenson, in April 1722, an active crusade was under¬
taken against the press. No book or writing was to be
published without preliminary censorship byPthe police.
The whole trade of printing was already under strict regu¬
lation, its development limited by law, and its practice ham¬
pered by many restrictions. These were now increased
and made more stringent. The conditions of the cata¬
loguing, valuing, and selling of libraries, booksellers’ stocks,
and the plant of printing-offices, were minutely prescribed^
It was in this storehouse that the unlucKy functionaries of
Charles X. sought their precedents.
The lieu- The succeeding lieutenants-general of police were Ravot
tenant-ge- d’Ombreval (1724-25), Rene Herault (1725-39), bey-
neralof po-de Marville (1739-47), and Berryer (1747-54). Ihe
iiee from 0f thgm iias jhg miserable distinction of having been
almost wholly engrossed with the affairs of the Protestants.
Herault effected considerable improvements in the lighting
lice from
1724 to
1754.
and watching of the streets of Paris. Feydeau de Marville French
organised himself by some vigorous efforts to check the Police,
growth of mendicancy. But no head of police, nor any
other functionary in high place, seems to have reached,
even in idea, some of the principal causes of the evil.
Trade continued to be hampered by the old restrictions,
and mere palliatives, often severe in their operation upon
wretched but inoffensive people, some of whom could not
find work, however earnest in the search, were resorted to,
as of old.
When, as we have seen, the work-house and hospital The police
system was first established (1657), the mendicants who of mendi-
were housed were from 5000 to 6000 in number. Every cancy.
one that worked was entitled to a third of the produce of
his labour. But in 1720 able-bodied mendicants were no
longer received. They were sent back to their respective
townships. Almsgiving was forbidden. Inhabitants of
Paris were prohibited from lodging any persons of whose
means of livelihood no satisfactory account could be given
to the police. The provinces soon complained. A new
system was then tried in the capital by opening registers
for able-bodied paupers, who were brigaded, and employed
on roads and other public works. But the evil outstripped
the remedies. It had been deeply rooted in the days of
Louis XIV., a period as remarkable for the multiplicity of
its laws and regulations respecting the poor as for the pro¬
fuse squandering of the national resources. In the suc¬
ceeding reigns the “ standing army of misery,” as a recent
historian has called it, became more formidable still. In
1767, according to the minister Necker, 50,000 mendicants
were actually taken into custody.3 At this period the re¬
ceptacles for such captures throughout the kingdom were
but thirty-three in number. Incredible as such a statement
would seem to be on less sufficient authority than that of
Necker, there is yet conclusive evidence that, ten years
later, after a series of deficient harvests, mendicancy had
enormously increased.
At the time of which Necker writes, De Sartine was De Sar-
lieutenant-general of police, having succeeded Bertin, who tine’s ad-
had filled the office from 1754 to 1759. De Sartine re-rainistJa-
mained at the head of the police until the 30th August
1774. He was a man of considerable ability, but will long
be deservedly gibbeted in history for having prostituted his F
office to the basest uses. The systematic reports by which
he ministered to the crapulous tastes of Louis XV. give
us a view of kingcraft at its lowest possible pitch of de¬
gradation. Such a court, in juxtaposition with the “ army
of misery,” might well be the prelude to a “ reign of
terror.” If other proof be wanted, it will be found in
the details of that Ordonnance d’lnstruction Criminelle The Ordon-
of August 1670, which remained in force, with very nance d In¬
slight modification, at the eve of the revolution. Pre-CrhSle,
liminary torture, perforation of the tongue and of the lips,
mutilation quartering, burning alive, and breaking on
the wheel, will all be found prescribed in this memor¬
able edict, coupled with a provision that the judge might
increase the punishment enacted, if he thought fit so
to do.4
De Sartine’s term of office is also marked by that cala¬
mity at the public celebration of the marriage of the
Dauphin (afterwards Louis XVI.), which seems to have
been partly caused by the conflict of authority between
the lieutenant-general and the provost of trades (prevot
des marchands), and which certainly led to a better de¬
marcation of their respective functions. The accident cost
the lives of a hundred and thirty-two persons.
The inquiry before the Parliament of Paris into the
r Voltaire, Commentaire sur le Livre dis Dalits ct des Peines (CEuvres Completes, xxxix. 89, 93).
2 Peuchet, Collections des Lois de Police, § Arrets de lieglement, Feb. 28, 1723, &c.; Fregier, ut supra, i\. 334.
3 Necker, Administration des Finances, iii. 164, et seq. 4 Isambert and others, Recueil, ut supra, xviii. 415, et seq.
POLICE.
French
Police.
Changes in
the func¬
tions of the
lieutenant-
general
and the
provost.
Police or¬
ganization
at the out¬
break of
the Revolu¬
tion.
Definitions
of the du¬
ties of po¬
lice as laid
iown by
;he Na¬
tional As-
ietnbly.
causes of so lamentable a disaster, resulted in divesting the
provost of all share in the control or responsibility of public
festivities, except within the town-hall and on the river.
The lieutenant-general alone was made answerable for all
needful precautions on such occasions beyond those limits.1
The lieutenancy of the successor of De Sartine, M.
Lenoir, was marked by very different characteristics. His
first tenure of office lasted but a few months, Turgot hav¬
ing replaced him by a follower of his own, Remond d’Al-
bert, early in 1775. But the fall of that eminent minister
led to Lenoir’s resumption of office in 1776, and he retained
it until August 1785. The improvement of the public
markets, and the better lighting, watching, and cleapsing
of the streets, were among the unostentatious but effective
labours of this officer. No such vile scandal as the reports
of De Sartine can be alleged against Lenoir ; but the mon¬
strous abuses which placed the powers of the police at the
disposal of private vengeance and family hatreds were as
rife as ever. Temporarily checked under the ministry of
Malesherbes, that of the Count of Vergennes gave them
back their full swung; to the content even of that marvel¬
lous “ ami des homines ” the old Marquis of Mirabeau, whose
chief complaint against the police (the strings of which few
men had pulled so frequently), w'as, that “ the ruinous ex¬
pense of commissions of this sort is frightful.”2 Of Lenoir’s
successor, M. 1 hiroux de Crosne, nothing very notable
seems to be recorded, save the significant manner of his re¬
signation.
The electoral committee sitting at the town-hall amidst
its multifarious labours on that famous 14th of July, nomi¬
nated a town-council, consisting of sixty members, and divi¬
sible into six sub-committees, to one of which the business
of police was specially confided. The administration thus
improvised speedily submitted to the National Assembly a
decree, which it adopted, and which, with the king’s sanc¬
tion, was promulgated on the 6th of November, under the
title of Letters-Patent on the Provisional Police of Paris.
When it is perceived that by these letters-patent the duties
of this department were distributed among sixti/ petty
committees (under the general authority of the municipal
body) it wdll not be surprising that as early as June 1790,
the arrangement was considerably modified. The mayor
of Paris and the sixteen “ administrators,” who are first
named in the new law as members of the municipality were
formed into six executive committees, one of which be¬
came the “ committee of police.” The primary assembly,
however, of each of the forty-eight sections into which
Paris was divided, exercised certain minor functions, re¬
sembling, as it would seem, those of the former commis¬
saries. But it need hardly be said that, after a verv brief
period, duties of police occupied little of the time either of
assembly or of committee.
After the 9th Thermidor (27th July 1794) the National
Convention vested the control of the various branches of po¬
lice in a committee of twenty members, afterwards reduced
to three, which became, under the constitution of the year
III., the cential executive,3 and retained its authority until
the creation of the prefecture of police in March 1800.
Fiom this last-named period may be dated the organisation
of the Fiench police as, in substance, it now exists.
The definition of the objects and functions of police, as
previously laid down in a law of the National Assembly of
the 16th and 24th August 1790 (division xi, Des juges en
matiere de police) remained in force. It runs thus
“ The objects of police intrusted to the vigilance of the
municipal officers include—
“ 1. All that concerns the safety and convenience of
traffic in the streets, quays, squares, and highways; in the
cleansing and lighting of the city; in the safe repair of
dangerous structures; and in the removal of public nui-
187
French
Police.
“ 2. The repression and punishment of offences against
the public peace, such as affrays, riots, and disturbances in
the streets and other public places.
“ 3. The maintenance of good order in fairs and mar¬
kets, at public festivities, and in places of public resort,
such as churches, coffee-houses, &c.
“ 4. The inspection of weights and measures ; and pre¬
cautions for insuring the wholesome condition of articles
of food exposed for public sale.
“ 5. The prevention by suitable precautions, and the miti¬
gation by needful assistance, of accidents and calamities,
such as fires, epidemics, contagious cattle diseases, and the
like.
“ 6. The duty of obviating or remedying casualties re¬
sulting from the acts of lunatics or of dangerous animals.
“ 7. The supervision of theatres and other public amuse¬
ments.”
1 he principles thus laid down still form, professedly at
least, the basis of police intervention in the matters which
they cover. They were further developed when the official
organization of the department was settled by the consular
decree of 1800, the main provisions of which are as fol¬
lows :—
“ I he prefect of police shall discharge his duties under Consular
the immediate authority of the ministers ; shall correspond regulation
directly with them in relation to matters which lie within of the de*
their respective functions; he may republish from time to
time the police laws and regulations, and may frame and (igoo).
issue directions to insure their execution.
“ His duties shall include the delivery of passports, of
residence licenses (permis de sejour), and of tickets of secu¬
rity {cartes de surete); the repression of begging and va¬
grancy ; the supervision of public-houses and of prostitutes;
the dispersion of crowds ; the police of religious worship,
of printing, and of bookselling ; that of theatres, of powder-
mills, saltpetre-works, and storehouses of arms, and the
pursuit of deserters ; that of the highways, of public health,
of fires and inundations, of river accidents, of the exchange,
of commerce, of taxes, of the lood markets, and of pro¬
hibited wares; and the protection of public monuments.”
And to this list, long as it is, is added an et cetera.
“ It shall also be his duty to regulate the expenses of
officers of health and of veterinary surgeons, the removal
of sick persons and of corpses, the recovery of drowned
persons, and the pounds or green-yards (les frais de
fourriere).
“ The prefect shall charge the costs of his department on The de*
the revenue of the commune of Paris ; his budget shall be
presented to the town council, and have the sanction of°!
the home minister. g
“ The commissaries of police and of the exchange, the
inspectors of highways and wharfs, and peace officers of all
kinds, are placed under his orders, as is the National Guard
on due requisition. Finally, the entire control, under the
home minister, of the lighting and cleansing of the city is
vested in his hands.”
In the following year the district assigned to the prefect
of police was enlarged, by being made co-extensive with
the department of the Seine, with the addition of the
communes or townships of St Cloud, Sevres, and Meudon,
which form part of the department of the Seine and the
Oise.
During the fourteen years which elapsed between the
^ Peuchet, Collection des Lois de Police, 2d serie, ii. 18, et seq.; Filler, ii. 366,
Lettre da Marquis au Bailli de Mirabeau, June 9, 1777, M£moires°de Mirabeau (Fils atloptif), iii. 27.
3 Constitution de 1’An. III., art. 184. v i
188
French
Police.
The pre¬
fecture of
police un¬
der Napo¬
leon.
Adminis¬
tration of
the Paris
police by
M. Pas-
quier.
The police
under the
llestora-
tion.
The pre¬
fecture of
Gisquet,
1831-36.
POL
establishment of the new prefecture and the first abdication
of Napoleon, the office was filled by two prefects only;
namely, by Count Dubois from March 1800 to October
1810, and by Pusquier (afterwards the chancellor and Duke
Pasquier of Louis Philippe, but better known as “ Pasquier
the Inevitable”), from October 1810 to May 1814. The
tenure of each of these officers was marked by a signal
public disaster. It was during the prefecture of Dubois
that the terrible calamity at the Schwarzenberg palace
occurred in the emperor’s presence, and it led to the pre¬
fect’s resignation. His successor was of a family long
eminent in the legal magistracy. The father of M. Pas¬
quier, a counsellor of the Parliament of Paris, had perished
in 1794 on the revolutionary scaffold. To the lot of his
grandfather, more unhappy still, it had fallen to take a
leading official part in the legal murder of Tally. A more
remote ancestor, as advocate-general under Henry IV.,
signalized himself by his resolute curbing of the Jesuits.1
But no incident in a remarkable pedigree seems to have
approached for singularity that strange event which saw
the prefect of police, at a moment of entire apparent tran¬
quillity, surrounded in his own house (13th October 1812),
and hurried, without a struggle, into one of his own dun¬
geons. Ridicule, however, was M. Pasquier’s chief penalty
for having suffered himself to be so surprised. The weight
of the master’s anger at this “political debauch” (so Napo¬
leon designated it) fell on Frochot, prefect of the Seine.
Pasquier retained his office until the 13th May 1814.
The first prefect under the Restoration, but with the
altered title of Director-General, was M. Beugnot, a con¬
verted Bonapartist, who resembled his predecessor in being
a favourite butt of the Paris wits, although in little else.
The cause in his case was a stringent regulation respecting
Sabbath observance, which he issued shortly after entering
on his functions; and speedily followed up by a sort of
manifesto on the duties of his department, wherein he com¬
pared the police to a “ drop of oil,” which, duly applied,
kept the springs of government from rusting.2 Count
Beugnot held the directorship but a short time, and had a
crowd of successors. In the year 1815, indeed, the police
of Paris was administered by six successive directors or
prefects. The most notable of these was M. Decazes
(afterwards duke, and grand referendary of the Chamber
of Peers), who in this capacity had the ill-omened task of
arresting and examining Labedoyere and Ney. From the
prefecture (the old title had been restored after the Hun¬
dred Days) Decazes passed to the ministry of general po¬
lice, of which we shall have to speak presently.
From the end of 1821 to the end of 1836 there were
ten prefects. The administration of M. Gisquet, the last
of these ten, was on many accounts 'remarkable. Charac¬
terized by ability, firmness, and power of combination, he
made himself a very formidable antagonist to the repub¬
licans and oppositionists of all shades. But he overdid his
part. Owing his appointment entirely to the favour of
Casimir Perier, lie permitted his anxiety to carry out that
minister’s policy to lead him into acts, or into the toleration
of acts by inferior agents, that were directly provocative of
the crimes it was his duty to prevent. The minister’s po¬
licy was of that dangerous kind which thrusts forward pre¬
tensions beyond its strength. He was, it is true, opposed
not only by men who were combating for rational and
responsible liberty, but by others who were striving with
might and main to bring chaos hack again. Such oppo¬
nents mistook reckless turbulence for political courage, and
heated their imaginations until any sort of weapon seemed
a fair one, so long as it was to be used against the powers
that were. Gisquet’s most honest acts of duty were doubt¬
less sometimes distorted into crimes. But with all due
ICE.
allowance for the violence of party passions, it remains French
certain that the functions of police were grossly abused. Police.
M. Gisquet has, indeed, under his own hand proved the
essential points of his assailants’ case. When he entered The police
on the prefecture, he found a police prosecution pending and the
against two journals—ie National and La Tribune—for l,^.^un(^er
having charged the authorities with “ brigading and paying
bludgeon-men,” in 1831, on occasion of the anniversary of 1P ’
the taking of the Bastille. The defendants pleaded that
the truth of the charge would be substantiated by certain
reports addressed to the prefect on the 13th and 14th of
July. The tribunal {Cour Roy ale) decreed that those re¬
ports should be produced. When summoned to obey this
decision of a court of judicature, pronounced in strict con¬
formity with the code, M. Gisquet refused obedience, as¬
signing as his motives “ that such a production would have
the inconvenience of acquainting the enemies of order with
the means of repression at the disposal of government;
and the danger, more serious still, of revealing the names
of certain secret agents, who, by such an act, and in direct
breach of the compact made with them, would be handed
over to the hatred and vengeance of their enemies.”3 The
decree ivas neither annulled nor enforced; or, in other
words, the prefect of police was placed above the law.
Such facts and such arguments, synchronizing as they
did with the violent straining of the law against the press
on every possible occasion, might well elicit from Armand
Carrel his memorable protest:—“ It shall not be said that
a system which could institute the innumerable and absurd
prosecutions for which our lawyers blush ; which could plan
the piecemeal confiscation of our property by fines and
costs; a system under which writers are branded, whilst
yet untried, by being coupled with swindlers, or are quietly
killed off by the pestilential miasma of St Pelagie, may
aggrandize itself yet more by incorporating the ‘jurispru¬
dence of the self-evident fact’ { jurisprudence du flagrant
delit). . . . We should be guilty if we suffered it 
The life of a man slain furtively at the corner of a street,
in the tumult of an insurrection, may be counted a small
affair ; hut the life of a man of honour, murdered in his own
house by M. Perier’s sbirri, whilst resisting in the name of
the law, would be much. His blood would cry for ven¬
geance. If the ministry is daring enough to play for such
stakes, it may fail to win.” That such a man as Carrel
should have the opportunity of writing thus within a year
or two of the foundation of the “ monarchy of the barri¬
cades,” is a small fact which enfolds as much of history as
do many large volumes that bear the name. M. Gisquet’s
defence of his administration is a book of remarkable abi¬
lity, and it extends to four volumes, but the reader will
seek in vain, from end to end, for an answer to Carrel’s
description of the political police of 1831-32. Nor will it
in 1858 need any arguments to prove that the signifi¬
cance of these bygone events did not cease with the
monarchy of the Orleans branch. We have recently seen
an eminent statesman standing at the bar of a police court
to answer charges based upon repressive laws dating from
the worst days of the Restoration; and have seen him
condemned (for an act which has made his name illustri¬
ous wherever liberty is valued) by a sentence involving
the possibility of transportation like a felon. The names
are changed, but the story is the same. The end, however,
is not yet.
If we turn from the police of politics to the region of The muni-
municipal affairs, the prefecture of M. Gisquet presents cipal duties
many commendable features. He has himself described of police
this municipal portion of the duties as employing nineteen- under the
twentieths of the staff, and, if fully attended to, at least
Leonard Gallois, Dictionnairc IIiiiori>;ue da lous les Ministves, 364.
2 Ibid., 33.
3 Gisquet, Memoires, i. 178.
POL
French ^en h°urs daily of the prefect’s time. But be this as it
Police. may, there is no doubt that he found leisure to make im-
portant ameliorations in matters of public convenience and
of public health. He had, from his first entrance into
office, the monition of the swift-coming cholera.
One of the many secondary incidents of the three days
of July which appealed impressively to the eye in the streets
of Paris for a long time afterwards, was the enormous
encroachment of stall-keepers on the streets, quays, and
bridges. The number of these was reckoned in 1831 as
ranging from 25,000 to 30,000, the suppression of which
would seem to have needed an army of police; yet some
considerable approach to such a result was obviously essen¬
tial to the safety and salubrity of the streets, and to the
satisfaction of the reasonable complaints of rent-paying
and tax-paying shopkeepers. M. Gisquet set to work*
ingeniously enough, by instituting a series of inquiries
among the stall-keepers themselves, the scope of which
they could not appreciate, but which had the effect of
putting many of them on the side of the police. Begin-
I C E.
189
nmg by the expulsion of those who were not domiciled in French
Paris, and then of those who had learnt a trade, and so on, Folice.
he gradually reduced the number to little more than one-
tenth of its previous extent, w ithout uproar, and under con¬
ditions which seemed to ensure that the authorized were
in a large measure the deserving.1
In like manner, important improvements were introduced
into the management of the markets; the police of the
river, the wharves, and the canals; and the lighting and
draining of the city. Some injurious monopolies were
suppressed, and some needless interferences with trade, com-
pensated by no adequate public service, were terminated.
By using a wise discretion in such matters, M. Gisquet was
the better able to deal vigorously with crying abuses in
respect to the adulteration of food. So gross were some of
those which he had to suppress, that the narrative forms a
notable chapter in the annals of mercantile roguery.2
The extent and cost of the staff attached to the prefec- Staff of the
ture of police under the government of Louis Philippe Paris pre¬
may be briefly indicated thus :— fecture.
Divisions.
Prefect’s Office 
Secretary’s Office...,
Criminal and Passport Department,
Markets, Public Buildings, and Public Health
Department 
Accountant’s Department 
Watching Department 
Commissaries’ Department 
Porters, messengers, and menial servants 
Specific Functions.
No. of Persons
employed.
...Correspondence; reports; registration; foreign refugees  19
( Framing of regulations and public announcements ; archives ; po- 1
( lice appointments and pay ; public festivities and amusements... |
Arrests and preliminary examinations; supervision and inspection"!
of prisons, houses of correction, and penitentiaries ; supervision I
< of criminals at large, and of vagrants ; records of criminal juris- > 323
prudence; delivery and visa of passports; matters relating to
„ lodging-houses  J
All matters relating to the cleansing, lighting, and draining of\
, Paris; survey of dangerous structures; street and highway! or
traffic; provisioning of the city, and matters affecting public/ 4-5
health b _ )
...Accounts of receipts and expenditure  12
...Patrol; nightly watch and detective department 
( Local inspection of the forty-eight quarters of Paris; intermediate 'i
-J agencies between the central prefecture and the local applica- l 211
{ tion of its orders J
 !”... 603
ice con- ^11S time there were also attached to the prefecture
cing a Consulting Board of Health, consisting of eighteen phy-
rds. sicians, chemists, and apothecaries; a Consulting Board of
Architects, composed of thirteen persons, professionally
conversant with building; and a Medical Board (ten in
number) specifically employed in the inspection of prosti¬
tutes.
I he strength of the wTatch and detective department can¬
not be accurately stated ; doubtless for reasons which hinge
upon the intimate connection between the police of ordinary
crime and that of political subserviency. On the much-
debated question of‘‘secret agents” M. Gisquet has a great
deal to say. He shows very convincingly that a police
must be open to information ; and that information may
be given from good motives. He shows just as clearly,
although without intending it, that the ramifications of the
secret sei vice are so complex, its disguises so multifarious,
and its social leprosies so spreading, that a writer who could
much exaggerate them must be endowed with uncommon
gifts.
I’-'getof When M- Gisquet entered on his functions (15th OSto-
'• police her 1831), the expenditure of the prefecture, so far as it
i i-r m. Wa?, charged on municipal funds, amounted to nearly eio-ht
'iT Phl- milIions of francs (L.333,330); the staff was considerably
increased in several departments during his administration,
but was pruned in others of less importance, and was kept
Teic111 ,hand‘ When he cluitted office (6th September
looo), the expenditure had been reduced to 7,189 500
francs (L.299,562); the receipts from market-dues, and
other like sources, had been considerably increased; and an
improved system of accounts established.4 In this depart¬
ment M. Gisquet’s previous experience as a banker stood
him in good stead ; and the improvements appear to have
had enduring results.
Amongst the new measures introduced by this prefect The “ Sonv
was, he tells us, the systematic compilation of biographical miers Judi-
records of contemporary politicians. In the nineteenth ciaires-”
century such a compilation must be costly as well as curious,
but it does not appear whether the expense of it was de¬
frayed from municipal or from other funds. Another and
remarkable collection of records had existed already in the
archives of the prefecture for some 120 years. Here are
registered the names, identifications, convictions, punish¬
ments, or acquittals of every person who, during that long
period, had been accused before any tribunal throughout
France of crime or misdemeanour, and the utmost pains
are taken to continue it in the completest form. In 1833
it had long occupied a standing body of clerks (fourteen in
number) and an array of ponderous volumes (400 in num¬
ber), besides an alphabetical index containing about 500,000
names. Even then it was difficult to consult it, on account
of the thousands of Martins, Dubois, Dupuis, &c., with
which it teemed. M. Gisquet employed a sufficient staff
to copy the whole of these records on slips of card-board,
each assigned to one individual. The task was accomplished
in four years, and thenceforward two clerks did the work of
the previous fourteen.5 The collection bears the title of
Somrniers Judiciaires, and is in daily use in the criminal
courts. If, however, we may judge from passing transac¬
tions, this collection is now (November 1858) in a fair way
1 Gisquet, Memoires, i. 214-217.
4 Ibid., iv., 305-312.
2 Ibid., iv. 204-283.
6 Ibid., iv., 264-269.
8 Ibid, i., 222-231.
190
POLICE.
French to include the names of some of the most illustrious as well
police. as 0f t}le mosC degraded Frenchmen.
Here, then, we leave a branch of the subject which is far
from being exhausted. The police of Paris is undoubtedly
the most remarkable institution of its kind which has ever
existed. It would be instructive to trace it further, and to
bring it into connection with the recent statistics of crime.
That section, however, has still more importance for the
present purpose, in relation to our own country; and to
treat of it in relation to both countries is here impracti¬
cable. But there is another section of the Paris police
hitherto unnoticed, which is one ot eminent difficulty and
delicacy. It must not be passed over without some men¬
tion, however inadequate.
Police of Few things in the external aspect of London strike a
female pro- Frenchman with more surprise than the audacity with which
BLitution. femaie prostitution thrusts itself upon the public gaze. The
wonder is none the less, even if the visitor be one to whom
the corruption of Paris or of other continental cities is no
mere hearsay. There, at all events, this scandal has limits
beyond which it dares not venture; and vice, whatever its
extent, is rarely permitted to insult those who do not
seek it.
The police regulation of this opprobrium of civilization
dates in France from the thirteenth century. The first
steps followed close upon the earnest but futile efforts of
St Louis for its total suppression, by the public exposure
and ultimate banishment of those engaged in it. Such
measures failing of their desired effect, prostitutes were
tolerated, but permitted to reside only in certain streets,
forced to wear a prescribed dress, and to close their houses
at fixed hours.1 No direct measures appear to have been
taken until the fifteenth century against the guiltiest class
of all,—the traders in the recruiting of those miserable
ranks. In the sixteenth, the curb in this direction was
tightened. Procurers and procuresses were pilloried,
branded, and then banished.2
The assembly of the States-General, held at Orleans in
the middle of this century, recommended a revival of the
frustrated efforts of the thirteenth for the total proscription
of prostitution. Owners of houses in which it was per¬
mitted incurred fines equal to three years’ rent, and on
repeated conviction, forfeited their houses. But the sin was
too extensive and too deeply rooted to be thus extirpated.
Clandestine prostitution was found to have its special evils ;
and a tacit toleration, under stringent rules of the old sort,
returned. Under Louis XIV. (that portentous legislator
against immorality and luxury), asylums w^ere opened under
the designations,Refuge,” “ Maison des Filles de la Ma¬
deleine,” and “ Maison du bon Pasteurand the hos¬
pital of the Salpetriere was assigned partly as a penitentiary
and partly as a house of correction. A swoop w’as made
by the police once a week upon such of the prostitutes as
were deemed most disorderly; and these, lodged meanwhile
in a house of detention, were brought monthly before the
magistrates. Some were discharged, others sent to the
Salpetriere, and others to the hospital of Bicetre for medi¬
cal treatment. Here wre seem to have the beginning of
the existing system of periodical supervision.3
In October 1831 the number of persons of this sort
inscribed on the police registers was 3479; in 1836 it
was 3800. About two-thirds of the number resided in
houses or apartments which they themselves rented, and
nearly the whole of the remaining third in houses called
mdisons de tolerance, 194 in number. These houses are
licensed; and the licenses, it is stated, are never given with- French
out “ the assent of the neighbours;” by which, we suppose, Police,
must be meant that of a definite number (/a permission
riest jamais accordee qntapres urUenquete et qu’avec Vad¬
hesion des habitants du voisinage). Its conditions prescribe The condi
various regulations as to quietness and seclusion ; limit the tl.01is of
number of the inhabitants, and provide for the weekly visitgls ratl0n
of the medical officer. As respects the first-named two-
thirds, the condition of inscription on the register is, that
they present themselves for a like purpose once a fortnight.
M. Gisquet states, as the result of his official experience as
prefect, and of his acquaintance with the archives of his
department, that, irrespectively of the other results of the
system, it has reduced the ravages of disease by one-half
within fourteen years.4
If this part of the punishment of vice were limitable to
the vicious, the legislator might have reason to hesitate ere
he interposed. But it is otherwise ordained. Nor can it
be doubted that a system which may seem, on the one
hand, to carry with it an implied sanction of practices
which the law of a Christian country must always and
utterly condemn, does, on the other hand, present itself
as a stigma not less degrading than was the pillory of the
fifteenth century, or the open cart of the seventeenth.
In another of its aspects police intervention appears to Connectici
be in some measure indispensable. Between the class in between
question and the predatory classes there is an indissoluble
tie. Some sort of supervision lies therefore at the thresh- crime'
old of the pursuit of criminals. The means of detective
police have recently been everywhere strengthened, as is
well known, by the employment of photography. But a
quarter of a century ago, a remarkable “ gallery of female
portraits” had already been commenced at the Paris pre¬
fecture, which led to a kind of exceptional police court, by
no means to be recommended as a model, to the extent
there attained,5 although, under proper restriction, it may
be justifiable and salutary.
Than this question of the treatment of prostitution there
can be none which presents greater difficulties to the pru¬
dent legislator. To thrust it out of sight will no more re¬
move the evil than the closing of the hatches of a ship on
fire will save the ship. The experience of Paris in rela¬
tion to it may offer much to avoid, but can hardly fail to
contain something to imitate. The day will come when a
thorough inquiry, in competent hands, into the resultsof that
experience, will be a recognised necessity. The problem
is to check a growing evil, without, on the one hand, open¬
ing a door to new evils, or, on the other, undermining in
any w^ay those first principles of morality, for the weaken¬
ing of which no improvements of police could make amends.
And the problem is a pressing one.
It will have been seen that, under the old monarchy, the The police
police of Paris was intimately connected with that of ^ie°fthe(]e
kingdom at large. But there has always been a police of e'*
vaguer and wider scope, more or less developed according FraDCe,
to the tendencies of the government of the day, and more
immediately in the hands of the ruling power, whether
monarchical or ministerial. Usually this secret police had
been attached to the ministry of the home department,
and had thus been in the same keeping with the direct
control of the rural police of the kingdom. The gendar¬
merie, justices of peace, mayors, sub-prefects, are all con¬
trolled by the prefects of departments, who, in their turn,
are accountable to the home minister.
The creation of a separate “ ministry of police ” was the
1 Ordonnances des Hois de France (1254), i. 74.
2 Delamare, Traite de la Police, i. 522-525 ; Fregier, Hietoire de VAdministration de la Police, i. 263, 264.
s Delamare, ut supra, i. 527; Mercier, Tableau de Paris, c. 238.
4 Gisquet, ut supra, iv. 317 6 Ibid., iv. 319.
POLICE.
act of the Directory in J796. Cochon (afterwards Comte
de I’Apparent) was the first regular minister of the new
department, although Merlin of Douay appears to have
been its chief organizer. M. Cochon had to maintain a
7 — i - hard struggle. The conspiracy of Babeuf and his fellow-
:e created socja]jsts wag f0i]0wecj closely by that of Lavilleheurnois
JJi: the i i • z'it . ^rtt t .. , , . t ,
:rectory
lEnglish
Police.
le minis-
r of po
191
,e
mims-
and his fellow-royalists. The latter had paid the minister of
police the undesirable compliment of inserting his name in
the cabinet they proposed to form, had they succeeded in
restoring the monarchy. This circumstance increased the
animosity of his enemies, both in the councils and in the Di¬
rectory, and hastened his expulsion from office. Lenoir de
la Roche for a very brief period succeeded him. Sotin
was made minister of police on the eve of the “ 18th Fruc-
tidor,” to the success of which he contributed. In 1799
Fouche obtained the department, with which his name is
now historically identified.
Fouche began in the spirit of a thorough-paced dema-
f of po- gogue. His long familiarity with political clubs and popular
ipoleom *nsurrec^on supplied him with formidable weapons where¬
with to destroy his old friends. No denouncer of anarchy
or apologist of power could outstrip his zeal in the service
of the Directory, until sudden enlightenment showed him
that the Consulate would be more for the public good. His
assistance on the 18th of Brumaire was rewarded by his con¬
tinuance in a ministry, the functions of which he took care
to complicate in a fashion that might well abate the courage
of an aspiring rival. Napoleon never placed real confidence
in him. Fouche had just enough of honesty to save him
from taking any useless pains to disguise his egotism, or to
varnish the innate coarseness of his manners. But he was
too able and too useful to be cashiered. The experiment
made in that way after the peace of Amiens was of short
duration. The Pichegru conspiracy restored the ministry
of police, which for that brief period had been incorporated
with the ministry of justice, under the special direction,
however, of Real, who was virtually independent of the mi¬
nister, and placed Fouche again at its Lead. But Napoleon
took care to assist the restored minister by attaching to his
department certain counsellors of state. A special police
was also established, under the inspector-general of gen¬
darmerie, who had to communicate directly with the em¬
peror. Fouche’s second ministry did not last long, and had
a stormy close. His third ministry began on the morrow
of Napoleon’s return from Elba, and the services he ren¬
dered led to his retention of office for a time under the
second restoration. The best trait in his history is the ex¬
ertion he made at this period to lessen the proscriptions, of
which the infuriated royalists were then so lavish. He
resigned his office at the end of September 1815 (to avoid
his dismissal) ; three months afterwards he was banished by
the law of the 6th January 1816.
, Decazes, the successor of Fouche, conducted the mi-
nistiy of police with moderation. He mitigated several of
the odiouslaws of 1815, especially those which fettered the
piess and multiplied the restrictions of individual liberty
When increasing freedom had its natural result in an attack
on the continuance of a police ministry, he resisted the
movement; but in December 1818 it was suppressed as
an independent office.1
Po
tants of every tithing are collectively pledged for the nre- Fncriun
servation of its peace and security, and are mutually re- Police,
sponsible for the apprehension of every accused person
within the district. If the offender take flight into another Saxon laws
distiict, he becomes a man “unpledged,” and therefore of frank-
virtually an outlaw. Whatever we may think of William PIedge-
of Malmesbury’s famous story of the golden bracelets, Inin-
by Alfred’s order in the public roads, there is conclusive
evidence that these rigid preventive measures brought about
a state of internal tranquillity that was in striking contrast
with previous experience, and in all probability5 scarcely
less in contrast with the changes which ere long ensued.
If we pass on to the reign of Edward I. we find the main
difficulty complained of as obstructing the peace of the
realm to be the lack of effective pursuit of felons. The
isolation of districts, after the rigid method of the Anglo-
Saxon times, must have soon evinced itself to be a measure,
so far as it may have been found possible to maintain it, of
which the mischievous exceeded the salutary consequences.
The effort now was to increase the efficiency of the hue-
and-cry.^ Thus we find it enacted in a statute of 3 Edward The hue-
I., that the whole commonalty be ready and equipped to and-cry, 3
pursue and arrest felons at the order and summons of the Pdw’ f-
sheiiff, and at the cry of the country, as well within fran¬
chise as without. {Purveu est que tuz communaument seind
prez et apuraillez al maundement e a la somonse des vis-
contes ou au cri del pays, de suire e de arester les felons
quant mester serra ; ausi bien dedenz frounchises comme
dehors). Ten years later, the statute of Winchester com- Statute of
mands that, ‘ in great towns being walled, the gates shall Winches-
be closed from the sun-setting until the sun-rising ; and thatter-
no man do lodge in suburbs, or in any place ”out of the
town, from nine of the clock until day, without his host will
answer for him ; and the bailiffs of towns every week, or at
least every fifteenth day, shall make inquiry of all persons
being lodged in the suburbs; .... and if they do find any
that have lodged any strangers or suspicious persons against
the peace, the bailiffs shall do right therein.” It was further
provided that highways between market-towns should be
cleared from trees and bushes to a breadth of 200 feet from
hedge to hedge; that every man between fifteen and forty
years of age should have arms; and that constables shall
be appointed to make view of such arms from time to time
and to present defaulters “ to the justices assigned, and after
by them to the king, and the king will provide remedy.”
I his statute of Winchester was again sent throughout Keepers of
England fifteen years afterwards, “to be read and pro-the peace,
claimed four times in the year; ” and three knights were 18 E(lvv- r-
assigned to each shire to watch over its execution, as
“keepers of the peace.” In the 1st Edward II.,’the
keepers were directed to appoint two citizens in cities, two
bmgesses in boroughs, and two lawful men in every market-
town, for the due enforcement of the statute.
. By the 25th Edward III. (the “ statute of labourers”), jus- statute of
tices are to hold sessions four times a year, and at all labourers,
other times needful for the conservation of the peace ; and 25 Edw. ’
in staple-towns the mayors and two constables are directed TI1-
to keep the peace, and to arrest all evil-doers in the staple,
for trespass, debt, or breach of contract, and to imprison or
otherwise punish them, according to the laws of the staple.
e of
land.
II. The Police of England.
The ancient police of England may be dated from Alfred.
It grew out of his subdivision of the shires into hundreds
and tithings. Every man in England must belong to some
timing (or like division, under another name) ; the inhabi-
As early as the 35th of Edward I., the term “justice of t r
peace” occurs on the Patent Rolls ^ Par ceo que nostre tTace**
feal e lotal peres de Maulay est entendaunt a nostre ser¬
vice en office efe justice de la pes, vous mandons,” See.) ; but
it w-as not until the 34th of Edward III. that these officers
had power to try felons; although their functions had been
gradually enlarged in lesser matters by several successive
Dictionnaire de tom 326*1^ ‘p ^ VEmPire> iiL 588> 590; Leonard Gallois,
, x.o, no i/o, 301, 326, 441; Pelet, Napoleon au Gonseil d’Ztat, c. ix.
192
POLICE.
English
Police.
Borough
justices.
Crown ap¬
provers,
statutes {e.g., 2 Edward III., the “statute of Northampton,”
c. 3.; 4 Edward III., c. 2). By the 5th Henry IV., c.
10, it is enacted that—“ Because divers constables of
castles within the realm of England have been by the
king’s commission appointed justices of the peace, and
under colour of such commission they take up people to
whom they bear ill-will, and imprison them in their castles,
until they pay fine and ransom for their deliverance ; it is
ordained that no person shall be imprisoned by any justice
of the peace, but only in the common gaol, excepting by
those lords who have gaols within their franchise.”
In the reigns of Henry VI., Edward IV., and Henry
VII., various royal charters conferred upon the mayors and
certain aldermen of the principal cities and boroughs, and
their successors, the office ot justices of the peace within
their several jurisdictions. The parochial and township
constables formed the only police that existed. As to any^
remedial measures aiming at the removal or diminution of
the causes of crime, no trace is to be found until a period
comparatively recent. The main dependence of the legis¬
lature appears to have been placed on the tender of impu¬
nity to accomplices, and the otfer of rewards to informers.
Thus, by the 3d and 4th of William and Mary, c. 8,
persons guilty of robbery in the highways or fields, &c.,
3 & 4 Will. wj10j being out of prison, shall so discover any two off'end-
aml Mary,
c. 8.
Fielding
on the
causes of
the in¬
crease and
impunity
of crime.
English
Police.
until they are authorized by a warrant from a justice of
peace. Thirdly, .... the person of an informer is
more odious than that of the felon himself; and the thief-
catcher is in danger of worse treatment from the popu¬
lace than the thief.” (“ The force of this opinion,” he
elsewhere adds, “ may be seen in the following instance:
We have a law by which every person who drives more
than six horses in a waggon forfeits as many horses as are
found to exceed that number. This law is broken every
day, and generally with impunity ; for though many men
yearly venture and lose their lives by stealing horses, yet
there are very few who dare seize a horse, where the law
allows and encourages it, when by such seizure he is to
acquire the name of an informer”) And, “ lastly, as to
the reward, .... the prosecutor’s title to it is too often
defeated by the foolish lenity of juries.”1
The proposal which Fielding laid before the Privy Fielding’s
Council, by way of remedy, consisted mainly in the esta-planof po
blishment of a paid police force, to be \mder the orders ofllce*
the acting magistrate at Bow Street, and to be composed
of picked men who had served the office of constable. At
this time (1753) there existed in London “a most noto-
ers as to lead to their conviction; and persons not con¬
cerned in the oftence who shall apprehend and prosecute
to conviction any highwayman, shall receive of the sheriff
L.40, within a month after the conviction ; and any sheriff
making default in such payment is made liable to a penalty
Rewards to of double the sum. If the person seeking to apprehend
persons ap- t]ie robber be killed in the encounter, his heirs or execu-
prehending tors are entitled to the reward. The apprehender is also em-
criminals. p0weret] to ciaim the horse, harness, arms, and money taken
with such highwaymen, notwithstanding any vested right
in the crown or in the lord of a manor, or any claim by
the owners and lenders for hire of any such horse, &c. ; the
only right saved being that of owners feloniously deprived.
The 10th and 11th of William III. extended the provision
respecting accomplices to burglary and various other felo¬
nies ; and a statute of Anne extended the L.40 reward to
cases of burglary and housebreaking.
But all these inducements were little operative. The
administration of the laws w^as almost entirely in the hands
of unpaid and very partially responsible magistrates. Some
of those in London had fallen into practices which gave them
the current appellation of “ trading justices.” The only
police-office in the metropolis was that at Bow Street,
which had grown up in a casual fashion, under the autho¬
rity of the secretary of state, and without any parlia¬
mentary sanction or support. But it chanced that the ne¬
cessities of a great writer led him to accept the office of
“ Bow Street magistrate,” at a time so critical as to induce
him to employ his powers of authorship, as well as his
knowledge of law, in the public service. Henry Fielding
took the first steps towards an efficient police by forcing
on the attention of the public, as well as of men in autho¬
rity, what seemed to him to be the causes of the grow¬
ing evils. “ First, with regard to private persons,” he
says, “ there is no country, I believe, in the world, where
that vulgar maxim so generally prevails, that what is the
business of every man is the business of no man ; and
for this plain reason, that there is no country in which
less honour is gained by serving the public. Secondly,
.... so far is the power of apprehending felons from
being universally known, that many of the peace-officers
themselves do not know that they have any such power,
and often from ignorance refuse to arrest a known felon
this time (1753)
rious gang of street-robbers, in number about fourteen,
who divided themselves in parties, committed such daring
robberies, and at the same time such barbarities, by cut¬
ting and wounding those they robbed, in every part of this
metropolis, as spread a general alarm through the town,
and deterred his Majesty’s subjects from passing and re¬
passing on their lawful occasions after nightfall. These out¬
rages induced his Majesty to issue a proclamation, and
offer L.100 reward for apprehending each of these vio¬
lators of the public peace. And though this was humanely
intended as a remedy for this dreadful evil, instead of
answering the end proposed, it soon begat a greater, by
inducing a set of villains to decoy unwary and ignorant
wretches to commit robberies, and then to make a sacrifice
of them for the sake of the reward, while the real offend¬
ers not only escaped justice, but increased their barbarities
even to murder.”2 Henry Fielding’s new force succeeded
in capturing the particular gang referred to at the begin¬
ning of this extract, after a desperate struggle, in which
one constable and one of the robbers were killed on the
spot. Considerable head was made against highwaymen,
and many gangs of housebreakers were dispersed.
The plan had scarcely been initiated, when the rapid Contempo
decline of Henry Fielding’s health forced him to resign his r.ai7 ob.jec'
office to his brother, afterwards Sir John Fielding, who fol-
Fielding's
lowed in the same track with great, though, as it proved, I)0iicei 1
but temporary success. Moderate as were the innovations
thus made on the old criminal law, they did not fail to be
denounced as a “revocation of the darling and essential
privileges of freeborn Englishmen and a glowing picture
was drawn of the ultimate result of such tamperings with
the constitution, when this island “ would be no more the
seat of liberty ; slavery would introduce indolence, indo¬
lence poverty, and poverty contempt; freedom, arts, and
sciences, would then have their rotation, winging their
vagrant flight up the Baltic, shunning their once-loved
streams of Ilissus, Tiber, Thames, and Seine, and fixing
their residence on the long-neglected banks of the Volga;
infusing all their spirit among the rude inhabitants of the
North ; civilizing the unpolished Muscovite, and giving
the descendants of the Czarian family an opportunity ot
gloriously unfolding their imperial eagle in the very centre
of the southern nations, and of becoming the sovereign
arbiters of Europe;” and so on, ending with an outline
of our familiar acquaintance, “ the British lion, ingloriously
slumbering in the net of captivity.”3
1 Fielding, An Enquiry into the Causes of the late Increase of Rollers, &c. (1751), pp. 102, 103.
2 Sir John Fielding, An Account of the Origin and Effects of a Police set on foot in 1753, pp. 15, 16.
3 Observations on Mr Fielding’s Enquiry into the Causes of the Increase of Rollers, pp. 84, 85.
POLICE.
193
ion, circa
1800.
English Forty years afterwards, crime had become again so ram-
Police. pant as to necessitate more vigorous measures. By the
32d George III., c. 53, seven additional police-offices were
Vfetropoli- established, each with three stipendiary magistrates (at a
an police- salary of L.400 each, afterwards increased to L.600) and
iffices esta-two c|erks> x}le magistrates were empowered to deter¬
mine summarily, in a multitude of cases, respecting offences
against the public revenue and game laws, against highway
acts, and against the various laws of master and servants;
to license and regulate public-houses ; to punish vagrancy;
to suppress nuisances ; to instruct parochial constables in
their duties; to issue search-warrants for stolen property;
to regulate the billeting and recruiting of soldiers; and to
take preliminary examinations in all charges of felony and
misdemeanour not specifically provided for. The only
power conferred by the act which directly addressed it¬
self to the prevention of crime, relates to the apprehension
of persons of ill-repute found in the avenues to public
places, under circumstances indicative of an intent to rob.
The expense of each office was restricted to two thousand
pounds a year.
Golquhoun In his elaborate Treatise on the Police of the Metropolis
}n tb® P°- (of which the 6th edition was published in 1800), Dr Patrick
iceo on- Colquhoun, 0ne of the magistrates first appointed under the
act of 1792, indicates, as the main deficiencies which the
experience of eight years had brought saliently out, the
want of an entire re-organization of the system of constables,
and of an adequate fund for rewarding informers. “ If
criminals,” he says, “ at war with the community, are to be
detected; if risks are to be run to effect this purpose ; if it
is to be done, as it must frequently be, at the hazard ol the
loss of health, and even of life, by watching desperadoes
in the night-time; if accurate informations are necessary
either to discover where stolen property is depositea, or
where the delinquents are to be found, a fund must be nro-
vided, or the public cannot be protected.”1
At this period six police constables only were attached to
each of the metropolitan offices, making 40 in the whole ;
68 other constables were under the orders of the chief
magistrate at Bow Street, as patroles for the principal me-
ing of the tropolitan roads ; 41 formed the civil force of the Thames
[fesent police establishment (organized in July 1798); 40 stipen¬
diaries were employed in the city of London under the cor¬
poration ; and there were in addition 843 parochial officers—
beadles, constables, or head boroughs—serving without sti¬
pend. The nightly watch and patrol comprised in the city of
London 803 men, generally aged, often infirm, and the honest
among them very frequently half-starved,—their wages vary¬
ing from 8^-d. up to Is. 6d. for each night; and in the other
metropolitan districts (Westminster, Southwark, and part of
Kensington included) 1241 men, very similar in age and
physical condition, but, in the more opulent districts, some¬
what better paid. These watchmen and patroles were under
the control of more than 70 different boards or trusts, the
powers and procedure of which were regulated by about
120 several acts of Parliament.2
I hose who knew London at this period, or during the
following quarter of a century, will remember that the turn¬
ing out of the “ nightly watch” was, once in a way, a sight
worth seeing, although for quite other reasons than those
which are said to have brought Henry VIII. into Cheap-
side one night to witness a similar spectacle. To connect,
in idea, such an assemblage of the halt, the lame, and the
purblind, with the terror of thieves and the repression of
outrage, required vivid powers of imagination. That crime
increased, no statistics need be cited to prove. The esta¬
blishment of the police-offices, and that, most especially, of
the Thames police-office, had produced excellent results ;
Irganiza-
on of the
,ondon
olice at
le begin
mtury.
ie old
ghtly
itch.
VOL. XVIII.
Colquhoun, Treatise, &c., 6th edit., p. 510.
but in the absence both of an efficient executive force and English
of a central superintending authority, it failed, and could not Police-
but fail, to make head against the ever-increasing tempta-
tion of augmented wealth and a rapidly-growing population.
Repeated inquiries took place before committees of the Parliamen-
House of Commons. The utter inefficiency of the existing tary in¬
police force was clearly shown. The necessity of an im- queries in-
proved system of licensing and controlling public-houses to Police‘
was proved; and it was made not a whit less apparent that
“ coffee-shops” may be so conducted as to stand quite as
much in need of regulation as do beer-houses. “ Another
proper call for additional powers to the magistrates,” writes
a competent witness in 1822, “ is furnished by the coffee-
shops,—an extraordinary nuisance which has recently risen
up in this great city. These places are the resort of' the
vilest thieves and prostitutes, and have hitherto gone on
with impunity, because, as neither beer nor spirits are re¬
tailed in them, they are not required to be licensed.” The
monstrous impunity with which systematic trade in stolen
goods was carried on and extended likewise forced itself
upon attention. But the inquiries of 1812, 1816, 1817,
and 1822 led to little more than an increase in the salaries
of magistrates, and gradual accretions to their jurisdictions,
as the police acts were severally renewed. On one of these
occasions, also, Sir Robert Peel laid down as a formal rule
the practice that had been usually but not invariably followed
since the days of Lord Sidmouth, of appointing as police
magistrates none but barristers.
The committee of 1828, however, has left its plain mark Sir Robert
m the annals of police legislation, inasmuch as it paved the Peel’s Po¬
way for Sir Robert Peel’s act of 1829 (10 Geo. IV., “ An licf Act of
Act for improving the Police in and near the Metropolis”),, 1829‘
by which a large approach was made towards that cardinal
point in police reform,—the separation of the incongruous
functions of thief-taker and judge, and an effective consta¬
bulary force was established under the control of two com¬
missioners. This act, it is true, left many petty, detached,
and independent bodies of peace officers in certain districts
of the metropolis, irrespectively of the city of London, ta
which it did not at all apply. And to this extent it con¬
tained the seeds of future embarrassment in the proper
working of the new constabulary. But if the state of
parties in 1829 be borne in mind ; if it be remembered how
greatly Sir Robert Peel’s political position was hampered
by the results of his manly conflict for the Catholic Relief
Bill, and how imperfectly public opinion was enlightened
to the true importance of the police measure, even after all
that had been done and said in relation to it, the surprise will
rather be, that he effected so much, than that he did no more.
In 1838 the working of the new system came fully under Parliamen-
the review of a parliamentary committee. The inquiry taiT il)-
amply justified the measure of 1829, and the wisdom of ex-
tending it. Notwithstanding the loud prophecies of the the Woj.k°-
worse than Egyptian bondage that was sure to follow so ing 0f the
dangerous an innovation, no evidence was forthcoming that new police,
liberty had suffered by the suppression of the old watch-
boxes, and of the woollen nightcaps by which they were
wont to be tenanted. The committee reported its opinion
—(1.) That the several constabulary forces (including that
of the city) of the metropolis should be consolidated; (2.)
That all executive duties of police should be entrusted to
the commissioners ; (3.) That the police-offices should be
so regulated as to assimilate them, more than heretofore, to
courts of justice; (4.) That, within the jurisdiction of the
Police Act, one magistrate, sitting alone, should be em¬
powered to deal with all cases; (5.) That police justices
should be empowered to determine cases of simple larceny
up to a value of forty shillings ; (6.) That they should like-
2 Ibid., pp. 397, 414.
2 B
194 POLICE.
English
Police.
Mainte¬
nance of
the sepa¬
rate con¬
trol of the
police
within city
of London.
The metro¬
politan po¬
lice acts of
1839.
19 & 20
Viet., c. 2
(Feb. 28,
1856).
wise be empowered to determine certain petty and con¬
stantly-recurring questions of a civil nature, especially
affecting the most numerous classes of the population, and
not previously provided for; (7.) That a revision of the
police districts should be made, with a view to their better
adaptation to the growth of the metropolis. 1 here were
many other recommendations on points of detail, but those
we have cited comprise the matters of chief importance. In
the following session bills were introduced in accordance
with the principal recommendations of the committee ; and
again there was an active opposition.
The main contest was as to the consolidation of the police
of the city with that of the outlying districts. It resulted
in the introduction and ultimate passing of a corporation
police bill, modelled in its details on that of the govern¬
ment, but retaining the separate control. The city force
was to be placed under a commissioner, intrusted with like
powers within the city to those which the metropolitan
commissioners possessed without it.
The chief provisions of the acts of the 2d and 3d Viet.,
c. 47 and 71 (the former entitled “ An Act for further Im¬
proving the Police in or near the Metropolis ; ” the latter,
“An Act for Regulating the Police-Courts in the Metropo¬
lis ”), carrying into effect the above-cited recommendations of
the committee of 1838, from the 2d to the 6th inclusive,
give large powers for the pursuit and recovery of stolen
goods ; for the better regulation of hired carriages, and high¬
ways ; and for the suppression of nuisances of various kinds.
They raise the maximum salary of the magistrates to the
sum of L.1200 ; and empower the Queen in council to alter
the number and situation of the police-courts, as well as of
the magistrates.
Finally, by the 19th and 20th Viet., c. 2, entitled “An Act
to Amend the Acts relating to the Metropolitan Police,” it is
provided that one commissioner only shall be appointed
after the passing of the act, at a salary not exceeding
L.1500 per annum; power is given for the appointment,
under the sign-manual, of two assistant commissioners, each
at a salary not exceeding L.800 per annum ; and it is enacted
that all powers theretofore vested in the joint commission¬
ers shall thenceforth be exercised by the sole commissioner.
Presenter- On the 1st January 1858 the metropolitan police force
ganization consisted of 17 superintendents, at salaries varying from
and Staff L.200 to L.440; 140 inspectors, at salaries varying from
of the L.81J 18s. to L.200 ; 630 sergeants, at weekly pay, amount-
*n the lowest class (610 of the 630), to L.63, 14s. per
annum, and in the highest class to L.109, 4s.; and 5296
constables, with pay ranging from L.49, 8s. up to L.78 per
annum. Both sergeants and constables receive coals in
addition to their pay and clothing, at the rate of 40 lb.
weekly to each married man throughout the year, and
40 lb. weekly to each single man during six months, and
20 lb. weekly during the remainder of the year. The ag¬
gregate expenditure for pay and clothing amounted to
L.349,315, 19s. 3d. The total expenditure of the depart¬
ment during the year ending 31st December 1857 was as
follows:—
I. Metropolitan Police Force, IQ57.—Expenditure.
Office salaries and expenses (including law
charges, L.191, 3s. 6d.)  L.11,367 0 8
Pay, clothing, and equipment of the force  349,315 19 3
Retired allowances, and contribution to superan¬
nuation fund  28,510 1 7
Medical and funeral expenses   3,087 7 8
Horses and vans  8,502 2 11
Police-station and section-houses  18,779 16 10
Fuel and light    13,649 18 6
Survey and protection of dangerous structures... 2,609 14 7
Miscellaneous expenses  8,389 19 1
Total expenditure  L.444,212 1 1
At the same period—namely, the close of 1857—the es- English
tablishment of the metropolitan police-courts consisted of Police,
one chief magistrate at L.1500 ; 22 magistrates at L.1200
per annum each ; 23 clerks, at salaries varying from L.75 Establish-
to L.500 per annum; and 52 ushers, jailers, and messen- ment and
gers, at wages averaging L.82 per annum. The total ex- staff °f the
penditure on account of the courts, for the year, was as™™?™;
follows:— courts.
II. Metropolitan Police Courts, 1857-—Expenditure.
Salaries and wages  L.39,376 0 4
Retired allowances and pensions  4,882 1 3
Purchase and repair of premises, rent, taxes, &c... 6,118 17 2
Fuel, light, and miscellaneous expenses  1,883 18 6
Police Qazette  3,142 9 9
Total expenditure  L.55,403 7 0
When the police force wras first organized (under 10 Portion of
Geo. IV., c. 44), the contribution from the Consolidated
Fund, in aid of the police rate, was limited to L.60,000 per
annum. This sum continues to be the contribution of the borne by
Treasury, as respects the original district. For the extended the Trea-
district a contribution is made equal to one-third of thesury.
proceeds of the rate levied on that district.
The total sum charged in 1857 (by half-j^early warrants) The police
upon the parishes within the original district was, at six-rate of the
pence in the pound (upon a rental of L.9,811,926),
L.245,298, 3s., to which, as we have seen, L.60,000 were
added from the Consolidated Fund ; the total sum charged
in like manner upon the parishes within the extended or
additional district (upon a rental of L.1,822,953) amounted
to L.45,573, 16s. 6d.; to which was added from the Consoli¬
dated Fund, L.15,191, 5s. 6d.; making in the aggregate
L.366,063, 5s.
The smallest contribution by rate, it may be worth while
to note, is that of the liberty of Twyford Abbey in Middle¬
sex, being L.13, 6s. (upon a rental of L.532); the largest
i that of the parish of St Marylebone, being L.24,984, 6s.
(upon a rental of L.999,372).
Besides the sums which have been specified, there are Special
paid out of votes of Parliament, in pursuance of provisions contnbu-
in the acts of the 2d and 3d Viet., c. 47, of the 17th and^on®fro“
18th Viet., c. 94, and of the 19th Viet., c. 2, the following g®rea‘ j
sums,—viz., to defray the increased charge arising from the
addition of the duties of the horse patrol and the Thames
police, L.20,000 ; to defray the salaries of commissionei*,
assistant-commissioners, and receiver, L.4100; to defray
certain superannuation charges, L.4080, 19s. 6d. Other
sums received from public offices and departments for spe¬
cial services, severally rendered to them by the police,
amount to L.24,701, 16s. 8d.; and like sums received from
trading companies and private persons amount to L.8194,
Os. lOd. The total receipts from all sources stand thus:—
III. Metropolitan Police Force, 1857-—Receipts. Abstract oi
Police rate (6d. in the pound)  L.290,871 19 g t'le ^ota^
Treasury....       103,380 5 0recelPts>
Public departments for special services   24,701 16 8
Companies and private persons  8,194 0 10
For conveyance of prisoners  819 17 7
From owners of dangerous structures   1,691 2 4
Stoppages from police pay for lodging  5,218 14 11
Miscellaneous receipts   687 17 2
Total receipts L.435,565 14 0
By the 16th and 17th Viet., c. 33 (“ An Act for the better Metropoh-
Regulation of Metropolitan Stage and Hackney Carriages, tan Car- ^
and for Prohibiting the use of Advertising Vehicles”), the
inspection and regulation of public carriages is made one of y;ct i c-3i
the duties of the commissioners of police; the certificate of 0f ig53.
the commissioners being the condition precedent of the
licensing of any such carriage by the Boards of Inland
POLICE.
195
English Revenue. The expenses of this department are borne by
Police, the board out of the proceeds ot licenses, and amounted in
v—1857 to L.l 1,828, 15s. 5d.
The receipts of the police-courts during 1857 were :—
IV. Metropolitan Police-Courts, 1857—Receipts.
From the Consolidated Fund (under 2 & 3 Viet.,
c. 71, § 11)  L.28,025
Out of vote of Parliament, 1857—8  30,308
Fees, penalties, and forfeitures at the various courts 11,291
Contributions to the superannuation fund  1,112
Total receipts L.70,736 17 11
The whole amount received for fees and penalties is paid
VI. Metropolitan Police,—Apprehensions
over to the Exchequer, and the whole expense (L.55,403) English
defrayed by the Treasury; but of course about one-fifth of Police,
the cost of the police-courts is virtually self-defrayed from
the former source.
The total cost of the police force within the city of Lon- r f f
don was in 1857, L.43,945, 6s. 9d., defrayed from corpora- of Imndo/
tion funds. The aggregate number of police of all ranks police,
employed was 552.
The number of apprehensions by the metropolitan police, Apnrehen-
and their results before the magistrates, will be seen by the sions dis-
following comparative table, which comprises (1.) the three charges,
years ending 1836, and (2.) the three years ending 1856:— convic-
and Results 1834-36, and 1854-6. committals.
Years.
1834
1835
1836
Total of the 3 years, 1834-36
Yearly average of those years
No. of
Persons
taken into
Custody.
No. Dis¬
charged by
Magis¬
trates.
64,269
63,474
63,384
191,127
63,709
34,499
32,544
29,776
96,819
32,273
E
i'cl O
26,302
27,817
30,453
84,572
28,190
il
EH
o t.
0,0
3,468
3,113
3,175
9,756
3,252
Years.
No. of
Persons
taken into
Custody
1854
1855
1856
Total of the 3years, 1854-6...
Yearly average of those years
75,614
68,505
73,240
217,359
72,453
No. Dis¬
charged by
Magis¬
trates.
39,514
34,850
36,551
110,915
36,971
■VS
ZP
30,941
29,796
33,451
94,188
31,396
.■s
S'E
S<2
o
5,159
3,859
3,238
12,256
4,085
Proportion
of dis¬
charges to
apprehen¬
sions.
Degree of
instruction
of persons
apprehend¬
ed.
The proportion borne by the discharges to the appre¬
hensions (1854-56) is, it will be perceived, no less than 51
per cent, in the metropolitan district. This appears to be a
much higher percentage than obtains in other districts.
In Liverpool, for example (as will be shown presently), it
was, on an average of the same three years, 42'8 per cent.;
in Manchester, 35‘3 ; in Dublin, 31*4 per cent.
The subjoined table shows the degree of instruction, as
far as could be ascertained by the police functionaries, of
the whole number of persons taken into custody within the
metropolitan district in the year 1856:—
VIII. Metropolitan Police,—Class of Offences for
VII. Metropolitan Police,—State of Instruction of Persons
taken into Custody, 1856.
Could neither read nor write  15 482
Could read only, or read and write imperfectly  53,540
Could read and write well  3 837
Possessed of superior instruction  381
Total number of persons apprehended  73,240
Any elaborate classification of the cases included in the Classifica-
preceding tables would require space not here available; tion of
but limiting the statement to the summary convictions and offences
the committals of 1854-56, the nature of the offences may within
be thus briefly indicated :— metropoli-
J tan dis-
which Prisoners were Committed for Trial, 1854-6.1 trict.
Nature of Offences.
1. Offences against the person 
2. Offences against property, with violence ....
3. „ „ „ without violence,
4. Malicious offences against property 
5. Forgery, and offences against currency 
6. Offences not included in the above classes ...
Total number of Committals .
266
250
4232
12
377
22
5159
1855.
241
207
3132
1
251
27
3859
1856.
224
376
2300
11
289
38
3238
Total of
Three Years.
731
833
9664
24
917
87
12,256
IX. Metropolitan Police,—Class of Offences for which Persons taken into Custody were Summarily Convicted,
   or Held to Bail, 1854-6. 1
Nature of Offences.
1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
9.
10.
11.
12.
13.
14.
Offences against the person 
Offences against property, without violence 
Malicious offences against property 
Drunkenness 
Offences against Police Act— sewers, &c 
Betting-Houses Act 
Common Lodging-Houses Act.
Hackney Carriage Act 
Highway and Turnpikes Act..
Juvenile Offenders’ Act 
Militia Act 
.Railway Acts  
Vagrants and suspicious characters 
Offences not included in the above classes 
Total number of Summary Convictions, &c.
1854.
6,440
6,234
1,435
1,726
534
2
10
391
38
246
36
20
2,584
11,245
30,941
1855.
6,114
6,299
1,504
1,642
447
7
314
23
270
22
20
2,189
10,945
29,796
6,314
8,659
1,742
1,608
337
1
434
24
390
15
33
2,592
11,302
33,451
Total of
Three Years
18,868
21,192
4,681
4,976
1,318
3
17
1,139
85
906
73
73
7,365
33,492
94,188
1 V e have abridged these returns from the voluminous and valuable tables published in Miscellaneous Statistics of the United Kinqdom,
presented to both Houses of Parliament (1857) pp. 84-88.
196
English
Police.
Ancillary
duties of
metropoli¬
tan police.
Borough
and town
police of
England.
Cost of the
borough
police.
Kelative
strength of
borough
police.
POLICE.
The number of fires reported by the metropolitan police
during the same three years was 1468, and the number
extinguished by the force before the arrival of the engines
was 115; the number of public-houses and beer-shops
summoned was 3441, of which 2666 were convicted, and
775 dismissed; the number of stage and hackney carriages,
carts, and waggons summoned was 9362, of which 8184
were convicted, and 1178 dismissed.
Under the Municipal Corporations Act (5 and 6, Will.
IV., c. 76), or under local acts, 171 cities, boroughs, and
towns in England and Wales maintain a police force, which,
on the 29th September 1857, amounted in the aggregate
to 5251 officers and constables of all ranks. The city or
borough police is a charge upon the borough funds, aided
in a majority of instances, by a police rate. One-fourth,
however, of the cost of pay and clothing is repaid from the
public revenues to all cities and boroughs having a popula¬
tion exceeding 5000, and to all boroughs of lesser population,
provided the police force be amalgamated with that of the
county ; but such repayment is in all cases subject to the
certificate by the home secretary, upon annual report from
her Majesty’s inspector, that the force maintained is effi¬
cient as respects both its numbers and its discipline.
The total cost of the borough police throughout Eng¬
land and Wales in 1857 was L.337,853, 2s. lid., of which
sum L.60,970, 8s. 4d. was borne by the Treasury. The
largest local force—both numerically and in respect to
population—is that of Liverpool, which is composed of
956 officers and men of all ranks, and is in the ratio of one
policeman in every 393 of the population. Then follows
Bristol, with 301 police, or one in 459 of the population.
Manchester comes next, with a force of 554 persons, or
one to 547 of the population. At the opposite extremity
of the scale come some of the smaller manufacturing
towns of Lancashire and Northern Cheshire, the Cornish
boroughs and some quiet easy-going towns in various parts
of the country ; as, for example, Saint Albans in Hertford¬
shire, which has 7 policemen to a population of 49,000 ;
and Beverley in the East Riding of Yorkshire, which (if
the judicial statistics presented to Parliament in 1858
are accurate) has but one such functionary in 8915 of
population. But this great variety of condition in re¬
spect of police will be best appreciated if we tabulate a few
examples out of the official statistics of the 171 towns and
boroughs which are before us :—
X. Borough Police of England and Wales,—Strength and
Cost, 1857-1
Name of Borough or
Town.
Liverpool  
Bristol 
Manchester  
Birmingham  
Cambridge 
Ipswich  
Winchester 
Canterbury 
Oldham (Lancash.)
Oxford 
Stockport  
Helston (Cornwall)
Bodmin  
St Albans  
Beverley 
,2^
6 ®
956
301
554
355
34
34
13
14
36
10
15
1
1
7
1
,0 0) 3
g.i'3
gS 3
£
3.
O
PM
1 in 393
„ 459
„ 547
„ 646
„ 824
„ 961
„ 1,054
„ 1,272
„ 2,400
„ 2,784
„ 3,588
„ 4,000
„ 4,327
„ 7,000
„ 8,915
Total Cost.
L. s. d.
59,920 17 2
14,404 17 7
37,323 14 10
21,852 3 3
2,133 12 9
1,952 14 1
857 12 8
1,066 6 2
2,060 8 7
623 15 6
2,504 19 0
[not returned]
45 9 5
366 0 8
Contribution
from
the Treasury.
L. s. d.
13,709 18 8
3,346 18 1
7,767 10 6
4,752 15 3
424 0 11
447 2 4
187 4 9
75 14 1
The blanks in the last column of this table indicate that
in the case of those boroughs respectively the state of the English
police force was unsatisfactory to the inspector, and that Police,
the certificate of the secretary of state was in consequence
withheld. There can be no doubt that this plan of govern- Police cer-
ment inspection and certificate is the hinge on which the tificatesys-
efficiency of the borough police mainly turns. The certi-tem-
ficate is often granted conditionally, when the deficiencies
pointed out by the inspector, whose reports are communi¬
cated to the respective local authorities, appear to be in the
way of remedy. Thus, in December 1857, Sir George
Grey, in transmitting Colonel Woodford’s report to the
watch committee of Salford, states that he had granted the
certificate “ in the confident expectation that the observa¬
tions of the inspector as to some defects in the condition
and discipline of the borough police force will receive due
attention ;” on the like occasion, to the watch committee of
Newcastle, “ trusts that the recommendation of the in¬
spector of a moderate augmentation of the force will re¬
ceive due attention ;” while that of Halifax is informed that
the secretary of state “ will not feel himself justified in cer¬
tifying . . . that your police has been maintained in a state
of efficiency in point of numbers and discipline for a longer
period than from 21st September last” {i.e., twelve weeks
of the year); adding, however, that “ if your police force is
maintained (as he has no reason to doubt), at its present
state throughout the ensuing year, he will have great satis¬
faction in granting the certificate to which it will be fully
entitled.2
Some similar provision for a systematic and efficient Necessity
government inspection is greatly needed in respect of of govem-
sanitary measures in boroughs. The owners of what in ment in¬
cur large towns is designated “ cottage property,” have of
late years associated themselves for the express purpose ofganjtary
resisting sanitary improvement. In some of the towns police,
which stand most in need of such improvement this class
of persons has succeeded in attaining a prominent influence
in the town councils. In the municipal elections of No¬
vember 1858, this influence has been repeatedly observed.
By such means, even in large towns like Manchester, sani¬
tary associations, acting upon principles which have had
the direct sanction of the legislature, after searching inquiry,
find themselves opposed by the local influence of the cor¬
porations and functionaries, whose duty it is to further the
very measures they impede. Nor is it without precedent
to find men placed on committees which have to deal with
specific questions of this sort, who are known to have a
pecuniary interest in obstructing the due action of those
committees, and who are so placed for that express reason.
In large and wealthy towns public opinion will, in the
long run, be too strong for petty and tortuous interests.
In small and poor towns, local opinion stands in much need
of being reinforced from without.
Take, for example, the question of “ cellar dwellings,” Cellar
the inhabiting of which is absolutely incompatible with dwellings,
vigorous health, and the bare existence of which, in Eng¬
lish towns in 1858, is a proof of the gross neglect in past
years of the rudiments of sanitary police. In Manchester
some real improvement in this respect has been effected,3
although not without great difficulty. But how does the
case stand in the neighbouring town of Bolton ?
In August 1855 it was ascertained that about 6000
persons, or one-twelfth of the entire population of Bolton,
dwelt in cellars, the number of which was about 1600. It
follows, therefore, that each cellar was tenanted on the
average by nearly four human beings. This was the fact
in 1855, twenty-three years after the fearful lesson of
1832, repeatedly enforced by other like warnings of later
date. The attention of the town council was pressingly
1 Judicial Statistics (for the year 1857), presented to both Houses of Parliament (1858), pp. 3, 4.
3 Papers relating to Police Certificates (19th April, 1858), S. P. 213.
3 Proceedings of the Council of the City of Manchester for 1857, pp. 285-294.
POLICE.
he manu-
aeturiDg
owns.
English claimed to a state of things so dangerous and so disgrace-
Police. ful. It set to work at length, but in a very lethargic
fashion. In politer phrase, its members “ showed their
anxiety to proceed gradually and with caution.” In the
year 1856 they closed 128 of these places; m 1857, forty-
nine ; and in 1858, thirteen. At the end of 1858, a
“ Cottage Owners’ Association” interposed in the municipal
elections, with the view of securing the return of councillors
for whom even this rate of “interference with property”
was too rapid. The reader may calculate with little
difficulty the period of time requisite for the removal,
if left entirely in such hands, of an evil which the law of
the country has emphatically condemned, and which a me¬
dical member of the town council in question (to whom the
honour of effecting the little that has been effected is
mainly due), stated, on the professional experience of a
long practice, to “ involve an immense loss of human life.”1
mproved The large improvements which have been effected in
ielations of the borough police of England, under the legislation of the
last quarter of a century, are nowhere more striking than
in the manufacturing towns of the north, much as yet re¬
mains to be done in a like direction in many of them.
The rapidity of growth of the manufacturing system; the ut¬
ter unscrupulousness as to means with which the aggregation
of working-people was, in its early stages, urged on ; and the
then almost entire neglect of moral and educational agencies
by a large proportion of those who were suddenly raised
from obscurity to influence, had brought about in these
towns a state of society which was especially and emi¬
nently perilous. Class animosities had become chronic.
The masses of the working population saw the functions of
of the magistracy and the machinery of the law habitually
employed to keep down the weak, and to aggrandize the
strong. Disaffection and turbulence could not fail to
spread.
The appointment of stipendiary magistrates, and of fac¬
tory inspectors, in combination with improved means of
education, and with a well-ordered police, subject to strict
rule and constant publicity, have in this respect completely
changed the face of things. If a prosperous Lancashire
manufacturer is presented at court, it does not now occur
to royalty to inquire, as William IV. did on a like occasion,
“ Are you quiet in Manchester now ? ” Royalty has seen
with its own eyes that the crowded population of our manu¬
facturing towns can throng their streets on a great occasion
with orderly but manly demeanour, uttering no cries but
those of loyal attachment.
The police force of Manchester was organized in 1839.
For the first four years the number of apprehensions was
continually and largely on the increase ; and the proportion
of persons discharged on appearing before the magistrates
was enormous. In 1841, for example, with a population
of 235,000, the number of persons taken into custody was
13,345; of whom 10,208 were discharged by the magis¬
trates, 2138 were summarily convicted, and 999 were
committed for tiial. Of the latter, 824 were convicted and
sentenced. The discharged, therefore, were no less than
76 49 per cent, of the number taken into custody, exclu¬
sive of 1-31 per cent, acquitted on trial. Such a result
could only occur under considerable abuse of the lar^e
powers conferred by the Borough Police Act; an abus°e,
however, which may be partly excused by the novelty ot
the organization. By zealous attention on the part of the
late exemplary chief constable, Captain Willis (now one of
the government inspectors of police), a remarkable change
r-y police
Man-
ister.
has been brought about. The character of the force itself
was raised, A certain degree of elementary education
was gradually exacted. Great pains were taken to habi¬
tuate the constables to cautious and discriminating conduct
especially in dealing with charges of a trivial nature, and
with such as grew out of disputes and street broils. In¬
telligent and superior constables were kept constantly on
duty at the stations, and were held responsible for strict
inquiry into the nature of the charges, before the persons
charged were placed in confinement. The importance of
a conciliatory bearing towards the inhabitants at large,
within the limits of duty, was impressed upon every mem¬
ber of the force. Thus, in 1851, with a population of
303,382 the number of apprehensions was reduced to
4890 (against 13,345 in 1841), and the proportion of cases
discharged by the magistrates to 37’50 per cent, (against
76-49 per cent, in 1841). The precise figures of 185.1
run thus:—Apprehended, 4890; discharged, 1834; sum¬
marily convicted, 2176 ; committed for trial, 880; convicted
and sentenced 722. There can be no better proof of the
increased discretion and judgment evinced both by the
police constables in taking, and by the sergeants and in¬
spectors in receiving, the persons charged with offences.2
The following tables show (1.) the population, police
force, apprehensions, and disposal of persons apprehended,
within the city of Manchester, for each of the seven years
1851-57 inclusive; and (2.) the degree of instruction of
the persons so apprehended during the same period:—
XI. Manchester Police,—Persons Apprehended, and their
Disposal, 1851-7.
Year.
1851  
1852  
1853  
1854  
1855  
18563...
1856-7..
Popula¬
tion.
303,382
316,487
322,873
328,897
330,690
337,915
345,986
No. of
Police.
466
477
481
529
532
546
554
Persons
Appre¬
hended.
4890
5166
5362
5955
6054
4470
7797
Dis¬
charged
1834
1783
1941
2416
2041
1463
2861
E G
G O
MO
2176
2494
2627
2584
3077
2372
4144
EH
o"
880
889
794
955
936
635
792
O M
722
730
623
805
748
505
602
XII. Manchester Police,'—Degree of Instruction in Persons
Apprehended, 1851-7.
Years.
1851  
1852  
1853  
1854  
1855  
18563...
1856-7..
Hg
a a>
(S’13
4890
5166
5362
5955
6054
4470
7797
Ph .
a
G s~l
2 B
o
1866
1882
1967
2236
2131
1743
3229
(3 9
£1
2851
3067
3217
3574
3761
2623
4413
'O !h
172
213
177
144
162
103
154
Percentage.
38-2
36-43
36- 68
37- 54
35-19
38- 99
41-41
58- 2
59- 36
59- 66
60-
62-12
58-68
56-59
£2
3- 5
4- 2
3-31
2-43
2-67
2-32
1-97
197
English
Police.
The following table shows the number of public-houses Offences of
and of beer-houses within the city of Manchester, and the publicans,
number of offences reported against them respectively by
the police, in each of the years 1854, 1855, 1856, anil
1857:—
2 ^•r-edinSSJ)fJhe „0Wn CTCil 0f B°Jt0n’ NoV- 25’ as reP°rted in the Manchester Guardian, Nov. 26, 1858.
3 Miscellaneous Statistical Returns of the Manchester Police, 1843 to 1857, passim.
recta thYp'repLdon of the 0f th“ pr<,V"i<>n ,,le Constabulary Act which <11-
198
POLICE.
English
Police.
XIII. Manchester Police,—Complaints against Taverns and Beer-Houses, 1854-7.
Public-Houses :—
Number in the city.,
Offences on week-days reported
Offences on Sundays reported....
Total No. of offences reported
1854.
485
8
132
140
1855.
1856.
(9 moa.)
487
9
110
119
489
5
64
69
185T.
485
7
116
123
1854.
Beer-Houses :—
Number in the city 
Offences on week-days reported
Offences on Sundays reported....
Total No. of offences reported
1576
207
659
866
1581
169
452
621
1856.
(9 mos.)
1552
155
337
492
1857.
1573
169
576
745
English
Police.
Police of
the Eng¬
lish coun¬
ties.
Each year shows a relative decrease of both classes of The table next subjoined shows the total number of per- police st&.
houses, as compared with the population of the city. In sons appreh nded by the police of Liverpool, and the re-tisticsof
1857 the proportion of licensed victuallers to the popula- suits of the hearing of each case by the magistrates, in each Liverpoo,.
tion was as 1 to 713, against 1 to 691 in 1856; and that year from 1854 to 1857:—
of beer retailers as 1 to 219, against 1 to 217 in 1856.
1854 .
1855 ,
18561,
1857 .
Total No. of
Apprehen¬
sions.
25,111
25,689
19,336
24,375
Discharged.
N nmher.
11,529
10,188
8,335
10,914
Percentage
to Appre¬
hensions.
45-8
39-6
43- 1
44- 7
Summarily Convicted.
Number. Percentage.
13,127
15,053
10,526
12,254
52-2
586
54-4
50-3
Committed.
Number.
455
448
475
1207
Percentage.
Convicted.
1-8
1-8
2-5
5-0
376
352
374
870
Acquitted.
71
70
92
222
Percent¬
age.
1-5
1-4
1-9
3-6
The Liverpool returns of 1858 (which are before us, but
only in an incomplete form) show a decrease of 2386 in the
number of apprehensions; and also a marked decrease in
juvenile crime, ascribable to the effect of the reformatories
hereafter noticed.
We now advert to the condition, as respects police, of the
English counties. This branch of the subject was fully
investigated by the commissioners appointed in 1836 “to
inquire as to the best means of establishing an efficient con¬
stabulary force in the counties of England and Wales.”
The commissioners were Mr C. Shaw Lefevre (afterwards
Speaker), the late Sir Charles Rowan, and Mr Edwin Chad¬
wick. They reported in 1839. After an elaborate expo¬
sition of the nature, ramifications, and extent of crime with
which their inquiry had acquainted them, the commissioners
report that “the primary functions of ‘watch and ward’
.... have entirely fallen into desuetude, which is ascrib¬
able to the dereliction of the constitutional principle of
local responsibility to the supreme executive for the pre¬
vention of crime. As a consequence of this state of things,
we find private watchmen extensively employed by indi¬
viduals and by associations for self-protection The
men hold themselves engaged for the service of those who
directly appoint and pay them, and question as little as
they can the propriety or legality of any services required of
them.” Elsewhere they state that “ There are upwards of
500 voluntary associations for promoting the apprehension
and prosecution of felons, besides very numerous voluntary
associations in various parts of the country for the repres¬
sion of vagrancy and mendicity. Amongst the rules of
some of these associations for self-protection, we find rules
for mutual assurance by the payment of a part of the loss
sustained by depredation. In several of the farmers’ as¬
sociations are rules binding the members, in the case
of horse-stealing, to take horse and join in pursuit of
thieves, upon an alarm of a theft having been committed
and they add:—“ Hereafter such associations and such
rules may be cited to prove that the community in which
they arose was relapsing into a state of barbarism.”
This aspect of the question was forcibly illustrated in
the evidence of the late Rev. Thomas Spencer, of Hin¬
ton, near Bath:—“In our part,” he said, “ifa person’s
property is safe, it is owing to the good conduct of his
neighbours, or to accident, or to the means he may him¬
self use; but it is not owing to any legal protection that
he has. I feel that we are, as it were, without the pale
of the law ; that every man that would be safe must be his
own watchman, his own constable, and his own magistrate;
that unless he himself takes all the precautions to make
his house and property secure, there is no other remedy ;
that unless he himself shall watch his property, and take up
the offender,—shall take him to the constable,—shall order
the constable to go with him to the next town, and be at
the expense of the constable doing that,—and shall promise
the constable to be responsible for putting the man into
custody until he can be brought before a magistrate ; shall
appear before the magistrate, and reason with him, and
probably give him an indemnity, if the case be one of
doubt; in fact do all the work, the man will escape; what¬
ever be his crime.”2
The commissioners also cited some remarkable circum-gtate of
stances which occurred during the agricultural riots ofruraip0.
1830 and 1831, as showing the utter want of any ade-licedur-
quate provision for cases of emergency. For example, ing the
“When a report was brought into the town of Newbury
in Berkshire, on the 19th of November, that a mob was1
coming from Brimpton, and special constables were about
to be sworn in, the town-clerk and the clerk to the magis¬
trates for the division were quarrelling about jurisdiction ;
that is, whether the constables should be sworn in for the
county, or for the town of Newbury. The Newbury
people stuck up for the rights of the town, and would only
be sworn before the town magistrates. This fermented a
division. Luckily, the mob .... had been beaten and
dispersed.” And in answer to the question, “Were any
organized parties sent from the town ?” the answer w'as,—
“ Parties were sent out, but there was no organization, no
system. Those who chose to go, went. In one instance, a
party went out, and after they had gone some way out of
the town, some of them asked, ‘ Where are we going to ?’
It turned out that no one knew, and that each believed
he was acting under the guidance of some of the others.”''
1 Here also the return for 1856 is for nine months only (ending 30th Sept, in consequence of that provision in the Constabulary Act
which directs the preparation of the returns at the end of September in each year).
2 Report of Constabulary Force Commissioners, pp. 97-99. 3 Ibid., pp. 106, 107.
POLICE.
199
•ganized
ural po-
ce.
English Such evidence is but a fair specimen of the general
Police, character of the testimony which was gathered, as respects
—both the repression of ordinary crime and the control of
eneralre- riot. Apart from the ulterior peril of habits of lawlessness,
dts of the with their possible but indefinite consequences, it must be
ant tL?/1 apparent that such a state of things could not but be costly.
In dealing with felonies, every inefficient step at the out¬
set entailed expenses which increased at every subsequent
stage, and by leading to frequent impunity, sowed the seed
of new crimes; whilst, in dealing with popular commo¬
tions, every hour that passed without measures of repres¬
sion, at once temperate and firm, gave the opportunity for
devastations not to be covered by sums that would suffice
to maintain an efficient constabulary for many years; to
say nothing of the social results, more serious still, which
must ever attend on broils in which master is armed against
servant, and neighbour against neighbour.
At the date of this inquiry a paid and trained constabu¬
lary force had been tried experimentally, and upon a small
scale, in many parts of the country. A paid watch, with¬
out training, had repeatedly failed. In places where the
associations for prevention of robberies were most success¬
ful the success was partial, and very frequently had the
effect of making the state of things just beyond their limits
worse than it had ever been before. Nor was even this
degree of efficiency maintained until the establishment of
the metropolitan office enabled rural districts, willing to
take advantage of the Lighting and Watching Act (3 and
4 Will. IV., c. 90), to obtain the services of practised
constables. The change of circumstances which then re¬
sulted in many parts of England was strikingly narrated
in evidence before the commissioners ; as, for example, in
the case of Barnet in Hertfordshire, in that of Beck¬
enham in Kent, in that of thirty of the thirty-two pa¬
rishes which form the Blofield union in Norfolk, and in
that of Stow-on-the-Wold in Gloucestershire.1
attire and But the most extensive trial of a paid constabulary force
j ieration in rurai districts was that which had been made in Che-
leshire shire’ un(^er provisions of an act of the 10th George
’instabu- c- 97 (“An Act to enable the Magistrates of the
> ry Act of County Palatine of Chester to appoint Special High Con-
!29. stables for the several Hundreds or Divisions, and Assist¬
ant Petty Constables for the several Townships of that
County”). The whole force established under the act
consisted of only three high constables and twenty-four
petty constables, and the total expense was L.1274, ex¬
clusive of certain fees and perquisites. Small as the force
was, petitions were got up in various townships complain¬
ing of its cost and “ uselessness,” and in some townships
reductions were made.
At this period a state of things existed in Cheshire, and
especially in the hilly districts near the county town, the
unadorned account of which reads more like a picture of
some of the worst parts of Ireland in their worst days, than
of an English county towards the middle of the nineteenth
century. Nightly gangs, composed of known persons, yet
unbroken for years ; individual robbers whom five athletic
constables were unable to arrest; habitual plunder, so sys¬
tematized as to be looked upon by the sufferers as a sort
of dispensation of Providence, which it was idle to think of
resisting ; such aie the features which were conclusively
brought out in evidence.2 Under circumstances like
these, it is not surprising that almost all that was achieved
by the Local Constabulary Act lay in preventing the dis¬
tricts in which crime was already least formidable from be¬
coming worse ; whilst those—the hundreds of Bucklow
and Broxton, for example—in which it had never been
fairly grappled with, were left at the mercy of events; each
farmer hoping that if he did not make himself especially English
obnoxious to his predatory neighbours, his share in the Pofice,
common loss would be lighter than that of somebody else. N'—■'/
It is right to remember that the criminal facilities of some*
parts of Cheshire were increased by special and temporary
incidents; such as those arising from the vexatious cha¬
racter of the old salt duties, from the want of an efficient
coast-guard for the prevention of “ wrecking,” from the
long lines of canal, and the like. Nor is it uninstructive to
notice that an inquiry which was made into the incubation
of certain petitions, not unsuccessful, against an effective
increase of the constabulary, elicited the facts, that they had
been hawked about by persons having a pecuniary interest
in the retention of the old methods, signed by convicted
offenders, and actively supported by the keepers of beer¬
houses. On the whole, two things appeared to be clear:
the one that the Cheshire Constabulary Act had failed of
its proper effect; the other, that the failure tended to
strengthen, not to weaken, the arguments for a county
police, composed of trained men, and so controlled as to
combine the advantages of uniformity of system with those
of local supervision and local responsibility.
The recommendations in which the commissioners of 1839
summed up the results of their inquiry are too elaborate for
insertion here, even in epitome. It must suffice to describe
the new laws, on the ultimate passing of which the report,
and the discussTons thence arising, had naturally great in¬
fluence. Public opinion has not endorsed, nor is it likely
to endorse, all those recommendations ; but that the zeal
and ability of the commissioners have laid the country under
great obligation, is an obvious fact.
One of the most thoughtful and most incisive of recent
writers has told us that whereas our ancestors made laws
which have lived for centuries, and promise to live for cen¬
turies to come, men in these days do not expect “ that any
law enacted during the last session will escape without
either revision or repeal the next,—beyond which it would
be invidious to ask how many members of our legislature
have projected their minds.”3 If the reproof was amply
justified twenty years ago, what is to be said now ? But
if piecemeal legislation be excusable at all, it is so in rela¬
tion to matters of police, in which the new and the old are
at once so various and so intimately linked together, that
incautious handling might easily destroy whilst seeking only
to amend. Here the legislator has to deal with measures in
the gross, the whole issue and effect of which, in their par¬
ticular application, depend on the wide-spread concurrence
and hearty fellow-working of all classes of the community.
The inventor who should contrive for daily necessities
machinery so intricate as to require the constant interposi¬
tion of the maker to keep it in order, would fail of his object,
however admirable the mathematical or mechanical skill
embodied in his invention. Frequent amendments in the fa¬
miliar mechanism would be less embarrassing to the workers.
The lawgiver may in like manner overshoot his mark by
changes too elaborate and too sudden. In the series of
enactments which have at length gradually brought us to a
general constabulary system, we have at all events no
fault of this kind to complain of.
The first step was the passing of the Rural Police Act Tu ,
(2 and 3 Viet, c. 93, amended by the 3 and 4 Viet., c. 88), poHcTacts,
which empowered the magistrates of any county in England 1839-40. *
and Wales to appoint chief and petty constables for such
counties, in such numbers and under such apportionment to
the several districts as they might deem advisable; permitted
the magistrates of several adjoining counties to unite in
such appointments if they thought fit; and also gave dis¬
cretional powers for the amalgamation of the police of
1 Report of Constabulary Commissioners, ut supra, 129-
3 Guesses at Truth, by Two Brothers, ii. 10.
137.
2 Ibid., 110-129.
200
English
Police.
POLICE.
Superin¬
tending
Constables
Act, 5 and
6 Vrict., c.
109.
Conflicting
evidence as
to the
working of
this act.
Recom¬
mendations
and opin¬
ions of the
police
committee
of 1853.
boroughs with that of the counties in which they were situ¬
ated or to which they were adjacent.
These acts, it will be seen, were simply permissive.
Essex was one of the first counties to adopt them. Its
constabulary was organized in February 1840, and it had
the good fortune to obtain a most able and energetic chief
constable in the person of Captain J. B. M‘Hardy (of the
Royal Navy), who had been for many years an inspecting
commander of the coast-guard. At this time the new act
was in bad odour in many parts of England, and especially,
as it would seem, in Kent, Suffolk, Hertfordshire, and Cam¬
bridgeshire. The remarkable success which attended Cap¬
tain M‘Hardy’s exertions in Essex, at the head of a force
composed of200 men (14 superintendents, 20 inspectors, and
166 constables in three classes), obliged the neighbouring
counties, Kent excepted, to follow the example. All these
eastern and south-eastern counties were overrun with va¬
grants, who in large numbers had for years levied a con¬
siderable tax on small farmers and cottagers, over and
above the amount of casual relief administered to them
under the poor-law. In Essex the plan of making the
police, under discreet regulations and careful supervision,
assistant relieving-officers “ for casuals,” was tried with ex¬
cellent effect. This measure checked vagrancy when all
other expedients had failed. Hampshire soon followed ;
and here, as in Essex and the contiguous counties, both
crime and vagrancy were remarkably diminished.
During the fourteen years 1840-1853, eighteen English
and four Welsh counties adopted the constabulary for the
whole of each county ; and seven other English counties for
parts only. Fourteen English and eight Welsh counties
still continued the system of parochial constables.
With a view, however, to some increased efficiency in the
counties last named, in which the adoption of the Police
Act was successfully opposed, the act of the 5th and 6th
Viet. c. 109 (Superintending Constables Act), enabled the
magistrates of any county to appoint a head constable to
each petty sessional division of a county, or to some selected
divisions, whose duty it should be to exercise a general
supervision over the parochial constables within his dis¬
trict. Much and somewhat conflicting evidence as to the
operation of this act was taken by the select committee on
police of 1853. Mr Oakley, governor of the county gaol
of Somerset, for example, said :—“ It increases the evils by
inducing the parish constables to set themselves in opposi¬
tion to the superintending constable The superin¬
tending constables being altogether uncontrolled, and with¬
out supervision, themselves tall into habits which render
them unfit for the proper performance of their duties.”1
On the other hand, Lieut.-Col. Clifford, a magistrate of
Herefordshire, and chairman of the court of quarter ses¬
sions, stated his belief that “ the prevention of crime is en¬
tirely met by the comparatively small number of superin¬
tending constables we now have there;’ and that the
“ superintending constables are as efficient as possible.”2
On this part of the question the committee reported its
conclusions as follows —“ The superintending constables
have proved useful as police-officers to the extent of their
individual exertions and servicesbut such an appoint¬
ment, it adds, “ provides no remedy for the inefficiency of
parochial constables ; and it is the opinion of your com¬
mittee that any system of police mainly dependent on the
aid of parochial constables must prove ineffectual for the
protection of property, more especially that of the poorer
classes ; for the prompt detection and pursuit of offenders,
the maintenance of order, and other duties of a police force,
for which their necessary avocations and local connections
entirely disqualify them.”3
English
Police.
On the more general question of the working of the
rural police acts, the committee resolved :—“ 1. That the
. . . Rural Police Act (from the permissive character of its
enactments), has failed to provide such a general and uni¬
form constabulary force as, in the opinion of your com¬
mittee, is essentially required for the prevention of crime
and security of property. 2. That in the districts in which
the Rural Police Act has been adopted, its efficiency for
the prevention of crime, by rendering the detection and
apprehension of offenders more prompt and certain, has
been proved to the satisfaction of your committee ; that it
has tended to the maintenance of order, and to the improved
habits of the population ; that vagrancy has greatly de¬
creased, and, more especially in combination with the casual
relief order of the Poor Law Board, has been in some places
almost entirely suppressed; and the effectual protection
afforded to property peculiarly exposed to depredation has,
in the opinion of owners and holders of land, rendered its
occupation more desirable. The adoption of the rural police,
therefore, in the opinion of your committee, has proved
highly advantageous to those districts, whether tested by
moral, social, or economical considerations.” The com¬
mittee further recommend that provision should be made
for the equitable adjustment of the police rate between the
various divisions of a county, in cases wherein great dif¬
ferences existed as respects the density and employments
of the population ; that the smaller boroughs should, for
police purposes, be consolidated with districts or counties;
that the police of the larger boroughs should be brought
under like management with that of the adjoining district
or county; and that the wisdom of some contribution by
government “ towards defraying the cost of an improved
and extended system of police, without essentially interfer¬
ing with the local management of that force, deserved the
consideration of the House and the report concluded with
the emphatic recommendation, “ That legislative measures
should be introduced without delay by Her Majesty’s govern¬
ment rendering the adoption of an efficient police force on
a uniform principle imperative throughout Great Britain.”4
In conformity with this recommendation, the act of the County and
19th and 20th Viet. c. 69, became law three years after- Borough
wards (“ An Act to render more effectual the Police in
Counties and Boroughs,” July 21,1856). Its principal pro- vict°c.69
visions are these :—1. If a constabulary be not already
established for the whole of a county, the justices in general
or quarter sessions, are to cause the same to be established;
if already established in part of a county, then it is to be
extended to the residue. 2. Constabulary establishments
existing in particular divisions of a county are to be conso¬
lidated into a single county police force. 3. But Her Ma¬
jesty may, by order in council, require separate police dis¬
tricts to be established in counties. 4. Her Majesty in
council, on representations from borough authorities, may
arrange the terms of consolidation of such boroughs with
counties, for police purposes, and may from time to time
vary such terms. 5. County constables are to have the like
powers in boroughs as are possessed by borough constables
in the counties. 6. No constable shall receive any fees for
his own use, or shall vote at municipal or parliamentary
elections. 7. Powers are given to grant pensions and super¬
annuations. 8. An annual statement as to crime in counties
and boroughs is to be made to the secretary of state. 9.
Her Majesty is empowered to appoint three inspectors of
county and borough police, whose reports shall be laid be¬
fore Parliament. 10. On due certificate of efficiency, one-
fourth of the charge of police pay and clothing in any
county or borough is to be paid by the Treasury; but no
such payment is to be made to boroughs of less population
1 Minutes of Evidence before Select Committee on Police (1853), Q. 3284.
3 Second Report of Select Committee on Police (5th July 1853), iii.
2 Ibid., Q. 3872-4.
4 Report, ut supra, iii., iv.
POLICE.
English than 5000. The remaining provisions tend chiefly to the
Police, maintenance of existing powers until the new act shall have
/ been brought into full operation. Finally, nothing in the
act is to apply to any part of the metropolitan police dis¬
trict, or to the city of London.
Operation From this statute, the establishment of a uniform system
of the of police is to be dated. Until the end of 1856 no provi-
( ountyands;on ]iacj been made in many extensive districts of the
Bor.ougJ country for the protection of life and property, other than
of 1858. Ct that °f the old parochial system, which left those duties to
° the untrained, unpaid, and frequently unwilling officer, and
often failed to equip him with the most essential appliances
for the pursuit, apprehension, and safe custody of criminals.
On the 29th September 1857 the county constabulary
was returned to the secretary of state as comprising 7301
officers and constables ; and its cost, for the twelve months
then ended, as L.441,569, 7s. 3d. (a sum which is about
201
L.600 less than the cost of the metropolitan police, and English
about L.50,000 less than the cost of the metropolitan and Police,
city of London police together). It must be noted, how- v—
ever, that as in several counties the police was not fully
organized until the year had considerably advanced, this
amount will not cover the ultimate annual cost of an average
year. The payments from the public revenue towards the
cost of the county constabulary amounted during the same
period to L.7l,112, Is.
The following table exhibits the establishment, the rela¬
tive strength as compared with the population, and the total
cost of the constabulary in each of the English counties ;
independently, of course, of all city and borough police,
separately maintained. The county returns are not yet
complete enough to afford any adequate basis for the exhi¬
bition of direct results in respect of the prevention, detec¬
tion, and punishment of crime :—
XIV. County Police of England,—Strength and Cost, year ending 29th September 1857.
County or
Division.
Bedford .,
Berks 
Bucks 
Cambridge..
Isle of Ely..
Chester 
Cornwall....
Cumberland
Derby 
Devon 
Dorset 
Durham 
Essex 
Gloucester...
Hereford....
Hertford 
No. of
Police.
70
114
102
70
52
173
179
73
156
300
121
199
241
254
45
92
No. re
latively
to Popu¬
lation
1 in
1,600
1,084
1,550
1,252
1,126
1,744
1,687
2,317
1,590
1,402
1,209
1,380
1,197
1,267
2,173
1,500
Cost.
L.
6,833
15,281
5,279
4,626
3,382
6,127
4,840
5,686
7,251
9.261
7,343
12,455
17,480
16,265
2,369
7,463
s. d.
16 0
15 6
0 10
1 5
6 10
5 3
12 0
16 6
12 10
0 5
18 11
10 5
County or
Division.
Huntingdon .
Kent 
Lancaster 
Leicester 
Lincoln 
Monmouth ...
Norfolk 
Northampton
Northum- 1
berland j
Nottingham..
Oxford 
Rutland 
Salop  
Somerset 
Southampton
No. of
Police.
48
231
657
96
210
49
221
94
61
108
89
2
5S
277
297
No. re
latively
to Popu¬
lation.
1 in
1,350
2,221
1,440
1,765
1,614
2,252
1,485
1,709
2,811
1,861
1,580
11,491
3,320
1,240
922
Cost.
L. s d.
1,642 10 4
11,084 16 9
50,605 11 4
7,555 14 2
7,181 0 8
3,640 8 11
15,521 3 4
4,748 8 3
3,351 13 6
6,711 4 10
3,879 1 7
269 11 11
4,401 18 9
16,294 11 11
22,512 3 4
County or
Division.
Stafford ...
Suffolk, E.
Suffolk, W
Surrey ....
Sussex, E.
Sussex, W.
Warwick .
Westmoreland
Wilts  
Worcester 
York, E.R. ...
York, W.R. ...
York, N.R. ...
Total.
No. of
Police.
367
114
81
133
92
72
138
20
201
146
70
487
105
7301
No. re¬
latively
to Popu¬
lation
1 in
1,372
1,669
1,400
836
1,442
1,444
1,260
2,395
1,206
1,550
1,803
1,651
1,924
Cost.
L. «.
19,790 9
6,517 4
5,903 18
8,073 1
5,677 19 11
5,012 5 4
6,918 7 4
1,057 19 2
14,091
10,109 10
4,190 11
29,515 13
7,518 5
6 4
441,569 7 31
The relative strength of the county police ranges, it will
be seen, from one in 836 of the population in Surrey, to
one in 11,491 of the population in Rutlandshire. Its rela¬
tive cost also differs considerably, but within smaller limits,
depending partly upon the density or sparseness of the po¬
pulation within a given area, the extent and nature of ordi¬
nary employment, and the character of the adjacent counties,
boroughs, and other districts. Thus, for example, it will be
seen that 73 constables in Cumberland cost nearly as much
as 173 constables in Cheshire ; 114 constables in Berkshire
cost L.15,281 ; whilst 121 in Dorsetshire cost but L.7343.
Petal By way of summary, it may be stated that the total cost
itiength of the police force, of all kinds, within England and Wales,
md cost during the year ending 29th September 1857, was as
>f police in fo]lows ;_
ingland
md Wales,
The extent to which criminal adjudication begins and
ends as a mere matter of police, in various counties, would,
if it could be brought out fully and clearly, afford no mean
1857.
Summary
urisdic-
! ion.
Description of
Police.
No. of
Officers
and Con¬
stables.
Total Cost.
Defrayed by the
Treasury.
County  
Borough 
Metropolitan....
City of London.
7,301
5,251
6,083
552
L.441,569 7 3
337,853 2 11
442,212 1 1
43,945 6 9
L.71,112 1 0
60,970 8 4
103,380 5 0
Totals.
19,187
L.1,265,579 18 0
L.235,462 14 4
indication (as one element among many) of their relative
position, both politically and socially. The value of such a
statement would, however, materially depend on its includ¬
ing an accurate definition of the offences summarily pun¬
ished. In this particular our English statistics have been
seriously deficient. Under the new constabulary law a
considerable improvement may be hoped for in this, as in
many other respects. Full statistics are the more important,
on account of the large extension which many recent enact¬
ments have contributed to give to the summary jurisdiction
of justices. By the statute of the 7th and 8th of Geo. IV.,
c. 29, for example, many petty thefts, as of house fixtures,
of fish from inclosed waters, of growing fruit or vegetables,
and the like, were subjected to fine and imprisonment, with¬
out the intervention of a jury ; as were also, by another
act of the same session (c. 30), other petty offences of the
nature of wilful damage and trespass. By the 9th Geo. IV.,
c. 31, that extensive and somewhat indefinite class of
offences, assaults, was brought within the same jurisdiction.
Every police act, whether general or local, has made large
additions to this category. In like manner, the Juvenile
Offenders Act of 1847, and the Criminal Justice Act of
1855, have severally transferred to summary jurisdiction
numerous offences which were theretofore punishable as
felonies, and liable (up to the year 1853) to the penalty of
transportation.
The stronger may be the conviction of thoughtful men
that these steps are right and salutary, the more important
must it be to bring their consequences under full and en-
2 c
\
VOL- XViil.
1 Judicial Statistics of England and Wales (1858), vi., vii., 3, 4.
202
POLICE.
English lightened publicity. What, m this respect, the country
Police. owes to the newspapers, is incalculable, but insufficient. It
needs to be supplemented by the deliberate and systematic
summary of results from time to time.
Classifica- It has been shown already that the police returns of
tion of the 1857 are unavoidably incomplete. But so far as they go,
summary they give better data than have been hitherto available,
-^ons Here, however, they can be but briefly noticed in relation
to a leading point or two. The total number of cases sum¬
marily adjudicated in England and Wales in 1857 was
369,233; the discharges were 135,474; the convictions
were 233,759, and may be classified thus:—
of 1857,
Offences.
Total No. of
Convictions.
Assaults  44,860
Drunkenness  44,894
Stealing, and attempts to steal  20,577
Vagrancy  18,023
Infractions of police acts  25,913
Infractions of local acts  21,112
Infractions of ways acts  17,382
Infractions of beer acts.,  11,320
Wilful damage and trespass    13,583
Infractions of the laws of master and servant  ... 9,687
Nuisances   4,328
Other offences    2,080
and of the
punish¬
ments for
the same.
Total of summary convictions  233,759
The punishments in these 233,759 cases may be classi¬
fied thus:—
1. By various periods of imprisonment (from a week to
nine months)  62,293
2. By committal to juvenile reformatories  768
3. By fines 143,463
4. By whipping  525
5. By other punishments  26,710
Total  233,759!
Heforma- The second item in this table of punishments applies only
t0I7 to a small section of offenders, but it is at once the most
ACct°17 andnove^ anc^ t^ie rnos^ Pr<?gnant consequence of our recent
18 Viet." c. criminal legislation. It dates from the passing, in August
86. ’ 1854, of “An Act for the better Care and Reformation of
Youthful Offenders in Great Britain.” After reciting that
reformatory schools for the better training of juvenile offend¬
ers, have been and may be established by voluntary con¬
tributions in various parts of Great Britain, and that it is
expedient that more extensive use should be made of such
institutions, it proceeds to enact that the secretary of
state shall, on application, direct the inspection and certifi¬
cation of the inspection of such schools. It is further
enacted, that whenever any person under the age of sixteen
years shall be convicted of any offence punishable by law,
either upon indictment or by summary conviction, it shall
be lawful for any court, judge, police magistrate, stipendiary
magistrate, or any two or more justices of the peace, or in
Scotland for any sheriff, or magistrate of a burgh, or police
magistrate, before or by whom such offenders shall be so
convicted, in addition to the sentence then passed as a
punishment for the offence, to direct such offender to be
sent, at the expiration of the sentence, to one of the afore¬
said reformatory schools, to be named in such direction,
the directors or managers of which shall be willing to receive
such offender, and to be there detained for a period of not
less than two years, nor more than five years; and such
offender shall be liable to be so detained, provided the sen¬
tence passed as a punishment shall have been one of im¬
prisonment for fourteen days at least; and it is further pro¬
vided that the home secretary may at any time direct a
discharge. Power is given to the Treasury to defray the
costs of maintenance, part of which may be recovered from
parents, &c.
Within ten days after the passing of this act, the refor- English
matory for boys at Saltley, near Birmingham, wras certified Police,
in accordance with its provisions. It had been originally
established in the town of Birmingham, mainly by the libe- Reforaa-
rality of Mr C. B. Adderley, M.P., with the assistance oftoriesnow
Mr Joseph Sturge. At first, great difficulty occurred from under in-
the unsuitableness of the indulgent discipline of the volun-^^j^111
tary school to the more stringent regulations necessary for ^ ° n ■
inmates received under judicial sentence. But this diffi¬
culty has been overcome. At the beginning of 1858 the
Saltley school had 39 inmates. The next reformatory cer¬
tified under the act was that for girls, established and partly
maintained by the zealous exertions of Miss Carpenter, at
Red Lodge, near Bristol. Here the number of inmates in
January 1858 was 57. An adjacent cottage is used as a
means of separating the older and more advanced girls, and
placing them under the ordinary conditions of free domes¬
tic service, previous to their final discharge from the school.
But the most remarkable of these reformatories is that
established by Mr Sydney Turner (now the government
inspector of reformatory schools), at Red Hill, near Rei-
gate, and of late well known as the “ Philanthropic Society’s
Farm School.” Here, in January 1858, 275 boys were
maintained, at a nett cost per head of L.25, 4s. The num¬
ber of boys discharged in the course of 1857 was 149, and
the number admitted 129. Of the former, 66 emigrated,
at a cost of L.1374, or L.20, 16s. 4d. per head ; and 8 were
transferred to the Akbar frigate, to be trained for the sea.
The institution comprises five schools, each containing on
the average 50 boys, and the farm-house containing 20.
The total number of English Protestant reformatories in
operation at the end of March 1858 was 41, containing
1528 inmates (1287 boys and 241 girls), of whom 180 were
free (131 boys and 49 girls), and the remainder were under
detention.
Besides these, there are five Catholic reformatories:
one in Gloucestershire, one in Leicestershire, two in
Middlesex, and one in Yorkshire. The first of these was
opened for girls at Arno’s Court, near Bristol, under certi¬
ficate of the22d April 1856; it contained in 1858, 104 in¬
mates, and formed part of the convent of the “ Sisters of
the Order of the Good Shepherd.” The nuns of that order
have another reformatory at Beauchamp Lodge, Hammer¬
smith, which has but very recently been brought into
operation. The most extensive and remarkable of these
Catholic reformatories is that of the Trappists, designated
the “ Agricultural Colony of St Bernard’s Abbey, near
Loughborough.” This abbey justifies the old proverb as
to the skill of monks in the choice of situations for their
monasteries. It is in a beautiful part of Leicestershire,
and has a striking aspect. The number of inmates at
the close of 1857 was 288, at an average cost of
L.23, 10s. per head. “ A cheerful, kindly spirit,” says Mr
Turner, “prevails throughout the establishment, and the
whole seems to be in good order.” But he is of opinion
that, whilst the Fathers themselves justify Napoleon’s de¬
scription of their order (“ the Trappists eat little and w'ork
much”), they are somewhat disposed to reverse the maxim
for the boys, who eat much and work little. Finally,
the “ Christian Brothers ” have two reformatories,—one
at Brook Green, Hammersmith ; the other at Hulme-on-
Spalding in Yorkshire. At the close of the year the for¬
mer contained 80 inmates, the latter 43. The total num¬
ber of inmates in the Catholic reformatories in March 1858
was 552 (437 boys and 115 girls), all of whom were under
detention.
In summing up, generally, the results of the new system, General
so far as, at this early stage ol its operation, “results” can
be at all spoken of, the inspector lays great stress on the 8y8
_ — — tern.
1 Judicial Statistics, ut supra, p. 16.
POL
Scotch importance of zealous exertion to place the liberated per-
Police. sons in favourable circumstances for their permanent indus-
—try and honesty. Often, he argues, and particularly as
General re- regards young offenders from large towns, permanent sepa-
sults of
the refor¬
matory
system.
ration from their old haunts and companions is indispen¬
sable ; and in such cases emigration offers the best method
of provision. But it involves heavy charges, and however
economically carried on, must considerably increase the
expenditure of the reformatory which resorts to it. The
reformatory acts make no provision for the costs of any
method of ulterior disposal. Yet, as there is no special
limit to the amounts that may be contributed from the rates
for “ care and maintenance,” there would seem to be good
economy in making those amounts liberal enough to enable
the managers of schools to defray from that source some
portion of the expense of that final measure, on the wisdom
and foresight of which the profit of the previous steps must
mainly hinge. Mr Turner also expresses his strong con¬
viction of the value of that clause in the Reformatory Act
which makes the parents of delinquent children liable to
contribute towards their support in the schools in which
they are detained, although some time must elapse before
the principle of parental responsibility can be generally and
effectually enforced. Already it has in many cases had
the effect of inducing drunken and dissolute fathers to be
more sober, and has made the family at home more com¬
fortable, by the pressure exercised in exacting payment
(rarely exceeding one-twelfth of the average wages) for
the child or children in the reformatory.1 The number of
parents and step-parents against whom authority has been
taken for proceeding, from 31st March 1857 to 31st March
1858, is 605 ; that of persons under contribution on the
day last named, 292; and the total amount of contributions
already received, L.629, 12s. 8d.2
Hitherto little has been done to check the juvenile de¬
linquency of Middlesex and Surrey, where the necessity is
so great. But the Middlesex industrial schools will soon
be in operation under the special act passed for that pur¬
pose ; and the Surrey magistrates are about to place a con¬
siderable number of the juvenile criminals of that county at
Redhill and other reformatories. Meanwhile, the commit¬
ments of offenders under sixteen years of age in England
and Wales has already fallen from 13,981, which was the
number in the year ending 29th September 1856, to 12,501,
the number in the year ending 29th September 1857 ;
being a decrease of 1480 commitments, and of at least 600
individual children.3 This is a fact of good augury. If
the industrial training be made efficient, if parental respon¬
sibility be in proper cases enforced, and if the management
of the reformatories be discreet and frugal, no expenditure
for purposes of enlightened police was ever better invested
by any community. Nor must it be forgotten that the
honour of having laid the foundation of reformatories be¬
longs to a small and unostentatious band of voluntary
workers, who have sought no reward save that of witnessing
effectual and permanent provision for the continuance of
their good work, apart from the uncertainties of casual
benevolence and temporary excitement.
III. The Police of Scotland.
The early history of crime and punishment in Scotland
has naturally much in common with that of its southern
neighbour, but has also its special and characteristic fea¬
tures. In the long series of acts against vagrancy, for
example, we find greater prominence given to the pursuit
of gipsies, and also greater severity of treatment in respect
ICE.
203
of all the offending classes. Identification as “ Egyptians” Scotch
seems to have been often sufficient for capital punishment, Police,
apart from proof of specific offences. Thus, there is an ^ v-._'
act of the Privy Council (10th November 1636) which re- Early po-
cites, in respect of certain gipsies who had been arrested lice of
and lodged in Haddington jail, that “ whereas the keeping Scotland,
of them longer within the said To!booth is troublesome and
burdensome to the town of Haddington, and fosters the
said thieves in an opinion of impunity to the encouragin<>-
of the rest of that infamous byke of lawless limmers to con¬
tinue in their thievish trade, therefore the Lords of Secret
Council ordain the Sheriff of Haddington or his deputes to
pronounce doom and sentence of death against so many of
these thieves as are men, and against so many of the
women as wants children ; ordaining the men to be hangit
and the women to be drowned ; and that such of the women
as has children be scourged through the burgh of Hadding¬
ton, and be burnt in the cheek.” Even of such less dan¬
gerous offenders “ as make themselves fools and are bards,
or other such like runners about,” it had been enacted half
a century earlier, that, being apprehended, they should be
put “ in the king's ward and irons, sae lang as they have
ony goods of their own to live on; and when they have not
whereupon to live of their own, that their ears be cuttit off,
and be banished the country; and if thereafter they be
found again, that they be hangit.” These statutes are fol¬
lowed up by their like at brief intervals for a century and
a half. Yet, for a much longer period, the criminal law of
Scotland stood in honourable contrast to that of England in
two particulars at least. On the one hand, it established a
public prosecutor,—in the higher courts the lord advocate,
acting by the solicitor-general and four advocates-depute;
in the lower courts, the procurator-fiscal. On the other
hand (and in the germ, as early as 1587), it assigned counsel
to prisoners, provided them with a copy of their indictment,
and withheld from the lower courts the power of inflicting
any punishment greater than imprisonment.
The first distinctive organization of a police force of Burgh po-
some sort appears to date from the year 1725, when the lice of
act 11 George L, c. 26, authorized the freeholders of1®34 an(l
every shire or district “ to make an assessment for raising a subse(luent
sufficient fund to defray the charges of apprehending, sub- y63,1’'5,
sisting, and prosecuting criminals.” This power subsisted
in the freeholders generally, until, by the 2d and 3d Will.
IV., c. 65, it was transferred to a more limited body of free¬
holders designated commissioners of supply. In the fol¬
lowing session (by 3d and 4th Will. IV., c. 46), the Scottish
burghs were empowered to establish a system of police, the
details of which were amended by the act of the 10th and
11th Viet., c. 37, and by that of the 13th and 14th Viet.,
c. 33, the latter being entitled “ An Act to make more
effectual Provision for Regulating the Police of Towns and
Populous Places, . . . and for Paving, Draining, Cleansing,
Lighting, and Improving the same.” The general control of
the burgh police maintained under these acts, like that of the
police of Edinburgh, Glasgow, and some other large cities
having local acts, was in the hands of a board of commis¬
sioners elected by the rate-payers.
In Scotland, as in England, the rural police of counties Ruraj po.
was very inadequately provided for by enactments which lice of1
were merely permissive. The acts of 1839 (2d and 3d Scotland.
Viet., c. 65) increased the assessing powers of the commis¬
sioners of supply of any county for purposes of police, but
those powers were exerted in but few counties. Where
the act was adopted, as in Mid-Lothian, Aberdeenshire,
Fifeshire, Stirlingshire, and Dumfriesshire, a county meet¬
ing was convened for the election of a police committee
1 Turner, First Report of the
16th April 1858, S. P. 204.
8 Turner, ut supra, 16.
Inspector of Reformatory Schools in Great Britain (1858), passim', Returns relating to Reformatory Schools,
2 Return relating to Reformatories, 1st June 1858, S. P. 306.
204 POL
Scotch which committee determined the assessment and the ex-
Police. tent 0f j-jie force) ancj appointed a superintendent or chief
constable, to whom the control of the force was entrusted.1
But the police assessment, like its predecessor, the “rogue-
money fund,” was on landed property exclusively.
Police act Finally, the act of 1857 (20th and 21st Viet., c. 72), en-
of 1857. titled “ An Act to render more effectual the Police in
Counties and Burghs in Scotland,” dealt with the question
in the spirit of the English act of 1856. It made provi¬
sion for an efficient force in every county of Scotland, and
gave facilities for the consolidation of burgh police with
county police. By this statute it is enacted: (1.) That
the commissioners of supply of each county shall, at meet¬
ings duly convened, proceed to establish, from the 15th
March 1858, a sufficient police force for such county ; (2.)
That the commissioners shall, from their own number, ap¬
point certain persons, not more than fifteen nor fewer than
three, who with the queen’s lieutenant and the sheriff, shall
form the police committee of the county. (3.) That the
secretary of state shall from time to time make the needful
rules for the government and pay of the force determined
on by the commissioners of supply. (4.) That the police
committee shall appoint a chief constable, who, with the
approval of the committee, shall appoint or dismiss the
other constables and superintendents to be appointed for
such county ; and shall choose a deputy from among them,
and who shall have power to appoint additional constables
at the charge of the persons applying for them, and for
such periods, under due notice, as the applicants may de¬
sire. Power is also given to the sheriff to appoint addi¬
tional constables to keep the peace on public works, at
the cost of their respective promoters. (5.) Provisions are
made respecting the powers and duties of constables, and
for the mutual validity of warrants granted in any of the
border counties of Scotland and England ; constables are
empowered in certain cases to accept bail or deposit; are
prohibited from receiving fees to their own use ; are dis¬
qualified to vote at elections, and are exempted from jury
and militia services. (6.) The commissioners are empowered
to levy a police assessment upon all lands and heritages,
according to the valuation rolls in force under the act of
the 17th and 18th Viet., c. 91, “for the Valuation of Lands
and Heritages in Scotland;” and to levy it either on the
proprietor or the tenant,—the latter being authorized to
deduct the amount from his rent, and an exemption pro¬
vided in respect of all houses and tenements which shall
have been wholly unoccupied during the whole period to
which the assessment refers. (7.) Provisions are made for
the appointment and payment of collectors ; for the keep¬
ing and accessibility (to ratepayers and other persons con¬
cerned) of accounts, and for their annual audit; for three
commissioners to be a quorum, and for the preses, in case
of equality of votes, to have the casting-vote in addition to
ICE.
his own vote. (8.) Powers are given to the commissioners Scotch
to grant gratuities and superannuations; to provide station- Police,
houses and strong rooms; to form police districts, either at
their own discretion, and with the approval of the secretary
of state, or in obedience to an order in council. (9.) The
commissioners of supply of any county, and the magistrates
and town council of any burgh situated in or adjacent to
such county are empowered to agree together for the con¬
solidation of their respective police forces; or Her Majesty
in council may, on representations from burghs, arrange
such terms of consolidation ; and the chief constable shall
have the general control of the consolidated police. (10.)
Annual returns of offences and proceedings are to be sent
to the secretary of state; Her Majesty is empowered to
appoint an inspector of police ; and on certificate of the
secretary of state that an efficient police has been esta¬
blished in any county or burgh, one-fourth of the charge for
pay and clothing shall be paid by the Treasury,—no such
payment being made in the case of any unconsolidated
burgh having a population at the last census of less than
5000 persons. (11.) Provisions are made with respect to
the recovery and application of penalties duly prosecuted
for, within six months of the commission of the offence for
which such penalties were incurred. (12.) If within six
months after the date of this act (25th August 1857) the
inspector shall have reported to the secretary of state that
any burgh maintains, out of its common good or from any
funds other than assessment, an efficient police force, shall
be considered as maintaining a separate police force under
a local act. (13.) This act shall not affect any police force
maintained in respect of any railway, canal, or navigable
river under private or local acts of Parliament. The rules
and regulations made by the home secretary in pursuance
of this act were laid before Parliament on the 22d Febru¬
ary 1858.2
In 1852 the amount of police force in the city of Edin- p°l>ce of
burgh was 312, who were under the immediate control 0f Edinburgk
a superintendent (appointed and removeable by the lord
provost and sheriff of Mid-Lothian, with appeal to the lord
advocate in case of difference), at a salary of L.350 a
year, and under the general supervision of the police com¬
mission, composed of 32 members, annually elected by
the different wards. The amount of police assesssment,
which includes the cleansing, lighting, and suppression of
nuisance departments, as well as that of watching, was
L.35,963, 19s. 5d.3 In addition to the direct management
of the city police, the superintendent is public prosecutor in
police cases; on him, therefore, devolves the duty of pre¬
paring the charges which are to be determined by the
judges of police. The subjoined tables show the number
of charges brought before those judges, and the result, in
each of the years 1854, 1855, and 1856 :—
I. Edinburgh Police,—Cases of Theft, Attempted Theft, and Fraud, 1854-6.
Year.
1854.
1855.
1856.
Total of 3 years
Total number
of charges.
1046
949
882
2877
Summary Procedure.
Number
Dismissed.
253
229
154
636
Number
Punished.
582
584
645
1811
Number
Admonished.
211
136
83
430
Punishment.
Imprisoned.
400
405
501
1306
Whipped.
114
70
54
238
Sent to
Ragged School.
20
22
42
To find
Securities.
68
89
68
225
1 Minutes of Evidence taken before the Select Committee on Police (1853), Q. 2128-2227, 3875-4287; First Report, pp. 129-135 ; Second
Report, 100-125 ; and the several acts of Parliament cited. 2 Sessional Papers of 1858, No. 92.
3 Minutes of Evidence before Select Committee on Police, 129, 135, 100-108.
Scotch
Police.
POLICE.
II. Edinburgh Police,—Minor Offences and Contraventions of Police and Local Acts, 1854-6.
Year.
1854.
1855.
1856.
Total Number
of Charges.
Total of 3 years.
8,769
8,663
7,677
25,109
Summary Procedure.
umber
Dismissed.
225
386
270
881
Number
Punished.
5,786
6,312
5,748
17,846
Number
Admonished.
2758
1965
1659
6382
Punishment.
Imprisoned.
1118
1114
998
3230
Whipped.
26
18
10
54
Fined
3,769
4,333
3,817
11,919
To find
Security.
873
847
923
2643
205
III. Edinburgh Police,—Abstract of Charges of all kinds,
1854-6.
I cottishre- The reformatory system was introduced into Scotland
I irmatories by the 17th and 18th Viet., c. 74 (Dunlop’s Act), under
I Her Dun- the provisions of which fifteen reformatories have been
l jps ct, certifjec]. three others have been certified, both under it
and under the 17th and 18th Viet., c. 86, and four under the
provisions of the last-named statute only. The aggregate
number of inmates on the 31st March 1858 was 813, of
whom 537 were boys and 276 girls. The Glasgow indus¬
trial schools, certified on the 10th March 1855, contained,
in March 1858, 129 children under detention (70 boys'
and 59 girls), and 70 other children attending school
(42 boys and 28 girls). These schools are reported by the
inspector as “ conducted with great earnestness and ability,”
but exception is taken to the admixture of day scholars
with the convicted children. Mr Turner also adds, “ It is
to be regretted that the provisions for compelling parents
to contribute have remained hitherto a dead letter in Scot¬
land ; many of the inmates of the houses of refuge are the
children of parents in the receipt of considerable wages.
The schools certified under Mr Dunlop’s act are in fact in¬
dustrial feeding-schools of a superior description. Scarcely
any of the children in them are committed under the act;
the clause enabling the parochial boards to withdraw such
children on giving security for their better protection hav¬
ing almost neutralized the direct operation of the statute
altogether. But the indirect operation of the law appears
to be considerable and very advantageous, large numbers
of children coming voluntarily, or being sent by their
parents,—-from the knowledge that if found idling and
egging in the streets, they can and will be sentenced to
the school, and compelled to attend it. I think the value
of these certified industrial schools in Scotland can scarcely
be exaggerated.”2 1
It would appear that the interval, short as it is, between
the date of this report and that of the latest return of in¬
mates in reformatories (31st March 1858) has brought with it
considerable change in the relative numbers of detained and
free scholars. The number of the former, detained under
Dunlop’s Act, is stated to be 287 (137 boys and 150 girls')
besides 526 (400 boys and 126 girls) detained under 17
Year.
1854.
1856.
Total of
Three
Years.
Theft, attempted theft, and fraud
Minor offences and contraven- |
tions    J
Graver offences
higher courts .
remitted to
1046
8769
588
Total number of charges before f
judges of police  J
10,403
949
8663
567
10,179
882
7677
701
9,260
2,877
25,109
1,856
29,842!
and 18 Viet., c. 86, as against 515 voluntary scholars
(337,boys and 178 girls). The Glasgow “houses of re¬
fuge” alone contain 456 detained inmates, in addition to
the 129 in the industrial schools.
The police of public health in Scotland has been largely Nuisances
invigorated by the powers conferred on police commissions, Iiemoval
town councils, and parochial boards by the act of the 19th
and 20th Viet., c. 103: “ An Act to make better provision a^j
for the Removal of Nuisances, Regulation of Lodging- Vict~ c.
Houses, and the Health of Towns in Scotland.” This act 103 (July
consists of five distinct parts, the enactments of which are l85^).
briefly as follows(1.) Power of entry, on reasonable belief
of the existence of a nuisance, is granted to the local au¬
thority (whether commission, council, or board, as above
mentioned, a committee thereof, or an inspector ap¬
pointed thereby); and, on certificate, summary proceedings
for abatement of such nuisance may be taken before any
resident magistrate, and may be followed up by interdict,
penalty, order of remedy at expense of the offending party’
or other like procedure, requisite for such abatement. The
tei m nuisance extends to the sale of unwholesome meat, and
to the corruption of water; and, after due notice, daily and
cumulative penalties may be inflicted. (2.) Orders in council
may be issued, on fear of epidemic, endemic, or contagious dis¬
eases, for providing theboardsof supervision of poor relief with
proper medical officers (to be paid by Treasury), with power
to make all due regulations for the removafor mitigation
of such diseases; and, in case of the over-crowding of
houses affected, may enforce against such houses the'pro-
visions hereafter mentioned for the regulation of common
lodging-houses. (3.) The local authority shall cause a re¬
gister to be kept of all common lodging-houses (such as
lodge persons at a charge not exceeding threepence per
night, whether paid nightly or weekly), and may refuse to
register any such without a satisfactory certificate of cha¬
racter from three inhabitant rate-payers ; may, with the ap¬
proval of the secretary of state, make binding regulations
for such houses; may cause additional water supply to be
provided therein; may inspect such houses from time to
time, and cause them to be properly cleansed and drained;
may inflict penalties for infraction of the rules; and may,
on a third conviction, refuse further license. (4.) Provision
is also made for the enforcement of the act by the sheriff,
in the event of neglect on the part of the local authority,
or of nuisance occurring in which the local authority has
any specific interest; penalties are inflicted for obstruction
of the act; provision is made for the partition of costs and
penalties in matters in which two or more owners are con¬
cerned. The police and constabulary are, within their
respective jurisdictions, to assist in the execution of the
act; and all rights of action at common law in respect of
nuisances are preserved unimpaired. (5.) The 74th section
of the “ Burgh Police Act” (13 and 14 Viet., c. 33) is
repealed, and in lieu thereof power is given to the com-
Uffted^in3dfm, presented to both Homes of Parliament, 1857, p. 98-10(
arranged m simpler form than the original returns. 2 First Report Vof In,pecl
These Tables have been abridged
of Reformatory Schools, ut supra.
206
POLICE,
Irish
Police.
missioners to levy special sewer rates; powers are also
given to borrow money for construction ot sewers, and to
repay the same by a sinking fund. The 213th section is also
repealed, and power given to the commissioners to enforce
the paving and flagging of streets by the owners ol the
property abutting thereon ; and provision is made lor the
amendment of the “ Burial Act” (Scotland), 18 and 19
Viet., c. 68, by defining several parishes, or parts of parishes,
when comprehended within the limits of any burgh, as in
the purview of such act, one united parish.
IV. The Police op Ireland.
Until the year 1814, the police of Ireland was in a state
even more chaotic than that of England or of Scotland.
The force that existed was capriciously administered, and
not unfrequently grossly abused. Nor can it be matter of
surprise that in days when political partizanship of a very
emphatic sort was held to be no disqualification even for
the judicial bench, the control of police, and the functions
of the inferior magistracy, were often turned to factious
purposes. The act of 1814 (54 Geo. III., c. 131) did
not remedy these evils; but it led to improvements of
detail, by the appointment of superintending magistrates,
as well as to an increase of the constabulary force. Other
acts followed of similar tendency, all of which were conso-
Constabu- fidated by the 6th Will. IV., c. 13. This act (passed in
lary act of ig35) empowered the lord-lieutenant to appoint officers
1836, and constables in the several towns, baronies, and counties
of Ireland, and in the proportions prescribed by the act;
with an inspector-general at L.1500 per annum, and two
deputy inspectors-general; and also to appoint fifty sti¬
pendiary magistrates at salaries ranging from L.400 to
L.1000 per annum. The power already vested in the
lord-lieutenant to appoint a special police force in any
county or district proclaimed to be in a state ot disturb¬
ance was to continue as before, > .
The force established undei this act consisted ot 42
inspectors and sub-inspectors, 465 chief and head con¬
stables, 7687 constables and sub-constables, 1 receiver,
and 18 paymasters. Its total cost (in 1838) was, including^
the salaries of the stipendiary magistrates, L.380,268 ; of
which sum, L.152,561 was paid by the counties and towns,
and L.227,606 was borne by the Consolidated Fund.
The law of 1836 was amended in 1848 by the act of the
11th and 12th Viet., c. 72 (“ An Act to amend the Acts
relating to the Constabulary Force in Ireland, and to amend
the provisions for the Payment of Special Constables ) ;
and ao-ain by the 20th and 21st Viet., c. 17 (“ An Act to
amend the Act of the 11th and 12th years of Her Majesty,
Irish
Police.
Act of
1848, 11
and 12
Viet., C.
72.
c 72 so far as relates to the Distribution of the Constabu¬
lary Force in Ireland”), passed in July 1857. By this latter
act the number of county inspectors was fixed at 35, that —
of sub-inspectors at 262, that of head constables at 375,
and that of constables and sub-constables at 9591, toi the
whole of Ireland; making a total force, according to the
statutory schedule, of 10,263 in 1857, as against 8194 in
1838 ; and a total cost of L.644,820,1 as against L.380,268.
Both sums include the salaries of stipendiary magistrates,
the number of whom is now 72 (I at L.646? 17 at L.500,
42 at L.400, and 12 at L.300 per annum).
In the speech which Sir Robert Peel made on proposing Change in
the abolition of the corn laws (27th January 1846), after
recommending that the whole expenses of criminal prose-I q
cutions, and of maintaining convicts (part of which wereliceex.
then borne by local rates), should be defrayed by the pub- penditure
lie treasury, he proceeded to say,—“ At present you have made in
a great police force in Ireland. The expense of a portion ^46.
of that force is borne by the land in Ireland ; the expense
of the remainder is borne by the public treasury; and it
certainly is a most anomalous system for one portion to be
borne by the treasury and the other portion by the land.
I believe that it will be an immense advantage to place the
police force directly under the control of the executive ;
to prevent the possibility of all interference by local bodies ;
to make it as perfect a system as you can, excluding all
power of local nomination or local interference, taking the
whole control on the executive government; and in older
that you may make that control complete, paying the
expense out of the public treasury.
It is curious to notice in this fcimous speech so direct an
attack on the two principles which have so largely and so
long prevailed in our police arrangements,—namely, the
joint support and the joint control of constabulary, as mat¬
ters of common interest to the nation and to the locality.
Nor will the special circumstances of Ireland suffice to bear
out in its full breadth the policy thus enunciated. But no
exception seems to have been taken by Irish membeis to,
any part of Sir Robert Peel’s doctrine. The whole ordi¬
nary charge of the Irish constabulary force has been boine
by the treasury, in addition to a grant in aid of the Dublin
police, and the salaries of the Dublin police justices.. 1 he
only charge now made to the counties and towns is the
cost of the extra force employed in proclaimed counties
and districts, that of men employed on railways and in
boroughs, and that of revenue men, added to the constabu¬
lary force on the abolition of the revenue police in De¬
cember 1857.
The effective strength and the pay of the constabulary
stood thus on the 1st January 1858 :—
I. Constabulary Force of Ireland,—Strength and Pay, January 1858.
Rank.
Inspector-general  
Deputy inspector-general....
Assistant inspector-general.
Receiver 
Surgeon  
Veterinary surgeon ..........
Paymaster 
County inspectors, (1) 
» » (2  
„ (3) 
Extra sub-inspectors 
Sub-inspectors, (1) 
„ (2) 
» (3) 
Pay.
L.
1500
800
500
800
300
100
200
298
250
220
180
150
120
100
No, in
General
Porce.
5
22
8
6
76
80
94
No. in
Reserve
Porce.
Rank.
Special head-constable.
Head-constables, (1)....
„ (2)....
Dismounted constables
Special constables 
Mounted constables ....
Acting constables 
Sub-constables, (1) 
Mounted constables 
Sub-constables, (2) 
Total.
Pay.
L. s.
70 0
60 0
50 0
36 0
40 0
38 0
30 0
27 14
29 4
24 0
No. in
General
Porce .
1
47
254
1,607
6
83
323
8,362
224
644
11,847
No. in
Reserve
Porce,
X
3
4
13
9
5
17
93
60
2
220
Magistrates.
.72
1 Estimates of Civil Services—General Abstract of Grants, &c. (26th March 18o8), p. 3.
a subsequent return is L.651,406.
The sum stated to be borne by the public in
POLICE.
tbulary
::-ce.
The total cost of this force is stated, in the receiver’s re¬
turn of loth July 1858 to be L.668,700 (including L.29,546
for the salaries of magistrates, and other sums for various al¬
lowances, for age, &c., and also the cost of clerks); and of this
sum L.651,406, 10s. lOd. is stated to be borne by the public,
and L. 17,293, 11s. 2d. by counties, cities, and towns.1
■ganizfi- The Irish constabulary is organized on military principles,
m of the anc} js especially remarkable for the judicious plans by
ish con- Major-General Sir Duncan M‘Gregor, the inspector-
general, has combined competitive examination for cadet¬
ships with promotion from the ranks for good service and
proved efficiency. Two-thirds of the vacant cadetships are
filled up by the lord-lieutenant, and one-third by the in¬
spector-general, who appoints alternately the son of an old
constabulary officer and a head constable to his vacan¬
cies, thus filling every sixth vacancy from the ranks.
The government candidates and the sons of officers are
examined on the combined principle of nomination and
competition in use in the civil service, four candidates being
nominated for each vacancy, of whom the best is chosen.
In the examination of head constables, every year’s service,
and every chevron or other mark of past merit, counts
after a prescribed ratio, and unsuccessful head constables
of a certain efficiency are permitted to undergo a second
competitive examination. “The Irish constabulary force,”
it is stated, was already “ remarkable for admitting no re¬
cruit who could not read and write and keep accounts, and
for the entire trustworthiness of the men ; so that they are
sent by ones, twos, or threes to any place, however distant,
where there is any duty to be performed, without an officer
or non-commissioned officer being in charge of the party ;
and these competitive examinations have given an increased
207
stimulus to the education of the force. Even the sub- Irish
constables in the remote country hamlets are employino- Police,
schoolmasters in the evenings to instruct them in their /
barracks.2
The metropolitan police of Dublin was established un-Dublin me-
der the eth and 7th Will. IV., c. 29, in 1836. It is con-tropolitan
trolled by two commissioners ; is supported partly by police P°iice*
rate, fees, and penalties, and partly by the parliamentary
grant already mentioned. Its effective strength and pay
in July 1858 were respectively as follows :—
II. Dublin Metropolitan Police,—Strength and Pay,
July 1858.
Rank.
Chief superintendent.
Superintendents 
Chief inspector 
Inspectors  
Acting inspectors 
Sergeants 
Acting sergeants 
First-class constables ,
Second-class „
Third-class „
Supernumeraries 
No.
1
4
1
25
38
66
100
238
570
24
20
Pay.
Total  1087
L. s. L, s.
286 10
191 0 to 206 0
160 0
105 0 to 121 0
67 15
54 0 to 65 0
50 0 to 62 0
48 0
39 0 to 44 0
30 0
18 5
The income and expenditure of the Dublin police esta¬
blishment for the year 1856—7 were respectively as
follows :—
III. Dublin Metropolitan Police,—Income and Expenditure, 1856-7.^
Income.
Parliamentary grant L.38,000
Police tax  21 715
Carriage duties, pawnbrokers’ and publicans’ 1
licenses, &c J 15,334
Fines and penalties  2,000 0 0
0 0
0 2
2 0
Total L.77,049 2 2
Expenditure.
Police courts  L.9,481 9 0
Salaries of commissioners, office establishment, &c. 9,218 2 9
Pay of the force  48,953 0 5
Pensions  3>652 6 j
Rent, taxes, repairs, and other incidental expenses, 5,721 18 7
Total  L.77,026 16 10
Excess of income over expenditure  22 5 4
L.77,049 2 2
The Dublin police district is nearly 40 square miles in tody, and the results of the hearing of their cases before
ioffied ’tahlo^h taU’Stl1Car y 4P0,00P mhabltants* The sub- the magistrates, in each of the years 1854, 1855, and
joined table shows the number of persons taken into cus- 1856:  J
IV. Dublin Metropolitan Police,—Apprehensions and their Results, 1854—56.
Year.
1854.
1855.
1856.
Total of 3 years..
Total Number of
Apprehensions.
43,108
35,634
38,876
117,618
Summary Procedure.
Discharged. Convicted,
11,810
10,667
14,506
36,983
30,066
24,188
23,692
77,946
Committed
for Trial.
1232
779
678
2689
Both committals and convictions, it will be seen, show a
decrease in each year as compared with the preceding year.
This decrease, too, continued to maintain itself in 1857!
But in the last-named year it. was characterized by a spe¬
cial feature, sufficiently exceptional to claim a word of
notice, although bearing on the sexual proportions of crime
a point of detail which we have excluded from these
Results of Committal.
No Bill,'&c. Convicted. Acquitted,
184
.114
115
413
741
478
413
1632
307
187
150
644
tables in order to confine them within narrow limits. Dur¬
ing the three years 1854-56, the decrease in male crime
throughout Ireland was relatively greater than that in female
crime. In 1857, on the contrary, the decrease m female
crime was ten times as great as that in male crime. The
classification of the offences comprised in the preceding
table is as follows :—
Statement of the Amount of Constabulary Force in Ireland, pursuant to 6 Will. IV. c. 13 24th Julv 1858
3 relaflnp t0 the Purchase and Sale of Commissions in the Army, 30th July 1858, 92-95. ^
Returns relating to the Dublin Metropolitan Police, 14th July 1858 (S. P. 430, pamm).
1
208
Concluding
Observa¬
tions.
POLICE.
V. Dublin Metropolitan Police,—Classification of Offences, 1854-6.
Offences.
Against the person 
Against property, with 1
violence J
Against property, with- 1
out violence  J
Against property (malicious)
Forgery and coining 
Minor offences and contra- 1
ventions  J
Drunkenness 
Vagrancy  
Totals
Taken
into
Custody.
3,717
117
7,058
843
118
9,760
12,139
9,356
43,108
Dis¬
charged.
Summari¬
ly Con¬
victed.
1,818
56
2,918
408
63
3,732
1,624
1,191
11,810
1,810
3,140
426
6,010
10,515
8,165
30,066
Commit¬
ted for
Trial.
89
61
1,000
9
55
18
1,232
1855.
Taken
into
Custody.
3,362
76
5,131
700
105
10,456
9,837
5,967
35,634
Dis¬
charged.
Summari¬
ly Con¬
victed.
1,567
31
2,348
332
68
4,134
,354
833
10,667
1,729
2,187
350
6,306
8,483
5,133
24,188
Commit¬
ted for
Trial.
66
45
596
18
37
16
779
1856.
Taken
into
Custody.
3,349
82
5,289
715
96
11,785
12,817
4,743
38,876
Dis¬
charged.
Summari¬
ly Con¬
victed.
1,635
41
2,616
391
81
5,397
2,615
4,730
14,506
1,631
2,157
310
6,380
10,202
3,012
23,692
Commit¬
ted for
Trial.
83
41
516
678
Concludirs
Observa¬
tions.
The subjoined table shows the degree of instruction of the whole number of persons taken into custody during the
three years now under review:—
YI. Dublin Metropolitan Police,—Degree of Instruction of Persons Apprehended, 1854-6.
Degree of Instruction.
Could neither read nor write 
Could read only, or read and write im¬
perfectly  
Could read and write well 
Of superior instruction 
Total.
Males. Females. Total
9,943
12,096
695
78
22,812
13,975
6,278
42
1
20,296
23,918
18,374
737
79
43,108
Males. Females. Total.
7,716
10,312
625
71
18,724
11,309
5,582
19
16,910
19,025
15,894
644
71
35,634
1856.
Males. Females. Total
7,406
11,199
645
153
19,403
13,344
6,097
31
19,473
20,750
17,296
676
154
38,876
22 Viet
103,
Reforma- -A-n act of the 21st and 22d Viet., c. 103, entitled “ An
tory Act to Promote and Regulate Reformatory Schools for
Schools Juvenile Offenders in Ireland,” which became law on the
(Ireland) 2d August 1858, makes provision for the training of
oo Vfet8, e Juvenile criminals into habits of honest industry, similar to
those which had been for some years in operation in Eng¬
land and Scotland. Grand juries and town councils are
empowered to make grants of money in aid of such refor¬
matory schools, duly certified under the act, if they shall
think fit; the powers of justices to commit youthful offenders,
for periods not more than five years nor less than one year,
resemble those accorded by the English law,—“ Provided
that no such offender shall be liable or directed to be sent
to any such reformatory, except to some one reformatory
under the exclusive management of persons of the same
religious persuasion as that professed by the parents or
guardians of such juvenile offenders; and in all cases in
which the religion of the parents or guardians is unknown,
the said offender shall be considered as belonging to that
religious persuasion in which he or she shall appear to
have been baptized, or of which he or she shall profess to
be a follower.” Provisions are also made for the enforce¬
ment of due contributions by parents, if of sufficient ability,
towards the maintenance of such offenders in the reforma¬
tory school.
tions.
Concluding Many years must pass before the full value of refor-
observa- matory schools can broadly evince itself in their results.
But it is already beyond question that no other measures
of police have struck so directly at the roots of crime;
nor is any recent legislation more pregnant with encourage¬
ment to solitary thinkers and obscure workers in the field
of social reform. During the century which has elapsed
since Fielding aroused public attention to the growing
number of criminals who at that time were “ once in six
weeks carried to slaughter,” and to the “ dreadful considera¬
tion that, with proper care and proper regulations, much
the greater part of these wretches might have been made
not only happy in themselves, but very useful members of
the society which they now so greatly dishonour in the
sight of all Christendom,” the best portions of many lives
have been devoted to the discovery and application of the
wisest methods for the abatement of that scandal. Every
step in the process has been one of difficulty and struggle,
but the good work has been urged onward in the face, not of
opposition alone, but sometimes of obloquy. Efforts for the
recovery of the criminal have been represented as injuries
to the honest. The labours of John Howard have been
decried as the expression of morbid sensibilities. And there
was something in the doctrine, when clothed in brilliant
rhetoric, which looked to some minds like profundity; but
the workers worked on.
As respects the ordinary duties of police within the
United Kingdom, recent legislation seems to have pro¬
vided an effective machinery, the further improvement of
which is but matter of experience and detail. There are
still towns so inadequately provided as to be a source
of danger to their neighbours; but the County Constabu¬
lary Act will in time provide a remedy. Meanwhile the
union of local management with government inspection
and publicity insures the general combination of efficiency
and economy. But as regards the direct repression of
crime there is yet a serious deficiency,—the absence of
any adequate register of offences, irrespectively of their
detection or pursuit.
Registration of this kind presents many difficulties. It Register <
ought not to be under the entire control of police function- crimes,
aries. It cannot be obtained independently of them. It
will require at every step the scrutiny of men familiar with
the tricks and subterfuges of the “ dangerous classes”
of society. As it is, police returns include crimes that
were never committed; although, of course, their most
Policy
'll
Polistina.
POL
frequent error is of an opposite kind. Until these dif¬
ficulties have been overcome, and a registration of offences
presenting a reasonable approximation to truth obtained,
no just standard will exist by which to measure police
efficiency.
reatment The supervision of released criminals is another knotty
’released point to which public attention has been repeatedly aroused,
immals. an(j eSpecial]y by the recorder of Birmingham, Mr M. D.
Hill, in his charges to grand juries, and in other ways.
“ I propose,” said Mr Hill, on one of these occasions,
“ that every person who has been convicted of a felony, or
of a misdemeanour implying fraud (as obtaining goods under
false pretences, knowingly passing base coin, and the like),
shall be liable to be dealt with as follows :—If after the
expiration of his imprisonment under his conviction, he
shall be brought before a magistrate charged with still
'persevering in crime, it shall be the duty of the magistrate,
if the witnesses, by evidence of general conduct, satisfy his
mind that the charge is established, to call on the prisoner
to show that he enjoys the means of honest subsistence,
either from his property, his labour, the kindness of his
friends, the bounty of the charitable, or from his parish.
Should he succeed in adducing this proof, he is to be dis¬
charged. Should no such proof be forthcoming, he is next
to be called upon to give bail for his good behaviour.
Supposing him to answer this demand, he is to be still en¬
titled to his discharge. But in the event of his failure, he is
then to be held to bail on his own recognisances, and his case
to be sent to a jury at the assizes or sessions, when, if a
verdict pass against him, he is to be imprisoned for a term
to be fixed by the law, but capable of diminution by the
judge before whom he is tried.” Public opinion has not
endorsed this proposal; but the question is a pending one.
Mr Hill has, we think, refuted some objections that have
been urged against his plan. But he has not met the case
of the men whom it would discharge for having shown
that they are gaining a livelihood by labour, the continuance
of which the process might make impossible. Nor does it
quite appear that conclusive evidence of the charge would
usually involve less vigilance and skill than might suffice
to prove specific offences. The problem, however, is a
POL
weighty one, and every effort to grapple with it is a public
service.
It is almost self-evident that, with every improvement in
the mechanism of our police, thorough control over it be¬
comes more and more important. Within a brief period there
have been two inquiries into the conduct of constabulary
on memorable occasions,—the one, metropolitan, on the
affray in Hyde Park, when Sabbath legislation was in
question (or in pretext); the other at Belfast, brought
about by faction fights. On the whole, both inquiries ac¬
quitted the force impugned of the worst charges brought
against it, and, full account taken of its difficult duties,
tended to its credit. Sir George Grey?s circular on the
former occasion dealt very fairly with the matter, save, as
we think, (after no careless examination of the bulky vo¬
lume of evidence), that he passed too lightly over that
besetting sin of so many police functionaries, the tendency
to treat accused persons as guilty persons. On that point
the evidence substantiated most reprehensible practices.
There is nothing in the administration of police which it
behoves the public to watch more jealously.
Another tendency, which is far more visible in continental
countries than in our own, may nevertheless deserve a re¬
mark ; we mean the tendency to carry interference into
trivialities. In one of Goethe’s conversations with Ecker-
mann there is a passage in which he strikingly depicts the
cowed children whom he saw not unfrequently from his
window “in our own dear Weimar,” flying before the ter¬
rible police. “ Now,” he added, “ when the spring sun tempts
them from the houses, and they would like to play with their
companions before the door, I see them always constrained,
as if they were not safe, and feared the approach of some
despot of the police. Not a boy may crack a whip, or sing,
or shout; the police is immediately at hand to forbid it.”
Many of us have seen similar things. But that is an evil
which in this country (other influences co-operating) will
rapidly disappear, as the men themselves become better
educated and better trained in their duties. To ensure a
police at once efficient and discreet, careful selection, ade¬
quate pay, and honourable recognition of meritorious ser¬
vice are the obvious requisites. (e. e.)
209
Politiano
II
Political
Arithmetic
Recent in¬
quiries in¬
to the con¬
duct of
English
and Irish
police in
affrays.
POLICY. See Insurance.
POLIDORO. See Caravaggio, Polidoro Da.
POLIGNANO, a town of Naples, in the province of
Bari, stands on a steep cliff hollowed out by the sea into
caverns, and commanding a wide view over a rich and well-
cultivated region, 20 miles S.E. of Bari. It contains several
churches, an abbey, and a convent. Some coins and other
remains have been found in the vicinity. Pop. 5000.
POLIGN\, a town of France, capital of an arrondisse-
ment in the department of Jura, on the edge of an exten¬
sive plain at the foot of a branch of the Jura Mountains,
18 miles N.E. of Lons-le-Saulnier, and 49 N.W. of Geneva.
It was formerly walled, and has still the ruins of an old
citadel standing on an eminence. The principal streets,
four in number, are regular, well-built, and adorned with
several fine fountains. I here are no remarkable public
buildings, but the town-hall, a college, and manufactories
of pottery, saltpetre, leather, &c.; as well as dye-houses,
saw-mills, and iron-works. Marble and alabaster are quar¬
ried in the neighbourhood. Pop. (1856) 5208.
POLILLO, a small island of the Philippine group, lyino-
to the E. of Luzon, N. Lat. 15. 5., E. Long. °122. 6. It
fe 30 miles in length, and about 20 in breadth. The soil
is very fertile; and a lofty hill, called Malolo, rises in the
centre. It has several good harbours, and especially one
of the same name as the island on the S.W. coast.
POLISTINA, or Polistena, a town of Naples, in the
province of Calabria Ultra I, on an elevated and fertile
VOL. XVIII.
plain, 13 miles E.N.E. of Palmi. The old village of this
name, which stood on the sides of two hills, was totally
destroyed by an earthquake in 1783, being entirely thrown
into a ravine then formed. Since that catastrophe the
present town has been built. Pop. 6000.
POLITIANO, Angelo, wras born at Monte Pulciano in
Tuscany in the year 1454. He studied the Greek language,
of which he became a complete master, under Andronicus
of Thessalonica. He was greatly favoured by Lorenzo
de’ Medici in his education, and he is said to have written
verses both in Greek and in Latin when he was not
more than twelve years of age. He also studied the Pla¬
tonic philosophy under Marsilius Ficinus, and that of Aris¬
totle under Argyropylus. Politiano was one of the most
learned and polite writers of his time. The first work which
gained him a reputation was a poem on the tournament
of Julian de’ Medici. The account he wrote, some time
afterwards, of the conspiracy of the Pazzi, was also very
much esteemed. Erasmus and the two Scaligers mention
him in terms of the highest praise. He composed many
other pieces which merit approbation ; and had he lived
longer, he would have enriched the republic ofletters with
many excellent works. He died at the age of forty. The
first edition of his works wras that of Aldus, Venice, 1498 ;
and many others followed till 1820, when they were inserted
in the Bibliotheca Poetica Italiana.
POLITICAL ARITHMETIC. See Insurance, and
Mortality.
2 D
210
POLITICAL
Political The subordinate parts of the science of political economy
Economy, have been treated in separate articles of this work, with
the fulness which their importance seemed to require. I he
present article, therefore, will be principally confined to an
attempt to define the objects and limits of the science to
trace its progress—to exhibit and establish the fundamental
principles on which it is founded—and to point out the re¬
lation and dependence of its different parts. In doing this,
we shall have occasion to examine some of the more pro¬
minent theories advanced in this field of inquiry ; our ob¬
ject being, not merely to lay before the reader what we con¬
ceive to be a true theory of the science, but also to pre¬
sent him with as full an exposition as our limits will allow
of the doctrines advocated by the more celebrated of its
professors.
PART I.
DEFINITION AND HISTORY.
Definition of the Science.—Causes of its being neglected in Greece
and Rome, and in the Middle Ages.—Species of Evidence on
which its Conclusions are founded.—Rise of the Science in Modern
Europe.—Mercantile System.—Progress of Commercial Philoso¬
phy in England in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries.—
—System of Quesnay and the French Economists.—Publication
of the “ Wealth of Nations.”—Distinction between Politics and
Statistics, and Political Economy.
Definition Political economy1 is the science of the laws which regu-
of the late the production, distribution, and consumption of the
science. products and services necessary, useful, or agreeable to
man, which it requires some portion of voluntary labour to
■ produce, procure, or preserve.
This definition has been framed so as to exclude all
reference to whatever exists independently of man, and
may be obtained in unlimited quantities without any labo¬
rious exertion. Had such been the case with the various
articles required to satisfy our wants and desires, poli¬
tical economy would not have existed. It is the most
practical of sciences, for it is exclusively conversant with
the application, the objects, and the results of art and in¬
dustry. It may indeed be said to be the science of values,
inasmuch as those things only which may be exchanged
or bartered for other things that are either wholly or in
part produced by means of voluntary exertion or labour
come within the scope of its inquiries. An article may
be possessed of the highest degree of utility, or, as it is
sometimes termed, of intrinsic worth, and yet be wholly
destitute of value in exchange. Without utility of some
sort or other, nothing can ever become an object of desire
or demand. But however necessary an article may be to
our comfort, or even existence, and however much it may
be in demand, still, if it be a spontaneous production of
nature, if it exist independently of human agency, and if
every individual have an indefinite command over it, it
cannot become the subject of an exchange, or afford any
basis for the reasonings of the economist. T hough food
and clothes are not more useful than atmospheric air,
they possess that value of which it is destitute. The
reason is obvious. They are not, like air, gratuitous pro¬
ducts, which may be had at all times without any exertion ;
they are obtainable only by labour. And as none will
voluntarily sacrifice the fruits of their industry without an
ECONOMY.
equivalent, they are truly said to possess exchangeable Definition,
worth.
The word value is, we are aware, very often employed Distinction
to express the utility as well as the exchangeable worth of between
articles; but as these qualities have nothing in common, value in
this double employment had better be avoided. It is ob- exchange
vious, for example, that the utility of bread and water, or and utl%'
their capacity to appease hunger and quench thirst, is some¬
thing fundamentally different from their value or capacity
to exchange for or buy other things. Adam Smith per¬
ceived this difference, and was alive to the importance of
carefully distinguishing between the utility, or, as he ex¬
pressed it, the “ value in use,” of commodities, and their
value in exchange. But he did not always keep this dis¬
tinction in view, and it has been frequently lost sight of by
later writers. There can, indeed, be no doubt that the
confounding of these opposite qualities has been a principal
cause of the confusion and obscurity in which many
branches of the science, not in themselves difficult, are still
involved. When it is said that water is highly valuable,
it is meant that, being indispensable to existence, it has a
high degree of utility, or of value in use ; for, being
usually obtainable in large quantities with little labour
or exertion, it has in most places a very low value in
exchange. But when it is said that gold is highly valu¬
able, a totally different meaning is attached to the phrase.
Gold is of comparatively small utility; but as it requires
a great deal of labour and expense to bring limited quan¬
tities of it to market, it has a high value in exchange,
and is readily accepted as an equivalent for large quan¬
tities of most other articles. To confound qualities which
are so very different must evidently lead to erroneous
conclusions. And therefore, to avoid all chance of error
from mistaking the sense of so important a word as
value, we shall not use it except to signify exchangeable
worth, or value in exchange; and shall employ the word
utility to express the power or fitness of an article to satisfy
our wants and desires.
Were utility and value identical, or were they regulated
by the same laws, it would follow, that whatever increased
the utility of an article would also increase its value, and
vice versa. But the fact is completely the reverse. A
deficient harvest adds nothing to the utility—That is, to the
nutritive power—of bread ; while, by increasing its value
and price, it adds to the privations of the great bulk of the
consumers, and especially to those of the lower and poorer
and most numerous classes. And so in every case. A
x'ise of value or price is always publicly injurious ; and con¬
versely. Were the manufacture of hats improved so that
they might be sold for half their present price, everybody
would gain by the change. Those by whom they have
been worn would save half their outlay upon them, while
they would be brought within the reach of others who
may hitherto have been too poor to become their pur¬
chasers. The discovery of the rules or principles by the
application of which the value of commodities may be re¬
duced to the lowest limits, is a principal object of this
science. For, the more their value is reduced, the more ob¬
tainable they become, and the greater, consequently, is the
amount of necessaries and conveniences at the disposal of
individuals.
Political economy has frequently been defined to be “ the Definition
science which treats of the production, distribution, and con- of tl,e te,nl
1 Economy, from a house ov family, and vopos, a law—the government of a family. Hence political economy may be said to be to
the state what domestic economy is to a family.
POLITICAL ECONOMY.
Definition, sumption of wealth? and if by wealth were meant those
products which possess exchangeable value, and are ne¬
cessary, useful, or agreeable, the definition would be one of
the least exceptionable. But those by whom it has been
adopted have given to wealth a different and in general
much too extensive a meaning. They have sometimes,
for example, considered it as synonymous with “ all that
man desires as useful and agreeable? But if political
economy were to embrace a discussion of the production
and distribution of whatever is useful and agreeable, it would
include within itself every other science; and the best En¬
cyclopaedia would be the best treatise on political economy.
Good health is the greatest of boons, and therefore, on
this hypothesis, the science of wealth should comprise the
science of medicine ; civil and religious liberty are highly
desirable, and therefore the science of wealth should com¬
prise the science of politics, and so on. Such definitions
are obviously worse than useless. They generate confused
and erroneous notions respecting the objects and limits
of the science, and prevent the student acquiring a dis¬
tinct idea of the nature of the inquiries in which he is
engaged.
Malthus defined wealth to consist of “ those material
objects which are necessary, useful, and agreeable to man.”
{Principles of Political Economy, p. 28.) But waiving
the objections that may perhaps be made to the intro¬
duction of the word “ material,” it is too comprehensive
to be of use. Atmospheric air and the heat of the sun
aie both material products, and are highly useful and agree¬
able. But their independent existence and incapacity of
appropriation exclude them, as already seen, from the in¬
vestigations of this science.
Adam Smith has not explicitly stated what was the mean¬
ing which he attached to the term wealth. Probably, in¬
deed, his ideas on the subject were not very precise; but
he most commonly describes it as “the annual produce
of land and labour.” It has, however, been objected to
this definition, that it refers to the sources of wealth
before it is known what wealth is, and that it includes the
useless products of the earth, as well as those which are
appropriated and enjoyed by man.
I he definition we have given is not open to any of these
objections. By confining the science to a discussion of the
laws which regulate “ the production, distribution, and con¬
sumption of those products and services which have ex¬
changeable value, and are necessary, useful, or agreeable,”
we give it a distinct and definite object. When thus pro¬
pel ly restricted, the researches of the economist occupy a
held whicftc js exclusively his own. He runs no risk of
wasting liBvtime in inquiries which belong to other sciences,
or in unprofitable investigations respecting the production
and consumption of articles which cannot be appropriated,
and exist independently of human agency*
Capacity of appropriation is indispensable to constitute
wealth. And we shall invariably employ this term to dis¬
tinguish those products which are obtainable only by the
intervention of human labour, and which may in conse¬
quence be appropriated and consumed exclusively by
their owners. A man is not said to be wealthy because
he has an indefinite command over atmospheric air: for
that being a privilege which he enjoys in common with
every one else, it forms no ground of distinction. But
he is said to be wealthy according to the degree in which
tie can afford to command those necessaries, conveniences
and luxuries which are not the gifts of nature, but the pro¬
duce of industry. It must, however, be carefully observed
that though value and wealth be constantly conjoined"
they are not identical, but are as widely different as utility
and value. Our command of the necessaries and gratifica-
211
tions of which wealth consists will evidently be greater Definition,
when their value declines than when it increases. It ^
is a law of this science that wealth and value vary in-
versely~\het one increasing as the other diminishes, and
diminishing as the other increases. Wealth is greatest"
where the facility of production is greatest, and value is
greatest under the opposite circumstances, or where the
difficulty of production is greatest.
Besides being exclusively conversant with that class of Import-
phenomena which the exertion of industry exhibits, theance °I
object of this science is to ascertain the means by whichtte science*
the latter may be rendered most productive of the neces¬
saries, luxuries, and enjoyments which form wealth ; the
laws which determine the distribution of wealth among the
different classes into which society is divided; and how it
may be most profitably consumed. To enter into length¬
ened arguments to prove the importance of a science hav¬
ing such objects in view would be worse than useless,
ihe consumption of wealth is indispensable to existence;
but the eternal law of Providence has decreed that it can
only be procured through the intervention of industry—
that man must earn his bread “ in the sweat of his face.”
This twofold necessity renders the production of wealth a
constant and principal object of the exertions of the vast
majority of the human race. It has subdued the aversion
of man from labour, given activity to indolence, and armed
the patient hand of industry with zeal to undertake, and
perseverance to overcome, the most difficult and disagree¬
able tasks.
When pursued with proper diligence, these efforts seldom
fail to attain the end in view. And while they furnish
the bulk of society with ample supplies of the articles re¬
quired for their comfortable subsistence, they afford time for
the cultivation of those speculative inquiries and elegant
tastes which elevate and adorn civilized man. To use the
words of Dr Barrow,—“ Wealth is that which generally
men of all things are wont to affect, and covet with most
ardent desire, as the great storehouse of their needs and
conveniences, the sure bulwark of their state and dignity,
the universal instrument of compassing their designs and
pleasures; and most evident it is, that in the natural course
of things industry is the way to acquire it, to secure it, to
improve and enlarge it; the which course, pursued inno¬
cently and modestly God will be so far from obstructing,
that He will further and bless it; for that indeed it would
be a flaw in Providence if honest industry, using the means
it affordeth, should fail of procuring a competency.”1
But when the acquisition of wealth makes a part of
the order of Providence, and is indispensable not merely
to the supply of our necessary wants, but to our progress
in intelligence and refinement, can we doubt the im¬
portance of the science which teaches the modes by
which its acquisition may be facilitated, and the greatest
amount of wealth obtained with the least difficulty ? There
are none to whom a knowledge of political economy can
be considered as extrinsic or superfluous. There are some,
doubtless, to whom it may be of more advantage than to
others ; but it is of paramount consequence to all. The
prosperity of individuals and nations does not depend nearly
so much on salubrity of climate or fertility of soil, as on
their ability to apply labour with perseverance, skill, and
judgment. Industry can balance almost every other de¬
ficiency. It can render regions, naturally inhospitable and
unproductive, the comfortable abodes of an intelligent and
refined, a crowded and wealthy population. But where it
is wanting, the choicest gifts of nature are of no value ; and
countries possessed of the greatest capabilities of improve¬
ment with difficulty furnish a miserable subsistence to the
See the first of Dr Barrow’s eloquent a.nd admirable Sermons on Industry.
212 POLITICAL ECONOMY.
science m
antiquity
and the
middle
ages.
History, scanty population of hordes distinguished only by their
barbarism and wretchedness.
Such being the case, it may well excite astonishment
that the study of political economy was not early con¬
sidered as forming a principal part in a comprehensive
system of education. Two circumstances, to which we
shall now briefly advert, seem to have been principally in¬
strumental in occasioning its neglect,—the institution of
domestic slavery in the ancient world, and the darkness of
the period when the plan of education in the universities
of modern Europe was first organized.
Causes of The citizens of Greece and Rome considered it degrading
the neglect to employ themselves in those occupations which form the
of this principal business of the inhabitants of modern Europe.
In some of the Grecian states they were prohibited from
engaging in manufacturing or commercial industry; and
in Athens and Rome, where this prohibition did not exist,
these employments were regarded as mean, mercenary,
and unworthy of freemen, and were carried on either
by slaves, or the very dregs of the people.1 Agricul¬
ture was treated with more respect. Some of the most
distinguished characters in the earlier ages of Roman
history had been actively engaged in rural affairs. But
notwithstanding their example, in the later ages of the
republic, and under the emperors, the cultivation of the
soil was usually carried on by slaves belonging to the
landlords, and employed on their account. The mass of
Roman citizens were mostly engaged in the military ser¬
vice,2 or derived a precarious and dependent subsistence
from the supplies of corn furnished by the conquered
provinces. The relations subsisting in modern Europe
between landlords and tenants, and masters and servants,
being thus in great measure unknown, the ancients were
comparative strangers to those interesting questions grow¬
ing out of the rise and fall of rents and wages which
form so important a branch of this science. The philo¬
sophy of the ancient world was also extremely unfavour¬
able to its cultivation. The luxurious or more refined
mode of living of the rich was regarded by the ancient
moralists as an evil of the first magnitude. They con¬
sidered it as subversive of those warlike virtues which
were the principal objects of their admiration; and they
denounced the passion for accumulation as being fraught
with the most injurious consequences. Political eco¬
nomy could not become an object of attention to men
imbued with such prejudices; nor could it be studied by
those who held the objects about which it is conversant
in contempt, and spurned the labour by which they are
produced.
At the establishment of our universities, the clergy being
almost the exclusive possessors of the little knowledge then
in existence, their peculiar feelings and pursuits naturally
exercised a marked influence over the plans of education
they were employed to frame. Grammar, rhetoric, logic,
school divinity, and civil law comprised the whole course
of study. To have appointed professors to explain the prin¬
ciples of commerce, and the means by which labour might
be rendered most efficient, would have been considered History,
as alike superfluous and degrading to the dignity of
science. The prejudices against commerce, manufactures,
and luxury, generated in antiquity, had a powerful influence
in the middle ages. None had then any clear ideas of the
true sources of wealth, happiness, and prosperity. The
intercourse between different countries was extremely
limited, and was confined rather to marauding excursions,
and a piratical scramble for the precious metals, than to a
commerce founded on the gratification of real or reciprocal
wants.
These circumstances sufficiently account for the slow
progress of this science, and the little attention paid to it,
down to a very recent date. And since it became an object
of more general attention and liberal inquiry, the opposi¬
tion between the theories and opinions of the most emi¬
nent of its professors—an inevitable result of its recent
cultivation—has proved unfavourable to its progress, and
generated a disposition to distrust its best established con¬
clusions. This, however, is an extremely ill-founded pre¬
judice ; and notwithstanding the diversity of the theories
that have been formed to explain its various phenomena, it
admits of as much certainty in its conclusions as any science
not dependent on mere relation. A brief exposition of the
principles on which it is founded, and of the mode in which
its investigations should be conducted, will evince the cor¬
rectness of this statement.
Political economy is not a science of speculation, but of Principles
fact and experiment. The principles on which the produc- the
tion and accumulation of wealth, and the progress of civili- of
zation depend, are not the offspring oflegislative enactments. thce evi.
Man’s existence depends on his exerting himself to produce dence on
wealth ; and the desire by which he is actuated to rise in which its
the world and improve his condition impels him to save conclusion!
and accumulate. The principles which form the basis of founi1'
this science make, therefore, a part of the constitution of e
man and of the physical world ; and their operations, like
those of the mechanical principles, may be traced by the
aid of observation and analysis. There is, however, a ma¬
terial distinction between the physical and the moral and ,/
political sciences. The conclusions of the former apply in
every case, while those of the latter apply only in the ma¬
jority of cases; and the theorist must satisfy himself with
framing his rules so as to explain their operation in the
greater number of instances, leaving it to the sagacity of
the observer to modify them so as to suit particular cases.
Thus it is a principle admitted alike in morals and political
economy, that by far the greater number of individuals
have a much clearer view of what is conducive to their own
interests than it is possible for any other man, or select
number of men, to have ; and that, therefore, it is sound
policy to allow them to follow the bent of their inclination,
and to engage in such branches of industry as they think
proper. This is the general theorem ; and it is one which
is established on the most comprehensive experience. It
is not, however, universally applicable, like the laws which
regulate the motions of the planetary system. It will hold
1 The force of the prejudices on this head may he learned from the following quotations :—“ Illiberales autem etsordidi,” Cicero says,
“ questus mercenariorum, omniumque quorum operas, non quorum artes emuntur. Est enim illis ipsa merces auctoramentum servitutis.
Sordid! etiam putandi, qui mercantur a mercatoribus quod statini vendant, nihil enim proficiunt, nisi admodum mentiantur! Opificesque
omnes in sordida arte versantur, nec enim quidquam ingenuum potest habere officina. . . Mercatura autem, si tenuis est, sordida putanda
est; sin autem magna et copiosa, multa undique apportans, multisque sine vanitate impertiens, non est admodum vituperanda/’ (Be
OJjiciis, lib. i., sect. 42.) “ Vulgaris opificum, quae manu constant, et ad instruendam vitam occupatse sunt; in quibus nulla decoris, nulla
honesti simulatio est.” (Senecse .Epistote, ep. 89.) A hundred similar quotations might be produced, bSt the one from Cicero is suffi¬
cient to establish the accuracy of what has been advanced. The strength of the prejudice against commerce and the arts is proved by
its exerting so powerful an influence over so cultivated a mind. For a further discussion of the opinions of the Romans on this subject
see the Dissertazione del Commercio de Romani of Mengotti, which received a prize from the Academy of Paris in 1787, and the Memona
Apolegetica del Commercio de Romani of Torres, published at Venice in 1788. _ _
2“llei militaris virtus prsestat ceeteris omnibus; haec populo Romano, hmc huic urbi aeternam gloriam peperit.” (Ciceropro il/w
rewa.)
POLITICAL ECONOMY.
Hir.tory. good in nine out of ten instances, but the tenth may be an
^ exception. But it is not required of the economist that his
theories should square with the peculiar bias of a particular
person. His conclusions are drawn from contemplating the
principles which are found to determine the condition of
mankind, as presented on the large scale of nations and
empires. His business is with man in the aggregate, with
states, and not with families, with the passions and propen¬
sities which actuate the great bulk of the human race, and
not with those which are occasionally found to influence a
solitary individual.
This distinction should be kept constantly in view. No¬
thing is more common than to hear it objected to some of
the best established truths in politics and political economy,
that they are at variance with certain facts, and that,
therefore, they should be rejected. But these objections
very often originate in an entire misapprehension of the
subject. It would be easy to produce a thousand instances
of individuals who have been enriched by monopolies and
restrictions, and even by robbery and plunder; though it
would be rather rash thence to conclude that society may
be enriched by such means! This, however, is the single
consideration to which the economist has to attend. And
until it can be shown that monopolies and restrictions are
not destructive of national wealth, and that what is gained
by the monopolist is not lost by the public, he is bound
to regard them as injurious. To arrive at a well-
founded conclusion in this science, it is not enough to
observe results in particular cases, or as they affect °a few
individuals; we must further inquire whether these results
be constant and universally applicable ; whether the same
circumstances which have given rise to them in one instance,
would in every instance, and in every state of society,
be productive of the same or similar results. A theory
which is inconsistent with an uniform and constant fact must
be erroneous. But the observance of a particular result at
variance with customary experience, and when we may
not have the means of discriminating the circumstances
attending it, should not make us hastily modify or reject
a principle which accounts satisfactorily for the greater
number of appearances.
The example of the few arbitrary princes, distinguished
by their equity, humanity, and generosity, is not enough to
overthrow the principle which teaches that it is of the
essence of irresponsible power to debauch and vitiate its
possessors, to render them haughty, cruel, and suspicious :
noi is the example of those who, attentive onlv to present
enjoyment, and careless of the future, lavish their fortunes
in boisterous dissipation or vain expense, sufficient to in¬
validate the conclusion, that the passion for accumulation is
stionger and more powerful than the passion for expense.
Had this not been the case, mankind could hardly have
emeiged from the condition of savages. The stupendous
impiovements which have been made in different ages and
nations, the forests that have been cut down, the marshes
and lakes that have been drained and cultivated, the har¬
bours, roads, and bridges that have been constructed, the
cities and edifices that have been raised, are all the fruit
of a saving of income, and establish, in despite of thousands
of instances of prodigality, the ascendancy and superior
force of the accumulating principle.
. want of attention to these considerations has occa¬
sioned much of the error and misapprehension with which
this science has been infected. The false theories and
opinions which have successively appeared, though des¬
titute of any real foundation, have mostly been sup¬
ported by an appeal to facts. But a knowledge of facts,
without a knowledge of their mutual relation, without
being able to show why the one is a cause and the other
an effect, is, as Say has observed, no better than the
indigested erudition of an Almanac-maker, and affords no
means of judging of the truth or falsehood of a General
principle.
But though we are not to reject a received principle
because of the apparent opposition of a few results with
the circumstances of which we are unacquainted, we
should have no confidence in its solidity, unless it be
deduced from a comprehensive and careful induction. He
who would arrive at a true knowledge of the laws regulatino-
the production, distribution, and consumption of wealth
must draw his materials from a very wide surface, and study
man under very different aspects. He should have re¬
course to the history of society, arts, commerce, and civili¬
zation ; to the works of philosophers and travellers; to
everything, in short, that may throw light on the causes
which accelerate or retard the progress of civilization. He
should observe the changes which have taken place in the
fortunes and condition of the human race in different re¬
gions and ages; he should trace the rise, progress, and
decline of industry; and, above all, he should carefully dis¬
criminate the effects of political measures, and the various
circumstances wherein advancing and declining societies
differ from each other. Such investigations, by disclosing
the real causes of national opulence and refinement, and of
poverty and degradation, furnish the means of satisfactorily
solving almost all the important problems in the science of
wealth, and of devising a scheme of administration calcu¬
lated to insure the continued improvement of nations.
It should be kept in mind, that it is no part of the busi¬
ness of the economist to inquire into the means by which
individual fortunes may be increased or diminished, except
to ascertain their general operation and effect. The public
interests should always form the exclusive objects of his
attention. He is not to frame systems, and devise schemes,
for increasing the wealth and enjoyments of particular
classes; but to apply himself to discover the sources of
national wealth and universal prosperity, and the means
by which they may be best secured and rendered most
productive.
1 hose who reflect on the variety and extent of know¬
ledge required for the construction of a sound theory of
political economy will cease to feel any surprise at the
errors into which economists have been betrayed, or at the
discrepancy of the opinions still entertained on some impor¬
tant points. This science is of very recent origin. Though
various treatises of considerable merit had previously ap¬
peared on some of its separate parts, it was not treated as
a whole, or in a systematic manner, until about the middle
of last century. This circumstance is of itself enough to
account for the number of erroneous theories that have
since appeared. Instead of deducing their general con¬
clusions from a comparison of particular facts, and a careful
examination of the phenomena attending the operation of
different principles, and of the same principles under dif¬
ferent circumstances, the first cultivators of almost every
branch of science begin by framing their hypotheses on a
very narrow and insecure basis. Nor is it really in their
power to go to work differently. Observations are scarcely
ever made or particulars noted for their own sakes. It is
not till they begin to be in request as furnishing the only
test by which to ascertain the truth of some popular theory,
that they are made in sufficient numbers and with sufficient
accuracy. The effectual demand of the theorist occasions,
in the peculiar phraseology of this science, the production
of the facts or raw materials he is afterwards to work into
a system. The history of political economy exemplifies
the truth of this remark. Being, as already observed, en¬
tirely unknown to the ancients, and but little attended to
by our ancestors down to a comparatively late period, those
circumstances which would have enabled us to judge with
the greatest precision of the wealth and civilization of the
more celebrated states of antiquity, and of Europe during
214 • POLITICAL ECONOMY.
History, the middle ages, have either been thought unworthy of
notice by the historian, or have been very imperfectly and
carelessly detailed. Those, therefore, who first began to
trace the principles of the science had but a comparatively
scanty experience on which to build their conclusions.
Nor did they even avail themselves of the few historical
facts with which they might easily have become acquainted,
but confined their attention almost exclusively to those
which happened to fall within the sphere of their own ob¬
servation.
Mercantile Agreeably to what has now been stated, we find that the
system. theories advanced by the early economical writers were
formed on the most contracted basis, and were only fitted
to explain a few obvious and striking phenomena. The
mercantile theory, for example, was entirely bottomed on
the popular and prevalent opinions respecting money.
The precious metals having been long used, both as
standards by which to ascertain the values of different
commodities, and as the equivalents for which they were
most frequently exchanged, acquired a fictitious importance
in the estimation of persons of the greatest discernment, as
well as of the vulgar. The obvious fact, that all buying
and selling is really nothing more than the bartering of
one commodity for another—of a certain quantity of corn
or wool, for example, for a certain quantity of gold or
silver, and vice versa, was entirely overlooked. The atten¬
tion was gradually transferred from the money’s worth to
the money itself; and the wealth of individuals and of
states came to be measured by the quantities of the pre¬
cious metals actually in their possession, and not by the
abundance and value of the disposable products with which
they could afford to purchase these metals. On this flimsy
and fallacious hypothesis are founded the theories of almost
every writer on economical subjects antecedent to the ap¬
pearance of the works of Child, North, and Locke in Eng¬
land, and of Gournay and Quesnay in France. And, which
is of infinitely greater moment, it is on this same hypothesis
that the great powers of Europe proceeded to regulate
their intercourse with each other. Their grand object was
to monopolize the largest possible supplies of gold and silver,
not to facilitate the production of necessaries, comforts, and
luxuries. And as gold and silver could not be obtained in
countries destitute of mines, except in exchange for ex¬
ported commodities, various schemes were set on foot for
encouraging exportation, and for preventing the importa¬
tion of most products other than the precious metals. In
consequence, an excess of exports over imports was long
considered as the best possible proof that a country was
advancing in the accumulation of wealth : For it was be¬
lieved that this excess could not be balanced otherwise
than by an equivalent importation of gold or silver, or of
the only real wealth which it was supposed a country could
possess.
These principles and conclusions, though entirely false
and erroneous, afford a tolerable explanation of a few very
obvious phenomena, and are in perfect unison with the po¬
pular prejudices on the subject. It was natural, therefore,
that they should be espoused by the merchants or practical
men, who were the earliest writers on commerce. They
did not consider it necessary to subject the principles they
assumed to any refined analysis or examination. But,
reckoning them as sufficiently established by the common
consent of mankind, they applied themselves to the discus¬
sion of the practical measures calculated to give them the
greatest efficacy.
Balance of “ Although a kingdom,” says one of the earliest and
trade. ablest writers in defence of the mercantile system, “ may
be enriched by gifts received, or by purchase taken, from
some other nations, yet these are things uncertain, and of
small consideration when they happen. The ordinary
means, therefore, to increase our wealth and treasure is
by foreign trade, wherein we must ever observe this rule,-— History,
to sell more to strangers yearly than we consume of theirs
in value. For suppose that when this kingdom is plenti¬
fully served with cloth, lead, tin, iron, fish, and other native
commodities, we do yearly export the overplus to foreign
countries to the value of L.2,200,000, by which means we
are enabled, beyond the seas, to buy and bring in foreign
wares for our use and consumption to the value of
L.2,000,000. By this order duly kept in our trading, we
may rest assured that the kingdom shall be enriched yearly
L.200,000, which must be brought to us as so much
treasure; because that part of our stock which is not
returned to us in wares must necessarily be brought home
in treasure.” (Mun’s Treasure by Foreign Trade, orig.
ed., p. 11.)
The gain on our foreign commerce is here supposed to
consist exclusively of the gold and silver which, it is taken
for granted, must be brought home in payment of the
excess of exported commodities. Mun lays no stress on
the circumstance of foreign commerce enabling countries
to obtain an infinite variety of useful and agreeable products,
of which, but for it, they would be wholly deprived, while
it supplies them with a great many more at comparatively
low prices. We are desired to consider the innumerable addi¬
tions which are thus made by commerce to the motives which
stimulate, and the comforts and enjoyments which reward, the
labour of the industrious—as nothing, and to fix our atten¬
tion exclusively on the favourable balance of gold and silver!
This is like desiring a person to estimate the utility of a
suit of clothes by the number and glare of the metal but¬
tons with which they are fastened! And yet this rule for
judging of the advantageousness of foreign commerce was
long regarded as infallible by the generality of merchants
and practical statesmen ; and, until very recently, we were
annually congratulated on the excess of our exports over
our imports!
Butin addition to the erroneous notions respecting the jranufac.
precious metals, there were other circumstances which led taring sys-
to the establishment of the mercantile system, and the tern,
enacting of regulations subversive of the freedom of in¬
dustry. The feudal governments established in the coun¬
tries which formed the western division of the Roman em¬
pire, early degenerated into a system of anarchy and law¬
less oppression. The princes, unable to restrain the usur¬
pations of the greater barons, or to control their violence,
endeavoured to strengthen their influence and consolidate
their power by attaching the cities and towns to their in¬
terests. For this purpose they granted them charters, which
enfranchised the inhabitants, abolished every existing mark
of servitude, and formed them into corporations, or bodies
politic, to be governed by councils and magistrates of their
own selection. The order and good government that were
thus established in them, and the security enjoyed by the
citizens, when the rest of the country was a prey to rapine
and disorder, stimulated their industry, and gave them a
vast ascendancy over the cultivators of the soil. It was
from the towns that the princes derived the greater part of
their supplies of money, and with their assistance they were
enabled to control and subdue the pride and independence
of the barons. But the townsfolk were not disinterested
enough to take part with their sovereigns merely from gra¬
titude for the original gift of their charters. They were
continually soliciting new privileges. And it was not to
be expected that princes whom they had laid under the
greatest obligations, and by whom they were justly regarded
as the most industrious and deserving portion of their sub¬
jects, should be at all disinclined to gratify their wishes.
To enhance the value of their corporate rights, they were
authorized to hinder all individuals, whether native or
foreign, who had not obtained leave from them, from car¬
rying on any trade or craft within their limits; to enable
POLITICAL ECONOMY.
215
History, them to obtain cheaper food and materials, the exportation
^ of corn and of the raw products used in their manufactures
was prevented; and to secure a market for whatever articles
they had to sell, heavy duties and prohibitions were im¬
posed on such foreign articles as might come into compe¬
tition with those made at home, at the same time that
bounties were employed to force the exportation of the
latter ! Such were the principal features of the system of
public economy adopted, in the view of encouraging do¬
mestic industry, in every country of Europe, in the four¬
teenth, fifteenth, sixteenth, and seventeenth centuries. The
freedom of trade recognised by their ancient laws was al¬
most totally destroyed. It would be easy to mention a
thousand instances of the excess to which this artificial
system was carried in England and elsewhere; but we
shall only observe, as illustrative of its spirit, that by an act
passed in 1678, for the encouragement of the woollen ma¬
nufacture, it was ordered that all dead bodies should be
wrapped in woollen shrouds !
But the exclusion of foreign competition, and the mono¬
poly of the home market, did not satisfy the manufacturers
and merchants. Having obtained all the advantage they
could from the public, they next attempted to prey on each
other. Those possessed of most influence were authorized
to carry on particular branches of industry, to the exclusion
of every one else. This abuse having been carried to an
extreme in the reign of Elizabeth, who granted an infinite
number of new patents, became at last so intolerable as to
make all classes join in petitioning for its abolition. And
this, after much opposition on the part of government, by
whom the power of erecting monopolies was regarded as a
very valuable branch of the prerogative, was effected by an
act passed in the 21st of James I. But this act did not
touch any of the fundamental principles of the mercantile or
manufacturing system; and the privileges of bodies corpo¬
rate were exempted from its operation.
In France the interests of the manufacturers were warm¬
ly espoused by Colbert, the celebrated minister of finance
during the most splendid period of the reign of Louis
XIV. ; and the year 1664, when the tariff’ compiled under
Colbert’s direction, was promulgated, has been sometimes
considered, though improperly, as the aera of the manu¬
facturing system.
These restrictions were zealously supported by the writers
in defence of the mercantile system and the balance of
trade. The facilities given to the exportation of manufac¬
tured goods, and the obstacles thrown in the way of their
importation, seemed to them to be particularly well fitted
for making the exports exceed the imports, and procuring a
favourable balance. Instead, therefore, of regarding these
regulations as the offspring of a selfish monopolizing spirit,
they looked on them as having been dictated by the sound¬
est policy. The manufacturing and mercantile systems
were thus naturally blended together. The acquisition of
a favourable balance of payments was the grand object to
be accomplished ; and heavy duties and restrictions on im¬
portation from abroad, and bounties and premiums on ex¬
portation from home, were the means by which it was to
be attained ! It cannot excite surprise that a system hav¬
ing so many popular prejudices in its favour, and which
afforded a plausible and convenient apology for the exclu¬
sive privileges enjoyed by the manufacturing and commer¬
cial classes, should have early attained, or that it should
still preserve, notwithstanding the overthrow of its prin¬
ciples, a powerful practical influence. Melon and Forbon-
nais in France ; Genovesi in Italy ; Mun, Sir Josiah Child, Historv
Davenant, the authors of the British Merchant, and Sir i J -,L y
James Steuart in England, are the ablest writers who have
espoused, some with more and some with fewer exceptions,
the leading principles of the mercantile system.
“ It is no exaggeration to affirm that there are but few
political errors which have produced more mischief than
the mercantile system. Armed with power, it commanded
and forbid where it should only have protected. The re¬
gulating mania which it inspired tormented industry in a
thousand ways to force it from its natural channels. It
made each nation regard the welfare of its neighbours as
incompatible with his own; hence the reciprocal desire of
injuring and impoverishing each other; and hence that
spirit of commercial rivalry which has been made the im¬
mediate or remote cause of the greater number of modern
wars. This system stimulated nations to employ force or
cunning to extort commercial treaties, productive of no
real advantage to themselves, from the weakness or igno¬
rance of others. It formed colonies that the mother country
might enjoy the monopoly of their trade, and force them
to resort exclusively to her markets. In short, where it
has been productive of the least injury, it has retarded the
progress of national prosperity; everywhere else it has
deluged the earth with blood, and has depopulated and
ruined some of those countries whose power and opulence
it was supposed it would carry to the highest pitch.”
(Storch, 1 raite d’Economic Politique, tom. i., p. 122.)
The greater attention which began to be paid, in the Progress of
seventeenth and in the earlier part of the last century, to commercial
subjects connected with finance, commerce, and agricul- science in
ture, gradually prepared the way for the downfall of the EnSlan<h
mercantile system. The English writers preceded those
of every other country in pointing out its defects, and in
discovering the real nature and functions of money, and
the true principles of commerce. The establishment of a
direct intercourse with India did much to accelerate the
progress of sound opinions. The precious metals have
always been one of the most advantageous articles of ex¬
port to the East.1 And when the East India Company
was established in 1600, leave was given them to export
foreign gold coins or bullion of the value of L.30,000
a year, on condition of their importing, within six months
after the termination of every voyage, except the first,
as much gold and silver as should together be equal to
the value of the silver they exported. But the Com¬
pany’s enemies contended that these conditions were not
complied with, and that it was contrary to all principle,
and highly injurious to the public interests, to permit the
exportation of any quantity of bullion. The merchants
and others interested in the India trade,—among whom we
have to reckon Sir Dudley Digges, whose defence of the
Company was published in 1615 ; Mun, who published
a very able pamphlet in defence of the Company in 1621 ;2
Misselden ; and, more recently, Sir Josiah Child,—could
not controvert the reasoning of their opponents without
openly impugning some of the commonly received opinions
regarding money. In such circumstances it might easily
have been foreseen that prejudice would give way to in¬
terest. At first, however, the advocates of the Com¬
pany did not contend, nor is there, indeed, any good
reason for thinking that they were of opinion, that the ex¬
portation of gold and silver to the East Indies was bene¬
ficial, on the ground that the commodities brought back
iny, when enumerating the spices, silks, and other eastern products imported into Italy, says, “ Minimaque computatione millies
cen ena millia sestertium annis omnibus, India et Seres, peninsulaque ilia (Arabia) imperia nostro demunt.” (Hist. Nat., lib. xii., cap.
•) C larles V. used to say that the Portuguese, who in his time engrossed almost the whole commerce of the East, were the common
enemies of Christendom, inasmuch as they drained it of its treasure to export it to infidels! (Misselden on Free Trade, p. 24.)
Economy ^"b*1'161856^eCOme extl,emely rare, is included in the volume of early tracts on commerce reprinted for the Political
216
POLITICAL ECONOMY.
History, were of greater value. They contended that the Com-
pany did not export a greater quantity of bullion than
their charter authorized ; and they further contended that
its exportation was advantageous, because the commodi¬
ties imported from India w'ere chiefly re-exported to other
countries, where they obtained a greater quantity of bul¬
lion in exchange for them than they had originally sent to
India.1 But even this was an immense advance in the pro¬
gress to a sounder theory. Cest toujours le •premier pas
qui coute. The advocates of the Company began gra¬
dually to assume a higher tone ; and at length boldly con¬
tended that bullion was nothing but. a commodity, and that
its exportation should be as free as that of anything else.
Nor were these opinions confined to the partners of the
East India Company. They w'ere gradually communi¬
cated to others ; and many eminent merchants were taught
to look with suspicion on several received maxims, and
were in consequence led to acquire more correct and com¬
prehensive views regarding commercial intercourse. The
new ideas ultimately made their way into the House of
Commons; and in 1663 the statutes prohibiting the expor¬
tation of foreign coin and bullion were repealed, and full
liberty given to the East India Company and to private
traders to export them in unlimited quantities.
In addition to the controversies respecting the East In¬
dia trade, the foundation of the colonies in America and
the West Indies, the establishment of a compulsory pro¬
vision for the support of the poor, the acts prohibiting
the exportation of wool and the non-importation of Irish
cattle, &c., drew an extraordinary portion of the public at¬
tention to questions of domestic policy. In the course
of the seventeenth century a more than usual number
Mr Mun.
of tracts were published on commercial and economical
subjects. And although it must be admitted that the
authors of the greater number are deeply imbued with
the prevailing spirit of the age, there were some among
them who rose far above the prejudices of their con¬
temporaries, and have an unquestionable right to be re¬
garded as the founders of the modern theory of commerce.
They were the earliest teachers of those sound and liberal
doctrines which show that the prosperity of states cannot
be promoted by restrictive regulations, or by the depres¬
sion of their neighbours ; that the genuine spirit of com¬
merce is inconsistent with the selfish and shallow policy of
monopoly; and that the self-interest of mankind, not less
than their duty, requires them to live in peace, and to cul¬
tivate a fair and friendly intercourse with each other.
We have already referred to Mun’s treatise, entitled
England?s Treasure by Foreign Trade. It was first pub¬
lished in 1664; but there is good reason to suppose that
it had been written many years previously. Mun’s son,
in the dedication to Lord Southampton, which he has
prefixed to the work, says that his father “ was, in his
time, famous among merchants,” a mode of expression
which he would hardly have used had not a considerable
period elapsed since his father’s death ; and Misselden, in
his Circle of Commerce, published in 1623 (p. 36), refers
to Mun’s tract on the East India trade, and speaks of its
author as being an accomplished and experienced mer¬
chant. Perhaps, therefore, we shall not be far wrong if
we assume that the treatise on Foreign Trade was written
so early as 1635 or 1640. At all events, the doctrines
which it contains do not differ much from those which he
had previously maintained in his pamphlet in defence of
the East India Company, and some of the expressions are
literally the same with those in the petition presented by
that body to Parliament in 1628, which is known to have
been written by Mun.2 The extract we have previously
given shows that his opinions, in so far as regards the
balance of trade, were identical with those of his contem¬
poraries. But we incline to think that, if not the first, he
was one of the first, who endeavoured to show, and who in
fact successfully showed, that a favourable balance could
not be procured by restrictive regulations; that the ex¬
portation and importation of bullion, coin, and everything
else, should be freely permitted ; and that “ violent measures
will never bring gold or silver into a kingdom, or retain
them in it.” (Pp. 27, 92, &c., original edition.) Mun
also distinctly lays it down, “ that those who have wares
cannot want money,” and that “ it is not the keeping of
our money in the kingdom, but the necessity and use of
our wares in foreign countries, and our want of other com¬
modities, that causeth the vent and consumption on all
sides, which causeth a quick and ample trade.” (P. 43.3)
Nor are these detached and incidental passages thrown
out at random. The spirit which they breathe pervades
the book, and forms part of the system of the author. His
observations in answer to Malyne’s, on some rather diffi¬
cult questions connected with exchange, are both acute and
ingenious.
The first edition of Sir Josiah Child’s celebrated work on Sir Josia!
trade (A New Discourse of Trade, &c.) was published in Child.
1668 ; but it was very greatly enlarged in the next edition,
published in 1690. There are many sound and liberal doc¬
trines advanced in this book. The argument to show that
colonies do not depopulate the mother country is as con¬
clusive as if it had proceeded from the pen of Malthus ; and
the just and forcible reasoning in defence of the naturaliza¬
tion of the Jews is highly creditable to the liberality and
good sense of the writer, and discovers a mind greatly su¬
perior to existing prejudices. Sir Josiah has also some
judicious observations on the laws against forestalling and
regrating, on those limiting the number of apprentices, on
corporation privileges, &c.
When treating of the laws relating to the exportation of
w'ool, Sir Josiah lays it down, “that they that can give the
best price for a commodity shall never fail to have it by
one means or other, notwithstanding the opposition of any
laws, or interposition of any power by sea or land; of
such force, subtilty, and violence, is the general course of
trade.”
The radical defect of Sir Josiah Child’s treatise consists
in its being chiefly written to illustrate the advantages
which he labours to show would result from reducing the
legal rate of interest to four per cent.; an error into which
he wras led by mistaking the low interest of Holland for the
principal cause of her wealth, when in truth it was mainly
the result of her comparatively heavy taxation.
It is, however, worthy of remark, that this error was very
soon detected. In the same year (1668) that Sir Josiah’s
treatise first appeared, a tract was published, entitled Inter¬
est of Money Mistaken, or a Treatise proving that the
Abatement of Interest is the Effect and not the Cause
of the Riches of a Nation. The author of this tract main¬
tains the opinion afterwards held by Locke and Montes¬
quieu, that the interest of money does not depend on sta¬
tutory regulations, but that it varies according to the com¬
parative opulence of a country ; or rather according to the
scarcity and abundance of money, increasing when the
supply of money diminishes, and diminishing when it in-
1 Those who have not the original pamphlets may consult Macpherson’s History of Commerce, vol. ii., pp. 297, 315, 511 ; Macpherson s
Account of the European Commerce with India, pp. 94, 104; and Mr Robert Grant’s Sketch of the History of the Company, p. 44, where
they will find ample confirmation of what is stated above.
2 This petition, and the reasons on which it is founded, were so well esteemed as to occasion its being reprinted in 1611.
3 These expressions are in the petition of the Company, presented to Parliament in 1628.
*
POLITICAL ECONOMY.
History, creases.1 Having endeavoured to establish this plausible
^ but erroneous doctrine, the author contends that Sir Josiah
Child had totally mistaken the cause of the wealth of the
Dutch, of which he says the lowness of interest was merely
a consequence.
Sir Wm. In 1672 Sir William Petty published his celebrated tract,
]'ettyrs Po- entitled the Political Anatomy of Ireland. In this work
Utical Ana- the mischievous influence of the act passed in 1664, pro-
tomy. hibiting the importation of cattle, beef, See., from Ireland,
is ably exposed, and the advantage of an unconstrained
internal commerce clearly set forth. “ If it be good for
England,” says Sir William, “ to keep Ireland a distinct
kingdom, why do not the predominant party in Parliament,
suppose the western members, make England beyond
Trent another kingdom, and take tolls and customs upon
the borders? Or why was there ever any union between
England and Wales? And why may not the entire king¬
dom of England be further cantonized for the advantage of
all parties ? ”
The great defect of the writings of Mun, Misselden,
Child, and others, does not consist so much in their notions
about the superior importance of the precious metals, or
the balance of trade, as in those respecting the advantages
which they supposed were derivable from importing dur¬
able rather than rapidly perishable commodities and luxu¬
ries. This, however, was an extremely natural opinion ;
and we need not be surprised that the early writers on
commerce fell into an error, from which neither the pro¬
found sagacity of Locke, nor the strong sense of Harris,
has been able to preserve them. But even so early as 1677,
the fallacy of this opinion w-as perceived. In that year there
appeared a small tract, entitled England’s Great Happi¬
ness, or a Dialogue beticeen Content and Complaint; in
which the author contends, that if there be a demand tor
wine, fruit, and such like articles, their importation in ex¬
change for money is advantageous ; and, on this ground, he
defends the French trade, which w'as loudly declaimed
against by the practical men of that day. We shall make
a short extract from this remarkable tract:—
“Complaint.—You speak plain; but what think you
of the French trade, which draws away our money by
wholesale? Mr For trey,2 whom I have heard you speak
well of, gives an account that they get L.1,600,000 a year
from us.
“ Content.—Tis a great sum ; but perhaps were it put
to a vote in a wise council, whether for that reason the
tiade should be left off, ’twould go m the negative. For
paper, wine, linen, Castile soap, brandy, olives, capers,
prunes, kid-skins, taffaties, and such like, we cannot be
without; and for the rest, which you are pleased to style
apes and peacocks (although wise Solomon ranked them
with gold and ivory), they set us all agog, and have in¬
creased among us many considerable trades I must
confess, I had rather they’d use our goods than money ;
)ut if, not, I would not lose the getting of ten pound because
I can t get an hundred ; and I don’t question but when the
tench get more foreign trade, they’ll give more liberty
to the bringing in foreign goods. I’ll suppose John-a-
Wokes to be a butcher, Dick-a-Styles to be an exchange
man, yourself a lawyer; will you buy no meat or ribbands,
or your wife a fine Indian gown or‘fan, because they will
not truck with you for indentures which they have need of?
I suppose no ; but if you get money enough of others, you
217
care not though you give it away in specie for these things. History
I think tis the same case.” ^ f ’,
I he spirit of this tract may perhaps be better inferred
from the titles of some of the dialogues. Among others,
we have “To export money our great advantage ; ”L
“ The French trade a profitable trade ; ”—“ Variety of
wares for all markets, a great advantage —“ High living,
a great improvement to the arts Invitation of foreign
arts, a great advantage ; ”—“Multitudes of traders, a gre&at
advantage,” &c., &c. But its influence was far too feeble
to arrest the current of popular prejudice. In the year
after its publication (1678) the importation of French com¬
modities was prohibited for three years. This prohibition
was made perpetual in the reign of William III., when the
French trade was declared to be a nuisance!—a principle,
if we may so call it, w hich has been acted upon down to our
own times.
In 1681 a pamphlet was published in defence of the
East India Company, under the signature of “ Philopatris,”
but evidently the production of Sir Josiah Child. In the
Introduction to this pamphlet the following principles are
laid down :—
1 hat all close monopolies (Sir Josiah contends that
the East India Company does not come under this descrip¬
tion), of what nature or kind soever, are destructive to trade,
and consequently obstructive to the increase of the value
of our lands.”
That silver or gold, coined or uncoined, though they
are used for a measure of all other things, are no less a
commodity than wine, oil, tobacco, cloth, or stuffs ; and
may, in many cases, be exported as much to the national
advantage as any other commodity.”
1 hat no nation ever was, or will be, considerable in
trade, that prohibits the exportation of bullion.” (P. 3.)
In Sir William Petty’s Quantulumcunque, published Sir Wm.
in 1682, the subject of money is ably treated, and the Petty’s
idea of draining England of her cash by an unfavourable Q,lontUm
balance successfully combated. “ If some Enghsh mer-
chants,” it is said, *• should be so improvident as to
carry out money only, then the foreign merchants would
buy up such English commodities as they wanted with
money brought into England from their respective coun¬
tries, or with such commodities as England likes better
than money ; for the vending of English commodities doth
not depend on anything else but the use and need which
foreigners have of them.” Sir W. denies that “a country
is the poorer for having less money ; ” and concludes by
strongly condemning the laws regulating the rate of inter¬
est ; observing, that there may as well be laws to regulate
the rate of exchange and of insurance. (See pp. 3, 6, 8,
original edition.)
But a tract, entitled Discourses on Trade, principally &\r Dudley
directed to the Cases of Interest, Coinage, Clipping, awe? North.
Increase of Money, written by Sir Dudley North, and pub¬
lished in 1691, contains a far more able statement of the
true principles of commerce than any that had then ap¬
peared.
We regret that our limits will not permit our giving so
full an account as we could have wished of this extraordi¬
nary tract. The author is a most intelligent and consist¬
ent advocate of the great principles of commercial freedom.
He is not, like the most eminent of his predecessors, well
informed on one subject, and erroneous on another. He
nrovod Se”er^b suPP°sed that Hume was the first who showed ('in his Essay on Interest) the fallacy of this opinion and who
cwM loltVAXl TT T r.t dtI’end the or scarcity of money, bat on the abandonee or scare” y r,ii,™bl°
li v ' 'h* dem,nd' °f th« borrowers ond the rate of profit. This, howtver, is . mistake, the doctrine in question having
eeen tully demonstrated in a pamphlet written bv Mr Massif j? .u n ■ n . , ,r question navxng
lished two years before Mr Hume’s Essay appeared V ™ ^vermng Cause of the Natural Rate of Interest, pub-
tnent in"favour^^ ntt60 nluch reffrred to- It was published in 1663, and reprinted in 1673. It contains a very good argu-
VOl. xvm lnCl0SUreS’ The reference ln the text efficiently explains the’opinions of the writer in regard to commeref S
2 E
218
POLITICAL ECONOMY.
History, is throughout sound and liberal. His system is consenta-
neous in its parts, and complete. He shows that in com¬
mercial matters nations have the same interests as indivi¬
duals ; and exposes the absurdity of supposing that any
trade advantageous to the merchant can be injurious to the
public. His opinions respecting the imposition of a seig¬
norage on the coinage ot money, and the expediency of
sumptuary laws, then in great favour, are equally enlight¬
ened.
We subjoin from the Preface to this tract an abstract ot
the general propositions maintained in it:
“ That the whole world as to trade is but as one nation
or people, and therein nations are as persons.
“ That the loss of a trade with one nation is not that
onlv, separately considered, but so much of the tiade of the
world rescinded and lost; for all is combined togethei.
“ That there can be no trade unprofitable to the public;
for if any prove so, men leave it off; and wherever the
traders thrive, the public, of which they are a part, thrive
also.
That to force men to deal in any prescribed manner
may profit such as happen to serve them ; but the public
gains not, because it is taking from one subject to give
to another.
“ That no laws can set prices in trade, the rates of which
must and will make themselves. But when such laws do
happen to lay any hold, it is so much impediment to trade,
and therefore prejudicial.
“ That money is a merchandise, whereof there may be
a glut, as well as a scarcity, and that even to an inconve¬
nience.
“ That a people cannot want money to serve the ordi¬
nary dealing, and more than enough they will not have.
“ That no man will be the richer for the making much
money, nor have any part in it, but as he buys it foi an
equivalent price. i • r a
“ That the free coynage is a perpetual motion found
out, wherebv to melt and coyn without ceasing, and so to
feed goldsmiths and coyners at the public charge.
That debasing the coin is defrauding one another, and
to the public there is no sort of advantage from it; for that
admits no character or value but intrinsick.
“ That the sinking by alloy or weight is all one.
“ That exchange and ready money are the same, nothing
but carriage and re-carriage being saved.
“ That money exported in trade is an increase to the
wealth of the nation ; but spent in war, and payments
abroad, is so much impoverishment.
“ In short, that all favour to one trade or interest is an
abuse, and cuts so much of profit from the public.
Unluckily this admirable tract never obtained any con¬
siderable circulation. There is good reason, indeed, to
suppose that it was designedly suppressed.1 At all events,
it speedily became excessively scarce ; and we are not
aware that it was ever referred to by any subsequent writer
till it was noticed in the first edition of this article.
The disordered state of the coin, and the proceedings
relative to the great re-coinage, in the reign of William HB,
led to a great deal of discussion both in and out of Parlia¬
ment, and contributed in no ordinary degree to diffuse
juster notions respecting money and commerce. It was
then that Mr Locke published his well-known tracts on History
Money,3 They immediately obtained a very extensive cir-
dilation ; and though infected with some very grave errors,
had a powerful influence in preventing the adoption of Mr
Lowndes’s proposal for degrading the standard of the coin,
and in contributing to establish the true theory of money.
The restoration of the currency was not, however, effected
without great opposition. A large minority in Parliament
supported Lowndes’s views ; and they were also supported
by a number of writers. Of these, Mr Nicholas Bai bon Mr Barbu
seems to have been one of the ablest. In his tiact, entitled
A Discourse concerning Coining the New Money Lighter,
published in 1696, he detected several of the errors into
which Locke had fallen ; and he had the further merit of
demonstrating the fallacy of the popular opinions respecting
the balance of trade; and of showing that bullion would
never be sent abroad in payment of an unfavourable balance,
unless it were at the time the cheapest and most profitable
article of export.
The inferences deduced by Barbon from his investi¬
gations into the balance of trade and foreign exchange
are:—
“ That a trading nation is made rich by traffic and the
industry of the inhabitants—and that the native stock of a
nation can never be wasted.
“ That no sort of commodities ought to be totally pro¬
hibited—and that the freer trade is, the better the nation
will thrive.
“ That the poverty and riches of a nation do not de¬
pend on a lesser or greater consumption of foreign trade,
nor on the difference of the value of those goods that are
consumed.
“ That the balance of trade is a notion that serves rather
to puzzle all debates of trade, than to discover any particu¬
lar advantages a nation may get by regulating of trade.
“ That the balance of trade (if there be one) is not the
cause of sending away the money out of a nation ; but
that proceeds from the difference of the value of bullion in
several countries, and from the profit that the merchant
makes by sending it away more than by bills of exchange.
“ That there is no occasion to send away money or bul¬
lion to pay bills of exchange, or balance accounts.
“ That all sorts of goods, of the value of the bill of ex¬
change, or the balance of the account, will answer the bill,
and balance the account as well as money.” (P. 59.)
It is singular that a writer possessed of such just and
enlarged opinions respecting the principles of commercial
intercourse, and who had shown that bullion differed in no
respect from other commodities, should have maintained
that the value of coins depended on the stamp impressed
on them by government. This gross and unaccountable
error destroyed the effect of Barbon’s tract; and was, most
probably, the cause of the oblivion into which it very soon
fell, and of its never having attracted that attention to
which, on other accounts, it was entitled.
The commercial writings of Dr Davenant, inspector-ge- Dr Dave
neral of imports and exports, were published in the inter- naut.
val between 1695 and 1711. Though a partizan of the
mercantile system, Davenant had emancipated himself
from many of the prejudices of its more indiscriminate and
zealous supporters. He considered a watchful attention to
1 T°h- ‘7 "“TT rrd? 74D„l7ir,„hf and i.npor.anc., are included
ThlS ttrv,aet’ andttbe greate,r on trade reprinted by the Political Economy Club of London in 1856, or in the four volumes of
either in the collection of early tracts on tead0 ^printed 7 is ^ of the niogt valuable contributions that have ever
economical tracts that have been since repnnteu by uoia uvers T, , , „ mp_n„ (.f nreservino- many valu-
been made to the illustration of that science of which the noble lord is so great a master. It has b^e“ a
able publications, some of which were extremely scarce, and ran an imminent Pf / belnS *n,lrel{ would
to the historians and economists of this and future ages. It is much to be wished that other
follow so excellent an example, by collecting and reprinting the scarcest an mos 'a > e rac s i c\nrernina Raisina the Value
^ Considerations on the Lowering of Interest and Raising the Value of Money, 1691 ; Further Considerations concerning Raising the
of Money, 1695.
POLITICAL ECONOMY. 219
History, the balance of trade, and its “ right government,” as of
the highest importance; but he did not consider that
wealth consisted exclusively of gold or silver; or that pro¬
hibitions and restrictions should be rashly imposed, even
on the intercourse with those countries with which the
balance was supposed to be unfavourable. But we are
far from thinking that his commercial writings deserve the
eulogies that have been bestowed on them, or that they
had any material effect in accelerating the progress of
sound commercial science. They do not contain a single
principle not to be found in the work of Sir Josiah Child.
Some of Davenant’s paragraphs are exceedingly good;
but the treatises of which they form a part are remarkably
inconclusive, and are for the most part pervaded by narrow
and contracted views. There is no evidence to show that
he was at all aware of the influence of commerce in facili¬
tating the production of wealth by giving rise to the terri¬
torial division of labour, and enabling each people to devote
itself, in preference, to those employments for the success¬
ful prosecution of which they have some peculiar advan¬
tage.1
Jacob Van- In 1734 Jacob Vanderlint, who describes himself as a
derlint. tradesman, published his tract, entitled Money Anstvers all
Things. Dugald Stewart has referred to it in the Ap¬
pendix to his Life of Adam Smith, and has quoted some
passages illustrative of the advantages of commercial free¬
dom, which, he says, “ will bear a comparison, both in
point of good sense and liberality, with what was so ably
urged by Mr Hume twenty years afterwards, in his Essay
on the Jealousy of Trade." Vanderlint closes his pamphlet
with an argument in favour of the substitution of a ter¬
ritorial tax in place of every other,—an idea borrowed
from Locke, and subsequently adopted by the French eco¬
nomists.
Mr Rich- In 1744,2 Mr Richardson, an extensive merchant, pub-
ardson. lished an Essay on the Causes of the Decline of Eoreign
Trade. This essay has been frequently referred to by Adam
Smith, and it deserved his notice. Richardson is an in¬
telligent and decided enemy of restrictions, monopolies,
and prohibitions. To give full freedom to industry, he
proposed that corporation privileges should be abolished,
and that the existing taxes should be repealed, and re¬
placed by a tax laid on the consumers of luxuries,
proportionally to their incomes. The following extracts
will give an idea of the spirit and ability which pervades
this essay :—
“ In the Memoirs of De Witt it is said, ‘ that restraint
is always hurtful to tradethe reason whereof is plain,
for nature has given various products to various countries,
and thereby knit mankind in an intercourse to supply each
other’s wants. To attempt to sell our products, but to buy
little or none from foreigners, is attempting an impossibility,
acting contrary to the intent of nature, cynically, and ab¬
surdly, and, as ours is a populous manufacturing country,
might be prejudicial to our interests ; for, could we raise all
necessaries and vanities within ourselves, this intercourse
designed by nature would be destroyed; and then, how is
our navy, our only bulwark, to be maintained ?” (P. 147.)
“ Trade cannot, will not, be forced; let other nations
prohibit, by what severity they please, interest will prevail;
they may embarrass their own trade, but cannot hurt a na¬
tion whose trade is free so much as themselves. Spain has
prohibited our woollens; but had a reduction of our taxes
brought them to their natural value only, they would be
the cheapest in Europe of their goodness, consequently History,
must be more demanded by the Spaniards, be smuggled V —
into their country in spite of their government, and sold at
better prices; their people would be dearer clothed, with
duties and prohibitions, than without, consequently must
sell their oil, wine, and other commodities dearer; whereby
other nations, raising the like growths, would gain ground
upon them, and their balance of trade grow less and less.
But should we, for that reason, prohibit their commodities ?
By no means; for the dearer they grow, no more than what
are just necessary will be used ; their prohibition does their
own business ; some may be necessary for us ; what are so,
we should not make dearer to our own people; some may
be proper to assort cargoes for other countries, and why
should we prohibit our people that advantage? Why hurt
ourselves to hurt the Spaniards ? If we would retaliate
effectually upon them for their ill intent, handsome pre¬
miums given to our plantations to raise the same growths
as Spain might enable them to supply us cheaper than the
Spaniards could do, and establish a trade they could never
recover. Premiums may gain trade, but prohibitions will
destroy it.” (P. 163.)
Mr Richardson applies the same argument to expose the
injurious influence of the restraints on the trade with France.
“ I allow,” he says, “ that Britain should be always vigilant
over the designs of France, but need not be afraid of her
power. Her wise regulations in trade should be the ob¬
jects we should keep our eyes upon, and outdo her if pos¬
sible; or else, as she rises we must sink. But it is our
comfort that our remedy is always in our own hands ; nor
can there be any solid reason for the nation’s paying dearer
to other countries for goods we could buy cheaper in
France. Would anywise dealer in London buy goods of
a Dutch shopkeeper for 15d. or 18d. when he could have
the same from a French shopkeeper for Is.? Would he not
consider that, by so doing, he would empty his own pockets
the sooner, and that, in the end, he would greatly injure his
own family by such whims? And shall this nation com¬
mit an absurdity that stares every private man in the face ?
. . . . The certain way to be secure is to be more power¬
ful,—that is, to extend our trade as far as it is capable of;
and as restraints have proved its ruin, to reject them and
depend on freedom for our security, bidding defiance to the
French, or any nation in Europe, that took umbrage at our
exerting our natural advantages.” (P. 184.)
We do not know that the impolicy of restrictions on the
importation of foreign corn has ever been more triumph¬
antly exposed than in the following passage:—“ Every
home commodity, in a free trade, will find its natural value ;
for though that fluctuates, as of necessity it must, accord¬
ing to the plentifulness or scarcity of seasons, yet, for the
home consumption, every home commodity must have great
advantage over the foreign, as being upon the spot, and free
from freight, insurance, commission, and charges, which on
the produce of lands, being all bulky commodities, must in
general be about 15 per cent., and a greater advantage can¬
not be given without prejudice; for 15 per cent, makes a
great difference in the price of necessaries between the
nation selling and the nation buying, and is a great diffi¬
culty on the latter, but, arising from the natural course of
things, cannot be helped, though it is a sufficient security
to the landholder that foreigners can never import more
necessaries than are absolutely required; and I presume in
such cases they have more charity than to starve the people
The progress of enlarged and liberal opinions with regard to commerce seems to have been in no small degree counteracted by the
publication of the British Merchant. This work was written by some of the first merchants of their time to expose the alleged defects in
t e commercial treaty with France negotiated by Queen Anne’s Tory administration in 1713. It consists of a series of papers published
weekly, and afterwards collected in three volumes. Public opinion being very much against the treaty, the British Merchant enjoyed a
arge share of popularity. Its authors appeared to have been thoroughly imbued with all the prejudices of the mercantile sect; and
t e work is now only deserving of notice as containing the fullest exposition of their peculiar doctrines.
\V e quote from the edition of the Essay published at Edinburgh in 1756. The first edition, in Ito, was published in 1744.
220 • POLITICAL ECONO M Y.
History, merely for an imaginary profit, which yet would prove their
ruin in the end ; ibr it is a fallacy and an absurdity to think
to raise the value of lands by oppressions on the people that
cramp their trade ; for if trade declines, the common people
must either come upon the parish, or fly for business to our
neighbours. In the first case, they become a heavy tax on
the rich, and, instead of buy ing the produce of their lands,
must have it given them ; and, in the second case, when
the consumers are gone, what price w ill the produce of land
bear?” (P. 56.)
Mr Hume. Of a work so well known as Mr Hume’s Political Essays
(published in 1752) it is superfluous to speak. The ability
with which he has combated the prejudice against the
French trade, and ridiculed the fear of being deprived of a
sufficiency of bullion ; the liberality and expansion of his
views respecting commerce; the beauty of his style, and
the aptness of his illustrations, cannot be too highly praised.
It did not, however, enter into his plan to give a syste¬
matic view of the influence of commerce, nor did he insti-
Mr Harris, tute any analysis of the sources of wealth. Mr Harris en¬
deavoured to supply the latter deficiency ; and his Essay on
Money and Coins, published in 1757, is perhaps on the
whole the best economical treatise that had appeared pre¬
viously to the Wealth of Nations. We have already noticed
Harris’s mistake in supposing that it was more profitable
to import durable rather than rapidly consumable commo¬
dities ; and, as a writer on commerce, he is undoubtedly
inferior to Sir Dudley North and Mr Richardson. But
the comprehensive and able manner in which he has treated
the subject of money, the skill with which he has illus¬
trated the influence of the division of labour, and the near
approach he has made to some of the fundamental doctrines
of Smith, if they do not give him a pre-eminence, certainly
place him in the first rank among his precursors.
Early Ita- We have been induced to treat of the progress of com-
Han w-riters mercial science in England at considerable length, partly
on com- on acCount of the interest and importance of the subject,
mcree. an(J partly because it has been but little investigated. Say
and other continental writers contend that the Italians and
French were the first who discovered and established the
just principles of commercial intercourse. But the details
now given prove the indisputable priority of the English.
The economical works of Davanzati, Serra, Turbolo, and
Scaruffi are almost wholly occupied with a discussion of the
effects of a forced reduction of the standard of money. They
deserve credit for having opposed all tampering with the
currency; but the arguments they employ to show' its in¬
justice and impolicy are stated with much greater brevity
and force in Sir Robert Cotton’s speech before the Privy
Council in 1626. The Discurso Economico of Bandini,
the earliest writer on commerce whose works have been
thought worthy of a place in the voluminous collection of
Italian works on political economy1 wras published so late
as 1737. Belloni and Algarotti’s Essays on Commerce,
both very inferior to the works of Child and North, were
published, the former in 1750, and the latter in 1763.
The French have still less claim than the Italians to be
considered the discoverers of the true principles of com- History,
merce. There are many just and striking observations on
the injury France sustained from the w ant of a free in- Early
ternal traffic, and the oppressiveness ot taxation, in the French
Dixme Royale of Marshal Vauban, written in 1698. But writers nn
Vincent de Gournay, whom the French state to be one ofcomu‘erce.
the earliest of their authors who entertained comprehensive
and liberal notions in regard to commerce, was born so late
as 1712.2 Gournay published translations of the treatise
of Sir Josiah Child, and of a tract by Sir Thomas Culpep¬
per, at Paris in 1752. So slow w'as the progress of econo¬
mical science in France, that even Montesquieu has a
chapter entitled, “ A quelles nations il est desavantageux
de taire le commerce.”3
But neither the efforts of the English nor French writers System 0f
in favour of the freedom of commerce and industry had any the French
considerable influence on the mercantile system. Their Econo-
opinions respecting the nature of wealth and the causes nusts•
of national opulence being confused and contradictory, their
arguments in favour of a liberal system of commerce had
somewhat of an empirical appearance, and failed to make
that impression which is always made by arguments founded
on well-established principles, and shown to be consistent
with experience. Locke, as will be afterwards seen, enter¬
tained correct opinions respecting the paramount influence
of labour in the production of wealth ; but he does not ap¬
pear to have been aware of their value, and did not again
refer to them. And though Harris adopted Locke’s views,
and deduced from them some important practical infer¬
ences, his general reasonings are merely introductory
to his Treatise on Money, and are not thrown into a sci¬
entific form. On the whole it would seem that the cele¬
brated M. Quesnay, a physician attached to the court of ^ Ques.
Louis XV., was the first who investigated the sources of nay.
wealth, in the view of ascertaining the fundamental prin¬
ciples or natural laws on which national prosperity is mainly
dependent; and by so doing he gave to political economy
a systematic form, and raised it to the rank of a science.
Having been brought up in the country, Q.uesnay was na¬
turally inclined to regard agriculture with more than ordi¬
nary partiality. Its depressed state in France made him
set about discovering the causes which had prevented its
making that progress which the industry of the inhabi¬
tants, the fertility of the soil, and the excellence of the
climate seemed to ensure. In the course of this inquiry
he became convinced that the prohibition of exporting
corn to foreign countries, and the preference given in the
system of Colbert (which continued in the ascendant)
to manufactures and commerce over agriculture, formed
the most powerful obstacle to the improvement of the
latter. But Quesnay did not satisfy himself with expos¬
ing the injustice of this preference and its pernicious
consequences. His zeal for the interests of his favour¬
ite pursuit led him not merely to place it on the same
level with the other great departments of industry, but
to raise it above them, by endeavouring to show that
agriculture is the only species of industry by which the
riches of a nation can be increased. Founding on the
1 Scrittori Classici Italiani di Economia Politica. The publication of this collection of the works of her economical writers does honour
to Italy, or rather to Napoleon, by whom it was liberally patronized. It was begun in 1803, and finished in 1805, in 50 volumes 8vo.
2 See Dupont’s edition Des QZuvres de M. Turgot, tom, iii., p. 311.
3 Maupertuis, in his Eioge de Montesquieu, candidly admits that France is indebted for the science of commerce, finance, and popula¬
tion, to England. The passage is curious “ Comme le plan de Montesquieu,” he observes, “ renfermoit tout ce qui peut etre utile au
genre humain, il n’a pas oublie cette partie essentielle qui regarde le commerce, les finances, la population ; science si nouvelle parmi
nous, qu’elle n y a encore point de nom. Ce’st chez nos voisins qu'elle est nee ; et elle y demeura jusque cL ce que M. Melon lui fit passer le
nler.,, Melon's work, Essai Politique sur le Commerce, was published in 1734. It is entirely founded on the principles of the mercantile
system. Mr Bindon translated it into English, and published it, along with some rather valuable annotations and remarks, at Dublin in
1739. Melon had advocated the ruinous policy of raising the denomination of the coin. This gave occasion to the publication of an
acute work by Dutot, entitled Reflexions Politiques sur les Finances et le Commerce, 2 tomes 12mo, 1738. Dutot’s work was in its turn
very ably criticised by Duverney in his Examen des Reflexions Politiques sur les Finances, &c., 2 tomes 12mo, 1740. These works con¬
tain a great deal of curious and interesting information respecting French finance. Duverncy’s account of the Mississippi scheme is
particularly good.
POLITICAL
History, fact, that everything which either ministers to our wants or
gratifies our desires, must be originally derived from the
earth, Quesnay assumed as a self-evident truth, that the earth
is the only source of wealth, and held that industry is alto¬
gether incapable of producing any new value, except when
employed in its culture, including therein the working of
fisheries and mines.1 His observance of the effects pro¬
duced by the vegetative powers of nature, and his inability
to explain the true origin and causes of rent, confirmed
him in his opinion. The circumstance, that of all who
engage in industrial undertakings, none but the cultivators
of the soil pay rent for the use of natural agents, appeared
to him to prove beyond all question that agriculture is the
only variety of industry which yields a nett surplus (produit
net) over and above the expenses of production. He
admitted that manufacturers and merchants are highly
useful; but as they realize no nett surplus in the shape
of rent, he contended that they added no greater value
to the commodities they manufactured or carried from
place to place than was barely equivalent to the capital
or stock consumed in these operations. These principles
once established, it followed that landlords, farmers, and the
labourers employed in agriculture are the od\y productive
classes ; and that the industry of manufacturers and traders
being unproductive, their means of subsistence and wealth
must be wholly derived from the agriculturists. It further
followed that the expenses of government, and the various
Public burdens, however imposed, are really defrayed out of
produit net, 01 rent oi the landlords : and consistently
with this principle, Quesnay proposed that the existing
taxes should be repealed, and that a single tax [Vimpot
unique), laid directly on the produce of the land, should be
imposed in their stead.
The economical table of M. Quesnay—“ Cette formule
etonnante,” says Dupont, “ qui peint la naissance, la dis¬
tribution, et la reproduction des richesses, et qui serf a cal-
culer avec tant de surete, de promptitude, et de precision,
TefFet de toutes les operations relatives aux richesses”—was
published at Versailles in 1758.
But Quesnay, though deeply impressed with the superior
importance of agriculture, did not solicit for it any exclusive
favour or protection. He successfully contended that the
advantage of the agriculturists, and of all classes, w'ould
be best promoted by establishing a perfectly free system.
It could never, he said, be for the interest of the pro-
pi ietois and cultivators of the soil to discourage the pur¬
suits, or fetter the industry, of merchants, artificers, and
E C O N 0 M Y.
manufacturers; for the greater their liberty, the greater
would be their competition, and the cheaper their products.
Neither, on the other hand, could it ever be for the interest
of the unproductive classes to injure the agriculturists by
preventing them from exporting their produce, or sub¬
jecting them to restrictive regulations. Cultivators who
enjoy the greatest degree of freedom prosecute their busi¬
ness under the most favourable circumstances; and their
nett surplus {produit net)—the only fund whence any
accession to the public wealth can be derived—attains in
consequence to the largest dimensions. According to this
“ liberal and generous system”( Wealth of Nations, p. 3032),
the establishment of perfect liberty, perfect security, and
perfect justice, is the only, as it is the infallible, means of
securing the highest degree of prosperity to all classes.
“ 0° a vu” says the commentator of this system, M.
Mercier de la Riviere, “ qu’il est de I’essence de I’ordre que
1 interet particulier d’un seul ne puisse jamais etre separee
de 1 interet common de tons; nous en trouvons une preuve
bien convaincante dans les effets que produit naturellement
et necessairement la plenitude de la liberte qui doit regner
dans le commerce, pour ne point blesser la propriete. L’in-
teret personnel, encouragee par cette grande liberte, presse
vivement et perpetuellement chaque homme en particulier,
de perfectionner, de multiplier les choses dont il estven-
deui, de giossir ainsi la masse des jouissances qu’il pent pro¬
em ei aux autres homines, afin de grossir, par ce moven, la
masse des jouissances que les autres hommes peuvent lui
procurer en echange. Le monde alors va de lui-meme; le
desir de jouir, et la liberte de jouir, ne cessant de provoquer
la multiplication des productions et I’accroissement de 1’in-
dustrie, ils impriment a toute la societe un mouvement qui
devient une tendance perpetuelle vers son meilleur etat pos¬
sible.” (Tome ii., p. 444.3)
We shall have other opportunities of fully examining the
principles of this theory. At present it is sufficient to re¬
mark that, in assuming agriculture to be the only source of
wealth, because the matter of commodities is derived from
the earth, Quesnay and his followers mistook altogether the
nature of production, and really supposed wealth to consist
of matter. But, in its natural state, matter is rarely pos¬
sessed of utility, and is always destitute of value. The
labour bestowed on its appropriation, and in fitting it for
and applying it to our use, is the only means by which it
acquires exchangeable value, and becomes wealth. The
latter is not produced by adding to the contents of our
globe, these being susceptible neither of augmentation nor
221
History.
1 “ Gilwdiant d’°u vient les richesses des nations, Quesnay trouva qu’elles ne naissent que des travaux dans leauels la Nature et
^TeT 6ff0rtS Pr0duire 011 faire'recueillir des productions nouveHesI Se sorL qu’on ne peut
“ Notice Lr feTEconomistes ”hn "f r6 ^ ^ ClJltivatjon’ de la P*ch«> et de 1 exploitation des mines, et des carried.” (See the
a M'Culloch’s edition, 1 vol Ivo™ ^ ^ Zeal°US °f the Sect’ DuPont de Nemours, in the CEuvres de Turgot, tom. in., p. 312.)
inte'veral'ofMs'peculUir doctrines^ meri*; 0C?rigfaality cannot, we think, be disputed. He had certainly, however, been anticipated
system are disHnctlv and clear!V of the previous century. The fundamental principles of the economical
the greatest concern and interest ^ ^ n entltl<;d Masons for a Limited Exportation of Wool, published in 1677. “ That it is of
landSof the country belong at le-,st ^ "jf110"’ Say.S the “;uthor of the tract, “ to preserve the nobility, gentry, and those to whom the
chants who o-ain by the exportation nf h great.el\than a few a«ificers employed in working the superfluity of our wool, or the mer-
tion of all the wealth in this mtb u ^ nianu(a?tures>13 manifest—1. Because they are the masters and proprietaries of the founda-
burdens which in lruth are nnlvh’ out of the ground, which is theirs; 2. Because they bear all taxes and public
of their’goodness, accord’mg to thefrTxes ” \Tot brin^’l ^ Seller® raisinS the Price of fcheir commodities, or abating
Smith’s Memoirs of Wool, vol. i„ p. 254 ) ' In 1696 Mr °Wm ° hrTT PamPhIet.ltself> we quote from the extract given in Mr
■Another Species of Monev than Col l in J H AsBill published a treatise entitled Several Assertions Proved, in order to Create
Mlow ^ for a land bank. W. extract from .hi, tre.tiee the
dities is nothin tfbutlandeev'eredfromthefacT1 hhTn 1 .1 ' k ^ - What we call commo-
chan ire one mil of ihe e u f ti niu ' .^an deals ln nothing but earth. The merchants are the factors of the world to ex-
3l°„7 „7 ,hf,,,vv m ... “fl h n , T " \lns 1,i,n,eIf is fed th« ialjour Of the ox ; and the clothing of the army and tte
the produce of the giund, and tteremuM .U ihing.Teli'rf “‘fmi1.118 “‘‘“'"h T""'' ihingsintl,,- wwhl «re originally
subjects treated in them wp8 ^fT^ * that Quesnay was aware of the existence of either of the tracts referred to The
ceal Ins obligations had he real^owed* thtmaanv8CriIt1i,8n t0| th6 attention of fo,-eigners; and Quesnay was too candid to con-
where the i.fea is thrown out thatfall taxes fall ultimnt!l Pr0^ab.le be may have seen Cocke’s treatise on liaising the Value of Money,
of Locke and the well-digested system of Quesnay. ^ ^ ^ 18 “ immeasurable difference between the suggestion
222 POLITICAL
History, diminution, but by giving utility to matter already in ex-
istence. And it will be immediately seen, that the labour
employed in manufactures and commerce is as produc¬
tive of utility, and consequently of wealth, as that em¬
ployed in agriculture. Neither is the cultivation of the
soil, as Quesnay supposed, the only variety of industry
which yields a surplus over the expenses of production.
When none but the best soils are cultivated, and when,
consequently, agriculture is most productive, no rent, or
produit net, is obtained from the land; and it is only after
recourse has been had to poorer soils, and when the produc¬
tive powers of the labour and capital employed in cultivation
begin to diminish, that rent begins to appear; so that, in-,
stead of its being any proof of the superior productiveness of
agricultural industry, rent is a consequence of its becoming
comparatively less productive ! 1 he opinion of Quesnay,
that man derives no assistance from the productive powers
of nature, if he be not employed in agriculture, is totally
destitute of foundation. It will be shown in a subsequent
part of this article, that the manufacturer and merchant
derive fully as much assistance from these powers as the
agriculturist, fisher, or miner.
But though the theory of the Economists, considered in
reference to the fundamental principles of the science, be
as erroneous as that to which it was opposed, its novelty
and ingenuity, its systematical and consentaneous form, the
liberal system of commercial intercourse which it recom¬
mended, and the benevolent and excellent character of its
founder, speedily obtained for it a very high degree of repu¬
tation. The opinions of Quesnay were early communicated
to, and zealously espoused by, the Marquis de Mirabeau,
Mercierde la Riviere, Dupont de Nemours, St Ptrravy, and
others ; and were afterwards advocated by 1 urgot, one of
the most distinguished statesmen of whom France has to
boastand by Letrosne, Condorcet, Raynal, and most of
the succeeding French writers on commerce and finance.
Their practical influence on the legislation of F ranee has
also been considerable. In 1763 the free transportation of
corn from one province to another was permitted ; and in
1764 liberty was given to export it to ;foreign countries
whenever the home price did not exceed thirty livres the
septier (48s. the quarter). This last edict, after being sus¬
pended in 1770, was again revived in 1778 during the
administration of Turgot. But the facility given to the
imposition of the contribution fonciere may be considered
as the greatest practical achievement of the Economists;
and there is reason to fear that it will long continue to
afford a palpable proof of the fallacy of their doctrines.2
Notwithstanding the defects of their theory, the labours
of the Economists contributed powerfully to accelerate the
1
ECONOMY.
progress of this science. In reasoning on subjects con¬
nected with national wealth, it was henceforth found to be
necessary to subject its sources, and the laws which re¬
gulate its production and distribution, to a more accurate
and searching analysis. In the course of this examination,
it was speedily ascertained that the mercantile and econo¬
mical theories were alike erroneous and defective, and that
to establish the science on a firm foundation, it was neces¬
sary to take a much more extensive survey, and to seek
for its principles, not in a few partial and distoited facts,
or in metaphysical abstractions, but in the connection sub¬
sisting among the various phenomena manifested in the pro¬
gress of civilization. The Count di Verri, whose Medi¬
tations on Political Economy were published in 1771,
pointed out the fallacy of the opinions entertained by the
Economists respecting the superior productiveness of agri¬
culture ; and showed that all the operations of industry
really consist of modifications of matter already in exist¬
ence.3 But Verri did not trace the consequences of this
important principle ; and, possessing no clear or definite
notions of what constituted wealth, he did not. attempt to
discover the means by which its production might be pro¬
moted. He made several valuable additions to particular
branches of the science, and had sufficient acuteness to de¬
tect the errors in the systems of others; but the task of
constructing a better system in their stead required talents
of a far higher order.
At length, in 1776, our illustrious countryman, Adam Wealth of
Smith, published the Wealth of Nations—a work which has Nation!.
done for political economy what the Principia of Newton
did for physics, and the treatise De Jure Belli ac Pads of
Grotius for international law. In this work the science was,
for the first time, treated in its fullest extent, and many
of its fundamental principles placed beyond the reach of
cavil and dispute. In opposition to the Economists, Smith
showed that labour is the only source of wealth, and that
the desire of individuals to improve their fortunes and rise in
the world occasions its accumulation. He next traced the
means by which the powers oflabour may be rendered most
effective; and showed that it is productive of wealth when
employed in manufactures and commerce, as well as in the
cultivation of the land. Having established these principles,
Smith showed, in opposition to the commonly received
opinions of the merchants and statesmen of his time, that
wealth did not consist in the abundance of gold and silver,
but in that of the various necessaries, conveniences, and
enjoyments of human life ; and he further showed that in¬
dividuals are always the best judges of what is for their own
interest, and that, in prosecuting branches of industry ad-
i Turgot’s Reflexion, sur la Formation et la Distribution de. Riches,es, published in 1771, is certainly the best of all the works founded
on the principles of the Economists, and is, in some respects, the best work on political economy published previously to the Wealth of
^Exclusive of the Reflexion, of Turgot, the following are the principal works published by the French EconomistsTableau Econo-
mique, et Maxime, Genflrale, du Gouvernement Economise, par Francis Quesnay, 4to, \ er.sailles l758 ijheome de l /mpo^par M. de
Mirabeau 4to 1760 ; L’Ami de, Hommes, par M. de Mirabeau, 7 tomes, 1760, &c.; Element, de la Philosophic Rurale, par M. de
Mirabeau’ 3 tomes 12mo, 1763; L'Ordre Naturel et Essentiel des Socihes Politique,, par Mercier de la Riviere, 4to, et 2 tomes
12mo 1767 ; Sur VOrigine et Progr'es d'une Nouvelle Science, par Dupont de Nemours, 1767 ; La Physiocratie, ou Constitution Naturelle
du Gouvernement le plus avantageux aux genre humain, par Quesnay, 2 tomes, 1767 litres d un Citoyen d unMagistrat ,ur les Ving-
tieme, et les dutre, Impots, par FAbbe Baudeau, 1768; Mflmoire sur le, Effet, de l Impot Indirect, pox St Peravy, 12mo, l/ 6iL
3 “ Alcuni benemeriti scrittori, rattristati dai gravi disordini, che solfrono i popoli per le gabelle, sono passati all estremo de conside
rare ingiusto e mat collocato il tribute se non ripartito sui fondi di terra, e colla creazione di un linguaggio ascetico, hanno eretta la
setta degli economist!, presso la quale ogni uoma che non adoperi 1’aratro, e un essere sterile, e.i manifattore si chiamano una
sterile. Rispettando il molto di vero e di utile che da essi e stato scritto, 10 non saprei associarmi alia loro opinione ne sul tribute, ne
su di questa pretesa classe sterile. La riproduzione e attribqibile alia manifattura ugualmente, quanto al laroro de Campi. iutu
fenomini dell’ universo, sieno essi prodotti dalla mano dell’uomo o vero dalle universal! leggi della fisica, non ci danno idea di attua
modificazione della materia. Accostare seperare sono gli unici elementi che 1 ingegno umano ritro
creazione, ma unicamente di una modificazione   , „ , - - . . .■
analizando 1’idea della riproduzione ; e tanto e riproduzione di valore e di richezza se la terra, 1 aria, e 1 aqua .ne campi si trasmutino
grano, come se colla mano dello uomo il glutine di un insetto si trasmuti in velluto, o vero alcuni pezzetti di metallo si orgamzzino
formare una ripetizione. Degli intieri citta, e degli stati intieri campano non d’altro che sul prodotto di questa fecondissima clas
sterile, la di cui riproduzione comprende il valore della materia prima, la consumazione proporzionata delle mam impiegatevi,
di piu quetla porzione che fa arrichire chi ha intrapresa la fabbrica e chi vi s’impiega con fehce talento. (Meditazioni sulla Leo
nomia Politica, § 3.)
POLITICAL ECONOMY.
History.
vantageous to themselves, they necessarily prosecute such
as are advantageous to the public.1 Thence he drew his
grand inference, that every regulation intended to force in¬
dustry into particular channels, or to determine the com¬
mercial intercourse to be carried on between different parts
of the same country, or between distant and independent
countries, is impolitic and pernicious—injurious to the
rights of individuals, and adverse to the progress of real
opulence and lasting prosperity.
It may here, perhaps, be necessary to observe that,
in laying it down that individuals are tlie “ best judges”
of what is best for themselves, the phrase is not to be
taken absolutely, but conditionally, or as meaning the best
in their circumstances, with their knowledge, views, and
means of compassing their ends. People in a different
situation, with more extensive information, able to make
a more correct estimate of the ends proper to be sought
after, and possessing more efficient means for their attain¬
ment, would probably act differently. But in legislat¬
ing, men should be taken for what they really are, and
not for what it may be supposed they should be. And
though it were otherwise, legislators are rarely more ad¬
vanced than those for whom they legislate, and are ex¬
tremely apt to be biassed by party and selfish considerations.
Hence the true line of policy—allow all individuals at all
times to prosecute what they believe to be their interest
in their own way, provided only they do not encroach on
the rights of others. When they are left to their own guid¬
ance, their constant endeavour is to find out better methods
of effecting their objects; and they seldom fail to profit
by such new lights, inventions, and discoveries, as may
come to their knowledge. And while they have every
facility, they have every motive to get into the right path,
or that by following which they may best advance them¬
selves. But when they are kept in a state of pupilage and
dictated to by others, their talents are but little exerted,
and they become less enterprising, and care less about the
progress of discovery. At the same time, too, that their
energies are paralysed, and that they are injuriously affected
by the ignorance, the crotchets, and the prejudices of their
self-sufficient guides, they cannot abandon the path chalked
out for them, though they may have ascertained that it
would be greatly for their advantage to leave it, and to
enter upon a different one. The pretension to direct others
what they should and should not do, and with whom or in
what they should deal or not deal, is, in truth, so excessively
overweening, and so certain to be abused, that it could be
safely entrusted only to omniscience. And it could no¬
where be worse placed than in the hands of individuals or
legislatures, who, to use the words of Smith, had folly and
presumption enough to fancy themselves fit to exercise it.
1 he fact, that traces of most part of the principles referred
to above, and that the distinct statement of some of the more
important amongst them, may be found in the works of pre¬
vious writers detracts but little, if anything, from the merits
ot smith. In adopting the discoveries of others, he made
hem his own ; he demonstrated the truth of principles on
which his predecessors had in most instances stumbled by
chance; separated them from the errors by which they were
encumbered ; traced their remote consequences; pointed
223
History.
out their limitations ; showed their practical importance and
leal value; and reduced them into a consistent and well- - - ^
compacted system. We do not, however, mean to say that
bmith produced a perfect theory. Undoubtedly there are
errors, and those, too, of no slight importance, in the Wealth
of Nations. The principles already noticed, and which
form its basis, are unimpeachable. Smith, however has
not always reasoned correctly from them, and he has occa¬
sionally introduced others, which a more careful observation
and analysis has shown to be ill-founded. But after every
allowance has been made for the defects in his m-eat
w ork, enough remains to justify us in considering'’him
as the real founder of the science. Though he has not
left a perfect treatise, he has left one which contains a
greater mass of useful and universally interesting truths
than have ever been given to the world by any other indi-
vmual; and he has pointed out and smoothed the route
by following which subsequent philosophers have been
enabled to perfect much that he had left incomplete, to
lectify the mistakes into which he fell, and to make many
new and important discoveries. Whether, indeed, we
refer to the soundness of its leading doctrines, to the libe¬
rality and universal applicability of its practical conclusions,
or to the powerful and beneficial influence it has had on
the improvement of economical science, and on the policy
and destiny of nations, the Wealth of Nations must be
placed in the foremost rank of those works that have done
most to liberalize, enlighten, and enrich mankind.2
witPth PraJt,C£5! Part of this science was long confounded Distinction
vith that of politics; and it is undoubtedly true that they between
aie very intimately connected, and that it is frequently P^'t'08
impossible to treat those questions which strictly belong and Po11’
to the one without referring more or less to the principles tical ec0‘
and conclusions of the other. But in their leading fea- n0my‘
tures they are sufficiently distinct. The laws which re¬
gulate the production and distribution of wealth are the
same in every country and stage of society. Those cir¬
cumstances which are favourable or unfavourable to the
increase of riches and population in a republic may equally
exist, and will have the same effects, in a monarchy.
I hat security of property, without which there can be no
steady and continued exertion,—that freedom of engaging
in every different branch of industry, so necessary to call
the various powers and resources of human talent and in¬
genuity into action,—and that economy in the public ex¬
penditure, so conducive to the accumulation of national
wealth,—are not the exclusive attributes of any particular
species of government. If free states have generally made
the most rapid advances in wealth and population, it is an
indirect rather than a direct consequence of their political
constitution. It results rrtore from the greater security
which a popular government presents, that the rio-ht ot
property will be held sacred,—that the freedom of mdus-
try will be less fettered and restricted,—and that the
public income will be more judiciously levied and expended,
—than from the circumstance of a greater proportion of the
people being permitted to exercise political rights and pri¬
vileges. Give the same securities to the subjects of an
absolute monarch, and they will make the same advances.
to themselves, individual^ necessarily^rosec^te^ucheasna0rteSat, t?1 ^ pr0SecutinS such benches of industry as are most advantageous
tem of the Economists-a leaning pe^cepSe in everv n rt of Ms Trt ^ the pUbliC- 1Iis Ieanin& to «y«-
as to admit, that individual advantage is not always a ti ueles^f the nnM^ / 7 S° 8weiTe *om the principles of his own system
that agriculture, though not the only productive emnlovment is theP 7 advantaSeousness of different employments. He considered
than a direct foreign trade; and the latter than the carryTng tradl H wilf h 7 ft any ; that the home trade is more productive
tinctions. lryuig trade. It will be hereafter seen that there is no foundation for these dis¬
may it be said (^Adrm^Smfth,1 and'saidj^oo^wkhout'fear of'corrt 777 ^ P6^8, aPPear to some an extravagant extent. “ Well
f^le work, contributed more towards th;7appi^s of man than h7 bf has. ^ the publication of one
lato, of who, history has preserved an authentic a^ount^ ^ ^
224
POLITICAL
History. Industry does not require to he stimulated by extrinsic ad-
vantages. The additional comforts and enjoyments which
it procures have always been found sufficient to insure the
most persevering and successful exertions. And whatever
may be the form of government, those countries always
advance in the career of improvement in which the public
burdens are moderate, industry free, and every individual
permitted peaceably to enjoy the fruits of his labour. It is
not, therefore, so much on its political organization, as on
the talents and spirit of its rulers, that the wealth of a coun¬
try is principally dependent. Economy, intelligence, and libe¬
rality on the part of those in power, have frequently elevated
absolute monarchies to a very high degree of opulence and
prosperity; while all the advantages derived from a more libe¬
ral system of government have not been able to preserve free
states from being impoverished and exhausted by the extra¬
vagance, intolerance, and short-sighted policy of their rulers.
Politics and political economy are therefore sufficiently
distinct. The politician examines the principles on which
government is founded, he endeavours to determine in whose
hands the supreme authority may be most advantageously
placed, and unfolds the reciprocal duties and obligations of
the governing and governed portions of society. I he poli¬
tical economist does not take so high a flight. It is not of
the constitution of the government, but of its acts only,
that he presumes to judge. Whatever measures affect
the production or distribution of wealth come within
the scope of his observation, and are canvassed by him.
He examines whether they are in unison with the prin¬
ciples of the science. If they are, he pronounces them to
be advantageous, and shows the nature and extent of the
benefits of which they will be productive; if they are not,
he shows in what respect they are defective, and to what
extent their operation will be injurious. But he does this
without inquiring into the constitution of the government
by which these measures have been adopted. Ihe ciicum-
stance of their having emanated from the privy council of
an arbitrary monarch, or the representative assembly of a
free state, though in other respects of supreme importance,
cannot affect the immutable principles by which he is to
form his opinion upon them.
Besides being confounded with politics, the practical pait
of political economy has also been frequently confounded
with statistics ; but they are still more easily separated and
an,d politi‘ distinguished. The object of the statistician is to describe
the condition of a country at a particular period ; while the
object of the political economist is to discover the causes
which have brought it into that condition, and the means
by which its wealth and riches may be indefinitely in¬
creased. He is to the statistician what the physical astrono¬
mer is to the observer. He takes the facts furnished by the
statistician, and after comparing them with those furnished
by historians and travellers, he applies himself to discover
their relation. By a patient induction, by carefully ob¬
serving tire circumstances attending tbe operation of par¬
ticular principles,—he discovers the effects of which they
are really productive, and how far they are liable to be
modified by the operation of other principles. It is thus
that the relation between rent and profit, between profit
and wages, and the various general laws which regulate and
connect the apparently conflicting, but really harmotrious in¬
terests of tbe different classes, have been discovered and es¬
tablished with all the certainty of demonstrative evidence.
Distinction
between
statistics
cal econo
my
ECONOMY.
Productinrr
PART II. of Wealth}
PKODUCTION OF 'WEALTH.
Sect. I. Definition of Production.—Labour the only
Source of Wealth.
All the operations of nature and art are reducible to, Definition
and really consist of, transmutations, — changes of form ^P^uc-
and of place. By production in this science is not meant
the production of matter, that being an attribute of Omni¬
potence, but the production of utility, and consequently
of exchangeable value, by appropriating and modifying
matter, so as to make it satisfy our wants, and contribute
to our’ well-being. The labour which is thus employed
is the only source of wealth.1 Nature spontaneously
furnishes the matter of which commodities are made ; but,
independently of labour, matter is seldom of much use,
and is never of any value. Place us on the banks of a
river, or in an orchard, and v'e shall infallibly perish of
thirst or hunger, unless, by an effort of industry, we raise
the wrater to our lips, or pluck the fruit fiom its paient
tree. It is seldom, however, that the mere appropriation
of matter is sufficient. In the infinite majority of cases,
additional labour is required to convey it from place to
place, and to give it that peculiar shape, without which
it may be totally useless, and incapable of eithei minis¬
tering to our necessities or comforts. The coal used in
our fires is buried deep in tbe bowels of the earth, and
is absolutely worthless until the miner has extracted it
from the mine, and brought it into a situation where it
may be used. I he stones and mortar of which om houses
are built, and the rugged and shapeless materials from
which the various articles of convenience and ornament
with which they are furnished have been prepared, were,
in their original state, alike destitute of value and utility.
And of the innumerable variety of animal, vegetable, and
mineral products which form the materials of our food and
clothes, few were originally serviceable, while many were
extremely noxious to man. Plis labour has given them
utility, has subdued their bad qualities, and made them
satisfy his wants, and minister to his comforts and enjoy¬
ments. “ Labour was the first price, the original pur¬
chase money, that was paid for all things. It was not by
gold or by silver, but by labour, that all the wealth of the
world was originally purchased.” (Wealth of JS ations, p.
14.)
Those who observe the progress and trace the history
of the human race in different countries and periods, will
find that their well-being has always been pretty nearly
proportioned to their expertness in appropriating the raw
products of nature, and in adapting them to their use.
The savage, who gathers wild fruits, or picks up shell¬
fish on the sea-coast, is placed at the very bottom of the
scale of civilization, and is, in point of comfort, decidedly
inferior to many of the lower animals. The first step in
the progress of society is made when man learns to hunt
wild animals, to feed himself with their flesh, and clothe
himself with their skins. But labour, when confined to
the chase, is extremely barren and unproductive. Iribes
of hunters, like beasts of prey, whom they closely resemble
in their habits and modes of subsistence, are but thinly
i This point has been well stated by M. Destutt Tracy Non seulement, ’ says he, “ nous ne fa " auelaue chose de
meme impossible de concevoir ce que c’est que cr6er ou aneantir, si nous entendons rigoureusement par ces faire quelque cho
rien, ou reduire quelque chose a rien; car nous n’avons jamais vu un etre quelconque sort.r du neant m ^ ^^e aSn
admis par toute 1’antiquite, ‘ Rien ne vient de rien, et ne peut redeven.r rien. Que faisons-nous done par notr® ^ ^ Pc a
sur tous les etres qui nous entourent ? Jamais rien qu’operer dans ces etres des changements de forme ou de heu qui le PPJ1^ auX
notre usage, qui les rendent utiles a la satisfaction de nos besoms. Voila ce que nous devons entendre par prod , . resulte,
choses une utility quelles n’avoient pas. Quel que soit notre travail, s’il n en resulte point d utilite, il est infructeux,
il est productif.” (Traite d'Economic Politique, p. 162.)
POLITICAL ECONOMY.
225
iProduction
0f Wealth.
The earth
not a
source of
wealth.
I Opinion of
ilobbes.
)p'mion of
jocke.
scattered over the surface of the countries which they
occupy ; and, notwithstanding the fewness of their num¬
bers, any unusual deficiency in the supply of game never
fails to reduce them to the extremity of want. The second
step in the progress upwards is made when the tribes of
hunters and fishers addict themselves, like the ancient
Scythians and modern Tartars, to the domestication of
wild animals and the rearing of flocks. Their subsistence
is much less precarious than that of hunters; but they are
almost entirely destitute of the comforts and elegances
which give to civilized life its ~hief value. The third and
most decisive step in the progress of civilization—in the
great art of producing necessaries and conveniences—is
made when the wandering tribes of hunters and shepherds
renounce their migratory habits, and become agriculturists
and manufacturers. It is then, properly speaking, that man
begins fully to avail himself of his productive powers. He
becomes laborious, and, by a necessary consequence, his
wants are for the first time fully supplied, and he acquires
an extensive command over the articles required for his
comfort as well as subsistence.
However paradoxical the assertion may at first sight ap¬
pear, it is notwithstanding true that the earth does not gra¬
tuitously supply us with a single atom of wealth. It is a
powerful machine given by Providence to man; but with¬
out his labour it would be altogether useless, and would
stand idle and unemployed. It is through the intervention
of labour that the products of the earth become valuable
and useful. Its surface is, in its natural state, covered with
fruits and game; its bowels contain an infinite variety of
mineral products; its seas and rivers are stored with fish ;
and it is endowed with inexhaustible vegetative and pro¬
ductive powers. But these powers and products are of no
use, and have no value, until man renders the former sub¬
servient to his purpose, and appropriates the latter, and
gives them the peculiar form required to fit them tor his
service.
The importance of labour in the production of wealth
was very clearly perceived both by Hobbes and Locke.
At the commencement of the 24th chapter (entitled, “ Of
the Nutrition and Procreation of a Commonwealth”) of the
Leviathan, published in 1651, Hobbes says, “ The nutri¬
tion of a commonwealth consisteth in the plenty and dis¬
tribution of materials conducing to life.
“ As for the plenty of matter, it is a thing limited by
nature to those commodities which, from (the two breasts
of our common mother) land and sea, God usually either
freely giveth, or for labour selleth to mankind.
“ lor the matter of this nutriment, consisting in animals,
vegetables, minerals, God hath freely laid them before us,
in or near to the face of the earth, so as there needeth no
more but the labour and industry of receiving them: in¬
somuch that plenty dependeth (next to God’s favour) on
the labour and industry of man.”
But Locke had a much clearer apprehension of this doc¬
trine. In his Essay on Civil Government, published in
1689, he has entered into a lengthened and able analysis
to show that the products of the earth owe almost all their
value to labour. “ Let any one consider,” says he, “ what
the difference is between an acre of land planted with to¬
bacco or sugar, sown with wheat or barley, and an acre
of the same land lying in common, without any husbandry
upon it, and he will find that the improvement of labour
makes the far greater part of the value. I think it will
be but a very modest computation to say that, of the
products of the earth useful to the life of man, nine-tenths
are the effects of labour; nay, if we will rightly consider
things as they come to our use, and cast up the several
expenses about them, what in them is purely owing to Production
nature and what to labour, we shall find that in most of of Wealth,
them ninety-nine hundredths are wholly to be put on the Vs—
account of labour.
“ There cannot be a clearer demonstration of anything
than several nations of the Americans are of this, who are
rich in land and poor in all the comforts of life; whom
nature, having furnished as liberally as any other people
with the materials of plenty,—i. e., a fruitful soil apt to pro¬
duce in abundance what might serve for food, raiment,
and delight,—yet, for want of improving it by labour,
have not one-hundredth part of the conveniences we enjoy ;
and the king of a large and fruitful territory there
feeds, lodges and is worse clad, than a day-labourer in
England.
“ To make this a little clear, let us but trace some of the
ordinary provisions of life through their several progresses
before they come to our use, and see how much of their
value they receive from human industry. Bread, wine, and
cloth are things of daily use and great plenty; yet not¬
withstanding, acorns, water, and leaves or skins must be
our bread, drink, and clothing, did not labour furnish us
with these more useful commodities; for whatever bread is
more worth than acorns, wine than water, and cloth or silk
than leaves, skins, or moss, that is solely owing to labour
and industry ; the one of these being the food and raiment
which unassisted nature furnishes us with, the other pro¬
visions which our industry and pains prepare for us, which
how much they exceed the other in value, when any one
hath computed, he will then see how much labour makes
the far greatest part of the value of things we enjoy in this
world; and the ground which produces the materials is
scarce to be reckoned on as any, or at most but a very
small part of it.
“ An acre of land that bears here twenty bushels of wheat,
and another in America which, with the same husbandry,
would do the like, are without doubt of the same natural
intrinsic value. But yet the benefit mankind receives from
the one in a year is worth L.5, and from the other possibly
not worth one penny; if all the profit an Indian received
from it were to be valued and sold here, at least, I may truly
say, not -roWth. ’Tis labour, then, which puts the greatest
part of value upon land, without which it would scarcely he
worth anything ; ’tis to that we owe the greatest part of
its useful products; for all that the straw, bran, bread, of
that acre of wheat is more worth than the product of an
acre of good land which lies waste, is all the effect of labour.
For ’tis not merely the ploughman’s pains, the reaper’s
and thrasher’s toil, and the baker’s swreat, is to be counted
into the bread we eat; the labour of those who broke the
oxen, who digged and wrought the iron and stones, who
felled and framed the timber employed about the plough,
mill, oven, or any other utensils, which are a vast number,
requisite to this corn, from its being seed to be sown to its
being made bread, must all be charged on the account of
labour, and received as an effect of that; Nature and the
earth furnishing only the almost worthless materials as in
themselves. ’Twould be a strange catalogue of things that
industry provided and made use of about every loaf of bread,
before it came to our use, if we could trace them. Iron,
wood, leather, barks, timber, stone, brick, coals, lime, cloth,
dyeing drugs, pitch, tar, masts, ropes, and all the materials
made use of in the ship that brought away the commodities
made use of by any of the workmen, to any part of the
work; all which it would be almost impossible, at least too
long, to reckon up.” (Of Civil Government, book ii., §§ 40,
41, 42, and 43.)1
Had Locke carried his analysis a little further, he could
is a very remarkable passage. It contains a far more distinct and comprehensive statement of the fundamental doctrine, that
a our is t le constituent principle of value, than is to be found in any other writer previous to Smith, or than is to be found even in the
VOL. XVIIL 2 F
226 ■ POLITIC AL E C ON OM Y.
Production not have failed to perceive that water, leaves, skins, and the is proportioned to the cost of its production, this (apart ProduBL
of Wealth, other spontaneous productions of nature, have no value from general fluctuations) is true in more than 999 out ofof Wet,
except what they owe to the labour required for their every 1000 instances. Those that are exceptions are so wV
appropriation. The value of water to a man placed on the very few as to be wholly inappreciable and undeserving of
bank of a river depends on the labour Required to raise it any notice.
to his lips; and its value,’when carried ten or twenty miles It is to labour, therefore, that we owe everything pos-
off, is equally dependent on the labour required to convey sessed of exchangeable value. Dii laboribus omnia ven-
it there. All the rude products and capacities of nature dunt. Labour is the talisman that has raised man from
are gratuitously offered to man. She is not niggardly or the condition of the savage—that has changed the desert
parsimonious. She neither demands; nor receives an equi- and the forest into cultivated fields—that has covered the
valent for her favours. An object .or a power .'which may earth with cities and the ocean with ships—that has given
be freely appropriated or applied to our-use, may, like the him plenty, comfort, and elegance, instead of want, misery,
water which floats a ship, or the wind which flljs. her sails, be and barbarism.
of the very highest utility; but being the free gift of nature, “ Why,” asks Dr Barrow, “is any man a beggar, why
it has no value.1 ‘ _ contemptible, why ignorant, why vicious, why miserable”?
“ Si je retranche,” to use a striking illustration of this Why, but for this one reason, because he is slothful; be-
doctrine given by M. Canard, ££ de mamontre, par la pensee, cause he will not labour to rid himself of these evils?”
tous les travaux qui lui out ete successivement appliquees, (Second Sermon on Industry.)
il ne resterai que quelques grains de mineral placees dans Having established this fundamental principle—having
I’interieur de la terre, d’o.u1 on les a tires, et oil ils n’ont shown that labour alone gives value to commodities and
aucune valeur.. De meme, si je decompose le pain que je procures for us whatever we most covet and desire—it is
mange, et que j’en retranche, successivement tous les tra- plain that the great practical problem of this science must
vaux successifs qu’il a requs, 'il ne restera que quelques tiges resolve itself into a discussion of the means by which labour
d’herbes, graminees, eparses dans des desertes inculcates, may be rendered most efficient, that is, by which the
et Sans aucune valeur.” (Principes d’Economic Politique, greatest amount of necessary and desirable products may
p. 6.) be obtained with the least outlay of labour. Every measure
• •• It has been said that demand is the source or cause of and invention that has any tendency to save labour, or to
. value. Such, however, is not the case. The real or sup- reduce the cost of commodities, adds proportionally to our
posed suitableness of certain articles to satisfy our wants, command over wealth and riches; while every measure
or to add to our enjoyments, makes them, as already seen, or regulation that has any tendency to waste or misapply
objects of desire or demand. But their value depends en- labour, or to raise the cost of commodities, equally lessens
tirely on the greater or less difficulty of obtaining them, this command. This is the simple and decisive test by
that is, on the greater or less quantity of labour required which we are to judge of every measure affecting the
to produce or acquire them. This labour, therefore, is at wealth of the country, and of every invention. If they ren¬
once the source and the measure of their value. der labour more productive—if they tend to reduce the
But suppose that we stumble upon a nugget of gold or a value of commodities—to render them more easily obtain-
diamond, are we to be told, it is asked, that its value is able, and consequently to bring them within the command
proportioned only to the labour, if so it may be called, of a greater portion of society—they are advantageous ; but
expended in finding it? No ! you are to be told nothing if their tendency be different, they are as certainly disad-
of the sort. In these and all similar inquiries, the ques- vantageous. Considered in this point of view, that great
tion does not turn upon accidental or exceptional occur- branch of the science which treats of the production of
rences, like that now referred to, but upon the nature of wealth will be found to be abundantly simple, and easily
the processes necessary to obtain sufficient supplies of the understood.
required article. If gold and diamonds could be had in Labour, according as it is applied to the raising of raw
any quantity in the easy way that has been specified, their produce—to the fashioning of that raw produce, when
value would sink accordingly, and they would become raised, into articles of utility, convenience, or ornament—
cheaper than iron or bits of glass. But not one mil- and to the conveyance of raw and wrought products from
lionth—no, nor one ten-millionth—part of the supplies one country and place to another—is said to be agricultural,
of gold and diamonds brought to market has ever been, or manufacturing, and commercial. An acquaintance with
ever will be, furnished by chance finders. And the quan- the particular processes and most advantageous methods
tities offered by them being so extremely small as to have of applying labour in each of these great departments of
no influence of any kind upon the market, they are sold at industry, forms the appropriate study of the agriculturist,
the price necessary to indemnify the ordinary producers of manufacturer, and merchant. It is not consistent with his
the metal and the gem. And hence, though it may not be objects for the political economist to enter into the details
strictly true of every sovereign in existence, or of every of particular businesses and professions. He confines him-
diamond, hat, or other article in the shops, that its price self to an investigation of the means by which labour gene-
Wealth of Nations. But Locke does not seem to have been sufficiently aware of the value of the principle he had elucidated, and has not
deduced from it any important practical conclusion. On the contrary, in his tract on the Raising of the Value of Money, published in
1691, he lays it down broadly, that a^l taxes, however imposed, ultimately fall on the land ; whereas it is plain he should, consistently
with the above principle, have shown that they would fall, not exclusively on the produce of land, but generally on the produce of in¬
dustry, or on all species of commodities.
1 Bishop Berkeley entertained very just opinions respecting the source of wealth. In his Querist, published in 1735, he asks,—
“ Whether it were not wrong to suppose land itself to be wealth ? And whether the industry of the people is not first to be considered as
that which constitutes wealth, which makes even land and silver to be wealth, neither of which would have any value but as means and
motives to industry ?'’ “ Whether, in the wastes of America, a man might not possess twenty miles square of land, and yet want his
dinner or a coat to his back.” (Querist, Nos. 38 and 39.) We shall afterwards notice Sir William Petty’s opinion on this subject. Say
appears to think (Discours Priliminaire, p. 37) that Galiani was the fiist to show, in his treatise Della Moneta, published in 1750, that
labour is the only source of wealth. But the passages we have now laid before the reader prove the erroneousness of this opinion,
ualiani has entered into no analysis or argument to prove the correctness of his statement; and as it appears from other parts of his
work that he was well acquainted with Locke’s Tracts on Money, a suspicion naturally arises that he had seen the Essay on Civil Govern¬
ment, and that he was really indebted to it for a knowledge of this principle. This suspicion derives strength from the circumstance of
Galiani being still less aware than Mr Locke of the value of the discovery. (See Trattato della Moneta, p. 39, ediz. 1780.)
...
POLITICAL ECONOMY.
227
Production rally may be rendered most productive, and how its powers
of Wealth. may be increased in all departments of industry.
Sect. II.—Means by which the Productive Powers of La¬
bour are Increased,—Security of Property.—Division of
Labour.—Accumulation and Employment of Capital.
Means by The most careless and inattentive observer of the pro-
which the gress of mankind from poverty to affluence must have early
productive perceived that there are three circumstances whose conjoint
powers of 0peration is necessary to stimulate and improve the produc-
be^in-1 t‘ve Powers of industry. The first and most indispensable is
creased. that security of property, which produces a strong conviction
in the mind of individuals that they will be allowed to dis¬
pose at pleasure of the fruits of their industry. The second
is the introduction of exchange or barter, and the conse¬
quent appropriation of particular individuals to particular
employments. And the third is the accumulation and em¬
ployment of the produce of previous labour, or, as it is more
commonly termed, of capital or stock. Every improvement
that either has been or that may yet be made in the produc¬
tion of necessaries and conveniences, will be found to be
resolvable into the more judicious application of one or more
of those means of stimulating labour, and adding to its power.
To give a full exposition of the nature and influence of each
would far exceed the limits of this article; and we must
content ourselves with such observations as may suffice to
give a general idea of their operation.
Security of Security of property is the first and most indispensable
property, requisite to the production of wealth. Its utility in this
respect is so obvious, as to make it be more or less
respected in every country, and in the earliest and rudest
periods. All have been impressed with the reasonableness
of the maxim which teaches that those who sow should be
permitted to reap ; that the labour of a man’s body and the
work of his hands should be considered as exclusively his
own. No horde, how barbarous soever, has been dis¬
covered in which the principle of meum and tuum was not
recognised. Nothing, it is evident, could ever tempt any
one to engage in laborious employments—he would neither
domesticate wild animals, nor clear and cultivate the ground,
—if, after months and years of toil, when his flocks had
become numerous, and his harvests were ripening for the
sickle, a stranger were allowed to rob him of the produce
of his industry. No wonder, therefore, that the utility of
regulations fitted to secure to individuals the peaceable
enjoyment of the produce they had raised, and of the ground
they had cultivated and improved, suggested itself to the
first legislators. The author of the book of Job places
those who removed their neighbours’ landmarks at the
head of his list of wicked men; and some of the earliest
profane legislators subjected those guilty of this offence to
a capital punishment. (Goguet, De VOrigine des Loix,
See., tom. i., p. 30, 4to ed.)
Paley has said that the law of the land is the real
foundation of the right of property. But the obvious uti¬
lity of securing to individuals the property acquired by
their industry has undoubtedly formed the irresistible reason
which has induced every people emerging from barbarism
to establish this right. It is, in truth, the foundation on
which all the institutions of society rest. Until property
has been publicly guaranteed, men look on each other as
enemies rather than as friends. The idle and improvident
are always desirous of seizing on the earnings of the labo¬
rious and frugal; and were their efforts to enrich them¬
selves by the plunder of their neighbours not restrained by
the strong arm of the law, they would, by generating a
feeling of insecurity, effectually check both industry and
accumulation, and sink all classes to the same level of
hopeless misery as themselves. Nor is the security of
property less necessary to accumulation than to production. Production
No man ever denies himself an immediate gratification of Wealth,
when it is within his power,, unless he think that by doino- ^
so he has a fair prospect of obtaining at some future period
a greater accession of comforts and enjoyments, or of avoid¬
ing some considerable evil. Where the right of property
is vigilantly protected, an industrious man, who produces
as much by one day’s labour as is sufficient to maintain
him two days', instead of idling away the second day, accu¬
mulates the surplus which exceeds his wants as a capital;
the increased consequence and enjoyments which the pos¬
session of capital brings along with it being, in the great
majority of case.s, more than sufficient to countervail the
desire of immediate gratification. But wherever property
is insecure, we look iii vain for the operation of this prin¬
ciple. “ It is plainly better for us,” is then the invariable
language of the people, “ to enjoy while it is in our power,
than to accumulate property which we shall not be permitted
to use, and which will either expose us to the extortion of a
rapacious government, or ito the depredations of those who
exist only by the plunder of their more industrious neigh¬
bours.”
1 he right of property is not violated merely when a
man is deprived of the power of peaceably enjoying the
fruits of his industry; it is also violated, and perhaps in a
still more unjustifiable manner, when he is prevented from
exerting himself in any way not injurious to others that he
considers most likely to conduce to his interests. Of all
the species of property which a man can possess, the
faculties of his mind and the powers of his body are most
particularly his own. He should therefore be permitted to
enjoy, that is, to use or exert these powers at discretion.
And hence the right of property is as much or more in-
fi inged upon when a man is interdicted from engaging in
such and such branches of business, as it is when the pro¬
perty he has produced and accumulated is forcibly taken
from him. Every monopoly which gives to a few indivi¬
duals the power to carry on certain branches of industry
to the exclusion of others, is thus, in fact, established in
direct violation of the rights of every one else. It pre¬
vents them from using their natural capacities or powers
in the way they might consider best; and as every man
who is not a slave is justly held to be the best judge of what
is advantageous for himself, the principles of natural law
and the right of property are both subverted when he is
excluded from any lawful business. In like manner, the
right of property is violated whenever individuals are obliged
to employ themselves or their property in any specified
manner, to accept certain rates of interest for loans, or
certain rates of wages, and so forth.
I he finest soil, the finest climate, and the finest intellec- Effects of
tual powers can prevent no people from becoming barba- insecurity,
rous, poor, and miserable, if they have the misfortune to be
subjected to a government which does not respect and
support the right of property. This is the greatest of all
calamities. The ravages of civil war, of pestilence, and of
famine may be repaired, but nothing can enable a nation
to contend against the deadly influence of an established
system of violence and rapine. The want of security, ofa
lively and well-founded expectation of being permitted
freely to dispose of the fruits of industry, is the principal
cause of the wretched state of the Ottoman dominions in
the present day, as it was of the decline of industry and
arts in Europe during the middle ages. When the Turkish
conquerors overran those fertile and beautiful countries in
which, to the disgrace of the other European powers, they
are still permitted to encamp, they parcelled them among
their followers, on condition of their performing certain
military services, on a plan corresponding in many import¬
ant particulars to the feudal system of our ancestors. But
these possessions are not hereditary. And unless their
228 POLITICAL
Production present possessors leave them in trust to some religious
of Wealth, incorporation for behoof of their children and legatees,
they would, on their death, revert to the sultan. Hence,
among the greater number of the occupiers of land in
Turkey there is little thought of futurity. No one feels any
interest about the prosperity of an unknown successor, and,
except in the peculiar cases now mentioned, no one ever
executes any improvement unless he expects to reap all
the advantage during, his own life. This is the cause why
the Turks are so extremely careless about their houses.
They seldom construct them of solid or durable materials.
And it would be a gratification were they assured that
they would fall to pieces the moment they have breathed
their last. Under this miserable system the palaces have-,
been changed into cottages, and the cities into villages.
The long-continued want of security has extinguished the
very spirit of industry, and destroyed not only the power,
but even the desire to emerge from barbarism.
Had it been possible for arbitrary power to profit by the
lessons of experience, it would long since have perceived
that its own wealth, as well as that of its subjects, would
be best promoted by maintaining the inviolability of pro¬
perty. Were the Turkish government to establish a vigi¬
lant system of police, to give to individuals full power to
dispose of the fruits of their labour, and to substitute a
regular plan of taxation for the present odious system of
extortion and tyranny, industry would revive, capital and
population would be augmented,, and moderate duties, im¬
posed on a few articles in general demand, would bring a
much larger sum into the coffers of the treasury than all
that is now obtained by force and violence. The stated
public burdens to which the Turks are subject are light
compared with those, imposed on the English, the Hol¬
landers, and the French. But when the latter have paid
the taxes due to government, they know they will be per¬
mitted peaceably to enjoy or accumulate the remainder of
their earnings; whereas the Turk, notwithstanding the
reforms of which so much has been said, has no security
but that, the moment after he has paid his stated contribu¬
tion, the pasha, or one of his satellites, may strip him of
every additional farthing he possesses. Security is the
foundation, the principal element, in evei'y well-digested
system of finance. When maintained inviolate, it enables
countries to support with little difficulty a very heavy
load of taxes; but where there is no security, where pro¬
perty is a prey to rapine and spoliation, to the attacks of
the needy, the powerful, or the profligate, the smallest
burdens are justly regarded as oppressive, and uniformly
exceed the means of the impoverished and spiritless inha¬
bitants.
Let us not, therefore, deceive ourselves by supposing
that it is possible for any people to emerge from barbarism,
or to become wealthy, populous, and civilized, without the
security of property. From whatever point of the political
compass we may set out, this is the principle to which we
must come at last. Security is indispensable to the suc-
ECONOMY.
cessful exertion of the powers of industry. Where it is Productii
wanting, it is idle to expect either riches or civilization.1 °fWealtt
“ The exclusive right to the produce is the only excite-
ment tp industry which acts constantly and universally—
the only spring which keeps human labour in motion.’ 2
Rousseau and some other writers of his caste have made Objection
an objection to the right of property, which has been in of K°us-
some measure sanctioned by Beccaria.3 They allow that
this right is advantageous for those who possess property; ilUfound,
but they contend that it is disadvantageous for those who
are poor and destitute. It condemns, say they, the greater
portion of mankind to a state of misery, and provides for
the exaltation of the few by the depression of the many!
The' sophistry of this reasoning is so apparent as hardly to
require being pointed out. The right of property has not
made poverty, but it has made wealth. Previously to its
institution, those nations which are now most civilized
were sunk to the same level of wretchedness and misery
as the' savages of New Holland and Kamtschatka. All
classes have been benefited by the change, and it is mere
error and delusion to suppose that the rich have been
benefited at the expense of the poor. The right of pro¬
perty gives no advantage to any one man over any other
man. It deals out justice impartially to all. It does not
say, “ Labour, and I shall reward you,” but it says, “ La¬
bour, and I shall take care that none be permitted to rob
you of the produce of your exertions.” This right has not
made all men rich, because it could not make all men frugal,
fortunate, and industrious. But it has done more than all
the other institutions of society put together to produce that
result. It is not, as it has been sometimes ignorantly or
knavishly represented, a bulwark thrown up to protect the
property of a few favourites of fortune. It is a rampart
raised by society against its common enemies,—against
rapine and violence, plunder and oppression. Without its
protection, the rich man would become poor, and the poor
man would never be able to become rich,—all would sink
to the same bottomless abyss of barbarism and poverty.
“ The security of property has overcome the natural aver¬
sion of man from labour, given him the empire of the earth,
a fixed and permanent residence, and has implanted in his
breast the love of country and of posterity. To enjoy im¬
mediately,—to enjoy without labour,—is the natural in¬
clination of every man. This inclination must be restrained;
for its obvious tendency is to arm all who have nothing
against those who have something. The law which re¬
strains this inclination, and which secures to the humblest
individual the quiet enjoyment of the fruits of his industry,
is the most splendid achievement of legislative wisdom,—
the noblest triumph of which humanity has to boast.”
(Bentham, Traite de Legislation, tom. ii., p. 37.)4
Division of Labour.—The division of labour may be Division
best treated of in two branches,—viz., ls£, The division oflabour
labour among individuals; and, 2d, Its division among
nations.
1 “ Ce n’est que la ou les proprietes sont assures, ou Temploi des capitaux est abandonne au choix de ceux qui les possedent; ce n’est
que la, dis-je, que les particuliers seront encourages a se soumettre aux privations le plus dures pour compenser par leurs epargnes les
retards que la profusion du gouvernement peut apporter aux progres de la richesse national. Si I’Angleterre, malgre ses guerres rui-
neuses, est parvenue a un haut degre d’opulence; si, malgre les contributions enormes dont le peuple y est charge, son capital est pour-
tant accrue dans le silence par 1’economie des particuliers, il ne faut attribuer ces effets qu’a la liberte des personnes, et a la suret6 des
proprietes qui v regnent plus que dans aucun autre pays de 1’Europe, la Suisse excepte.” (Storch, TraitS d;Economic Politique, tom. i.,
p. 317.) ^ J s 2 Paley’s MoraZPAtfosopAy, b. vi., cap. 11.
3 Speaking of theft, Beccaria calls it “ II delitto di quella infelice parte di uomini a cui il diritto di proprietd, (terribile, e forse non ne-
cessario diritto), non ha lasciato che una nuda essistenzaP {JDei Delitti e delle Pene, § 22.)
* Tbe treatise of M. Thiers, De la Propriete, is deserving of the highest commendation. It was published in 1848, when Communism
was struggling for the ascendant, and the maxim la propriite Pest le vol was current in France. Thiers has set in the clearest light
the folly, and indeed, atrocity of the projects involved in the schemes of the Communists, and in the principles, if so we may call the
miserable fallacies, on which they were said to he bottomed; and has forcibly depicted the universal poverty and barbarism that would
inevitably follow from their being adopted. It says little for the progress of science, or for the influence of common-sense, that such
pernicious theories should have received any popular support. It is satisfactory, however, to find that, when put forth, their real cha¬
racter and tendency was so promptly and ably exposed.
POLITICAL ECONOMY.
Production 1. Individual Division of Labour.—The division of
if Wealth, labour can only be imperfectly introduced in rude societies
and thinly-peopled countries. But in every state of society,
in the rudest as well as in the most improved, we may trace
its operation and effects. Men are endowed with such
various physical powers, talents, and propensities, that those
who are best fitted for some pursuits, are not unfrequently
wholly unfit for others. These differences being palpable
and obvious, a regard to their mutual interest and con¬
venience would lead them, at a very early period, to
introduce the practice of barter and a subdivision of em¬
ployments. And a brief experience would suffice to show,
not only that their tasks were in consequence better suited
to their capacities, but that their aggregate production was
largely increased ; and that to obtain the greatest supply of
useful and desirable articles, they should apply themselves
to particular businesses, and exchange the articles each
had to spare for such of the products of his neighbours as
he had occasion for, and they were willing to part with. As
society advances, this system becomes more and more ex¬
tended. In process of time different men become tanners
or dressers of skins, shoemakers, weavers, house-carpenters,
smiths, and so on; and each endeavours to cultivate and
bring to perfection whatever talent or genius he may
possess for the peculiar branch of industry in which he
is employed. The mass of necessary and desirable articles
and services is in consequence prodigiously augmented.
Wherever the division of labour is carried to any consi¬
derable extent, agriculturists do not spend their time in
clumsy attempts to manufacture their own produce; and
manufacturers cease to interest themselves about the rais¬
ing of corn and the fattening of cattle. The facility of
exchanging is the vivifying principle of industry. It stimu¬
lates agriculturists to adopt the best system of cultivation,
and to raise the largest crops, that they may barter such
portions of their produce as exceed their wants for the
various articles furnished by manufacturers and merchants ;
and it stimulates the latter to put forth their energies in
the view of obtaining greater quantities of agricultural and
other raw products. Hence it is that the business of an
advanced society resolves itself almost entirely into the ne¬
gotiation of exchanges; and that society itself may be said
to be an association founded on a principle of reciprocity,
229
mind and powers of his body are made to bear, as it were, Prodnctioa
on it only, he can hardly fail to attain to a degree of pro- of Wealth,
nciency in that calling to which no individual engaged
in a variety of occupations can be expected to reach. ^ A
peculiar play of the muscles, or sleight-of-hand, is-neces¬
sary to perform the simplest operation in the best and
most expeditious manner; and this can only be acquired
by constant practice. Smith has given an example, in
the case of the nail manufacturer, of the extreme differ¬
ence between training a workman to the precise occupa¬
tion, in which he is to be employed, and training him
to a similar and closely allied occupation. “A common
smith,” says he, “ who, though accustomed to handle the
hammer, has never been used to make nails, if, upon
some particular occasion, he is obliged to attempt it, will
scarce, I am assured, be able' to make above two or three
hundred nails in a day, and those very bad ones. A
smith who has been accustomed to make nails, but whose
sole or principal business has not been that of a nailer, can
seldom, with his utmost diligence, make more than eight
hundred or a thousand nails in a day. But I have seen
several boys under twenty years of age, who had never
exercised any other trade but that of making nails, who,
when they exerted themselves, could make each of them
upwards of two thousand three hundred nails in a day
or nearly three times the number of the smith who had
been accustomed to make them, but who was not entirely
devoted to that particular business!
2d, The division of labour prevents that waste of time Saves time.
in moving from one employment to another which neces¬
sarily takes place when the same individuals have succes¬
sively to engage in different occupations. If these be car¬
ried on at considerable distances from each other, and
require, as they generally do, different sets of topis, the
serious loss of time that is occasioned by leaving one and
going to another is obvious. And though the employments
were contiguous, or concentrated in the same workshop, the
loss would be very considerable. For, as Smith has observed,
“ a man commonly saunters a little in changing from one
business to another. When he first begins his work, he is
seldom keen or hearty; his mind is said not to go along
with it, and for some time he rather trifles than applies
himself to good purpose. The habit of sauntering, and of
• i • , , . „ , * . r     jjuijjuoc. .lug na.uu ui sauniermg, ana ot
in which, speaking generally, nothing is to be had except indolent, careless application, which is naturally or rather
or^n eclulvalent of one sort or other.1 necessarilv. acouired hv pvorv rrmrorv worLmor.
for an equivalent of one sort or other
The advantages that result from individuals being able
to embrace the pursuits which are most agreeable to their
tastes, and for which they are best suited, are too apparent
to require further notice. But the influence of the division
of employments in adding to the efficiency of labour, though
less obvious than the other, is no less important, and re¬
quires to be set in its true light. This has been done
in a very masterly manner by Smith, who has classed
the circumstances which make the division of labour in¬
crease its productive powers under the following heads:—
First, 1 he increase of the skill and dexterity of the work¬
man ; Second, The saving of time, which would otherwise
be lost in passing from one employment to another; and,
Ihird, The tendency of the division of employments to
acihtate the invention of machines and processes for
abridging and saving labour. We shall make a few ob¬
servations on each of these heads.
lsl0.n of }st' As respects the increased skill and dexterity of the
Cl ses'the , MT’ U ‘S pkin that when a Person’s whole attention is
si and aevoted t0 sonie one calling, when all the energies of his
ferity of
itnen.
necessarily, acquired by every country workman, who is
obliged to change his work and his tools every half hour,
and to apply his hand in twenty different ways almost
every day of his life, renders him almost always slothful
and lazy, and incapable of any vigorous application, even
on the most pressing occasions. Independent, therefore, of
his deficiency in point of dexterity, this cause alone must
always reduce considerably the quantity of work which he
is capable of performing.” ( Wealth of Nations, p. 5.)
2>d, As respects the tendency of the division of employ- Facilitates
ments to facilitate the invention of machines and processes the inven-
for saving labour, it is obvious that those engaged in an Indus-tion of ma-
trial pursuit will be more likely to discover easier and readier chines-
methods of carrying it on when their attention is devoted
exclusively to it, than if they had occasionally to attend to
a number of other pursuits. But it is a mistake to suppose,
as is sometimes done, that the influence of the division of
labour is confined to work-people and artificers. It extends
to all classes,—to those who work with the head as well as
those who work with the hand. As society advances, the
study of particular branches of science and philosophy be-
aucune LionP0!ntJe <lire \ soci“t® eatpurement et uniquement une sfoie continuelle d'echanges; elle n’est jamais autre chose dans
quW en n3Se f7l0 77PU1S so" commence™nt ^ plus informe jusqu’a sa plus grande perfection; et c’est Id le plus grand elo"
consequent la snr''"t"’ C7 60 68 -Une transactl011 admirable, dans laquelle les deux contracteurs gagnent toujours tous deux - oar
SE p. 144 ) Une SUlt0 n°n lnterromPue d’avantages sans cesse renaissans pour tous ses membres.”
(Destutt Tracy, Economie
230 POLITICAL
Produc- comes the principal or sole occupation of the most inge-
tion of nioug men. Chemistry becomes a distinct science from na-
Wealth. turaj philosophy; the physical astronomer separates himself
*' v""‘ from the astronomical observer; the political economist from
the politician; and each meditating exclusively or princi¬
pally on his peculiar department, attains to a degree of pro¬
ficiency and expertness in it which the general scholar sel¬
dom or never reaches. And hence, in labouring to promote
our own ends, we adopt those courses which are most ad¬
vantageous for all. Like the different parts of a well-con¬
structed engine, the inhabitants of countries like England
are all mutually dependent on and connected with each
other. Without any previous concert, and obeying only the
powerful and steady impulse of self-interest, they univer¬
sally conspire to the same great end, and contribute, each
in his respective sphere, to furnish the greatest supply of
necessaries, conveniences, and enjoyments.
Division of But it should be observed that the advantages de-
la bom- ID rive(i from the division of labour, though they are partially
tbeExtent enjoyed in every country and state of society, are only
ofthe mar- reaped in their full extent where there is a great power of
ket. exchanging, or an extensive market. Many employments
cannot be separately carried on beyond the precincts of a
large city; and in all cases the division becomes more per¬
fect according as the demand for the produce of the work
is extended. It is stated by Smith that in his time ten
labourers employed in different departments in a pin
factory could produce 48,000 pins a day; and such has
been the progress of improvement, that they are now
(1858) able to produce twice that number, or upwards.
But, unless the demand had been sufficiently extensive to
take off this increased quantity, it is evident that the
greater division of employments and other improvements
introduced into the factory, could not have been carried to
their present extent. And this principle holds in every
case. A cotton-mill could not be constructed in a small
country having no intercourse with its neighbours. The de¬
mand and competition ofthe commercial world have been ne¬
cessary to carry the manufactures of Glasgow, Manchester,
and Birmingham to their present state of improvement.
The influence of the division of labour in multiplying and
perfecting the products of industry was noticed by several
writers previous to Smith, especially Harris and Turgot.
But none of them did what Smith has done. None
of them fully analysed and exhibited its various effects,
or showed that the power of engaging in different employ¬
ments depends on the power of exchanging; and that
consequently the advantages derived from the division
of labour are dependent on, and regulated by, the extent
of the market. This is a principle of great importance,
by establishing which Smith shed a new light on the
theory of production, and laid the foundation of many
important practical conclusions. “ Presentee de cette ma-
niere,” says M. Storch, “ 1’idee de la division du travail etoit
absolument neuve; et feffet qu’elle a fait sur les contem-
porains de Smith, prouve bien qu’elle 1’etoit reellement pour
eux. Telle qu’elle se trouve indiquee dans les passages que je
viens de citer, elle n’a fait aucune impression. Developpee
par Smith, cette idee a d’abord saisi tous ses lecteurs; tous
en ont senti la verite et 1’importance; et cela suffit pour lui en
assurer tout 1’honneur, lors memeque son genie ait ete guide
par les indications de ses devanciers,” (lome vi., p. 10.)
Territorial 2. Territorial Division of Labour, or Commerce.— The
division of division of labour is not confined to its effect on the oceu-
labour. pations of men in limited societies. It extends much
further than this; and influences the population of entire
provinces, and even great nations, in the same way that
it influences individuals and families, by teaching them
that it is for their interest to addict themselves in preference
to those industrial pursuits for succeeding in which they
ECONOMY.
have some natural or acquired advantage. And hence the Produc-
territorial division of employments, and the commerce of ti°n °f
which it is at once the cause and the effect. The various ''ealth.
soils, climates, and capacities of the different distiicts of m
an extensive country render some particularly well suited
for the prosecution of certain branches of industry, and
others for the prosecution of other branches. A dis¬
trict where coal is abundant, which has an easy access to
the ocean, and a considerable command of internal navi¬
gation, is the natural seat of manufactures. Wheat and
other species of grain are the proper products of rich arable
soils ; and cattle, after being reared in mountainous districts,
are most advantageously fattened in meadows and low
grounds. Nothing is more obvious than that the inhabi¬
tants of these districts, by confining themselves to the
businesses for the carrying on of which they have some
especial capability, will produce a much greater aggregate
quantity of useful and desirable articles than they could
do were they to engage indiscriminately in every possible
employment. It cannot be doubted that a vastly greater
supply of manufactured goods, corn, and cattle, is pro¬
duced by the inhabitants of Glasgow, the Carse of Gowrie,
and Argyleshire respectively, confining themselves to ma¬
nufactures, agriculture, and the rearing of cattle, than if
each had endeavoured, in addition to their own, to raise the
products peculiar to the others.
But it is easy to see that foreign trade, or the territorial
division of labour between different and independent coun¬
tries, contributes to increase the wealth of each in the same
manner that the trade between different provinces of the
same kingdom contributes to increase their wealth. 1 here
is a still greater difference between the productive powers
with which nature has endowed different and distant coun¬
tries than there is between those of the provinces of the
same country. The establishment of a free intercourse be¬
tween them must therefore be proportionally more advan¬
tageous. It would evidently cost a great deal more to
raise the wines of France or Spain in England, than to
make Yorkshire yield the same products as Devonshire.
Indeed there are a multitude of products, some of which
are of the very greatest utility, that cannot be raised except
in particular situations. Were it not for our commercial
intercourse with foreigners, we should be wholly destitute of
tea, raw cotton, raw silk, gold bullion, and a thousand other
equally useful and valuable commodities. Providence, by
giving different soils, climates, and natural productions to
different countries, has evidently provided for their mutual
intercourse and civilization. There can, indeed, be no
reasonable doubt, had their trade been free and unfettered,
that each people would have engaged in preference in those
departments of industry in which their genius, the capa¬
cities of their soil, their products, climate, and situation
fitted them to excel. And though, owing to the preva¬
lence of that selfish and short-sighted policy, of which we
have traced the outline, the benefits that would have re¬
sulted from foreign trade have been greatly diminished,
still it would be no easy matter to exaggerate the amount
and importance of those of which, even in its restricted
state, it has been productive. Products of all sorts have
been multiplied and cheapened ; and their distribution binds
together the universal society of nations by the common
and powerful ties of mutual interest and reciprocal obliga¬
tion. Commerce has also, by showing how greatly they
are indebted to others, moderated the extravagantly high
opinion which nations, when they have little intercourse
with their neighbours, are too apt to entertain of them¬
selves ; and has thus either wholly removed or greatly
weakened a host of unworthy prejudices. It has shown
that nothing can be more illiberal and absurd than the
once prevalent dread of the progress of others in wealth
and civilization ; and that the true glory and real interest
POLITICAL ECONOMY.
Produc¬
tion of
Wealth.
! Effect of
the terri
ing nation
al wealth.
of every nation will be more certainly advanced by en¬
deavouring to emulate and outstrip its neighbours in the
career of science and civilization, than by labouring to
attain a barren pre-eminence in the bloody and destructive,
though necessary, art of war.
The way in which commerce gives increased efficacy
to labour, and augments national wealth, may be easily
torial divi-illustrated. Thus, in the case of the intercourse, or terri-
eionofla- torial division of labour, carried on between England and
b0(rment- PortuSal’ our superior wool, added to our^command of coal,
augmen - gj.j]fuj workmeilj antl improved machinery, enable us to pro¬
duce cloth at a much cheaper rate than the Portuguese;
while, on the other hand, the soil and climate of Portugal
being peculiarly favourable for the growth of the grape,
she produces wine at an infinitely less cost than it could
be produced for here. And hence it is obvious that, by
exchanging cloth for wine, and wine for cloth, both parties,
the English and Portuguese, are greatly benefited. Each
of them is incomparably better supplied than they other¬
wise would be with useful and desirable articles. Portions
of theii capital and industry are diverted into those channels
in which they are natuially most productive and most se¬
cure ; and in which, consequently, it is not more for their
own than foi the general advantage of mankind that they
should be employed.
  These statements are sufficient to expose the sophism
the French of the Economists, who contended that, as equivalents
Economists must always be given for commodities brought from
Sect of com- abl0a^» fbrei> commerce could not be a means of in-
merce. cieasing wealth. How, they asked, can wealth be increased
by giving equal values for equal values ? They admitted that
commerce might make a better distribution of the wealth of
the world; but as it merely exchanged one sort of wealth for
another, they denied that it could make any addition to its
amount. At first sight, this sophistical and delusive state¬
ment appears sufficiently conclusive ; but a very few words
will be enough to demonstrate its fallacy. In commercial
transactions none of the parties obtain articles of greater
value than those they gave in exchange for them. The cloth
with which the English merchant purchases Portuguese
wine may have cost as much as the latter, or it may have
cost more. But then it must be observed that, in making
tie exchange, the value of the wine is estimated by wdiat it
takes to produce it in Portugal, which has peculiar capabili¬
ties tor that species of industry, and not by what it would
take to produce it in England were the trade put an end
to; and, in like manner, the value of the cloth is estimated
by what it takes to produce it in England, and not by what
would to produce it in Portugal. Hence, by trad-
Sophism of
ing together, countries obtain commodities which it might
not be possible for them to produce at home, or, if possible
only at a comparatively heavy cost, for what it takes to
produce them in other countries under the most favourable
cucumstances, and at the least expense. The gain of one
is not the loss of another. They are universally benefited
by the intercourse ; for their labour being better distributed
and rendered more efficient, they all obtain larger supplies
of useful and desirable articles.
To set this important principle in a clearer point of view
let it be supposed that in England a given number of men
can in a given time, manufacture 10,000 yards of cloth
and raise 1000 quarters of wheat, and that the same num-
\U a gU'en time’ mantaacture in Poland
5000 yards of cloth and raise 2000 quarteig of wheat. It
is plain that the establishment of a free intercourse between
Me two countries would in these circumstances enable
England, by manufacturing cloth and exporting it to Po-
and, to obtain twice the quantity of corn in exchange for a
given outlay of capital and labour that she would obtain in
return for the same outlay on cultivation at home ; and
oland would, on her part, be enabled to obtain twice as
increasing wealth ! W ere the intercourse between Eng¬
land and Portugal and the West Indies put an end to It
would require at least fifty or a hundred times the expense
to produce port-wine, sugar, and coffee, directly in this
country, that is required to produce the equivalents sent to
Portugal and the West Indies in exchange for them.
And no outlay, however great, could directly supply us
with teas, spices, and fifty other most important articles.
“ Ihe commerce of one country with another is merely
an extension of that division of labour by which so many
benefits are conferred on the human race. As the same
country is rendered richer by the trade of one province
with another; as its labour becomes thus infinitely more
divided and more productive than it could otherwise have
been ; and as the mutual interchange of all those commo¬
dities which one province has and another wants, multiplies
the accommodations and comforts of the whole, and the
country becomes thus in a wonderful degree more opulent
and happy; so the same beautiful train of consequences is
observable in the world at large, that vast empire of which
the different kingdoms may be regarded as the provinces.
In this magnificent empire one province is favourable to
the production of one species of produce, and another pro¬
vince of another. By their mutual intercourse mankind
are enabled to distribute their labour as best fits the genius
of each particular country and people. The industry of
the whole is thus rendered incomparably more productive,
and every species of necessary, useful, and agreeable ac¬
commodation is obtained in much greater abundance, and
with infinitely less expense.” (Mill’s Commerce Defended,
p. 38.) J ’
lo enter into a more enlarged discussion of this interest¬
ing and important subject would be inconsistent alike with
the objects and limits of this article. In the articles on
Colonies, and the Corn Laws and Corn Trade, we have
examined the policy of the restrictions on the colonial and
coin tiades; and in the article Exchange we have pointed
out the circumstances which regulate the importation and
exportation of the precious metals, and have shown that,
instead of an excess of exports over imports being any
criterion of an advantageous commerce, it is quite the
levelse, and that it is by the excess of the imports over
the exports that the gain of the merchants, and conse¬
quently of the community, is to be estimated. In the
fourth book of the Wealth of Nations, Adam Smith has
examined and refuted the various arguments in favour of
restrictions on commerce in the most able and masterly
manner, and with an amplitude of illustration which leaves
little to be desired. A very complete exposure of the
sophisms of the French Economists on the subject of
commerce may be found in the pamphlets of Mill {Com¬
merce Defended) and Colonel Torrens {Economists Re¬
futed), in answer to Spence’s pamphlet entitled Britain
Indepeiident of Commerce. And ample information on
most points relating to the practice, theory, and history of
commerce will be found in the Principles of Political Eco¬
nomy (4th edition), and in the Commercial Dictionary, by
the author of this article.
When the division of labour was first introduced, com¬
modities were universally bartered for each other. But
as the division of employments was extended, and ex¬
changes became more numerous, it became obvious that
it would be highly advantageous to use some one article
as a common medium of exchange, as an equivalent for
all other articles, and as a standard by which to ascer¬
tain their values. It is unnecessary, however, to inquire
into this subject. It has been already fully discussed in
231
much cloth in exchange for her corn as she would have
done had she attempted directly to manufacture it. How
ridiculous, then, to contend that commerce is not a means
of adding to the efficacy of labour, and consequently of
inrrpaeinrr woolf-K T    i
Produc¬
tion of
Wealth.
POLITICAL ECONOMY.
232
Produc- the article Money, in this work, to which the reader is
tion of referred for further information with respect to it.
Wealth.
V ^1 Accumulation and Employment of Capital. Capi-
Definition. tal may be defined to be “ that portion of the accumu¬
lated produce of labour which may be directly employed
to maintain productive labourers, or to facilitate produc¬
tion''
The fitness of an article to serve as an instrument of
production, or to support those engaged in industrial under¬
takings, is the only criterion by which to decide whether it
is or is not capital. Its employment, on which much stress
has been laid, depends entirely on the judgment or caprice
of its owner, and affects neither its identity nor its quali¬
ties. It is frequently, also, very difficult to distinguish be¬
tween what are really productive and unproductive em¬
ployments j so that a definition which depended on such
a distinction being made, must be ot the class of those that
explain ignotum. per ignotius. But there is never, or but
very rarely, any difficulty in learning whether an article
may be employed to facilitate labour or maintain labour¬
ers ; and that is all that is required for its proper classifica¬
tion. A great many articles, including pictures, prints,
statues, vases, most sorts of gems, trinkets, and so forth,
cannot be employed in either of the ways now referred to,
and have therefore no claim to be called capital. But any
article that may be so employed is entitled to that designa¬
tion, however it may be disposed of. Gunpowder, for ex¬
ample, is capital, whether it be expended in fireworks or in
the blasting of rocks; and horses have no better claim to
be called capital when they are employed in ploughing
and harrowing, than when they are racing at Newmarket
or Goodwood.
Having thus seen what capital is and what it is not, we
proceed to observe that its accumulation and employment
are indispensable to the successful prosecution of almost
every branch of industry. Without the capital which
chiefly consists of tools and engines, and which has been
denominated fixed, labour could not be rendered consider¬
ably productive; and without the capital which chiefly
consists of the food and clothes required for the consump¬
tion of the labourer during the time he is employed in
production, and which has been denominated circulating,
he could not engage in any undertaking which did not
yield a speedy return. An agricultural labourer, for ex¬
ample, might have an ample supply of carts and ploughs,
of oxen and horses, and generally of all the instruments
and animals used in his department of industry; but weie
he destitute of circulating capital, or of food and clothes,
he would be unable to avail himself of their assistance,
and instead of tilling the ground, would have to betake
himself to some species of appropriative industry, And,
on the other hand, supposing the husbandman to be
abundantly supplied with provisions, what could he do
without fixed capital, or tools? What could the most
skilful agriculturist perform without his spade and his
plough ? a weaver without his loom ? or a house-carpenter
without his saw, his axe, and his planes ? Both sorts of
capital are required for the elevation of every nation in the
scale of civilization. And it is only by their conjoined and
powerful operation that wealth is largely produced.
The division of labour in such societies as are a little
advanced is consequent to the accumulation of^ capital.
Before labour can be considerably subdivided, a stocc
of goods of different kinds must be stored up somewheie,
sufficient to maintain the labourer, and to supply him with
the materials and tools of his work. A weaver cannot
apply himself entirely to his peculiar business, unless there
is beforehand stored up omewhere, either in his own pos¬
session or in that of some other person, a stock sufficient
to maintain him, and supply him with the materials and
frock I
tion oil
Wealii
Accumu¬
lation and
employ¬
ment of
capital.
tools of his work, till he has not only completed, but sold
his web. This accumulation must evidently be previous
to his applying his industry for so long a time to such a
peculiar business.” {Wealth of Nations, p. 119.)
As the accumulation of stock must precede all but the
earliest division of labour, so its furthei division is moie and
more extended as capital is more and more accumulated.
Accumulation and division act and re-act on each other.
The raw material which the same number of people can
work up increases according as labour is more and more
subdivided ; and when the operations of each workman are
reduced to a greater degree of identity and simplicity, he
has, as already explained, a greater chance of discovering
machines and processes for facilitating and abridging labour.
Industry therefore not only increases in every country with
the increase of the stock or capital which sets it in motion,
but, in consequence of this increase, the division of labour
becomes extended, new and more powerful implements
and machines are invented, and the same amount of labour
produces a much greater quantity of commodities.
Besides enabling labour to be divided, capital contributes
to facilitate labour and produce wealth in the three follow¬
ing ways:—
First.—It enables work to be executed that could not Modes r
be executed, or commodities to be produced that could not which l
be produced, without it. . menttf
Second.—saves labour in the production of almost capital
every species of commodities. cilitates
Third.—It enables work to be executed better, as well labour,
as more expeditiously.
With regard to the first mode in which w'e are benefited 1. Item
bv the employment of capital, or its enabling commodi- ties mail
ties to be produced that could not be produced without
it, we have seen that the production of such commodities ties tha;
as require a considerable period for their completion coui,j noi
cannot be attempted until a stock of circulating capital, be proct¬
or of food and clothes, sufficient for the maintenance of ed with,
the labourers employed on them, has been provided. But1 •
the employment of fixed capital in the shape of tools
and engines is also in most cases indispensable in pro¬
duction. There are, indeed, very few, if any, arts that
may be carried on by the mere agency of the fingers, or
rude tools given to us by nature. A^ pair of stockings
could not be produced without the aid of wiies; and though
the ground may be cultivated without ploughs, it could not
be cultivated without spades or hoes. But man is not, like
the lower animals, condemned to vegetate for evei in the
situation in which he was originally placed. He is always
aspiring to something better ; and he has a head to contrive,
as well as hands .o construct the means and instruments
required to assist him in his undertakings. And no sooner
is one step gained, one difficulty overcome, than he ad¬
vances to grapple with another. I he curis acuens mortulia
corda never ceases to operate. 1 he spirit which itinspiies
is neither enervated by success nor dispirited by failuie.
It is perpetually urging society forward to attempt new
discoveries, and to improve and perfect the inventions a -
ready made. It is this principle that has made so many na¬
tural powers subservient to our will, and armed, if we may so
speak, our feeble hands with “ the force of all the elements.
In the second place, while the employment ot capital 2. It
is indispensable to the production of many descriptions o e°
commodities, it enables a large saving ot labour to e Action <
effected in the production of a still greater number, and
by lowering their price, brings them within the xeac i o bes>
a much larger number of consumers. We have been so
long accustomed to make use of the most powerful ma¬
chines, that it requires a considerable effort of abstraction
to become fully aware of the extent ot the advantages we
derive from them. But if we compare the aits piactise
alike in rude and civilized societies, we cannot fail to be
POLITICAL ECONOMY.
Produc¬
tion of
Wealth.
3. It ena¬
bles us to
ixecute
vork bet-
er, as well
,s more
xpedi-
iously.
e power
employ
)our de¬
eds on
: amount
capital.
convinced that we owe a very large portion of our superior
well-being to the employment of machines of one sort
or other. It is by their means that the land is culti¬
vated, clothes manufactured, books and newspapers printed,
and the products of industry, with the treasures of art
and knowledge, conveyed from one country and hemi¬
sphere to another. Those who reflect, how cursorily so¬
ever, on the immeasurable distance between slings, or bows
and arrows, and muskets and heavy ordnance, between
the pen of a copying-clerk and a steam-press, between
spindles and distaffs and spinning-mills, between a canoe
and a line-of-battle or first-class merchant ship, and^ on
fifty similar contrasts, will be ready to admit that the pro¬
gress of mankind from their lowest and most abject to their
highest and most polished state, has been mainly a con¬
sequence of the invention and improvement of tools and
engines. Man was defined by Dr Franklin to be a “ tool¬
making animaland the definition turns upon one of his
distinctive and most valuable faculties, and is really one of
the best that has been given.
In the third place, the employment of machinery enables
work to be done better, as well as more expeditiously, than
it could be done without it. Cotton, for example, might
be spun by the hand; but the admirable machines invented
by Hargreaves, Arkwright, Crompton, and others, have not
only enabled a hundred or a thousand times more yarn to
be produced than could be spun by means of a common
hand-wheel (itself a great invention), but it has also improved
its quality, and given it a degree of fineness, and of even¬
ness or equality in its parts, which was never previously
attained. It would require a painter months, or it might
be years, to paint with a brush the cottons or printed cloths
used in the hanging of a single room; and it would be
very difficult, if not impossible, for the best artist to give
the same perfect identity to his figures that is given to
them by the admirable machinery now used for that pur¬
pose. Not to mention the other and more important
advantages derived from the invention of moveable types
and printing, the most perfect manuscript—one on which
years of patient and irksome labour have been expended—
is unable, in point of delicacy and correctness, to match a
well-printed work, executed in the hundredth part of the
time, and at a hundredth part of the expense, required to
copy the manuscript. The great foreign demand for Eng¬
lish manufactured goods results no less from the superiority
of their fabric than from their greater cheapness; and for
both these advantages we are principally indebted to the
excellence of our machinery.
There are other considerations which equally illustrate
the extreme importance of the accumulation and em¬
ployment of capital. Setting aside the variations of har¬
vests, the produce of the land and labour of a nation can¬
not be increased otherwise than by an increase in the
number of its labourers or of their productive powers.
But without an increase of capital, it is in most cases diffi¬
cult to employ additional workmen with advantage. If
capital be not augmented, and if the food and clothes des¬
tined for the support of the labourers, and the tools and
machines with which they are to work, be all required for
the maintenance and efficient employment of those in
existence at this or any other period, there can be no
advantageous demand for more. In such circumstances,
the rate of wages cannot rise; and if the number of in¬
habitants be increased, they can hardly fail to be worse
provided for. Neither can the productive powers of the
labourer be considerably augmented without a previous
233
Produc¬
tion of
Wealth.
increase of capital. For it is only by their better education
and training, by the greater subdivision of their employ¬
ments, or by an improvement of machinery, that the pro¬
ductive powers of workmen are ever materially increased.
And in almost all these cases additional capital is required.
When the work to be done consists of a number of parts,
to keep every man constantly employed in a particular
part requires a larger stock than where every man is
occasionally employed in different parts. “ When,” says
Adam Smith, “ we compare the state of a nation at two
different periods, and find that the annual produce of its
land and labour is evidently greater at the latter than at
the former, that its lands are better cultivated, its manufac¬
tures more numerous and more flourishing, and its trade
more extensive, we may be assured that its capital must
have increased during the interval between these two pe¬
riods, and that more must have been added to it by the
good conduct of some, than had been taken from it either
by the private misconduct of others or by the public extra¬
vagance of government.” {Wealth of Nations, p. 152.) It
is therefore apparent that no country can ever reach the
stationary state so long as she continues to add to her ca¬
pital. While she does this, she will have an increasing
demand for labour, and will be constantly augmenting the
mass of necessaries, luxuries, and conveniences, and conse¬
quently also the numbers of her people. But with every
diminution of the rate at which capital may have been accu¬
mulating, the demand for labour will decline. When no
additions are made to capital, no more labour will be, or at
least can be, beneficially employed. And should the na¬
tional capital be diminished, the condition of the great body
of the people would be deteriorated; for the wages of
labour would be reduced, and pauperism, with its attendant
train of vice, misery, and crime, would begin to spread its
ravages throughout the largest portion of society.
Having thus endeavoured to point out the vast import- Accumula-
ance of the employment of capital, and the manner in tion of ca-
which it co-operates in production, we proceed to ex-Pita1’
plain the circumstances most favourable for its accumu¬
lation. Now, as capital is nothing but the accumulated Advantage
produce of bygone industry, it is evident that its increase of high
will, cceteris paribus, be greatest where industry is mostProfits-
productive, or, in other words, where the profits of slock
are highest} A man who produces a bushel of wheat
in two days may accumulate twice as fast as a man who,
either from a deficiency of skill, or from having to cultivate
a bad soil, has to labour four days to produce the same
quantity; and capitalists who invest stock so as to yield a
profit of ten per cent., have it equally in their power to
accumulate twice as fast as those who can only obtain five
per cent, on their outlays. Experience, too, shows that
while large profits afford greater means of saving, they act
as incentives to accumulation. Hence it is found that in
the countries which are making the greatest progress, the
rate of profit is always comparatively high. In Australia and
the United States, for example, it is usually twice as high
as in Great Britain or France ; and it is to this that the more
rapid advancement of the former in wealth and population is
mainly to be ascribed. We do not mean to say that high
profits are necessarily and in every instance accompanied
by a great degree of prosperity. Countries with every
other advantage for the profitable employment of industry
and stock, may be subjected to revoluntionary and arbitrary
governments which do not respect the right of property;
and the want of security thence resulting may be suffi-
canitaiioJ0^ c^ance misconception, it is necessary to observe, that this refers to nett profit, or to the sum which remains to the
fj; r , a er a 18 outSolngs are compensated, including therein a sum sufficient to insure his capital against risk, and to make up
lor whatever may be peculiarly disagreeable in his business. u **0 a*.
VOL. XVIII. 0
2 G
234
Production
of Wealth.
Parsimony
necessary
to accumu¬
lation.
POLITICAL ECONOMY.
cient to paralyze their exertions, and to hinder them from
accumulating capital. But we have no hesitation in laying
it down as a principle which holds universally, that if the
governments of any two or more countries be about equally
liberal, and property in each about equally well secured,
their comparative prosperity will depend on the rate of
profit. Where profits are high, there is a great demand for
labour, and population and riches are rapidly augmented;
and where they are low, the demand for labour is pro¬
portionally reduced, and the progress of society rendered
so much the slower.
But however high the rate of profit, had men always
lived up to their incomes,—that is, had they always con¬
sumed them in the gratification of their immediate wants
and desires,—there would have been no such thing as
capital in the world. High profits are advantageous be¬
cause they afford the means of amassing capital; but some¬
thing more is necessary to make us use these means,
and that is the desire implanted in the breasts of all, or
mostly all individuals, of rising in the world, and improv¬
ing their condition. This strong desire has prompted
them, as already seen, to invent machines and instru¬
ments ; and it also prompts them to save and accumu¬
late a portion of their incomes or earnings as a fund or capi¬
tal to be employed in their future undertakings, or invested
in loans to others, or retained as a reserve stock on which
to fall back in sickness or adversity. Hence it is to the
principle of accumulation, or rather to its source, parsi¬
mony, which, though one of the most useful, is one of
the least popular of the virtues, that we owe that capital
without whose assistance and co-operation mankind could
have made no considerable progress, and would most likely
have continued in a state but little removed from barbarism.
Bacon objects to parsimony, that “ it withholdeth men
from works of liberality and charity.” {Essays, No.
34.) But unless a man be born to affluence, which is
the lot of few, the exercise of parsimony is required to
enable him to be really charitable. Those who spend as fast
as they acquire are almost always in difficulties; they live,
as the phrase is, from hand to mouth; and are without the
means, even if they had the inclination, to act liberally.
But it is not necessary to the practice of a proper degree
of parsimony that people should submit to painful priva¬
tions, or that they should behave in a mean or niggardly
manner. Parsimony is not to be confounded with the
base passion of avarice. It does not regard accumulation
as an end, but only as a means to an end ; and it should
correspond to, and be consistent with, a man’s situation
and prospects. And, in truth, it is everywhere found that
the establishments of those parties, whether in the lower,
middle, or upper classes, who are said to be saving or par¬
simonious, are more distinguished by their good order and
the avoidance of waste than by anything else. They do not
deny themselves gratifications, but they keep the taste for
them within due bounds, and do not allow their means to
be made away with (as many do), they know not how.
They are careful and economical upon principle, and add
to their fortunes that they may be able to live better, and
be more hospitable and generous. Cicero says of Rabi-
rius Postumus, “ In augenda re non avaritice prcedam, sed
instrumentum bonitati qucerere videretur.” (Pro Rabirio
Postumo, cap. 2.)
It has been wisely ordered that this principle should be
as powerful as it is advantageous. “ With regard to pro¬
fusion,” says Smith, “the principle which prompts to
expense is the passion for present enjoyment; which,
though sometimes violent, and very difficult to be restrained,
is in general only momentary and occasional. But the
principle which prompts to save is the desire of bettering
our condition; a desire which, though generally calm and
dispassionate, comes with us from the womb, and never
leaves us till we go into the grave. In the whole interval Producu
which separates these two moments there is scarce perhaps of Weu1,
a single instance in which any man is so perfectly and com-
pletely satisfied with his situation as to be without any wish
of alteration or improvement of any kind. An augmenta¬
tion of fortune is the means by which the greater part of
men propose and wish to better their condition. It is the
means the most vulgar and the most obvious; and the
most likely way of augmenting their fortune is to save and
accumulate some part of what they acquire either regularly
and annually, or upon some extraordinary occasion. Though
the principle of expense, therefore, prevails in almost all
men upon some occasions, and in some men upon almost
all occasions, yet in the greater part of men, taking the
whole course of their life at an average, the principle of
frugality seems not only to predominate, but to predominate
very greatly.” {Wealth of Nations, p. 151.)
It is this principle which carries society forward. The
spirit of parsimony, and the efforts which the frugal and
industrious classes make to improve their condition, in most
instances balance not only the profusion of individuals, but
also the more wasteful profusion and extravagance of go¬
vernment. This spirit has been happily compared by
Smith to the unknown principle of animal life—the vis
medicatrix natures—which frequently restores health and
vigour to the constitution, in spite both of disease and of
the mischievous prescriptions of the physician.
But though the principle of accumulation be powerful
enough, when its vigorous action is not paralysed by any
fear of insecurity, to make good the waste or loss of large
amounts of capital, we must not fall into the error of sup¬
posing, as very many have done, that its operations are in
all cases promoted by a large public expenditure. To a
certain extent, indeed, this is true. A moderate increase
of taxation has the same effect on the habits and industry
of a nation that an increase of his family or of his unavoid¬
able expenses has upon a private individual. Man is not
influenced solely by hope; he is also powerfully operated
upon by fear. Taxation brings the latter principle into
the field. To the desire of rising in the world, an in¬
crease of taxation superadds the fear of being cast down
to a lower station, of losing consideration, and of being
deprived of conveniences and gratifications which habit may
have rendered almost indispensable: and the combined
influence of the two principles produces efforts that could
not be produced by the unassisted agency of either. They
stimulate individuals to endeavour, by increased efforts of in¬
dustry and economy, to repair the breach taxation has made
in their fortunes. And it not unfrequently happens that
their efforts do more than this, and that, consequently, the
national wealth is increased through the increase of taxation.
But we must be on our guard against the abuse of this doc¬
trine. To render increased taxation a cause of greater exer¬
tion, economy, and invention, the increase should be slow
and gradual; and it should never be carried to such a
height as to disable individuals from meeting the sacri¬
fices it imposes, by such additional exertion and economy
as it may be in their power to make, without requiring
any very sudden or violent change in their habits. Diffi¬
culties which, though great, are seen to be surmountable,
sharpen the inventive powers, and are readily grappled
with. But an apparently insurmountable difficulty, or such
an excessive increase of taxation as it was deemed im¬
possible to meet, would not stimulate, but destroy exer¬
tion. Instead of producing new efforts of ingenuity and
economy, it would produce only despair. Whenever taxa¬
tion becomes so heavy that the produce it takes from indi¬
viduals cannot be replaced by fresh efforts of economy and
invention, these efforts uniformly cease to be made; the
population becomes dispirited, industry is paralysed, and
the country rapidly declines.
POLITICAL ECONOMY.
Production Ambition to rise is, we repeat it, the animating principle
of Wealth. 0f society. Instead ofremaining satisfied with the condition
of their fathers, the great object of mankind in every age
has been to rise above it, to elevate themselves in the scale
of consideration and of wealth. To achieve this grand
object, they scruple not
“ Certare ingenio, contendere nobilitate
Noetes atque dies niti praestante labore
Ad summas emergere opes, rerumque potiri.”1
To continue stationary, or to retrograde, is not natural to
society. Man from youth grows to manhood, then decays
and dies; but such is not the destiny of nations. The
arts, the scientific discoveries, and the capital of one gene¬
ration become the patrimony of that which succeeds them ;
and as the former are imperishable, and will continue to
give birth to new arts and new discoveries in all time to
come, while the natural tendency of the latter is to increase,
it follows that, if not counteracted by the want of security,
or by other adventitious causes, the principle of improve¬
ment would always operate, and would secure the constant
advancement of nations in wealth and population.
235
Credit. It may be said perhaps that, however true, the pre¬
vious statements are incomplete, from no mention being
made of credit, which, we are assured, plays an important
part in all industrial operations. But this is an entire mis¬
take. Credit is not capital, nor even anything real. It is
merely the term employed to designate the lending or
transfer of capital by one individual to another. The lender
is said to give, and the borrower to get or receive credit.
No doubt we often hear of this, that, and the other undertak¬
ing being carried on by means of credit; but by this is really
meant that they are carried on by the agency of borrowed
capital. And speaking generally, the giving of credit or
the lending of capital may be said to be advantageous,
because in most instances the borrowers employ it to better
purpose than the lenders. When, however, it is otherwise,
and capital is conveyed, as is sometimes the case, from the
industrious and frugal to the idle and improvident, the
credit that has been given is plainly injurious. And in all
cases its influence, whether for good or for evil, depends on
the capital being employed more or less advantageously
after its transfer than before.
Sect. III.—Different Employments of Capital and In¬
dustry.— Manufactures and Commerce shown to he
equally advantageous as Agriculture.—Rate of Profit
a true Test of Individual and Public Advantage.
afferent _ In the previous section we endeavoured to show that the
'ploy- increase and diminution of capital is the pivot on which
ipitaland nation,al ProsPerity principally hinges; that an increase of
dustry. caP, proportionally increases the means of supporting and
employing labour, and that any considerable diminution of
its amount seldom fails to lessen the comforts and enjoy¬
ments, and perhaps also the necessaries of the productive
classes, and to spread poverty throughout the land; and
we also endeavoured to show that the increase and dimi¬
nution of the rate of profit is the great cause of the in¬
crease and diminution of capital. But if such be the case,
it would seem necessarily to follow that those employ¬
ments which yield the greatest profit, or in which industry
is most productive, are the most advantageous. Adam
Smith, however, with Malthus and others, have objected to Production
this inference, d hey allow that if two capitals yield equal of Wealth,
profits, the employments in which they are engaged are
equally beneficial to their possessors ; but they contend that
if one of them be employed in agriculture, it will be pro¬
ductive of greater public advantage. 'We believe, however
notwithstanding the deference due to the authorities re¬
ferred to, that this opinion rests on no good foundation, and
that the average rate of profit is the test by which we should
always judge which employment is most and which is least
advantageous.
A capital may be employed in four different ways,—viz.,
first, In the acquisition of raw products; or, secondly, In
manufacturing and preparing these raw products for use
and consumption ; or, thirdly. In transporting the raw and
manufactured products from one place to another, according
to the demand; or, fourthly, In dividing either into such
small parcels as may suit the public convenience, and sup¬
plying them to those by whom they are wanted. The
capital of those who undertake the improvement or cultiva¬
tion of lands, mines, or fisheries, is employed in the first of
these ways; that of master manufacturers in the second;
that of wholesale merchants in the third; and that of re¬
tailers in the fourth. It is difficult to conceive that a capital
should be employed in any way which may not be classed
under one or other of these heads.
It is unnecessary to enlarge on the importance of em- Employ-
ploying capital in the acquisition of raw produce, andmentof
especially in the cultivation of the soil. It is from thecaPital in
latter, including therein mines and fisheries, that the matter agncul*
of all commodities that minister to our necessities, comforts, tUre‘
and enjoyments is originally derived. The industry which
appropriates the raw or spontaneous products of the earth
preceded every other. But these are always comparatively
limited. And it is by agriculture only,—that is, by the
united application of immediate labour and capital to the
cultivationof the ground,—that large supplies of those species
of produce which form the principal part of the food of
man can be obtained. It is not quite certain whether any
of the principal bread corns, as wheat, barley, rye, oats, &c.,
have been discovered growing spontaneously. But although
this must originally have been the case, their extreme
scarcity, and the labour required to raise them in consider¬
able quantities, prove that we are indebted for them al¬
most exclusively to agriculture. The transition from the
pastoral to the agricultural mode of life is the most import¬
ant step in the progress of society. Whenever, indeed,
we compare the supplies of food and other raw products
obtained from a given surface of a well-cultivated country,
with those obtained from the same extent of an equally
fertile country occupied by hunters or shepherds, the
powers of agricultural industry in increasing useful produc¬
tions appear so extraordinary, that we cease to feel surprise
at the preference which was so early and generally given
to agriculture over manufactures and commerce, and are
disposed to subscribe without hesitation to the panegyric
of Cicero when he says, “ Omnium autem rerum ex quibus
aliquid acquiritur, nihil est agricultura melius, nihil ube-
rius, nihil dulcius, nihil homine libero digniusi’2
But are there any really just grounds for this preference ?
Are not manufactures and commerce as advantageous as
agriculture ? Without the latter we should never possess
any considerable supply of the materials out of which food
1 Lucretius, lib. ii., lin. 14.
t u raH ndus t r y.' T^Telrth^ves u( lAen^or^utLsTel8 fh C^dera\le °n tbe fP6™1, of agricul-
and idleness, but excites us to health and strength by the kbourft^?!^ ^ notzUoy, us to reap them in sloth
man who said that husbandry was the mother fnd nLse of a ot m^ .P^L V -f n n T 7 * u n 'T He WaS a wise
fare the better; but whenever the ground lies nnenltivofla t .Sciences 5 for lf husbandry flourish, all other sciences and faculties
(Bradley’s trans. of Xenophon’s (Economics London 1727 ) ’ gS n° Cr0p’ a11 °ther BcienCeS are at a loss’ both V sea and ^nd.”
236
Production
of Wealth.
POLITICAL ECONOMY.
Employ¬
ment of
capital in
manufac¬
turing in¬
dustry.
Necessity
of manu¬
facturing
industry to
the im¬
provement
in agricul¬
ture.
No real
difference
between
agricultu¬
ral and ma¬
nufactur¬
ing indus¬
try.
and clothes are made ; but without a knowledge of the arts
by which they are converted into food and clothes the
largest supply of these materials would be of little or no
service. The industry of the miller and baker is as neces¬
sary to the production of bread as that of the husbandman
who tills the ground. The agriculturists raise flax and
wool; but if the spinners and weavers did not give them
additional utility, by fitting them for being made into com¬
fortable dresses, these articles would be nearly, if not entirely,
worthless. Without the labour of the miner who extracts
the mineral from the bowels of the earth, we should be des¬
titute of the material out of which many of our most useful
implements and splendid articles of furniture are made ; but
those who compare the ore when dug from the mine with
the finished articles, will probably be convinced that we do
not owe more to the miner than to the purifiers and re¬
finers of the ore, and the artists who afterwards converted it
to useful purposes.
Besides being necessary to render most sorts of raw
produce of any use, manufacturing industry is further
necessary to the acquisition of that produce. The mechanic
who fabricates the plough contributes as efficaciously to the
production of corn as the husbandman who guides it. But
plough-wrights, mill-wrights, smiths, and all those artizans
who prepare tools and machines for the husbandman, are
really manufacturers, and differ in no respect from those
employed to give utility to wool and cotton, except that
they work on harder materials. Tools and machines are
the products of the tool and engine manufacturer; and
without their aid neither agriculture nor any other employ¬
ment could become considerably productive.
“ Distinguer,” says the Marquis Gamier, “ le travail des
ouvriers de 1’agriculture d’avec celui des autres ouvriers, est
une abstraction presque toujours oiseuse. Toute richesse,
dans le sens dans lequel nous la concevons, est necessaire-
ment le resultat de ces deux genres de travail, et la con-
sommation ne peut pas plus se passer de fun que de fautre.
Sans leur concours simultane il ne peut y avoir de chose
consommable, et par consequent point de richesse. Com¬
ment pourrait-on done comparer leurs produits respectifs,
puisque, en separant des deux especes de travail, on ne peut
plus concevoir de veritable produit, de produit consom¬
mable et ayant une valeur reele ? La valeur du ble sur
pied resulte de findustrie du moissonneur qui recueillera,
du batteur qui le separera de la paille, du meunier et du
boulanger qui le convertiront successivement en farine et
en paine, tout comme elle results du travail du labourer et
du semeur. Sans le travail du tisserand le lin n’aurait pas
plus le droit d’etre compte au nombre des richesses que
fortie, ou tout autre vegetal inutile. A quoi pourrait-il
done servir de rechercher lequel de ces deux genres de
travail contribue le plus a, favancement de la richesse na-
tionale ? N’est-ce pas comme si fon disputait pour savoir
lequel, du pied droit ou du pied gauche, est plus utile dans
faction de marcher?”1
There is not at bottom any real distinction between agri¬
cultural and manufacturing industry. It is, as already seen,
a vulgar error to suppose that the operations of husbandry
add anything to the stock of matter in existence. All that
man can do, and all that he ever does, is to give to matter
that particular form or shape which fits it for his use. But
it was contended by Quesnay and the Economists, and
their opinions have in this instance been espoused by
Smith, that while the husbandman, in adapting matter to
our use, is powerfully assisted by the vegetative powers of
nature, the manufacturer has to perform everything him¬
self without any such co-operation. “ No equal quantity of
productive labour employed in manufactures,” says Smith,
“ can ever occasion so great a reproduction (as if it were
employed in agriculture). In them nature does nothing, Production
man does all; and the reproduction must always be in of Wealth,
proportion to the strength of the agents that occasion it. ■'
The capital employed in agriculture, therefore, not only Opinion 0f
puts into motion a greater quantity of productive labour Smith
than any equal capital employed in manufactures, but in^P^mg
proportion, too, to the quantity of productive labour which r.or
it employs it adds a much greater value to the annual pro- ductivenessi
duce of the land and labour of the country, to the real 0f agricul-
wealth and revenue of its inhabitants. Of all the ways in ture.
which a capital can be employed, it is by far the most ad¬
vantageous to the society. {\Vealth of Nations, p. 162.)
This is perhaps the most objectionable passage in theErrorof
Wealth of Nations ; and it is astonishing that so able and this 0pi- j
sagacious a reasoner as Smith should have maintained anion,
doctrine so manifestly erroneous. It is unquestionably true
that nature powerfully assists the husbandman. He pre¬
pares the ground for the seed, and deposits it therein ; but
it is nature that unfolds the germ, that feeds and ripens the
growing plant, and brings it to maturity. But does she co.
not do as much for us in every other department of industry ? operates
The powers of water and of wind which move our ma-with man
chinery, support our ships, and impel them over the deep, in “anu-
—the pressure of the atmosphere and the elasticity of steam,
which enable us to work the most stupendous engines,—aremerce
they not spontaneous gifts of nature ? Machines are in
truth merely contrivances by which we press natural powers
into our service, and make them perform the principal part
of what would otherwise be wholly the work of man. In na¬
vigation, for example, is it possible to doubt that the powers
of nature,—the buoyancy of the water, the impulse of the
wind, and the polarity of the magnet,—contribute fully as
much as the labour of the sailor to waft our ships from one
hemisphere to another. In bleaching and fermentation the
whole processes are carried on by natural agents. And it
is to the influence of heat in softening and melting metals,
preparing food, and warming houses, that we owe many of
our most powerful and convenient instruments, and that
these northern climates have been made to afford a com¬
fortable habitation. So far, indeed, is it from being true
that nature does much for man in agriculture and nothing
in manufactures, that the fact is more nearly the reverse.
There are no limits to her bounty in manufactures, but
there are limits, and those not very remote, to her bounty
in agriculture. Any amount of capital may be expended
in the construction of steam-engines, ships, or other ma¬
chines, and, however largely they may be multiplied, the
last, apart from the improvements which are usually being
made, will be as powerful and efficient as the first. But
such is not the case with the soil. Lands of the first qua¬
lity are speedily exhausted ; and capital cannot be applied
indefinitely, even to the best soils, without obtaining a dimi¬
nished rate of profit. The rent of the landlord is not, as
Smith supposed, the recompense of the work of nature re¬
maining, after all that part of the produce is deducted which
may be regarded as a recompense for the work of man.
It is, as will hereafter be shown, the excess of produce ob¬
tained from the best soils in cultivation over that which
is obtained from the worst,—it is a consequence, not of
an increase, but of a diminution of the productive power of
the labour employed in agriculture.
Inasmuch as all labour which gives utility to matter Employ-
is productive, it follows that the labour which is em"™ei|ja°in
ployed in carrying commodities from where they are. pro- ^j^ema!
duced to where they are to be consumed, and in dividing .n(justry
them into minute portions, so as to suit the wants of the
consumers, is as much entitled to that designation as if it
wrere employed in agriculture or manufactures. The miner
gives utility to matter, to coal, for example, by bringing it
1 Biscours PrSlimmaire, p. 58, 2d ed. of trans. of the Wealth of Nations.
POLITICAL ECONOMY.
237
: roduction from the bowels of the earth to its surface ; and the mer-
:f Wealth, chant or carrier, who transports this coal from the mine
^ whence it has been dug to the city, or place where it is
to be burned, gives it a further and perhaps a more con¬
siderable value. We do not owe our fires either to the
miner or coal-merchant. They are the result of their con¬
joined operations, combined with those of the parties who
have supplied them with the tools and implements used in
their respective employments.
dvantage Not only, however, must commodities be brought from
i'retail where they are produced to where they are to be con-
ealers. sumed, but it is further necessary that they^should be divided
into such small and convenient portions that individuals
may be able to purchase the quantities they are desirous
to obtain. “ If,” says Smith, “ there was no such trade
as a butcher, every man would be obliged to purchase
a whole ox or a whole sheep at a time. This would gene¬
rally be inconvenient to the rich, and much more so the
poor. If a poor workman was obliged to purchase a month’s
or six months’ provisions at a time, a great part of the stock
which he employs as a capital in the instruments of his
trade, or in the furniture of his shop, and which yields him
a revenue, he would be forced to place in that part of his
stock which is reserved for immediate consumption, and
which yields him no revenue. Nothing can be more con¬
venient for such a person than to be able to purchase his
subsistence from day to day, or even from hour to hour, as
he wants it. He is thereby enabled to employ almost his
whole stock as a capital. He is thus enabled to furnish
work to a greater value, and the profit which he makes by
it in this way much more than compensates the additional
price which the labour of the retailer imposed upon the
goods. The prejudices of some political writers against
shopkeepers and tradesmen are altogether without founda¬
tion. So far is it from being necessary either to tax them
or to restrict their numbers, that they can never be multi¬
plied so as hurt the public interest, though they may so as
to hurt one another. The quantity of grocery goods, for ex¬
ample, which can be sold in a particular town is limited by
the demand of that town and its neighbourhood. The
capital, therefore, which can be employed in the grocery
trade cannot exceed what is sufficient to purchase that
quantity. If this capital is divided between two different
grocers, their competition will obviously tend to make both
of them sell cheaper than if it were in the hands of one
only; and if it were divided among twenty, their compe¬
tition would be just so much the greater, and the chance
of their combining together in order to raise the price just
so much the less. Their competition might perhaps ruin
some of themselves; but to take care of this is the business
of the parties concerned, and it may safely be trusted to
their discretion. It can never hurt either the consumer or
the producer; on the contrary, it must tend to make the
retailers both sell cheaper and buy dearer than if the whole
trade was monopolized by one or two persons. Some of
them perhaps may occasionally decoy a weak customer to
buy what he has no occasion for. This evil is, however, of
too little importance to deserve the public attention, nor
would it necessarily be prevented by restricting their num¬
bers.” {Wealth of Nations, p. 160.)
?ricul- Thus it appears that the various modes in which industry
!^anu- may be exerted, or that the raising of raw produce, the
dcom- fasllioning °f that produce,after it is raised, into useful and
irce agreeable articles, the carrying of the raw and manufac-
ually ad- tnred products from one place to another, and the retail-
ntageous. ing them in such portions as may suit the public de¬
mand, are equally advantageous,—meaning thereby, that
the capital and labour employed in any one of these depart¬
ments contributes, equally with that employed in the others,
to increase the mass of articles fitted to satisfy our wants
or desires. Without a previous supply of raw produce,
we should have no manufactures ; and without these and Production
commercial industry, the greater part of that produce of Wealth,
would be entirely worthless, and would neither minister "Nr—^
to our wants or our comforts. Manufacturers and mer¬
chants are to the body politic what the digestive powers
are to the human body. Food is indispensable to ex¬
istence ; but the largest supplies of food cannot lengthen
our days if the machinery by which nature adapts it to
our use, and incorporates it with our body, be vitiated
and deranged. Nothing, therefore, can be more silly and
childish than the estimates so frequently put forth of the
comparative advantageousness of agricultural, manufactur¬
ing, and commercial industry. They are alike indispensable,
and depend upon, and grow out of, each other. “ Land
and trade,” to borrow the just and forcible expressions of
Sir Josiah Child, “ are twins, and have always, and ever
will, wax and wane together. It cannot be ill with trade
but lands will fall, nor ill with lands but trade will feel it.”
This reasoning cannot be controverted ; and on its authority
we are entitled to condemn every attempt to exalt one
species of industry, by giving it factitious advantages, as be¬
ing both impolitic and pernicious. It must be done at the
expense of the others; and no preference can be given to
agriculturists over manufacturers and merchants, or to the
latter over the former, without having prejudicial results.
Wherever industry is free, the interests of individuals and
the public always coincide. And those who, in such cir¬
cumstances, succeed best in increasing their own wealth
necessarily also succeed best in increasing the wealth of the
state of which they are subjects.
This dependence of the different branches of industry on
each other, and the necessity of their co-operation to enable
mankind to make any considerable progress in civilization,
have been ably illustrated in an early number of the Edin¬
burgh Revieiv:—“ It may safely be concluded, that all those
occupations which tend to supply the necessary wants or to
multiply the comforts and pleasures of human life, are
equally productive, in the strict sense of the word, and tend
to augment the mass of human riches,—meaning by riches
all those things which are necessary, or convenient, or de¬
lightful to man. The progress of society has been produc¬
tive of a complete separation of employments originally
united. At first every man provided, as well as he could,
for his necessities as well as his pleasures, and for all his
wants as well as all his enjoyments. By degrees a divi¬
sion of these cares was introduced ; the subsistence of the
community became the province of one class, its comforts
of another, and its gratifications of a third. The different
operations subservient to the attainment of each of these
objects were then entrusted to different hands; and the
universal establishment of barter connected the whole of
these divisions and subdivisions together,—enabled one man
to manufacture for all, without danger of starving by not
ploughing or hunting, and another to plough or hunt for
all, without the risk of wanting tools or clothes by not
manufacturing. It has thus become as impossible to say
exactly who feeds, clothes, or entertains the community, as
it would be to say which of the many workmen employed
in the manufacture of pins is the actual pin-maker, or which
of the farm-servants produces the crop. All the branches
of useful industry work together to the common end, as all
the parts of each branch co-operate to its particular object.
If you say that the farmer feeds the community, and pro¬
duces all the raw materials which the other classes work
upon, we answer, that unless those other classes worked up
the raw materials, and supplied the farmer’s necessities, he
would be forced to allot part of his labour to this employ¬
ment, whilst he forced others to assist in raising raw pro¬
duce. In such a complicated system it is clear that all
labour has the same effect, and equally increases the whole
mass of wealth. Nor can any attempt be more vain than
238
POLITICAL ECONOMY.
not de
grade the
labourer.
Manufac¬
tures not
Production theirs who would define the particular parts of the machine
of Wealth, that produce the motion, which is necessarily the result of
^ the whole powers combined, and depends on each particular
one of the mutually-connected members.” (Vol. iv., p.
362.)
Division of The extent to which the division of labour is carried in
labour does manufacturing establishments, and the exclusive attention
which it requires the workman to bestow on one operation,
or on some portion thereof, has been supposed to exert
a highly pernicious influence over his mental faculties. But
we have seen that this is an exceedingly erroneous sup¬
position, and that, in truth and reality, the work-people en¬
gaged in manufactures are, speaking generally, more intel¬
ligent than the ordinary run of agricultural labourers. (See
Manufactures.)
Much also has been said respecting the extraordinary
   mortality of large manufacturing establishments. The
productive rea(jy communication of contagion where people are
ofincreasedcrow(jed t0getilerj_the want of sufficient ventilation,—the
mor a ny. conflnement 0f children,—and the positive unhealthiness
of some processes,—are circumstances from which most
writers have been led to infer that the mortality in manu¬
facturing, cities must be unusually great, without giving
themselves the trouble to inquire whether it really was
so. The returns under the population acts have shown
the fallacy of these opinions. Great Britain is at present
infinitely more of a manufacturing country than in 1780;
but, notwithstanding the vast increase during the inter¬
mediate period of what we have been in the habit of con¬
sidering unhealthy employments, the average mortality
in England and Wales in 1856 and 1857 was less than
one in every forty-seven1 of the existing population, whereas
in 1780 it was probably more than one in every thirty-
five. It may perhaps be said that this increased healthi¬
ness is mainly owing to improvements in agriculture,—to
the drainage of bogs and marshes, the inclosure and cul¬
tivation of commons and wastes,—the influence of which
has counteracted the increase of manufactures. But sup¬
pose this were admitted, we should have to inquire what
had occasioned these extraordinary improvements in agri¬
culture. And a moment’s reflection would suffice to
convince us that they have principally resulted from the
improvement and extension of manufactures, and the con¬
sequently increased demand of the manufacturing popula¬
tion for the produce of the soil. A good deal, however,
of the diminution of mortality is a direct rather than an
indirect consequence of the circumstances referred to.
Every one knows the vast importance, in respect of health,
of people being supplied with comfortable clothes at a
cheap rate. And that is one of the many advantages which
grow out of improved manufactures. The reduction in the
price of cotton goods, to notice one only of innumerable in¬
stances, occasioned by the greater facility with which they
are produced, enables the poorer classes to clothe them¬
selves in a comfortable and elegant dress, and is produc¬
tive of an increase of enjoyment, of which it is difficult to
estimate the extent.
Eulogium Malthus, whose leanings were all on the side of agricul-
of Malthas ture, has justly observed that “ Most of the effects of manu-
onmanu- factures and commerce on the general state of society are
in the highest degree beneficial. T-hey infuse fresh life
and activity into all classes of the state, afford opportunity
for the inferior orders to rise by personal merit and ex¬
ertion, and stimulate the higher orders to depend for dis¬
tinction upon other grounds than mere rank and riches.
They excite invention, encourage science and the useful
arts, spread intelligence and spirit, inspire a taste for
conveniences and comforts among the labouring classes,
and, above all, give a new and happier structure to society,
factures.
by increasing the proportion of the middle classes, that Production
body on which the liberty, public spirit, and good govern- of Wealth,
ment of every country must mainly depend.” (Observa-
tions on the Effects of the Corn Laws, p. 29.)
Hence it would seem that those engaged in the different
channels of employment contribute in nearly equal degrees
to the general wellbeing; and though some rank higher in
the public estimation than others, they are not on that ac¬
count more indispensable. “ The great author of order hath
distributed the ranks and offices of men in order to mutual
benefit and comfort, that one man should plough, another
thresh, another grind, another labour at the forge, another
knit or weave, another sail, another trade, another super¬
vise all these, labouring to keep them all in order and
peace; that one should work with his hands and feet, an¬
other with his head and tongue; all conspiring to the com¬
mon end—the welfare of the whole, and the supply of what
is useful to each particular member ; every man so recipro¬
cally obliging and being obliged ; the prince being obliged
to the husbandman for his bread, to the weaver for his
clothes, to the mason for his palace, to the smith for his
sword; those being all obliged to him for his vigilant care
in protecting them, for their security in pursuing the work,
and enjoying the fruit of their industry.” (Barrow’s Third
Sermon on Industry.)
Thus, from whatever point of view we may regard the Rate of
division and combination of employments, we come to the profit tm
same result. The inextinguishable passion for gain—the ^Sya°
auri sacra fames—v/'\M always lead individuals to employ ousnessb
themselves and their stocks in those branches ot in- 0f different
dustry in which, all things considered, wages and profits employ-
are highest. And we have seen that these are the em-mentis,
ployments in which it is most for the public interest that
capital should be invested. The profits of a particular
branch of industry are rarely raised except by an increased
demand for its produce. Should the demand for cottons,
owing to their being substituted for other articles now in
use, be considerably augmented, their price would rise, so
as to yield the manufacturers comparatively high profits.
But profits in different employments constantly tend to
equality; and they can never, unless monopolies inter¬
pose, continue either permanently higher or lower in one
than in others. Whenever, therefore, the rise in the
price of cottons had taken place, the manufacturers en¬
gaged in the trade would put forth all their energies and
borrow additional capital, at the same time that a num¬
ber of capitalists engaged in less lucrative employments
would contract their engagements, and transfer a portion
of their stock to where it would yield a larger return. The
equilibrium of profit would thus be again restored. For
the additional impetus given to the production ot cottons,
by proportioning their supply to the increased demand,
would infallibly reduce their price to its proper level. Such
is the mode in which the interests of individuals are in
every case rendered subservient to those of the public.
High profits attract capital; but high profits in particular
businesses are the effect of high prices ; and these are
always reduced, and the commodities brought within the
command of a greater number of purchasers, as soon as
additional capital and work-people have been employed in
their production. It is plain, therefore, that that employ¬
ment is the best which yields the greatest profit; and
if two capitals yield equal profits, it is a proof that the
departments of industry in which they are respectively in¬
vested, how much soever they may differ in many respects,
are equally beneficial. Nothing can be more nugatory than
to apprehend that, under a free system, capital or woik-
people will be attracted to a disadvantageous employment.
The one is determined by high profits, and the other by
1 In 1856 the mortality was 1 in 49, and in 1857 it was 1 in 46.
POLITICAL ECONOMY.
239
Distribu- high wages; and their subservience to this irresistible in-
tion of fluence is not more for their own than for the public ad-
Wealth. vant;age.
PART III.
DISTRIBUTION OF WEALTH.
Having thus endeavoured to trace the various methods
by which that labour which is the only source of wealth
may be rendered most productive, and to exhibit the rela¬
tion and dependence of the different kinds of industry, we
proceed to the third division of our subject, or to an in¬
vestigation of the laws regulating the proportions in which
the various products of art and industry are distributed
among the different classes of the people.
Sect. 1.—Primary Division of the Produce of Industry.
— Value of Commodities measured in the Earliest Stages
of Society by the Quantities of Labour expended in their
Production.
'rimary It is evident that only three classes—labourers, capital-
ivision of ists, and owners of land—can be directly concerned in the
uo/of" Production of commodities. It is to them, therefore, that
idustry. a11 that is derived from the surface of the earth, or from
its bowels, by the united application of immediate labour
and capital, must primarily belong. The other classes, if
such there be, have no revenue except what they derive,
either voluntarily or by compulsion, from these three
classes.
But although there be no state of society in which any
class besides labourers, landlords, and capitalists, partici¬
pates directly in the produce of industry, there are states
of society in which that produce belongs to one only of
these classes; and others in which it belongs to two
of them, to the exclusion of the third. The reason is,
that in the earlier stages of society, little or no capital
being accumulated, there is no distinction between labourers
and capitalists ; and that, in all newly-settled and unap¬
propriated countries, abundance of fertile lands may be ob¬
tained without paying any rent.
uantity of In that remote period which preceded the establishment
hour the 0f property in land, and the accumulation of capital or
Indole8 —wllen men roatned. without any settled habitations,
value. °.ver the surface of the earth, and existed by the appropria¬
tion of its spontaneous productions,—the whole produce of
labour belonged to the labourer, and the quantity of it re¬
quired to procure different articles formed the only standard
by which their relative worth or exchangeable value could
be estimated. “ If among a nation of hunters,” says Adam
Smith, “ it usually costs twice the labour to kill a beaver
that it does to kill a deer, one beaver would naturally ex¬
change for or be worth two deer. It is natural that what
is usually the produce of two days’ or two hours’ labour
should be worth double of what is usually the produce of
one day’s or one hour’s labour.
If the one species of labour should be more severe than
the other, some allowance will naturally be made for this
superior hardship ; and the produce of one hour’s labour in
the one way frequently exchanges for that of two hours’
labour in the other.
“ Or if the one species of labour requires an uncommon
degree of dexterity and ingenuity, the esteem which men
have for such talents will naturally give a value to their
produce superior to what would be due to the time em¬
ployed about it. Such talents can seldom be acquired but
m consequence of long application ; and the superior value
‘dtheir produce may frequently be no more than a reason¬
able compensation for the time and labour which must
be spent in acquiring them. In the advanced state of Distribu-
society, allowances of this kind, for superior hardship and
superior skill, are commonly made in the wages of labour; Wealth-
and something of the same kind must probably have taken
place in the earliest and rudest period.
“In this state of things, the whole produce of labour be¬
longs to the labourer; and the quantity of labour commonly
employed in acquiring or producing any commodity is the
only circumstance which can regulate the quantity of labour
(of other commodities) which it commonly ought to pur¬
chase, command, or exchange for.” (Wealth of Nations.
p. 22.)
Thus far there is no room for doubt or difference of
opinion. Where there are none but labourers, they only
can share in its produce; and the quantity of labour re¬
quired to produce articles or procure services forms the
only standard by which their value is estimated. It is at
this point, therefore, that the investigation of the laws
which regulate the division of the produce of industry
among the three great classes of labourers, capitalists, and
landlords should properly begin : and we shall commence it
by endeavouring, in the first place, to acquire a knowledge
of the laws which determine the value of commodities in
an advanced period of society, when circulating and fixed
capital are employed in their production, and when land is
appropriated and rent paid. A previous acquaintance with
these laws is necessary to ascertain the principles which
regulate their distribution.
Sect. \\.—Preliminary Considerations.—Equality of
Wages and Profits.—Inquiry into the Effect of Varia¬
tions of Demand and Supply on Value and Price.— Cost
of Production shown to be their regulating Principle.
If the popular opinions on this subject were well founded, Prelimi-
the inquiry on which we are about to enter might be dis- nai7 con-
posed of in a few words. Ihe value of commodities, when s^eradon8.
compared with each other, and their value or price when
compared with money, is held almost universally to de¬
pend on their abundance or scarcity in the market, com¬
pared with the demand. But though this statement has
some it has but a very small admixture of truth. And it
will be found that the prices of commodities are determined,
speaking generally, by the cost of their production,—that is,
by the quantities of labour required to produce them and
bring them to market. Before, however, we proceed further,
it may be proper, the better to facilitate our investigations
in this and the following sections, to premise, that wherever
industry is free, the rate of wages earned by the labourers
in specified departments, and the rate of profit derived
from the capital vested in them cannot, for any consider¬
able period, taking everything into account, either fall be¬
low or rise above the rates of wages and profits accruing
to the labourers and capitalists engaged in other depart¬
ments.
With regard to the first of these positions, or the equality Equality of
of the wages earned by those engaged in different employ-the wages
ments, it is not meant to infer that all labourers receive earned by
precisely the same sum of money, or the same proportion ^®elabour"
of the produce of their labour. Such an opinion would be indifferent
equally at variance with fact and with principle. Wages branches of
are a compensation made to the labourer for the exertion industry,
of his physical powers, or of his skill or ingenuity. They
therefore vary according to the greater intensity of the
labour to be performed, and to the degree of skill and in¬
genuity required. Wages would not be equal if a jeweller
or engraver, for example, received no more than a common
farm-servant or scavenger. A long course of trainiim is
required to instruct a man in the businesses of jewellery
and engraving; and if this were not compensated by a
higher rate of wages, none would choose to learn such
240
POLITICAL ECONOMY.
Wealth.
Distribu- difficult arts, and all persons would addict themselves, in
tion of preference, to such employments as hardly require any
training. The cost of producing artificers or labourers
regulates the wages they obtain, in the same way that the
cost of producing commodities regulates their value. Arti-
zans who practise a difficult or nice business lose all the
time spent in their apprenticeship, as well as the clothes
and provisions consumed during its currency. Hence, in
addition to the rate paid to farm-servants and those who
get little or no training, their wages should include a pay¬
ment for the extra time and expense required to learn
their business. If they be either more or less than are
sufficient to compensate for this greater outlay on their
education, work-people will, in the former case, be attracted
to their peculiar departments, and in the latter they will
leave them to go to others ; this influx on the one hand,
and efflux on the other, being sure to continue till wages
have found their just and true level.
Besides this prominent cause of apparent inequality,
wages vary in amount proportionally to the ease and hard¬
ship, the agreeableness and disagreeableness, the constancy
and inconstancy, of employment. In the greater number
ot manufactures a journeyman may, except in periods of
general distress, usually obtain constant employment. But
there are several businesses, such as those of masons and
bricklayers, that can neither be carried on in hard frost nor
foul weather. Their earnings should therefore be sufficient
not only to maintain them while they are employed, but
also while they are idle, and to make them some compen¬
sation for those anxious and desponding moments which
the thought of so precarious a situation must sometimes
occasion. Hence, says Smith, “ where the computed earn¬
ings of the greater part of manufacturers are nearly upon a
level with the day-wages of common labourers, those of
masons and bricklayers are generally from a half more to
double those wages. Where common labourers earn four
and five shillings a week, masons and bricklayers frequently
earn seven and eight; and where the former earn nine or
ten, as in London, the latter commonly earn fifteen and
eighteen.” {Wealth of Nations, p. 47.)
But these variations, instead of being inconsistent with
the principle we have been endeavouring to establish, plainly
result from it. Wages are not equal when each workman
earns the same number of shillings or of pence in a given
space of time, but when each is paid in proportion to the
severity of the labour he has to perform, the degree of pie-
vious education and of skill that it requires, and the other
causes of variation. So long, indeed, as competition is
allowed to operate without let or hindrance of any kind, or
as every one may employ himself as he pleases, the higgling
of the market will always adjust the rate of wages, on the
principle now mentioned; and it will, in reality, be neaily
equal in different employments. If it were depressed in
one department below the common level, labourers would
leave it to go to others; and if it were raised above it,
labourers would be attracted from the departments where
wages were lower, until the increased supply had sunk
hem to their just level. A period of greater or less
duration, according to the circumstances of the country
at the time, is always required to bring about this equali¬
zation. But all theoretical inquiries, and such as have
the establishment of principles for their object, either are
or should be founded on periods of average duration ; and
when such is the case, we may always, without occasion¬
ing any error of consequence, assume that the wages earned
in different employments are, all things considered, about
equal.
In like manner, the profit accruing to the undertakers of
different businesses varies proportionally to the greater or
less risk, and other circumstances affecting the capital
which is employed in them. It is obvious, indeed, that
Distribu¬
tion of
Wealth.
Equality of
the profits
of the capi-
tal employ,
ed in differ-
ent busi-
profits have not attained their proper level until they have
been adjusted so as to balance these advantages and dis¬
advantages. None would engage in unusually hazardous
undertakings did the capital which they employ only yield
the same profit that might be obtained by employing it
in more secure businesses. None will voluntarily place
their fortunes in situations of comparative danger. Ex¬
traordinary risk must be compensated. And hence the
well-known distinction between gross and nett profit. Gross
profit varies according to the risk, respectability, and agiee-
ableness of different employments; whereas nett profit is
the same, or nearly the same, in them all. A gunpowder
manufacturer, for example, must obtain as much profit,
over and above that which is obtained from the securest
businesses, as will suffice to guarantee or insure his capital
from the extraordinary risk to which it is exposed in a
business of such extreme hazard. Were he to obtain more
than this amount, additional capital would be attracted to
the business; and were he to obtain less, capital would
be withdrawn from it. The ever-acting principle of com¬
petition, or, which is the same thing, the self-interest of
every individual, will not permit the wages or profits of any
particular set of workmen or capitalists, taking all things
into account, to continue either long below or long above
the common and average rate of wages and profits obtained
by those who are employed or have capital vested in other
businesses. It is by this common standard that the wages
and profits of particular businesses are always regulated;
they never diverge considerably from it; they have a
constant tendency to equalization ; and may, in theoretical
inquiries, be supposed, without occasioning any erroi of
consequence, exactly to coincide.
The equality, or rather the constant tendency to equality,
of the wages earned by the labourers, and of the profits
derived from the capital employed at the same time in the
various branches of industry, was pointed out by Harris,
and also by Cantillon in his work entitled The Analysis
of Trade, &c., published in 1759; but it was first fully
demonstrated in the eighth, ninth, and tenth chapters of
the first book of the Wealth of Nations. I he establish¬
ment of this principle was one of the greatest services ren¬
dered by Adam Smith to the science. Nothing can be
more convincing and satisfactory than his reasoning on this
subject. The equality of wages and of profits has, since
the publication of his work, been always assumed as admit¬
ted and incontestible.
The equality of wages and profits once established, it is Variations
easy to see that variations in the demand and supply of of demand
commodities can exert no lasting influence over price, ^n^supp v
The cost of production, denominated by Smith and the pemarient
Marquis Garnier necessary or natural price, is the ultimate influenCe
regulator of the value of every commodity not subject to a on price,
monopoly, of which the quantity may be indefinitely in¬
creased by the application of fresh capital and labour to
its production. The market price of such commodities and
their cost do not always coincide ; but they cannot for any
considerable period be far separated, and have a constant
tendency to equality. Commodities will not continue to be
produced if they sell for less than the cost of their production ;
that is, for less than will repay the outlay upon them, in¬
cluding the ordinary rate of profit on the capital employed.
This is a limit below which it is plain prices cannot be
permanently reduced; and it is equally plain that were
they for any considerable period to rise above it, additional
capital would be attracted to the advantageous business,
and the competition of the producers would lower pi ices.
A demand, to be effectual, must be such as will cover
the expense of production. If it be insufficient to do t is,
it is insufficient to make commodities be produced an
brought to market. A real demander must have the power,
POLITICAL ECONOMY.
241
Distribu¬
tion of
Wealth.
The will
and the
power to
purchase
necessary
to consti¬
tute de-
:mand.
lost of pro-
uction the
egulating
j Principle
f price.
as well as the ivill, to purchase. A person with a sovereign
in his pocket maybe as anxious—nay, he may be ten times
more anxious—to become the purchaser of a coach than of
a hat. But while a sovereign will pay the expense of pro¬
ducing a hat, it will not pay the expense of producing a
coach ; and hence, though he may have the former, he
cannot have the latter. Were such an improvement made
in the art of coachmaking as should enable coaches to be
manufactured as cheaply as hats, then a sovereign would
buy a coach as easily as it now buys a hat. The demand
for any particular commodity may become ten or twenty
times more extensive, or it may decline in the same pro¬
portion ; but if the cost of its production continue the same,
its price will not permanently vary. If, for example, the
demand for hats were suddenly doubled, their price would
rise, and the hatters would make large profits; but this
rise would only be of very limited duration ; for the large
profits, by attracting additional capital to the hat trade,
would make an increased supply of hats be speedily
brought to market; and if no variation took place in the cost
of their production, their price would sink to its former
level. Suppose, on the other hand, that the demand for
hats is increased fivefold, and that the cost of their produc¬
tion is diminished in the same proportion: we should, not¬
withstanding the increased demand, be able in a short
while to buy a hat for the fifth part of what it now costs.
Again, suppose the demand for hats to decline, and the
cost of producing them to increase, the price would, not¬
withstanding the diminished demand, gradually rise till it
had reached the point at which it would yield the hatters
the ordinary rate of profit on their capital. It is admitted
that variations of demand and supply occasion temporary
variations of price. But it is essential to observe that
these variations are only temporary. The cost of produc¬
tion is the grand regulator of price—the centre of all those
transitory and evanescent oscillations on the one side and
the other; and wherever industry is free, the competition
of the producers will always elevate or sink prices to this
level.
In branches of industry, such as agriculture, which are
liable to be seriously affected by variations of the seasons,
and from which capital cannot be easily withdrawn, there is
a longer interval than in others before the market price
of produce and the cost of its production are equalized.
But such an equalization is sure to be brought about in the
end. No farmer, and no producer of any description, will
continue to bring corn, cattle, and other products to market,
unless they sell for a price sufficient to pay the expense of
their production, including the common and average rate
of profit on the capital employed.1 An excess of supply
occasionally depresses the prices of corn and other farm
produce below this level ; and the occupiers of land
are in consequence involved in difficulties ; but such gluts
do not continue. The cultivators of the worst soils are
driven from their employment; a smaller supply is in con¬
sequence brought to market; and prices are adjusted
so as to yield customary profits to the agriculturists who
continue to prosecute their business. The interest of the
cultivators will not permit prices to be permanently de¬
pressed below this level; and the interest of the public
will not permit them to be permanently raised above it;
for if they were raised above it, the cultivators would gain
more than the common and average rate of profit, and capi¬
tal would of course be attracted to agriculture, and would
continue flowing in that direction until the equilibrium of
profit had been restored—-that is, as will be afterwards
seen, until the price of agricultural produce had fallen to
Distribu¬
tion of
Wealth.
such a sum as would yield ordinary profits to the occupiers
of the worst soils in cultivation, or the improvers of the best.
This is the point at which average prices continue station¬
ary, or about which market prices oscillate, until the cost of
production increase or diminish. Were any great discovery
made in agriculture—such, for instance, as would reduce
the cost of cultivation a half, the price of agricultural pro¬
duce would speedily fall in the same proportion, and it
would continue to sell at that reduced rate till the stimulus
which this fall would give to population, and the conse¬
quently greater demand for supplies of food, forced re¬
course to soils of less fertility. Whenever this took place,
prices would again rise, unless the influence of the de¬
creased fertility of the land were countervailed by some
new improvement. Why is the price of corn almost in¬
variably higher in England than in Russia and Poland ?
Is it not because of the greater cost of its production in this
country ?
A pound-weight of gold is at present worth about fourteen Reason
wfifteen pounds of silver. It cannot, however, be said that why gold
this is a consequence of the demand for gold being greater 18 more
than that for silver, the reverse being the fact. Neither can ^n^dlver
it be said to be occasioned by an absolute scarcity of gold; n S1 ver'
for those who choose to pay a sufficient price for it may
obtain it in any quantity they please. The cause of the dif¬
ference in the price of the two metals consists entirely in the
circumstance of its costing fourteen or fifteen times as
much to produce a pound of gold as to produce a pound of
silver. That this is the case, is plain from the admitted
fact, that the producers of gold do not gain any greater
profit than the producers of silver, iron, lead, or any other
metal. They have no monopoly of the business. Every
one may go or send capital to California and Australia, and
become a producer of gold ; and wherever this is the case,
competition will always make the product be sold at such
a price as will pay the expenses of its production, and no
more. Were a gold-mine discovered of equal productive¬
ness with the silver-mines, the production of gold would
immediately become the most advantageous of all businesses;
an immense supply of that metal would in consequence be
thrown upon the market, and its price would be gradually
reduced to the same level as silver.
In further illustration of this principle, take the case of cot- Reason
tons. None can deny that the demand for them has been why cot-
prodigiously augmented within the last ninety ora hundred tons have
years ; and yet their price, instead of increasing, as it should de?lined iD
have done had the popular theory of demand and supply price‘
been well founded, has been constantly and rapidly diminish¬
ing. If it be said that this is a consequence of the supply
of cottons having augmented in a still greater ratio than the
demand, we answer that this is not enough to explain the
fall of price. The supply would not have been brought to
market had not the diminution of prices, which has been
constantly going on since the invention of spinning-jennies
in 1767, been balanced by an equal diminution of their
cost. It is to this principle — to the vastly increased
facility of production, occasioned by the stupendous inven¬
tions and discoveries of Hargreaves, Watt, Arkwright,
Crompton, and others—that the lower price and increased
demand for cottons are wholly owing. Their extraordinary
cheapness has brought them within reach of all classes ;
and enabled the poorest individuals to clothe themselves in
a dress which, at the accession of George III., was fully as
expensive as silk.
A like reduction of price, though seldom to the same
extent, has been occasioned by the introduction of im¬
proved machinery and processes into most departments of
1 Some of the advocates of the agricultural interest have represented this as one of the “ dangerous dogmas ” of the Scotch Econo-
mists ! But it can boast of a much more remote origin :—“ Nemo enim sanusf says Varro, “ debet velle impensam ac sumptum facere in
culturam, si videt non posse refiei.” (De Re Rustica, lib. i., § 2.)
VOL. XVIII.
2 H
242
POLITICAL ECONOMY.
Distribu¬
tion of
Wealth.
Competi¬
tion of the
producers
in a civil¬
ized society
will always
sink prices
to the cost
of produc¬
tion.
Influence
of monopo
lies.
manufacturing industry. And we may take this oppor¬
tunity of observing, that this circumstance shows the error
of those who estimate the condition of the labouring
classes by comparing their wages with the price of corn;
and who contend, if the former have not increased as
much as the latter, that their condition has deteriorated.
But this conclusion is not necessarily true, unless these
classes subsisted on corn only, which, as everybody knows,
is not the case. Other articles as well as bread enter
largely into their food; and they must in addition be
clothed, housed, and supplied with fuel, while they gene¬
rally also have some command over luxuries. Hence
it is apparent, that though wages should not have done
more than preserve their former relation to corn, or should
even have declined as compared with it, the condition ot
the labourers may, notwithstanding, have been veiy ma‘
teriallv improved; inasmuch as what they have not gained
or lost in corn, they may have more than gained in their
greater command over the many other things required for
their subsistence and wellbeing. And it would be easy to
show that such has been the case, though not to the extent
that might be wished for, here and in most other countries.
But to return—
If a set of men were brought together from various coun¬
tries, ignorant of each other’s wants, and of the labour and
expense necessary to produce the commodities which each
possesses, these would be bought and sold according to the
wants and fancies of the parties. In such circumstances, a
pound of gold might be given for a pound of iron, and
a gallon of wine for a gallon of small beer. As soon, how¬
ever, as a commercial intercourse is established, and as the
wants of society and the powers of production come to be
well and generally known, an end is put to this method of
bartering. Thousands of sellers then enter the maiket;
and when such is the case, it is no longer possible to sell a
pound of gold for a pound of iron ; and why ? because the
producers of iron will undersell each other until they have,
by their competition, reduced its price to such a sum as
will suffice to pay the expense of its production. Ihis, in
every advanced society, is the pivot on which exchangeable
value always turns. A civilized man may obtain ai tides
from a savage, in exchange for toys or trinkets which it
cost infinitely less to produce; but if he try to obtain the
same advantage over his own countrymen, a very short ex¬
perience will satisfy him that they are quite as clear-sighted
and attentive to their own interests as he is.
Thus, then, it appears that no variation of demand, un¬
accompanied by a variation in the cost ot pioduction, has
any lasting influence over price. If the cost of production
be diminished, price will equally decline, though the demand
should be increased to any conceivable extent. . It the cost
of production be increased, price will equally rise, though
the demand should sink to the lowest possible limit..
It must always be remembered that this reasoning ap¬
plies only to those commodities on which competition is
allowed to operate without restraint, and whose quantity
mav be indefinitely increased by the application of fresh
capital and industry to their production. When an indi¬
vidual, or class of individuals, obtains the exclusive pri¬
vilege of manufacturing certain species of goods, the piin-
ciple of competition is suspended with respect to them,
and their price depends on the proportion in which they
are brought to market compared with the demand. If
monopolists supplied the market liberally, or kept it as fully
stocked as it would be under a free system, their com¬
modities would sell at their natural price, and the monopoly
would have no disadvantage other than the exclusion of
the public from an employment which every one should
have leave to carry on. In point ot fact, however, the
market is never fully supplied with monopolized commodi¬
ties. Producers universally endeavour to obtain the highest
Wealth.
prices for their commodities ; and when they are protected Distribu-
bv a monopoly against being undersold by others, they tion of
either keep the market understocked, or supply it with in¬
ferior articles, or both. Under such circumstances, the
prices of articles which cannot be easily smuggled from
abroad, or clandestinely produced at home, may be ele¬
vated to the highest point to which the competition ot the
buyers can raise them; and may in consequence amount
to five, ten, or twenty times the sum they would fetch were
competition permitted to operate in their production. 1 he
WUI and power of the purchasers to offer a high price forms
the only limit to the rapacity of monopolists.
Besides the articles produced under artificial monopolies,
there is another class whose, quantity cannot be increased
by human industry, and whose price is not therefore de¬
pendent on the cost of production. Ancient statues, vases,
and gems, the pictures of the great masters, some species
of wines produced in limited quantities from soils of a
particular quality and exposure, and a few other articles,
come under this description. As their supply cannot be
increased, their price varies inversely as the demand, and
is totally unaffected by anything else.
It must also be understood, in saying that the cost ot
production is the regulating principle of value, that the
statement applies to those articles only, the demand for
which is sufficient to pay this cost, or to make them.be pro¬
duced. When corn falls or rises in price because of a good
or a bad harvest, or black cloth or silk rises or falls because
of the occurrence of a public mourning or a rejoicing, every¬
body is aware that the disturbance is temporary only, and
that prices will be speedily adjusted to their common and
ordinary level. But when, owing to a change of fashion
or other cause, the demand for furniture, books, prints, and
articles of a durable description, falls considerably off,
their price sinks permanently below the cost of their pro¬
duction. The latter, indeed, has no influence over the
price of articles which have ceased to be in efficient de¬
mand. Some half dozen or dozen individuals may be
anxious to procure copies of a book, or of an edition of a
book, which has been long out of print. But as the demand
of the parties would not suffice to defray the cost of reprint¬
ing the work, the stray copies that may occasionally cast
up5are sold for the highest price the buyers are disposed to
offer, without their being affected in any degree by the
original cost of the book, ot which, indeed, they most pro¬
bably know nothing. And supposing, on the other hand,
that a considerable impression of a book has been thrown
off, and that the anticipated demand for it has not been
realized, it will in no very lengthened period come to be
sold for a third or a fourth part, or less, ot its cost. Hence
when it is affirmed that, in the long run, the prices of com¬
modities or services are determined by their cost, it is
always to be remembered that the principle is limited to
those products or services for which there is a demand
considerable enough to make them be supplied. If such
be not the case, their prices may continue sunk far
below, though they cannot exceed, what it would take
to bring them to market. Suppose that an article would
cost 20s. for its production, but that, from its getting out of
fashion, none will give more than some los. or 16s. for the
quantities of it on hand: in such circumstances, no more ot
it will be produced, and its price will no longer be dependent
in any degree on the sum required to furnish the market
with fresh supplies. But articles of this description ma e
a comparatively unimportant class. They have ceased to
be produced ; and for all practical purposes it is true to say e al.
that in periods of average duration the prices ot products wayg c0.
and services are determined by the cost of their production. jncident
When a fall takes place in the price of a commodity with cos
which is in efficient demand, it cannot be said whether of pro
it be really advantageous until it be learned whether its
Distribu¬
tion of
Wealth.
Opinion of
the Mar¬
quis Gar-
nier.
POLITICAL ECONOMY.
243
cost has been equally diminished. If this be the case,
the fall of price will not be disadvantageous to the pro¬
ducers, and will be permanent; but it this be not the
—if the cost of production continue the same,
or has not fallen in the same ratio as the price,—the fall
must be injurious to the producers, and prices will in no
very lengthened period attain to their former level. It is the
same with a rise of prices. No rise can be permanent un¬
less the cost of production be proportionally increased. If
it remain stationary, or do not increase in a corresponding
degree, prices will decline as soon as the ephemeral causes
of enhancement have disappeared.
The extreme importance of having correct opinions re¬
specting the regulating principle of price, and the discord¬
ant and erroneous opinions so very prevalent with regard
to it, will, we hope, be deemed a sufficient apology for the
length of the previous remarks, and for the insertion of the
following paragraph from the Histoire de la Monnaie of the
Marquis Gamier, in which the doctrine we have been en¬
deavouring to establish is enforced with equal ability and
eloquence.
“ Mais les producteurs tendent continuellement a regler
la quantite des productions sur la somme des demandes; ils
ne resteront pas au-dessous de ce point, sans etre tentes
d’accroitre la masse de leurs produits ; et ils ne peuvent le
depasser sans s’exposer a perdre. Ces deux quantiles, celle
des produits et celle des demandes, s’efforcent done ti se
mettre en equilibre Tune avec 1’autre. II existe done un
point de repos vers lequel elles gravitent chacune de son
cote; un point qui est leur niveau, et e’est ce point qui
constitue le prix naturel de la chose venale. Quelle est
la limite au-dela de laquelle le producteur ne pent porter
la quantite de ses produits ? C’est le prix naturel; car,
s'il ne peut obtenir ce prix pour tout son produit, il sera
en perte. Quelle est la borne des demandes du consom-
mateur ? C’est le prix naturel; car il ne veut pas donner
plus que 1’equivalent de ce qu’il repoit. Si, par une decou-
verte, ou par un perfectionnement de 1’industrie, le produc¬
teur est mis a meme d’etablir Particle sur lequel il s’exerce
a moins de temps et de depense, alors le prix naturel baissera,
mais aussi la somme des demandes accroitra dans une pro¬
portion pareille, parce que plus de consommateurs seront en
etat de payer ce prix naturel, moins eleve que 1’ancien.
Le prix naturel sera toujours, pour chaque chose venale, la
limite commune au-dela de laquelle la somme des demandes
de cette chose et la quantite de sa production ne devront
plus faire de progres. Quand le prix courant est le prix
naturel, le producteur et le consommateur se donnent reci-
proquement 1’equivalent de ce qu’ils recoivent. Quand le
prix courant s’ecarte du prix naturel, ou c’est la consomma-
tion qui souffre an profit de la production, ou c’est laproduc-
tion quisouffre au profit de la consommation. Get etat de
souffrance ne peut durer, et de-la precedent les variations
du prix courant. Ces variations, que Smith a expliquees
et analysees avec une si parfaite luddite, ne sont autre chose
que les efforts pour revenirau prix naturel. Tenter d’expli-
quer ces variations, sans reconnaitre 1’existence d’un prix
naturel, ce serait vouloir expliquer les oscillations du pen-
dule sans convenir de sa tendance vers un centre de gravi¬
tation ; ce serait supposer un effort sans but et sans mobile;
ce serait admettre le mouvement et nier le repos ; enfin, en
volant les phenomenes du cours des fluideset de l equilibre Distribu-
des solides, ce serait contester les lois du niveau et de la tion of
pesanteur. Si les choses venales n’ont point de prix naturel, Wealth-
alors les mouvements de la circulation seront diriges par
une force aveugle et inconnue ; les prix moyens ne seront
plus que le resultat de chances purement fortuites; il n’y
aura plus d’equivalent reel; les valeurs n’auront plus de
mesure naturelle ; 1’economie politique ne pourra plus as-
pirer a etre au rang des sciences, puisqu’elle manquera du
caractere essentiel qui les constitue tel les, et que les fails
dont elle traite ne seront plus fondes sur les lois immuables
de la nature.” (Tome i., Introduction, p. 62.)
Having thus shown that the cost of production is the re¬
gulating principle of price, we shall now proceed to inves¬
tigate the elements which enter into and constitute this cost
in an advanced state of society, when rent is paid for land,
and circulating and fixed capital employed to assist the
labour of workmen. This is, of all others, the most im¬
portant, as it is the most radical inquiry in that part of the
science which treats of the distribution of wealth; and it
is indeed impossible, without possessing accurate notions on
this subject, to advance a single step without falling into
errors. We shall begin by endeavouring to ascertain
whether rent enters into the cost of production.
Sect. III.—Nature, Origin, and Progress of Rent.—Not
a Cause, but a Consequence, of the High Value of Raw
Produce. — Does not enter into Price.—Distinction
between Agriculture and Manufactures. — Practical
Considerations.1
Rent is properly “that portion of the produce of the Definition
earth which is paid by the occupier to the landlord for the of rent,
use of the natural and inherent powers of the soil.” If
buildings have been erected on a farm, or if it have been
inclosed, drained, or in any way improved, the sum w'hich a
farmer will pay to the landlord for its use will be composed
not only of what is properly rent, but also of a remuneration
for the use of the capital laid out on its improvement. In
common language, these two sums are always confounded
under the name of rent; but in an inquiry of this nature
it is necessary to consider them as perfectly distinct. The
laws by which rent and profits are regulated being totally
different, those which govern the one cannot be ascertained
if it be not considered separately from the other.
On the first settling of any country abounding in large Xo rent
tracts of unappropriated land, no rent is paid; and for paid on the
the obvious reason, that no person will pay rent for what first set-
may be procured in unlimited quantities for nothing. Thus, tIinS of
in New Zealand, where there is an ample supply of unap- coun''
propriated land, it is certain that, until the best lands are
cultivated, no such thing as rent will ever be heard of.
Suppose, however, that tillage has been carried to this
point, and that the increasing demand can, in the actual
state of agriculture, be no longer supplied by the best
lands; it is plain that either the increase of population
must cease, or the inhabitants consent to pay such an
additional price for raw produce as will enable the second
quality of land to be cultivated. No advance short of
this will procure them another bushel of corn; and
competition will not, as will be immediately seen, allow
1 The theory of rent explained in this chapter was first promulgated and satisfactorily established in a tract on the Corn Laws,
Edinburgh, 1777 (see pp. 45-47). The author of this original and most important theory, Dr James Anderson, was a native of Her-
niandston in Mid-Lothian, and subsequently editor of the and other publications; in one of which (Observations on Agriculture and
Natural History, &c., v., pp. 401-405) he gave a new exposition of his theory. But notwithstanding the clear and able manner in which
he explained his doctrines, and their ingenuity and importance, they do not appear to have attracted the least attention, and seem to
have been completely forgotten. So much so was this the case, that when Mr Malthus (An Inquiry into the Nature and Progress of Rent)
and Sir Edward West (Essay on the Application of Capital to Land, by a Fellow of University College, Oxford) published tracts in 1815
explaining the nature and origin of rent, they were universally believed to be the authors of the theory. There is, we believe, no doubt
as to their originality. Still, however, they were merely expositors of what had been clearly and ably explained about forty years pre¬
viously to the publication of their pamphlets.
244 POLITICAL
Distribu- them to pay more for it. They have therefore but one
tion of alternative. If they choose to pay a price sufficient to
Wealth. cover t]ie expense of cultivating land of the second quality,
they will obtain additional supplies; if they do not, they
Origin of must want them. Suppose, now, that the consumers offer
rent. such a price as will pay the expense of producing corn on
soils which, in return for the same expenditure as would
have produced 100 quarters on lands of the first quality,
w ill only yield 90 quarters; it is plain it will then be in¬
different to a farmer whether he pay a rent of ten quarters
for the first quality of land, or farms the second quality,
which is unappropriated and open to him without paying
Progress of any rent. If the population went on increasing, lands
rent. which would yield only 80, 70, 60, 50, &c. quarters in
return for the same expenditure that had obtained 100
quarters from the best lands, might be successively brought
under cultivation. And when recourse had been had to
these inferior lands, the rent of the higher qualities would
plainly be equal to the difference, or the value of the differ¬
ence, between their produce and the produce of the worst
quality under cultivation. Suppose, for example, that the
worst quality under cultivation yields 60 quarters, then the
rent of the quality w ill be 40 quarters, or 100 — 60;
the rent of the second quality would, in like manner,
be equal to the difference between 90 and 60, or 30
quarters; the rent of the third quality to 80-60, or 20
quarters, and so on. But it is material to remark, that
the produce raised on the land last cultivated, or with the
capital last applied to the soil, is always sold at its necessary
price, or at that price which is just sufficient to yield the
cultivators the common and average rate of profit, or, which
is the same thing, to cover the cost of its production. If
the price were above this level, then agriculture would be
the best of all businesses, and tillage would be immediately
extended; while, on the other hand, if the price were
below it, capital would be withdrawn from the soil, and
the poorer lands thrown out of cultivation. Under such
circumstances, it is clear that no rent would enter into the
price of the produce raised by means of the capital last
applied to the soil. It is entirely made up of wages
and profits. The proprietors of the superior lands ob¬
tain rent; but this is the result of their greater fertility.
The demand cannot be supplied without cultivating in¬
ferior soils; and, to enable them to be cultivated, their
produce must fetch such a price as will afford the ordi¬
nary rate of profit to their cultivators. This price will,
however, yield a surplus, over and above the ordinary rate
of profit, to the cultivators of the more fertile lands, and this
surplus is rent.
An increase of rent is not, therefore, as is very generally
supposed, occasioned by improvements in agriculture, or
by an increase in the fertility of the soil. It results from
the necessity of resorting, as population increases, to soils
of a decreasing degree of fertility, and from the inability to
apply capital indefinitely to the best land without a dimi¬
nished return. Rent varies inversely as the amount of
produce; that is, it increases when the produce of agri¬
cultural labour diminishes, and diminishes when the pro¬
duce increases. That labour is best rewarded in countries
like New Zealand, Indiana, and Minnesota, and generally in
all situations in which no rent is paid, and the best lands
only are cultivated.
A quarter of wheat may be raised in the ^ ale of Glou¬
cester or the Carse of Gowrie, for perhaps a. fourth or a fifth
part of the expense necessary to raise it on the worst soils
in cultivation in other parts of the kingdom. There cannot,
however, be at the same time two or more prices for the
same article in the same market. And it is hardly neces¬
sary to say, that unless the price of wheat be such as will
indemnify the producers of the portion of the crop w hich is
raised on the worst soils, they will cease bringing it to
ECONOMY.
market, and the required supplies will not be obtained; Distribu..
and it is equally plain, that if its price exceed this sum, tion of
fresh capital will be applied to its production, and competi- ^ealth.
tion will eventually sink prices to their natural level,—that
is, to a sum sufficient to afford ordinary profits to the
growers of that portion of the required supply which is
raised in the most unfavourable circumstances, and at
the greatest expense. The cost of producing this por¬
tion determines the price of the rest. And hence it is
indifferent to the consumers whether, in an advanced
stage of society, the excess of return over the cost of
production on the best lands belong to a non-resident
landlord or an occupier. It must belong to the one
or the other. Corn is not high because a rent is paid,
but a rent is paid because corn is high—because the de¬
mand is such that it cannot be supplied without cultivating
soils of a diminished degree of fertility as compared with
the best. Suppose there is an effectual demand for ten
millions of quarters, of which one million must be raised on
lands that yield nothing but the ordinary rate of profit to
their cultivators: it is clear that, though the rents payable
by the cultivators of the superior lands were relinquished,
that would be no boon to the cultivators of the inferior
lands. It w'ould not lessen their expenses; that is, it would
not lessen the amount of capital and labour required to
produce that portion of the necessary supply that is raised
under the most unfavourable circumstances; and, unless
it did this, it is impossible, supposing the demand not to
decline, that it should lower prices. Although, therefore,
landlords were to give up the whole of their rents, their
ill-judged liberality would not cheapen anything. It would
turn farmers into landlords, and landlords into beggars;
but there its effect would stop. But the case is altogether
different when the cost of production varies. If it be dimi¬
nished, the competition of the producers never fails to sink
prices in an equal degree; while, if it be increased, sup¬
plies will cease to be brought to market, unless the price
rise to a corresponding level. In no case, therefore, whe¬
ther the demand be great or small,—whether for a million
or ten million quarters,—can the price of raw produce per¬
manently exceed or fall below the cost of producing that
portion of the necessary supply which is raised on the worst
land, or with the last capital laid out on the soil.
Various objections have been made to this theory. In the Objections
first place, it has been said that, though it may hold in a ^ thris
country like Australia, where land is not appropriated, yet tneory•
that the worst land in civilized and appropriated coun¬
tries, like England, always yields some small rent to the
proprietor; and that therefore it cannot be said that the
price of produce is, in such countries, determined by the
cost of raising it on that quality of land which pays no
rent.
It has been justly observed of this objection, that even
were it well founded, it would not practically affect any of
the conclusions we have endeavoured to establish. Ihere
are in England and Scotland thousands of acres of land
which do not let for L.100; but to cultivate them would
require an outlay of many thousands, and the rent would
consequently bear so small a proportion to the expenses
of production as to become altogether evanescent and inap¬
preciable.
There can be no doubt, however, that there is in this, Land in
and most other extensive countries, a great deal of^ land
which yields no rent. In the United States and ^uss*a Country
this is unquestionably the case; and yet no one presumes
to say that the laws which regulate rent in these countries yields no
are different from those which regulate it in England and rent.
France. The poorest lands are always let in immense
tracts. If it were attempted to let particular portions of
these tracts separately, they would bring no rent; but they
appear to yield rent, because, though rent is not paid for
POLITICAL ECONOMY.
Distribu- t^iem’ ^ *s Pa'^ ^or t^ie more fertile spots intermixed
tion of w't^ them. But though it were true that every rood of
Wealth, land in Britain paid rent, it is easy to see that that pay-
ment would not affect the price of raw produce. The
Payment ofrent °f a country consists of the difference, or the value
rent on all of the difference, between the produce obtained from
soils not in-the capital first applied to the land and that which is last
consistent applied to it. It would, as already seen, be exactly the
wnh the t0 a cultivator whether he paid a rent of ten
that rent quarters for land yielding, with a certain outlay, a hundred
does not quarters of corn, or employed the same capital in cultivating
enter into inferior land yielding only ninety quarters, for which he
price. paid no rent. Were it possible always to obtain the same
amount of produce for every equal additional capital applied
to the superior soils, those of an inferior quality would never
be cultivated. But the fact that, in the progress of society,
new and less fertile land is always brought into cultivation,
demonstrates that additional capital and labour cannot be
indefinitely applied with the same advantage to the old land.
The population of a particular country may be so dense,
and the demand for agricultural produce so great, that every
quality of land may actually yield rent; but it is indifferent if
capital be employed on land which yields only the return
of stock with its ordinary profits, whether it is employed on
old or new land. Now, that there is a very large amount
of capital employed in such a manner in this and every
other country is abundantly certain. A farmer who rents
a farm, besides employing on it as much capital as will, at
the current prices, enable him to pay his rent, obtain average
profits, and replace his stock previously to the expiration
of his lease, will employ additional capital, if it will only re¬
place itself, and afford ordinary profits. His employing this
additional capital depends entirely on prices being such as
will repay his expenses and profits; for he knows he will
have no additional rent to pay. The true and universal
theorem is, that if the last capital carried to agriculture yield
more than the ordinary rate of profit, it will be increased
till prices sink so as to yield that rate only; and that, in
the event of their sinking so as to yield a less rate, the out¬
lay of capital on the land will cease, and portions of it en¬
gaged in farming will be carried to other businesses, till
prices and profits have been raised to their proper level.
Hence, speaking generally, it appears that in every case,
whether the last quality of land taken into cultivation
yield rent or not, the last capital applied to the soil yields
only ordinary profits; and consequently, the price of the
produce which it yields, and which regulates the price of
the rest, is totally unaffected by rent.
It has, in the second place, been objected to this account
of the nature and causes of rent, that it takes for granted
Ss wm u landlf dsJ in extensive countries permit the fhrmers of
How far- n 6 Y°rst lanc^s t0 occupy them without paying any rent,
terstooc- . 11 18 easy t0 ,see tdat this *s a mistake. Raw produce
ipy their *s xep1 down to its necessary price by the competition of
mds with-tarmers, and not by that of landlords. Though there is a
Jtpaying very wide difference, in extensive countries, between the
best and worst soils, the gradation from the one to the
other is gradual, and almost imperceptible. The best differ
but little from those immediately inferior to them, and the
worst from those immediately above them. And hence
it is as impossible to show where the first quality ends and
the second begins, or where the second ends and the third
begins, as it is to point out the line of demarcation
between the contiguous colours of the rainbow. Now
suppose that the numbers 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, &c., desig¬
nate the different qualities of soil in an extensive country
and suppose that the effectual demand for raw produce
is such as will afford the common and average rate of
profit to those who cultivate land of the “degree of
fertility, or that represented by No. 5: when such is the
case, there can be no doubt that No. 5 will be cultivated •
245
'oes not
ippose
for, besides the peculiar attractions which agriculture pos- Di.tribu-
sesses, it would be quite as advantageous to cultivate it as tion of
to engage in any other business. It would not, however Wealth.
be more advantageous; for its produce would yield no surl V v '
plus in the shape of rent. But suppose that a combina¬
tion took place among the proprietors of Nos. 1, 2, 3. 4
and 5, to withhold a portion of their produce from market-
and that, in consequence of this or any other cause, the
price of corn is raised a little above the expense of its
production on No. 5; in that case it is obvious that soils
of the very next degree of fertility, or that portion of
No. 6 which, in point of productive power, differs extremely
little from No. 5, would be brought under cultivation, and
the increased supply would infallibly sink prices to the level
that would afford the average rate of profit, and no more, to
the cultivators of No. 5, or of the poorest soils which the
supply of the effectual demand renders it necessary to cul¬
tivate. It is quite the same, therefore, in so far as price is
concerned, whether a country be appropriated or not.
When it is appropriated, prices are kept down to their low¬
est limit by the competition of the landlords. And it is by
the same principle,—the cost of producing the portion of
the necessary supply which is raised under the most unfa¬
vourable circumstances,—that the price of raw produce is
determined in England and France, and in New Holland
and Minnesota.
But then it is said that this reasoning involves a contra- Does not
diction ; that it accounts for a rise and a fall of price in the account
same way, or by an extension of cultivation ! In truth and for a
reality, however, it does no such thing. The market price rise and
of corn will always be low where it is cheaply produced, as fall°f>rice
in Poland; and it will occasionally be low where it costs a wav 6 b<ime
great deal to produce it, when a redundant supply is brought
to market. Suppose, as before, that the effectual demand
for corn in Great Britain is such as will enable lands of the
fifth degree of fertility to be cultivated; but that, owing to
variable harvests, to injudicious encouragement held out by
the legislature, the ardour of speculation, the miscalculation
of farmers, or any other cause, lands of the sixth degree of
fertility have been cultivated; the increased quantity of
produce that must thus be thrown on the market will plainly
depress prices to such an extent that, instead of yielding
average profits to the cultivators of No. 6, they will no“
yield them to the cultivators of No. 5. But they'will yield
more to them than to the cultivators of No. 6. The latter,
therefore, will be first driven from their business ; and when
they have retired, prices will rise, not indeed to such a
height as to enable No. 6 to be cultivated, but so high as
to enable the cultivators of No. 5 to continue their busi¬
ness ; that is, as has been already shown, to such a sum as
will enable the raisers of the last portion of the necessary
supply to obtain the common and average rate of profit.
Should the demand, instead of continuing stationary, in¬
crease so that it could not be supplied without cultivating
Nos. 6 and 7, the price will rise in proportion to the in¬
creased expense of their cultivation. But to whatever
extent the demand might increase, still, were such an im¬
provement made in agriculture, or in the art of raising
corn, as would enable the supply to be raised from No. I
only, the price would infallibly tall to the sum that paid
the expenses of its cultivators, and rent would entirely
disappear.
The intelligent trader will easily perceive, when it is said \ngWer to
that superior lands are the first to be brought into cultiva- the objec-°
tion, that the statement is not made absolutely, but with tion, that
reference to the capacities of the cultivators. * Lands en- the best
dowed with a high degree of natural fertility are often, in lands are
thinly-peopled countries, either heavily timbered or’ so
very wet as to be totally unfit for tillage; and wherever vated?11*
this is the case, cultivation is confined at first to open, dry,
or down lands. The latter are, in fact, the most fertile
246
POLITICAL ECONOMT.
Distribu¬
tion of
Wealth.
which it is in the power of the inhabitants to cultivate.
After population has become denser, and capital been ac¬
cumulated, the neglected lands will most likely be cleaied,
drained, and brought into tillage. But it by no means
follows, though they may yield a greater amount of pro¬
duce per acre, that they are therefore more fertile than those
first cultivated. The presumption, indeed, is all the other
way. Fertility, it is to be remembered, does not depend
merely on quantities of produce, but on the quantities
compared with the outlay required for their production ; so
that, if an acre of a certain description of land produce
50 bushels of wheat to an outlay of L.100, and an acre
of a different description produce 35 or 40 bushels to
an outlay of L.50, the latter is by far the more fertile of
the two; and when both qualities of land are cultivated,
the last will bring a large rent. It is, indeed, absurd to
suppose that men will resort in preference to what is
really inferior land. Whatever Mr Carey1 or any one else
may say to the contrary, such folly must be of rare oc¬
currence, and it may be safely laid down that those lands
which, all things considered, are the most fertile, will be
first brought into cultivation.
Distinction
between
agriculture
and manu¬
factures
and com¬
merce.
Tendency
of manu¬
factured
products
to fall in
price.
Tendency
of agricul¬
tural pro¬
ducts to
rise in
price.
Earth com'
pared by
Malthus to
a series of
machines
endowed
with differ
ent pro- '
ductive
powers.
This analysis of the nature and causes of rent discovers
a fundamental distinction between agricultural and com¬
mercial and manufacturing industry. In manufactures, the
worst machinery is first set in motion ; its powers are
progressively improved by new inventions ; and it is ren¬
dered capable of yielding a greater amount of produce with
the same expense. And as no limits can be assigned to the
quantity of improved machinery that may be introduced;
as a million of steam-engines may be constructed for the
same, or rather for a less, proportional expense than would
be required for the construction of one; the competition of
capitalists never fails to reduce the price of manufactured
commodities to the sum which the least expensive method
of production necessarily requires for their production.
In agriculture, on the contrary, the best machinery, that
is, the best soils, are first brought under cultivation, and
recourse is afterwards had to inferior soils, requiring a
oreater expenditure of capital and labour to produce the
same supplies. The improvements in the construction of
farming implements, and the meliorations in agricultural
management, which occasionally occur, countervail to a
greater or less extent the decreasing fertility of the soil.
But the fall of price, which is permanent in manufactures,
is only temporary in agriculture. A fall in the price of raw
produce, by enabling every class to obtain greater quanti¬
ties than before for their products or theii laboui, laises
the rate of profit, and leads of course to an inci eased accu¬
mulation of capital; and this necessarily leads to a greater
demand for labour, to higher wages, to an inci eased popu¬
lation, and consequently to a further demand for raw pro¬
duce and an extended cultivation. Agricultural impiove-
ments check for a while the necessity of having recourse
to inferior soils and the rise of rents; but the check cannot
be lasting. The stimulus which they at the same time
give to improvement and population is sure in the end to
raise prices, and, by forcing recourse to poor lands, to raise
rents.
Malthus, in illustrating this important distinction between
agricultural and manufacturing industry, set the doctrine of
rent in a striking point of view. “ The earth, he observes,
“ has been sometimes compared to a vast machine, pre¬
sented by nature to man for the production of food and
raw materials; but to make the resemblance more just, as
far as they admit of comparison, we should considei the
soil as a present to man of a great number of machines, all
susceptible of continued improvement by the application
of capital to them, but yet of very different original quali- Distribu-
‘ i , tion of
ties and powers. w
“ This great inequality in the powers of the machinery wealth,
employed m procuring raw produce, forms one of the most
remarkable features which distinguishes the machinery of
the land from the machinery employed in manufactures.
“ When a machine in manufactures is invented which
will produce more finished work with less labour and capi¬
tal than before, if there be no patent, or as soon as the
patent is over, a sufficient number of such machines may
be made to supply the whole demand, and to supersede
entirely the use of all the old machinery. The natural
consequence is, that the price is reduced to the price of
production from the best machinery; and it the price wei e
to be depressed lower, the whole of the commodity would
be withdrawn from the market. •
“ The machines which produce corn and raw materials,
on the contrary, are the gifts of nature, not the works of
man ; and we find by experience that these gifts have very
different qualities and powers. The most fertile lands of a
country, those which, like the best machinery in manufac¬
tures, yield the greatest products with the least labour and
capital, are never found sufficient to supply the effective
demand of an increasing population. The price of raw
produce, therefore, naturally rises till it becomes sufficiently
hio-h to pay the cost of raising it with inferior machines,
and bv a more expensive process; and as there cannot be
two prices for corn of the same quality, all the other ma¬
chines, the working of which requires less capital compared
with the produce, must yield rents in proportion to their
goodness. • j i
“ Every extensive country may thus be considered as
possessing a gradation of machines for the production of
corn and raw materials, including in this gradation not only
all the various qualities of poor land, of which every laige
territory has generally an abundance, but the infei ior ma¬
chinery which may be said to be employed when good land
is further and further forced for additional produce. As
the price of raw produce continues to rise, these inferioi
machines are successively called into action ; and as the
price of raw produce continues to fall, they are successively
thrown out of action. The illustration here used serves to
show at once the necessity of the actual price of corn to
the actual produce, and the different effect which would
attend a great reduction in the price of any particular
manufacture, and a great reduction in the price of raw
produce. . ' ,
“ I have no hesitation, then, in affirming, that the iea.son
why the real price of corn is higher, and continually rising,
in countries which are already rich, and still advancing in
prosperity and population, is to be found in the necessity
of resorting constantly to poorer land,—to machines which
require a greater expenditure to work them, and which
consequently occasion each fresh addition to the raw pro¬
duce of the country to be purchased at a greater cost: in
short, it is to be found in the important truth, that corn is
sold at the price necessary to yield the actual supply; and
that, as the production of this supply becomes more and
more difficult, the price rises in proportion.
“ I hope to be excused for having dwelt so long, ana
presented to the reader in various forms, the doctrine that
corn, in reference to the quantity actually produced, is so
at its necessary price, like manufactures, because I consi ei
it as a truth of the highest importance, which has been
entirely overlooked by the economists, by Dr Smith, ana
all those writers who have represented raw produce as se
ing always at a monopoly price.” {Inquiry into the a ure
and Progress of Rent, p. 37.)
It appears, therefore, that in the earliest stages ot so-
An American, the author of a great many crude and indigested economical works.
POLITICAL ECONOMY.
247
Distribu- ciety, and when only the best lands are cultivated, no rent
tion of is paid. The landlords, as such, do not begin to share in
Wealth. tjie pro(juce 0f die soil until it becomes necessary to culti-
vate lands of an inferior degree of fertility, or to apply
capital to the superior lands with a diminished return.
Whenever this is the case, rent begins to be paid; and it
continues to increase according as cultivation is extended
over poorer soils, and diminishes according as they are
thrown out of cultivation. Rent therefore depends exclu¬
sively on the extension of tillage. It is high where tillage
is widely extended over inferior lands, and low where it is
confined to the superior descriptions only. But in no case
does rent enter into price; for the price of that portion of
the required produce which is raised on the poorest lands,
or with the capital last applied to the soil, determines the
price of the whole, and that portion yields no surplus above
the common and average rate of profit.
nfluence In estimating rent, difference of situation has in many
f situation cases an influence similar to difference of fertility. Lands
p rent, that are situated in the immediate vicinity of a large town
uniformly bring higher rents than those that are situated
some twelve, twenty, or thirty miles off, provided the
latter have no other market. The town affords a ready
outlet for a great variety of articles for which there is little
or no demand in the country ; and though each of these
may be trifling, yet their aggregate amount is usually con¬
siderable. Inasmuch, too, as the cost of conveying articles
varies with the distance and difficulty of the roads along
which they have to be carried, the less charge on those
raised in the vicinity of markets enables their growers
to pay a proportionally greater amount of rent. To pre¬
serve this advantage, the landlords of the counties con¬
tiguous to the metropolis opposed in 1767 the extension
of turnpike roads to those situated at greater distances.
But though their selfish policy had been in so far success¬
ful, it would not have gained their object unless they had
been able to get obstructions laid on the navigation of the
Ihames. And had these also been imposed, the result
would have been, that by checking or preventing the growth
of the city, they would not have realized a tenth part of the
advantage from their monopoly that they now reap from
the all but boundless market which it affords for all the
products, whether of the nearest or most distant parts of
the empire.
nstituent To prevent misapprehensions, it may be as well, perhaps,
rts of to repeat that the theory of rent which has now been ex-
ly r P'‘l'ned refers only to the sums paid for the use of the soil,
led, without including those which are also paid under the name
of rent for the services rendered by the capital that has
been expended upon the soil. But in all tillage farms this
latter portion makes a part, and often a very large part, of
what is popularly called rent. Even in the best farms the
payments on account of houses, fences, and roads are usually
far from being an inconsiderable portion of the rent; while
the rent of such naturally inferior farms as have been highly
impioved, consists almost entirely of the profit of the outlay
upon them. Hence the necessity, if we would avoid falling
into the most serious errors, of distinguishing between the
different constituents of the gross rent paid for lands. It
may be supposed, perhaps, that if two farms let for the
same sum as L.500 or L.1000 a year each—that they
are therefore of the same value; and this would be the
case if they were of the same or nearly the same quality.
But if they be of different qualities, the one consisting of
fine and the other of poor but highly-improved land, they
would, if offered for sale, bring very different prices. For,
as the rent of the superior farm consists mainly of a pay¬
ment for the use of the natural powers of the soil, it may
be considered as a perennial source of income; whereas
the rent of the inferior farm, being derived from improve- Distribu.
ments which wear out and require to be renewed, is of tion of
comparatively transient duration, and worth so much’less. Wealth.
The circumstances now mentioned ought always to be
taken into account when taxes and other burdens'are im¬
posed on land. And the all but insuperable difficulty of
making proper allowances for their influence has been a
main cause of the unjust and pernicious operation of such
taxes.
It may further be observed, that the theory of rent now
explained is practically applicable only to countries in some¬
thing like the same condition as England; that is, to coun¬
tries in which the tenants and occupiers of land farm it to
realize ordinary profits on their capital, under a system of
free competition. But in many countries of Europe the
occupiers have little or no capital except what is furnished
to them by the landlords, the produce being divided be¬
tween them in certain proportions, of which the least gene-
rally goes to the tenant. In India and the greater number
of eastern countries the sovereign is held to be the pro¬
prietor of all the lands of the empire ; and the exorbitant
amount of the land-tax or rent imposed on the cultivators,
added to the impossibility of its being fairly assessed, make
it a powerful obstacle to improvement, and a fruitful source
of barbarism. But it is enough to have indicated the nature
and importance of some of the practical questions connected
with the theory of rent; to enter further into their enumera¬
tion or discussion would be inconsistent with the objects
and limits of this article.
It being thus established that the circumstance of land
being appropriated, and rent paid to the landlords, does not
affect the price of commodities, or the principle which de¬
termined their exchangeable value in the earliest stages of
society, we have next to inquire into the effects of the ac¬
cumulation and employment of capital, and of the rise and
fall of wages on the value of commodities.
Sect. IV.—Influence of the Accumulation and Employment
of Capital, and of Fluctuations in the Rate of Wages on
Exchangeable Value.
It will be remembered that the quantity of labour re- Value of
quired to produce commodities and bring them to market, commodi-
formed, in the earliest stages of society, and before capitalties reSu'
was accumulated, the standard by which their exchangeable amount of6
value was regulated. But capital is merely the accumulated immediate
produce of anterior labour; and when it is employed in labour and
the production of commodities, their value is not determined capital ex-
by the quantity of immediate labour only, but by the total pended in
quantity of immediate and accumulated labour or capital ^he11! Pr0’
necessarily laid out on them. Suppose that an individual (iuctl0n•
can by a day’s labour, without the assistance of capital, kill
a deer; but that it requires a day’s labour to construct the
weapons necessary to enable him to kill a beaver, and an¬
other day’s labour to kill it; it is evident, supposing the
weapons to have been rendered useless in killing the beaver,
that it took as much labour to kill the latter as was re¬
quired to kill two deer, and the beaver would therefore be
worth the two deer. The durability of the weapons, or
capital of the beaver hunter, is obviously an element of the
greatest importance in estimating the value of the animals
he has killed. Had the weapons been more durable than
has been supposed,—had they served, for example, to kill
twenty beavers instead of one, then it is plain the quantity
of labour required to kill a beaver would only have been
one twentieth part, or five per cent., more than that re¬
quired to kill a deer, and the animals would of course have
been exchanged in that proportion. With every extension
of the duration of the weapons, the value of the deer and
the beaver would be brought still nearer to equality.
It appears, therefore, inasmuch as capital is nothing but
248
POLITICAL ECONOMY.
Distribu- j]ie produce of anterior labour, that its accumulation and
employment is consistent with, or rather is embodied in,
the proposition, that the value of commodities depends on
the labour required for their production. A commodity
may be altogether produced by capital, without the co-ope¬
ration of any immediate labour; and it so, its value will be
determined by the quantity of capital, that is, of antecedent
labour expended on its production: or it may be partly
produced by capital, and partly by immediate labour, and
then its value will be proportioned to the sum of the two;
or, which is the same thing, to the total amount of la¬
bour bestowed upon it. The principles now laid down
are almost self-evident, and have been generally assented
to; but a considerable difference of opinion is entertained
respecting the influence which the employment of workmen
by capitalists, and the fluctuations in their wages, have
over value.
It does not, however, seem that there is much room for
ployment these differences. Suppose that a certain quantity of goods,
of work- gay twenty pairs of stockings, manufactured by independent
Ttalisi/4' workmen, freely exchange for forty pairs of gloves, also
does not manufactured by independent workmen : they would con-
raise the tinue to be exchanged on this footing, provided the quan-
price of tity of labour required for their production continued un-
commodi- changed, though the workmen should be employed by
ties" master manufacturers. In the first case, it is true, as Adam
Smith has observed, that the goods produced by the work¬
men belong wholly to themselves; and that, in the second
case, they have to share them with others. But it must be
recollected, that in the first case the capital made use of
in their production also belonged to the workmen, and that
in the latter case it has been supplied to them by others.
The question then comes to be,—Does the circumstance of
labourers voluntarily agreeing to give a portion of the com¬
modities produced by them as an equivalent or compensa¬
tion for the use of capital supplied to them by others,
afford any ground for raising the price of such commodi¬
ties ? It is evident it does not. The profits of stock are
only another name for the wages of accumulated labour.
They enter into the price of every commodity in the pro¬
duction of which any portion of capital has been expended.
But whether the capital belong to the labourer, or is furnished
to him by another, is obviously of no consequence. W hen
the capital does not belong to the labourer, the commodi¬
ties he produces are divided into txoo portions, whereof one
is the return for the immediate labour, and the other for
the capital or accumulated labour required for their pro¬
duction. But the value of the produce is the same, into
how many portions soever it may be divided. A shoemaker
who manufactures shoes on his own account obtains the
same profits on their sale that would accrue to the master-
shoemaker who should employ him as a workman. He
must have capital to maintain himself and his family until
his shoes are disposed of, to provide himself with a work¬
shop and tools, to advance money to the tanner to pay his
leather, and to meet other outgoings. If he did not, ex¬
clusive of the ordinary wages of labour, realise a profit or
a return for his capital equal to the profit obtained by the
master-shoemaker, it would be for his advantage to lend
his capital to the latter, and to work on his account: and it
is plain, inasmuch as his shoes would not sell for a higher
price than those of the capitalist, that he could not realise
a greater profit. It is immaterial, therefore, whether the
accumulated labour or capital, and the immediate labour
employed in the production of commodities, be furnished
by the same or by different parties. It is by the total quan¬
tity of labour necessarily expended upon them, and not by
the channels through which it is supplied, that their value
is determined.
It now only remains to trace the influence of fluctuations
The eni-
of wages on price. When this is done, the subject will be Distribu-
exhausted. t'on of
To simplify this inquiry, we shall divide it into two Wealth,
branches. We shall inquire, first, whether fluctuations of
wages have any, and if any, what effects, on the value of Effect of
commodities produced by the aid of capitals of equal degrees Aquations j
of durability ; and second, whether these fluctuations have e rate
any, and if any, what effects, when the capitals employed exchange-0
are of unequal degrees of durability. able
I. When all classes of producers employ fixed or circu- value
lating capitals of the same degree of durability, they must1- Effect of i I
be all equally affected by a rise or fall of wages. This j
principle is admitted by every one, and is indeed self-evi- whe!uhe
dent. But when such is the case, it is plainly impossible capitals
that a rise or fall of wages should occasion any variation in employed
the value of commodities. To revert to our former ex- in produc-
ample : let it be supposed that wages, at the rate of a shilling are of
a day, were paid by the stocking manufacturer, a pair of
whose stockings exchanged for two pairs of gloves, and durability,
that, from some cause or other, the wages of his workpeople
have been doubled, or raised to two shillings; the question
is, will he now obtain a greater quantity of gloves for his
stockings ? It is obvious he will not. He cannot urge the
fact of his having to pay higher wages as a reason why the
glove manufacturer should give him more gloves in ex¬
change for stockings; for the latter would have it in his
power to reply, that the same rise of wages affected him to
precisely the same extent! If, therefore, one pair of stock¬
ings were previously worth two pairs of gloves, they would
continue to preserve that relation so long as the quantities
of labour required for their production did not vary, what¬
ever might be the fluctuation of wages,—whether they fell
to a sixpence, or rose to five shillings a day. Even if the
price of commodities rose, which it does not, when wages
rise, that would be no advantage to the producers. Com¬
modities are always bought by commodities or by labour.
Of what consequence, then, would it be to a capitalist to
sell, when wages rose, his commodities at an equal advance,
seeing that he, in his turn, would be obliged to give so
much more for every article which he has to purchase ?
Were wages to rise ten per cent., a producer—a hatter for
example—would be in precisely the same condition whether
he sold his hats for ten per cent, advance, and gave an
additional ten per cent., as he would be obliged to do, for
his food, shoes, clothes, &c., &c., or sold his hats at their
former price, and bought the articles for which he has oc¬
casion at the prices he formerly paid for them.
In order farther to illustrate this principle, we may be
allowed to make a supposition, which, though it cannot
actually take place, will serve to set this doctrine in a clearer
point of view. Should the quantities of labour required
for the production of all sorts of commodities be increased
in exactly the same proportion, their exchangeable values
would plainly remain unaltered. Their cost would, how¬
ever, be augmented. A bushel of corn would not then
exchange for a greater quantity of muslins or of broad cloth
than it did before the increased expense of its production ;
but each would be the produce of more than the former
quantity of labour. Under such circumstances, the prices
of commodities would remain stationary, while the wealth
and comforts of the society would be materially diminished.
Every person would have to make greater exertions to
obtain a given supply of any one commodity ; but as the
expense of producing all commodities is, by the supposi¬
tion, equally increased, it would not be necessary to make
any greater exertions to obtain one than another, and
their values, as compared with each other, would be totally
unaffected.
In these statements it is taken for granted that the
value of money has been invariable. But if it become
either more or loss valuable, then undoubtedly the rate of
POLITICAL
ECONOMY.
249
Pistribu- wasres and the prices of commodities will both vary. They
tion of will do so, however, not because the labourer gets a greater
Wealth. or jess amount; 0f wages, but because the value of the com-
modity or standard in which wages and prices are estimated
has varied. Wages, though most commonly paid in money,
really consist of a portion of the produce of industry. And
hence, to avoid falling into endless mistakes, it is best, in
theoretical investigations with respect to value, to consider
wages as constituting a certain share of the produce of
industry; as being really invariable, so long as this share
continues unchanged; and as having really risen when
it is increased, and really fallen when it is diminished.
The mistaking of fluctuations in the rate of money wages
for fluctuations in the rate of real wages, has been the
source of much error and misapprehension. A man whose
wages are one shilling a day, must get two shillings to
keep them at the same level, should the value of money
decline a half; and the hat which now sells for ten shil¬
lings must then, for the same reason, sell for twenty shil¬
lings. It is obviously wrong to call this a real rise, either of
wages or prices; this, however, is what is generally done.
The manufacturer who gives sixpence a day more to his
men, and who sells his goods at a proportionally higher
orice because of a fall in the value of money, rarely sus¬
pects that there has been any such fall, and generally con-
c ludes that the rise of wages has been the cause of the rise
of prices, overlooking entirely the real cause of the rise of
both—the decline in the value of the money or commodity
in which wages and prices are rated.
It has been seen that a general and equal increase of the
labour required for the production of commodities does not
alter their relation to one another ; and it is consequently
obvious that this relation cannot be altered by a general
and equal increase of the wages paid for that labour. Fluc¬
tuations in the rate of wages affect the proportion in which
the produce of industry, under deduction of rent, is divided
between capitalists and labourers—diminishing the propor¬
tion belonging to the capitalists when they rise, and increas¬
ing it when they fall. But as these changes in the distribu¬
tion of commodities neither add to nor take from the quan¬
tity of labour required to produce them and bring them to
market, they neither affect their real nor exchangeable value.
IEffectof II. We have seen by the investigation under the pre-
u^ti n*10" cet^nS head, that, where the capitals employed in pro-
! ^hentte tJuction are equal degrees of durability, fluctuations of
apitals wages affect all classes of producers to the same extent,
mployed and have, therefore, no influence on the value or price of
iproduc- commodities. But when the capitals employed are of rfj/’-
ion are of ferent degrees of durability, this is not the case. Fluctua-
rew of*16' tio.nS in the rate of wa»es do not> in such cases, equally
urabUity. affeCt a11 Producers> and the natural equilibrium of profit
cannot be maintained without a variation in the value of
their products, io illustrate this, let it be supposed that
a quantity of goods, the produce of fixed capital or machi¬
nery fitted to last many years, freely exchanges for a quan¬
tity of other goods entirely produced by manual labour.
It is plain they would not be exchanged on this footing
after a rise or fall of wages for the proprietor of the machi¬
nery would be very little^ affected by such fluctuations,
whereas they would very seriously affect the proprietor of
the goods produced by manual labour. And, therefore,
when wages fluctuate, the values of the goods produced by
capitals of different degrees of durability must also fluctuate
—that is, they must be adjusted so that they may continue
to yield the same average rate of profit. Let us endeavour
to trace the mode in which this adjustment is effected.
The arguments now brought forward, to show that flue- Distribu-
tuations in the rate of wages do not affect the value of tion of
commodities produced by capitals of the same durability, Wealth-
were first advanced by Mr Ricardo. He, too, was the
first who endeavoured to analyse and discover the influence
of fluctuations in the rate of wages on commodities, when
the capitals employed in their production were not of the
same degree of durability. The results of his researches
in this more difficult branch of the science were still more
important, and more at variance with the previously re¬
ceived opinions of economists. Ricardo not only showed
that it was impossible for any rise of wages to raise the
price of all commodities; but he also showed, that in
many cases a rise of wages led to a fall of prices, and a fall
of wages to a rise of prices! The novelty of these opi¬
nions, and the talent and ingenuity with which they were
supported, immediately recommended them to general no¬
tice, and the repeated examinations to which they have
since been subjected have confirmed their truth, and set
them in a clearer point of view.
Suppose a manufacturer has a machine worth L.20,000, If a rise of
of a high degree of durability, and which can, without any, wages low¬
er with but little, manual labour, produce commodities: iffrs profits,
profits were at ten per cent., the commodities annually j1™1181,
produced by this machine would sell for L.2000, together v°a7ue of6
with a small addition to replace its wear and tear.1 Now, goods
it is clear, that when profits either rise or fall, the price of chiefly pro-
the goods produced by this machine will also rise or fall. duced by_
If profits were to rise to fifteen per cent., the goods pro- caF‘
duced by the machine would, in order that its owner may chiner0'*1"
obtain the same profit with other capitalists, rise to L.SOOoV iner^‘
and if, on the other hand, profits fell to five per cent.,
the goods would, for the same reason, fall to L.1000. If,
therefore, it be true that a rise of wages reduces the rate
of profits, it will also reduce the price of such commodities
as are chiefly produced by machinery, or fixed capital of
a considerable degree of durability, or by circulating capi¬
tal returnable at distant periods, and vice versa. And it is
not difficult to see that this is really the case, and that, in
point of fact, profits, supposing other things to continue the
same, fall when wages rise, and rise when wages fall.
It results from what has been previously stated, that to
whatever extent wages might rise, no class of producers,
whether their capitals were returnable in a day, a week, or
any other period, would obtain any larger share of the com¬
modities produced by others of the same class,—that is,
whose capitals were returnable in equal'periods with their
own. Suppose w7ages rise ten or twenty per cent., that
would not enable a manufacturer whose capital was re¬
turnable in a month, or in twelve months, to obtain in
exchange for his goods, any greater portion of the goods
of such manufacturers as were affected to the same ex¬
tent as himself by the rise of wages,—that is, whose capi¬
tals were returnable in the same period as his own. This
is as impossible as it is to change the relation of num¬
bers by multiplying or dividing them by the same number;
and therefore it is not true that a rise of wages will
raise the price of any one commodity, as compared with all
other commodities.
But if a rise of wages cannot do this, it is domonstrably
certain it must lower profits. Suppose that the numbers 1,
2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, and 10, represent capitals of corre¬
sponding degrees of durability. When wages fluctuate, the
proprietors of the least durable capitals, numbers 1, 2, 3, 4,
and 5, are plainly more affected thereby than the proprie¬
tors of the more durable capitals, numbers 6, 7, 8, 9, and
10. Suppose, now, that wages rise, and let us endeavour
1 So small a sum as two shillings and elevenpence would be sufficient for this purpose if the machine would last for 100 years;
L>2()n annu^^ ^wo and elevenpence, accumulating for 100 years at ten per cent., would at the end of that period amount to
vol. xvm. 2 i
POLITICAL ECONOMY.
Profits
vary in¬
versely as
wages.
Method of
profits.
to discover what would be the effect of this rise on the
holder of a capital of the tenth degree of durability. It
has been already seen that, whatever might be the amount
of the rise—whether it were one, ten, or a hundred per cent.
—the holder of such capital would not get any additional
quantity of the commodities belonging to other producers
whose capitals were also of the tenth degree of durability;
and in so far, therefore, as this class of commodities is con¬
cerned, profits will be reduced to the precise extent that
wages have risen. But the holders of the other capitals
are all of them more affected by the rise of wages than the
holders of No. 10; and F we took any one of them as a
standard by which to measure profits, they would appear to
have fallen in a still greater proportion.
Hence it is plain, that while other things remain the
same, profits vary inversely as wages—that is, they fall
when wages really rise, and rise when wages really fall.
But, owing to the different and ever-varying proportions in
which fixed and circulating capital and immediate labour
are employed in the production of commodities, it is ex¬
tremely difficult to discover the precise extent to which
any given fluctuation in the rate of wages affects profits.
We shall, however, state three different cases, which will
briefly, and, it is hoped, satisfactorily, elucidate the man¬
ner in which fluctuations in the rate of wages always ope¬
rate, and the method to be followed in estimating their
influence on profits.
1. If all commodities were produced by immediate labour,
estimating or capital employed in the payment of wages, it is ob-
vious that every rise of wages would cause an equal fall of
tions ii^the profits. A capitalist who employed L.1000 in the payment
rate of of wages must, if profits were at ten per cent., sell the corn-
wages on modities at L.1100. But when wages rise five per cent.,
or to L.1050, he would not be able to sell his commodities
for more than L.1100; for money is itself a commodity,
and as, by the supposition, all commodities are produced
by immediate labour, the rise of wages would affect the
producers of money in the same degree that it affects other
producers. In this case, therefore, it is plain that a rise of
wages will equally sink, profits, and that a fall of wages will
equally raise them.
2. If all commodities were produced, half by imme¬
diate labour, and the other half by capital, profits would
only fall to half the extent that wages rose. Suppose a
capitalist employs L.oOOin the payment of wages, and L.500
as a fixed capital, when profits are at ten per cent., the
commodities produced must, as before, sell for L.1100. If
wages rose five per cent., the capitalist would have to pay
L.525 as wages, and would, consequently, retain only L.7o
as profit. In this case, therefore, a rise of wages to the
extent of five per cent, would, because of equal quantities
of capital and immediate labour being employed in the
production of commodities, only sink profits two and half
per cent.
3. If all commodities were produced by capital of a high
degree of durability, capitalists, it is obvious, would not be
at all affected by a rise of wages, and profits would, of
course, continue as before.
Now, suppose that commodities, instead of being wholly
produced by immediate labour, as in the first case, or
wholly by equal quantities of immediate labour and of ca¬
pital, as in the second, or wholly by fixed capital, as in the
third, are partly produced in the one mode and partly in
the other, and let us see what effect an increase of five
per cent, in the rate of wages would have on their relative
values. To facilitate this inquiry, we shall distinguish these
three descriptions of commodities by the Nos. 1, 2, and 3.
Now, it is cpiite evident that the rise of wages has affected
No. 1 two and a half per cent, more than it has affected No.
Liatribu-
tion of
Wealth.
2, and five per cent, more than it has affected No. 3. No. 1
must, therefore, as compared with No 2, have risen two
and a half per cent, in value, and, as compared with No. 3,
it must have risen five per cent. ; No. 2 must have fallen
two and a half per cent, as compared with No. 1, and risen
two and a half per cent, as compared with No. 3; and No.
3 must have fallen five per cent, as compared with No. 1,
and two and a half per cent, as compared with No. 2. If
waijes, instead of rising, had fallen, the same effects would
obviously have been produced, but in a reverse order. The
proprietors of the commodities of the class No. 1 would gain
five per cent, by the fall, those of No. 2 would gain two
and a half per cent., and those of No. 3 nothing ; and the
relative values of their commodities would be adjusted ac¬
cordingly.1
Thus, then, it appears, inasmuch as a commodity taken General
for a standard by which to estimate the values of other rule on the
commodities must itself be produced by capital returnable
in a certain period, that when wages rise those commodities tjonsUCtua'
which are produced by less durable capitals than those
which produce the standard will rise in exchangeable value,
and those produced by more durable capitals will fall; and
conversely when wages are reduced. Suppose, as before,
that the Nos. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, and 10, represent
capitals of corresponding degrees of durability : If a com¬
modity produced by the least durable capital No. 1, which
may be supposed to be wholly employed in the payment of
wages, be taken for a standard, all commodities produced
by the other and more durable capitals would fall in value
when wages rose ; and if we suppose those produced by
No. 2 to decline one per cent., those produced by No. 3
would decline two per cent., those produced by No. 4 three
per cent., and so on until we arrive at No. 10, which will
have fallen nine per cent. If, on the other hand, a com¬
modity produced by the most durable capital No. 10, which
may be supposed to consist wholly of highly durable ma¬
chinery, be made the standard, all the commodities produced
by the other and less durable capitals would rise when
wages rise ; and if those produced by No. 9 rose one per
cent., those produced by No. 8 would rise two per cent.,
and those produced by No. 1 nine per cent. If a commo¬
dity produced by capital of a medium degree of durability,
as No. 5, which may be supposed to consist half of circu¬
lating capital employed in the payment of wages, and half
of fixed capital or machinery, be taken as a standard, the
commodities produced by the less durable capitals, Nos. 4,
3, 2, and 1, will rise with a rise of wages, on the former
hypothesis,—the first, or No. 4, one per cent., the second,
or No. 3, two per cent., &c.; while those produced by the
more durable capitals, Nos. 6, 7, 8, 9, and 10, will fall,—
the first, or No. 6, one per cent., the second, or No. 7, two
per cent., &c., exactly the reverse of the other.
Hence it is obvious that the influence which variations
in the rate of wages have on price will principally depend
on the nature of the capital employed in the production of
gold and silver. Whatever may be the proportions of cir¬
culating and fixed capital employed in the production of
money, all commodities produced by the agency of a greater •
quantity of manual labour, and with less fixed capital and
machinery, will rise when wages rise, and fall when wages
fall; but those that are produced by the agency of a less
quantity of manual labour, and with more fixed capital or
machinery, will fall when wages rise, and rise when wages
fall. Those that are produced in nearly the same circum¬
stances, or by the agency of the same quantities of circu¬
lating and fixed capital as money, will not be affected by
fluctuations of wages.
It should be observed, however, that variations in the
values of most commodities, caused by variations in the
1 These examples are substantially the same with those given by Mr James Mill. See Elements of Political Economy, p. 77.
POLITICAL ECONOMY.
251
fined with¬
in narrow
limits.
Distribu- rate of proportional wages, are confined within compa-
tion of ratively narrow limits. It has been seen that were all
Wealth, commodities produced wholly by immediate labour, or
^ wholly by capital, or wholly by equal quantities of both,
Variations variations of wages would have no influence on their value,
of ex- ]3ut a very ]arge class of commodities are produced by
«e means of nearly equal portions of fixed and circulating
caused by capital; and as every rise of real wages that may take
fluctua- place under such circumstances will be balanced by a fall
tions in the in the rate of profit, or by a proportional increase in the
rate of productiveness of industry, it is evident that the value of
wages con- ^ commodities in question, as compared with each other,
would remain nearly stationary. Although, therefore, a
rise of wages has a necessary tendency to raise the ex¬
changeable value of one class of commodities, and conse¬
quently to lower that of another, the fall of profits, which
inevitably follows every rise of wages that is not accom¬
panied by an increased productiveness of industry, has a
contrary effect, and tends to sink the value of the commo¬
dities which the increased rate of wages would raise, and to
elevate the value of those which the same increased rate
would sink. And it is only in extreme cases, or in the
case of commodities produced almost wholly by direct
manual labour on the one hand, or in that of those pro¬
duced almost wholly by the aid of fixed capital or machi¬
nery on the other, that a variation in the rate of wages
occasions a considerable variation in their values.
It must also be observed, that though fluctuations in
the rate of wages may occasion variations in the values
of particular commodities, they neither add to nor take
from the total value of the entire mass. If they in¬
crease the value of those produced by the least durable
capitals, they equally diminish the value of those produced
by the more durable capitals. Their aggregate value con¬
tinues, therefore, the same after-a rise or fall of wages as
before. And though it may not be strictly true of a par¬
ticular commodity, that its exchangeable value is dii-ectly
as its cost or real value, or as the quantity of labour re¬
quired to produce it and bring it to market, it is most true
to affirm this of the mass of commodities taken together.
In thus endeavouring to trace the cost of all descriptions
of non-monopolized commodities to the quantity of labour
required for their production, it is not meant to deny that a
very large portion of the useful or desirable qualities of such
commodities may be the result of the action or influence
of natural agents. But it is, as was previously seen, the
peculiar and distinguishing feature of natural agents or
powers, that they render their services gratuitously. What¬
ever they do is done without fee or reward. And hence,
though their co-operation be necessary to the production
of all things that are either useful or desirable, they add
nothing to their value. This is a quality that can be com¬
municated only by the labour of man, or by the capital appro¬
priated or accumulated by his labour. In estimating, for
example, the cost or value of a quantity of corn, we include
only the wages paid to the individuals employed in raising
it, as ploughmen, reapers, thrashers, &c., with the value of
the corn used as seed, and that of the services rendered by
the horses and instruments made use of in the different
operations, The influence of the vegetative powers of
nature, and of the sun and showers, is ignored, or goes for
nothing ; for though without their powerful assistance the
crop could not be obtained, and our utmost exertions
would be altogether fruitless, yet, as they are the free gift
of Providence, they add nothing to the value of the pro- Distribu-
duce,—that is, they add nothing to its power of exchanging tion °f
for or buying labour, or other things procured by the in- Wealth-
tervention of labour.
It may be thought, perhaps, that this principle is at vari¬
ance with what is observed to take place in the production
of certain descriptions of commodities. Thus, if a cask of
new wine be kept for a definite period, or till it arrive at
maturity, it will acquire a higher value : now, as the change
produced on the wine is entirely brought about by the
operation of natural agents, and as without the change
the wine would have no higher value, it has been con¬
tended that this is a case in which the labour of natural
agents is plainly productive of an increased value. It is easy,
however, to see that this is a mistake. The cask of wine is a
capital, being the result of the labour employed in cultivat¬
ing, gathering, pressing, and otherwise preparing the grapes
from which it was made. But the processes of fermenta¬
tion, decomposition, &c., do not act instantaneously; and
to enable them to effect the changes in the wine, it is ne¬
cessary that it should be laid aside until they are completed.
The merchant wrould not, however, employ his capital in this
way, unless it wrere to yield the same return as other busi¬
nesses. And hence, though the processes carried on in¬
side the cask render the wine more desirable without add¬
ing anything to its value, the latter is increased by the
amount of profit accruing on the capital subjected to the
processes.
In estimating the cost of grinding corn, or spinning
cotton, or forging anchors by the agency of wind or water¬
wheels, nothing is set down to the account of the wind or
water. And such is invariably the case. Natural powers,
however efficient and indispensable, are always left out of
view in estimating the value of the products or results of
undertakings. That is wholly dependent on the labour, in¬
cluding capital necessarily expended in bringing them
about.1
Sect. V.—Division of the Produce of Industry, under de¬
duction of Pent, between Capitalists and Workmen.—
Definition of Profits.—Mr Ricardo’s Theory of Profits ;
Sense in which it is true.—Causes which occasion a Rise
or a Fall of Profits.—Influence of the Decreasing Fer¬
tility of the Soil and of Taxation on Profits.
Before attempting to investigate the circumstances which Division of
determine the rate of profit, it is necessary to be aware ofthe pro-
those which determine the proportions in which the whole ?uce of
produce of industry, under deduction of rent, is divided
between labourers and capitalists. capitalists
This preliminary inquiry may be disposed of in a few and work-
words. We have seen that the whole produce of the landmen,
and labour of every civilized society is always divided, in
the first instance, into three, and not more than three, por¬
tions ; the first of which goes to the labourers, the second
to the capitalists or proprietors of stock, and the third to
the landlords; and we have also seen that the portion of
the produce of industry, or the rent, which belongs to the
landlords, as proprietors of the soil, and not as capitalists,
is altogether extrinsic to the cost of production ; and that,
though the landlords were to give it up, such self-immo¬
lation on their part would not occasion any change in the
productiveness of industry, or any reduction in the price of
raw produce. Supposing, then, that rent is deducted or
1 Sir William Petty stated, so early as 1667, that the value of commodities is always regulated by the quantity of labour required to
produce them; there is, however,the same difference between his statements and the analysis and investigations of Mr Ricardo, whom
we have principally followed in this section, that there is between the conjectures of Pythagoras respecting the true system of the world,
and the demonstrations of Newton. But as the statement of Petty is curious, we subjoin it:—“ If,” says he, “ a man can bring to Lon¬
don an ounce of silver out of the earth in Peru in the same time that he can produce a bushel of corn, then one is the natural price of
the other; now, if, by reason of new and more easy mines, a man can get two ounces of silver as easily as formerly he did one, then
corn will be as cheap at 10s. the bushel as it was before at 5s., cotteris paribus.” (Treatise of Taxes and Contributions, ed. 1679, p. 31.)
252
POLITICAL ECONOMY.
Distriba.
tion of
Wealth.
Definition
of profits.
set aside, it is obvious that the remaining produce of the
land and labour of every country must be primarily divided
, between the two great classes of labourers and capitalists.
And it is further obvious that were there no taxes in a
country, or were the rate of taxation invariable, the pro¬
portion of the entire produce of industry, under deduction
of rent, falling to the share of the labourers, could not be
increased except by an equivalent reduction in the propor¬
tion falling to the share of the capitalists, and vice verm.
Suppose, still better to illustrate this proposition, that the
whole produce of industry in Great Britain is represented
by the number 1000; suppose, farther, that the landlords
get 200 of this sum as rent, and that the remaining 800 is
divided in equal portions between labourers and capitalists.
Under these circumstances, it is obvious that nothing could
be added to the proportion of the produce, or to the 400,
falling to the labourers, except at the expense of the capi¬
talists ; nor to the proportion, or 400, falling to the latter,
except at the expense of the former.
Whether the 800 were increased to 1600, or reduced to
400, so long as those between whom it must be divided
receive each a half, their relative condition must continue
the same. And hence the propriety of distinguishing be¬
tween proportional and real wages, that is, between wages
estimated in parts of the produce raised by the labourer,
and those estimated in definite quantities of money or pro¬
duce. If the productiveness of industry were to diminish,
proportional wages might rise, notwithstanding that real
wages, or the amount of the produce of industry received
by the labourer, might be diminished ; and if, on the other
hand, the productiveness of industry were to increase, pro¬
portional wages might be diminished, while real wages
might at the same time be increased.
Hence it follows that, were taxation unknown or constant,
the whole produce of industry, under deduction of rent,
would be divided between capitalists and labourers; and
that the proportion thereof falling to either party would
vary inversely as the proportion falling to the other—that
is, the proportion falling to the capitalists would be increased
when that falling to the labourers was diminished, and di¬
minished when it was increased.
Profits must not, however, be confounded with the pro¬
duce of industry primarily received by capitalists. They
really consist of that produce, or its value, which remains
to the capitalists, after their necessary payments to others
have been deducted, and after the capital wasted or used
in industrial undertakings has been replaced. If the pro¬
duce derived from an undertaking, alter defraying the
necessary outlay, be insufficient to replace the capital ex¬
pended, a loss will have been incurred ; if the capital be
merely replaced, and there is no surplus, there will be nei¬
ther loss nor profit; and the greater the surplus, the greater
of course will be the profit. Profits are not measured by
the proportion which they bear to the rate of wages, but
by the proportion which they bear to the capital by the
agency of which they have been produced. Suppose an
individual employs a capital equivalent to 1000 quarters of
corn in the cultivation of a farm, that he expends 700
quarters in the payment of wages and 300 in seed and
other outgoings, and that the return to this capital is
1200 quarters. Under these circumstances, the propor¬
tion of the produce falling to the labourers as wages will
be to that falling to the capitalists as seven to two ; for of
the 1200 quarters that go in the first instance to the capi¬
talist, 200 only are profits, 1000 being required to replace
the capital he has expended. In this case, therefore, the
rate of profit would be said to be twenty per cent., meaning
that the excess of produce belonging to the cultivator,
after the capital employed in its production was fully re-
placed, amounted to twenty per cent, upon that capital.
We have been thus particular with respect to the defini¬
tion of profits, because, from not keeping it sufficiently in Distribu-
view, Mr Ricardo has been led to contend that a rise of tion of
profits cannot be brought about except by a fall of wages, Wealth,
nor a fall of profits except by a corresponding rise of wages.
It is evident, however, that this theory is true only in the Ricar-
event of our attaching a radically different sense to the term do’s theory
profit from what is usually attached to it, and supposing itof Profits.
to mean the proportion of the produce which goes to
the share of the capitalist, without reference to the ratio
which it bears to the capital employed in its production.
If* we understand the terms in this sense, Ricardo’s theory
will hold universally; and it may be affirmed that so long
as the proportion in which the produce of industry, under
deduction of rent, is divided between capitalists and la¬
bourers, continues the same, no increase or diminution of
the amount of that produce, or of the powers of pro¬
duction, will occasion any variation in the rate of pro¬
fit. But if we consider profits in the light in which
they are invariably considered in the real business of
life—as the produce accruing to the capitalists after the
capital expended by them in payments and outgoings of all
sorts is fully replaced—it will immediately be seen that
there are innumerable exceptions to Ricardo’s theory.
It will facilitate the acquisition of precise ideas respecting Profits in
the circumstances which determine the rate of profit inagricul-
different employments, as that term is commonly under-tui,e*
stood, if we confine our attention, in the first place, to those
which determine profits in agriculture,—both because the
latter admit of being accurately measured, and because they
may be taken as representing profits in other businesses.
Agriculture is a branch of industry that must be carried on
at all titles, and under all circumstances ; but it would not
be carried on unless it did, at an average, yield as great a
return to the capital vested in it as other businesses; nor
would the latter be carried on if they yielded a less return
than is derived from agriculture. Hence it follows that
the returns obtained from agricultural industry or agricul¬
tural profits may, in ordinary cases, be considered as iden¬
tical with the returns or profits obtained from other busi¬
nesses. Whenever, for example, the average return to an
outlay of capital or labour worth 100 quarters of wheat,
employed in the cultivation of the soil, amounts to 110
quarters, we may safely infer that L.100 employed in manu¬
factures is also yielding L.110; for a regard to their own
interest will not permit those engaged in such departments
to prosecute them for less profit than is obtained in agri¬
culture, and the competition of the agriculturists will not
permit them to obtain more.
Taking, then, as we are entitled to do, agricultural profits Circum-
as a standard for profits in general, let us suppose that a stances
landlord employs a capital equivalent to 10,000 quarters, which oc*
or L.10,000, in the cultivation of an estate; that he ex- ^g^or'fall
pends 5000 quarters, or L.5000, of this capital in seed, in 0f profits,
the keep of horses, and in defraying the wear and tear of
implements and machines ; and 5000 quarters, or L.5000,
in paying the wages of labourers. Suppose, now, that the
return obtained by this landlord is 12,000 quarters, or
L. 12,000; of which 10,000 quarters, or L.10,000, go to *
replace his capital, and 1000 quarters, or L.1000, to pay
his taxes,—leaving 1000 quarters, or L.1000, as profits,
being ten per cent, on the capital employed: it is plain
from this case (and this case is, in point of principle, the
actual case of all cultivators) that the rate of profit may be
increased in three, but only in one or other of three, ways,
—viz., 1, by a fall of wages ; 2, by a fall of taxes ; or, 3,
by an increased productiveness of industry.
Ihus it is obvious (1.), that if wages were reduced from
5000 to 4000 quarters, profits, supposing other things to
continue the same, would be increased from 1000 to 2000
quarters, or from ten to twenty per cent.: if (2.) the burden
of taxation were reduced from 1000 to 500 quarters, profits
POLITICAL ECONOMY.
Distribu- would be increased from 1000 to 1500 quarters, or from
tion of ten to fifteen per cent.: and if (3.), owing to the introduction
Wealth. 0p an improved system of agriculture, the return to a capital
^ of 10,000 quarters were increased from 12,000 to 13,000
quarters, profits, supposing wages stiil to amount to 5000
and taxes to 1000 quarters, would be increased to 2000
quarters, or to twenty per cent.: And though, in this case,
after the productiveness of industry had been increased,
wages form a less proportion of the whole produce than
they did previously, it is to be observed, that this less
proportion is the consequence, and not the cause, of profits
having risen ; and, therefore, in such cases as this, and they
are of very frequent occurrence, it is true to say, that pro¬
portional wages fall because profits rise : but the converse
of the proposition is not true; for the rise of profits was
occasioned by causes that had nothing whatever to do with
wages, and which were, in fact, totally independent of them.
It is indeed true, inasmuch as the rise of profits is the
result of an increased productiveness of industry, that the
real value of the 13,000 quarters will not exceed the real
value of the 12,000 previously obtained by the same
quantity of labour; but profits, in the sense in which they
are practically understood, and as we understand them, do
not depend on real values, but on the excess of the com¬
modities produced above the capital expended in their
production; and whenever this excess is augmented, with¬
out any previous depression of the rate of wages, the rate
of profit is evidently increased by the operation of causes
extrinsic to variations in that rate.
Nor is this all. The rate of profit may remain stationary,
or rise, though the proportion of the produce of industry
falling to the share of the labourer be actually increased.
Suppose, to exemplify this, that a landlord employs 1000
quarters of wheat as a capital, 500 of which are expended
in seed, keep of horses, &e., and 500 in paying wages; if
the produce be 1200 quarters, and the taxes to which he
is subjected 100, his profits will amount to 100 quarters, or
ten per cent.: suppose now that, owing to the introduction
of improved machinery, or improved methods of culture, he
only requires to expend 400 quarters in seed, keep of horses,
&c., but that wages rise from 500 to 550 quarters, and that
the same return is obtained; in this case, supposing taxa¬
tion to be constant, the profits of the landlord will be in¬
creased from ten to fifteen three-fourths per cent., though
proportional wages have risen from five-twelfths to five and
a half twelfths of the whole produce.
If this increased productiveness were confined to agri¬
culture, without extending to other important businesses,
the price of agricultural produce would fall, while that
of other produce would remain stationary; and, in such
a case, it may be said that the profits of the agriculturists,
if estimated in money, or in any commodity other than
corn, would be diminished in consequence of the rise of
wages. This is true; but Ricardo made no exception, in
laying down his theory, in favour of those possible, and in¬
deed frequently occurring cases, when, from any single cir¬
cumstance, or combination of various circumstances, industry
becomes generally more productive, and when, consequently,
profits generally rise, without that rise being occasioned by
a fall of wages. And it is also true, that an increased
productiveness of agriculture, whether caused by improve¬
ments made in it, or by the repeal of restrictions on the
importation of corn, most commonly extends itself to other
businesses, and has the effect of bringing about an universal
rise of profits; for, as farm produce forms the principal
part of the labourer’s subsistence, and as he obtains a larger
quantity thereof in exchange for the same amount of money
after it has fallen in price, his condition is in so far im¬
proved ; and a stimulus being, in this way, given to popu¬
lation, the supply of labour is increased, and wages being
reduced, the rate of profit is universally raised.
253
When industry, instead of becoming more becomes less Distribu-
productive, the opposite effects follow. Profits then fall tion of
without any fall having previously taken place n the rate Wealth-
of wages. It is evident, therefore, that the proposition
that a rise of profits cannot be brought about otherwise than
by a fall of wages, nor a fall of profits otherwise than by a
rise of wages, is true only in those cases in which the pro¬
ductiveness of industry and the burden of taxation remain
constant. So long as this is the case, or, which is the same
thing, so long as the same capital is employed, and the same
quantity of produce has to be divided between capitalists
and labourers, the share of the one cannot be increased
without that of the other being equally diminished: and,
it is also true, that if profits depended on the division of
the produce of industry between capitalists and labourers,
they could not be affected by variations in its productiveness,
but would be determined wholly by the proportion of the
produce set apart as wages. But profits depend, as has
been already seen, on none of these things, but on the pro¬
portion which they bear to the capital by which they are
produced. Suppose an individual employs a capital of
1000 quarters, or L.1000, in cultivation ; that he lays out
half this capital in the payment of wages, and obtains a
return of 1200 quarters, or L.1200 ; in this case, assuming
he is not affected by taxation, his profits will amount to
200 quarters, or L.200, being at the rate of twenty per
cent., and will be to wages in the proportion of two to five.
Suppose, now, that the productiveqess of industry is uni¬
versally doubled, and let it be farther supposed, that the
additional 1200 quarters, or L.1200, is divided between
the capitalist and his labourers in the former proportion of
two to five, or that the capitalist gets 343 quarters, or
L.343, of additional profits, and the labourers 857 quarters,
or L.857, of additional wages: in this case, both parties
will still obtain the same proportions of the produce of in¬
dustry as before; and if we look only to them, we must
say that neither profits nor wages have risen. But when
we compare, as is invariably done in estimating profits, the
return obtained by the capitalist with the capital he em¬
ploys, it will be found, notwithstanding the constancy of
proportional wages, that the rate of profit has really in¬
creased from twenty to fifty-four per cent.
Thus, then, it appears, as was previously stated, that pro¬
fits rise in one or other of the three following ways, viz.,—
(1.), from a fall of wages; (2.) from a fall of taxes, directly or
indirectly affecting capitalists ; or (3.), from an increased
productiveness of industry: and they fall (1.), from a rise of
wages; or (2.), from an increase of taxes; or (3.), from a di¬
minished productiveness of industry. But they can neither
rise nor fall, except from the operation of one or more of
the causes now stated.
In the previous observations we have, to simplify the Extra pro¬
subject, considered profits as arising from the employment fits—oa
of capital by persons of ordinary skill and intelligence jn what they
the usual pursuits of industry. But, in addition to these, aePen *
very considerable amounts of capital are employed by
parties who possess superior knowledge and ability in the
callings in which they engage, and who, in consequence,
obtain proportionally large returns. It has been disputed
whether these extraordinary returns should be considered
as profits or wages. And we are disposed to think that, in
as far as they result from the better training and instruc¬
tion of those who superintend the employment of the
capital, they should be considered as the profit upon, or
return to, the extra outlay on their education. But in cases
where the parties possess, as they sometimes do, any pecu¬
liar talent or genius, by which they are enabled to strike
out new and better methods of production, the results must
be considered as the fruit of natural gifts of which they are
the exclusive possessors. The profits realized by such
254 POLITICAL ECONOMY.
Distribu- parties are not subject to any ordinary rule or law. Every-
Wealth Spends on the peculiar genius and intelligence with
v | '/ which they are endowed. If it be far above the common
level, and applicable to the production of articles or ser¬
vices for which there is a great demand, their gains will be
proportionally great, and may far exceed, even when the
things they supply have little intrinsic worth, those realized
by ordinary people.
But though these extra profits are always being made,
and amount in the aggregate to a very great sum, yet
there are no good grounds for thinking that they bear
any very large proportion to the vast amount of profits
produced in businesses and professions conducted in the
ordinary way, and with ordinary talent and attention. And
it is also to be borne in mind that if there be, on the one
hand, individuals who, by dint of superior skill and ability,
make large profits and accumulate fortunes, there are, on
the other hand, a great number of individuals who, from
want of the requisite capacity or care, make little or no
profit, and not unffequently sink into the abyss of bank¬
ruptcy. The losses incurred by the latter class go far
to balance, if they do not exceed, the extraordinary gains
of the other. And though fortunes made, like those of
Arkwright and Watt, by the exertion of genius and inven¬
tion, attract and fix the public attention ; yet there can be
no manner of doubt that the great bulk of the public wealth
is the result of ordinary skill and industry, backed up and
assisted by the general disposition to save and amass. For
one fortune that owes its existence to superior talent, ten
owe theirs to a long-continued course of economy. But
having already seen that parsimony is the main source of
national riches, it is needless to enlarge further on this topic.
Influence It is consistent with the widest experience, that profits
of the de- are invariably higher in colonies, and thinly-peopled coun¬
fertility of than in countries that have been long settled, and where
the soil on t*16 P°Pu,ation is compatively dense : and that (referring to
profits. periods of average duration) their tendency is to fall in the
progress of society. This sinking of profits in rich and
populous countries was ascribed by Smith to the compe¬
tition of capitalists. He supposed that when capital is
augmented, its owners endeavoured to encroach on each
other’s employments; and that, in furtherance of their ob¬
ject, they were tempted to offer their goods at a lower
price, and to give higher wages to their workmen ; which
has a twofold influence in reducing profits. This theory
was long universally assented to. It has been espoused by
MM. Say, Sismondi, and Storch, by the Marquis Gamier,
and, with some trifling modifications, by Malthus. But,
notwithstanding the deference due to these authorities, it
is easy to see that competition cannot bring about a
general fall of profits. It prevents an individual, or set of
individuals, from monopolizing a particular branch of in¬
dustry, and reduces the rate of profit in different busi¬
nesses nearly to the same level; but this is its whole
effect. It has no tendency to lessen the productiveness of
industry, or to raise wages or taxation ; and unless it do one
or other of these things, it cannot affect profits. So long
as an individual, employing a capital of 1000 quarters, or
L.1000, obtains from it a return of 1200 quarters, or L.1200,
of which he has to pay 100 quarters, or L.100, as taxes, so
long will his profits continue at ten per cent., whether he has
the market to himself, or has 50,000 competitors. The
increase of taxation, and the necessity under which a grow¬
ing society is placed of resorting to soils of less fertility to
obtain supplies of food, or of bringing them from greater
distances, are the great causes of that reduction in the rate
of profit which usually takes place in advanced periods.
VV hen the last lands taken into cultivation are fertile,
there is a comparatively large amount of produce to be Distribu
divided between capitalists and labourers ; and both profits tion of*
and real wages may, consequently, be high. But with Wealth,
every successive diminution in the fertility of the soils to
which recourse is had, the quantities of produce obtained
by the same outlays of capital and labour necessarily dimi¬
nish.1 And this diminution will obviously operate to
reduce the rate of profit—(1.), by lessening the quantity of
produce to be divided between capitalists and labourers;
and (2.), by increasing the proportion falling to the share of
the latter.
The influence of the decreasing productiveness of the
soil, as well on the condition and fortunes of society, as on
the rate of profit, is so very powerful, that we shall endeavour
to exhibit its operation a little more in detail. It has been
shown over and over again, thait the principle of increase in
the human race is so very strong, as not only to keep popu¬
lation steadily up to the means of subsistence, but to give it a
tendency to exceed them. A peculiar combination of favour¬
able circumstances sometimes makes capital increase faster
than population, and wages are in consequence augmented.
But such augmentation is rarely permanent, at least to the
whole extent; for the new stimulus it gives to population
seldom fails, by proportioning the supply of labour to the
increased demand, to reduce wages to their old level, or to
one not much above it. If, therefore, it were possible
to continue to employ additional capital with an equal
return in raising raw produce, in manufacturing it when
raised, and in conveying the raw and manufactured products
from place to place, it is evident, if we suppose taxation
to be invariable, that, speaking generally, the greatest
increase of capital would not occasion any sensible fall
in the rate of profit. So long as labour may be obtained
at the same rate, and as its productive power is undimi¬
nished, so long will the profits of stock continue unaffected.
It is evident, then, that the mere increase of capital has of
itself no lasting influence over wages; and it is the same
thing, in so far as the rate of profit is concerned, whether
one hundred or one thousand millions be employed in the
cultivation of the soil, or in the manufactures and commerce
of this or any other kingdom, provided the last million so em¬
ployed be as productive, or yield as large -a return, as the first.
And this is invariably the case with manufactures and
commerce. Inasmuch, too, as future Watts, Arkwrights,
and Wedgwoods will no doubt arise, and as no limits can
be assigned to the improvement of the arts, and of the skill
and dexterity of workpeople, it may be confidently pre¬
dicted that equal amounts of capital and labour employed
in manufactures and commerce will continue to furnish
increasing quantities of produce. But such is not the case
with agriculture. Here, and here only, the bounty of nature
is limited, and she deals out her gifts with a frugal and
parsimonious hand,
“ Pater ipse oolendi
Haud facilem esse viam voluit.”
Equal quantities of capital and labour do not alwavs pro
duce equal quantities of raw produce. The soil is of limited
extent and limited fertility; and this limitation is the real
check—the insuperable obstacle, which prevents the means
of subsistence, and consequently the inhabitants of all coun¬
tries, from increasing in a geometrical proportion, until the
space required for carrying on the operations of industry
becomes deficient.
It may be observed, that while this decreasing produc¬
tiveness of the soil lessens the produce to be divided between
profits and wages, it increases the proportion thereof which
goes to the latter. It is evidently impossible that the price
of raw produce, which is the principal part of the subsistence
1 This supposes, of course, either that no improvements are made, or that their influence has been taken into account.
POLITICAL ECONOMY.
Distribu
tion of
Wealth.
of the labourer, should be progressively increased by forcing
good or taking inferior lands into cultivation, without raising
wages. Their rise is seldom indeed exactly coincident
with a rise in the price of necessaries, but they can never
be very far separated. The price of necessaries forms, in
fact, the cost of producing labour. The labourer cannot
work or continue his race if he be not supplied with the
means of subsistence. And though a certain period of
varying extent, according to the circumstances of the
country at the time, must generally elapse, when neces¬
saries are rising in price, before wages are augmented,
such augmentation must, in all ordinary cases, be even¬
tually brought about, if not to the whole, at least to some
considerable extent.
Without, however, dwelling on these considerations, and
apart from the political revulsions which sometimes act
injuriously on industry, it may be safely concluded that the
decreasing fertility of the soil, or its inability to continue
permanently to yield the same quantities of produce in
return for the same outlays, is at bottom the great cause,
the causa causans, of that fall of profits which uniformly
takes place in the progress of society. Other causes may,
and frequently do, conspire to bring about this result, but
this only is necessary and inherent in the order of nature.
But though this cause of the reduction of profits be “ of
such magnitude and power as finally to overwhelm every
other,”1 its energy is at all times liable to be counteracted
or facilitated by extrinsic circumstances. It is obvious, for
example, that every improvement or discovery in husbandry
which enables a greater quantity of produce to be obtained
for the same expense, has an influence similar to what
would result from an addition being made to the area of the
superior lands, and may, for a lengthened period, raise the
rate of profit or hinder its fall.
Had the inventive genius of man been limited in its
powers, and had the various machines and implements used
in agriculture, and the skill of the husbandman, speedily
attained to perfection, the rise in the price of raw produce,
and the fall of profits consequent to the increase of popu¬
lation, would have been so apparent as to force themselves
on the attention of every one. When, in such a state of
things, it became necessary to resort to poorer soils to raise
additional quantities of food, a corresponding increase of
labour would have been required; for, supposing the per¬
fection of art to be attained, nothing except greater exer¬
tion can overcome fresh obstacles. Not only, therefore,
would additional labour have been required for the produc¬
tion of a greater quantity of food, but it would have been
required in the precise proportion in which the difficulty of
its production was increased ; so that, had the arts conti¬
nued stationary, the price of corn and other raw products
would have varied directly with every variation in the qua¬
lities of the soils successively brought under tillage.
But the circumstances which really regulate the value
of raw produce are extremely different. It is true, indeed,
that even in those societies that are most rapidly improving,
it has, as previously shown, a constant tendency to rise;
for the rise of profits consequent to every invention, by
occasioning a greater demand for labour, gives a fresh sti¬
mulus to population ; and thus, by increasing the demand
for food, again inevitably forces the cultivation of poorer
soils, and raises prices. But these effects of this great law
of nature, from whose all-pervading influence the utmost
efforts of human ingenuity cannot enable man to escape,
are rendered far less palpable and obvious, and sometimes^
indeed, are entirely defeated by means of improvements!
After inferior soils are cultivated, more labour is required
to raise the same quantities of food; but as the powers of
the labourer, and the implements he employs, are gradually
255
Wealth.
improved, a smaller number of work-people is required, in Dbtribu
proportion to the work to be performed, than if no improve- tion of
ments had taken place. I he tendency to an increase in the
price of raw produce is countervailed by an opposite tendency.
J he productive energies of the earth gradually diminish, and
we are compelled to resort to less fruitful soils; but the
productive energies of the labour employed in their tillao-e
are as constantly augmented by the discoveries and inven¬
tions that are always being made. Two opposite and con¬
tinually acting principles are thus set in motion. From
the operation of fixed and permanent causes, the increasing
sterility of the soil is pretty sure, in the long run, to over¬
match the improvements that occur in machinery and
agriculture, so that prices experience a corresponding rise,
and profits a corresponding fall. Occasionally, however,
these improvements more than compensate, during length¬
ened periods, for the deterioration in the quality of the soils
successively cultivated, and a fall of prices and rise of
profits take place, until the renewed pressure of population
once more forces the cultivation of still poorer lands.
In so far as the general principle is concerned, the pre¬
vious reasoning is applicable alike to the commercial world
and to a single nation. It is plain, however, that the fall of
profits, and the check to the progress of society, originating
in the necessity of resorting to poorer soils, will be earlier
and more severely felt in improving countries which exclude
foieign corn from their markets, than in those which main¬
tain an unfettered intercourse with their neighbours. When
a great manufacturing and commercial country deals with
all the world on fair and liberal principles,, she avails her¬
self of the various capacities of production which Provi¬
dence has given to different countries; and besides obtain¬
ing supplies of food at the cheapest rate at which they can
be raised, the numberless markets to which she can resort
prevents her from feeling any very injurious consequences
from the occasional failure of her own harvests, or from
deficiencies in one or a few of the sources whence she draws
her foreign supplies; so that in this way she goes far to
secure for herself constant plenty, and, what is of hardly
less importance, constant steadiness of price. Such a na¬
tion has the foundations of her greatness established on a
broad and solid basis; for they rest, not on the productive
powers of her own soil only, but on those of all the coun¬
tries of the world. And supposing her not to be involved
to an unusual degree in war, or subjected to comparatively
heavy taxes, her profits would not be reduced, nor would
she get clogged in her progress, until the increase of popu¬
lation forced the cultivation of inferior soils in the countries
whence she was in the custom of importing corn. And
even then she would not be surpassed by her neighbours ;
her progress being retarded by a cause which equally
affected them, her relative power would not be impaired;
and should new markets be opened or new discoveries
made, in any quarter of the world, she would reap her full
share of the advantage, and be renovated and strengthened
for a new career of exertion.
But the case is very different when foreign raw produce
is excluded from the markets of a nation which has made
an unusual progress in commerce and manufactures, and
whose population is therefore comparatively dense. A
government which prevents its subjects from exchanging
their manufactured goods for the corn of more fertile or less
densely-peopled countries, compels them to a premature
resort to poor soils at home ; and profits being consequently
reduced, the country is made to approach the stationary
state at a period when, had the legislature acted on more
enlarged principles, she might have been advancing with
the same rapidity as before in the career of improvement.
It is needless, however, to dwell on these circumstances.
1 Malthas Principles of Political Economy, &c., p. 317.
il
256
Consump¬
tion of
W ealth.
Definition
of con¬
sumption.
Consump¬
tion the
end of pro¬
duction.
Test of ad¬
vantageous
consump¬
tion.
POLITICAL ECONOMY.
or to show the influence of restrictions on the trade in raw
produce in aggravating the evils of scarcity, and occasioning
fluctuations of price. These and other important correla¬
tive matters are discussed in the article Corn Laws and
Corn Trade in this work. In it the reader will find the
history as well as the principles and practical operation of
the late Corn Laws, treated of at considerable length.
PART IV.
CONSUMPTION OF WEALTH.
Having in the previous parts endeavoured to explain
the means by which labour is facilitated, and wealth pro¬
duced, and to investigate the laws which regulate its distri¬
bution among the various classes of society, we come now
to the fourth and last division of the science, or to that
which treats of the Consumption of Wealth.
Definition of Consumption.—Consumption the end of Pro¬
duction.— Test of Advantageous and Disadvantageous
Consumption.—Error of Dr Smith’s Opinions until re¬
spect to Unproductive Consumption.—Error of those who
contend, that to facilitate Production, it is necessary to
encourage Consumption.—Cause of Gluts.—Consump¬
tion of Government.—Conclusion.
It was formerly seen, that by production in this science,
is not meant the production of matter, that being the
prerogative of Omnipotence, but the giving to matter
such a shape as might fit it for ministering to our wants
and enjoyments. In like manner, by consumption is
not meant the consumption or annihilation of matter,
that being as impossible as its creation, but the con¬
sumption or annihilation of the qualities which render
commodities useful and desirable. To consume the pro¬
ducts of art or industry, is to deprive them of the utility,
and consequently of the value, communicated to them by
labour. And hence we are not to measure consumption
by the magnitude, weight, or number of the products con¬
sumed, but exclusively by their value. Large consump¬
tion is the destruction of large value, however small the
bulk in which it may happen to be compressed.
Consumption, in the sense in which the word is used by
political economists, is synonymous with use. We produce
commodities only that they may be used or consumed. Con¬
sumption is the end and object of human industry ;v pro¬
duction is merely a means to attain that end. It matters
nothing in this respect whether commodities are of the
class called durable or perishable. The bread that is
baked in the morning may be made use of in the course
of the day; whereas the use of other articles may extend
over weeks, or months, or even many years. But, how¬
ever widely they may differ in their qualities, and whether
they are employed to satisfy the urgent wants, to increase
the riches, or to gratify the social or the selfish passions of
their possessors, they are all destined to be used or con¬
sumed ; to be made serviceable in some way, or for some
purpose or other.
But though commodities are produced only to be con¬
sumed, we must not fall into the error of supposing that all
consumption is equally advantageous to the individual or
the society. If a gentleman employ a set of labourers to
build him a house the one summer, and to pull it down the
next, the wages paid them while they are engaged in this
futile occupation are evidently lost to their employer and
the public ; whereas had he employed them in husbandry
or manufactures he would most likely have obtained pro¬
ducts equal to, or more valuable than, their wages. The
value of the return, or the advantage obtained from con¬
sumption, is the true test whether it is advantageous or dis¬
advantageous, or as it is more commonly termed, produc- Co
tive or unproductive. Commodities are consumed pro- t
ductively when the advantage or benefit, whether material ^
or otherwise, accruing in consequence to their possessors, v'"‘
exceeds their value ; and they are consumed unproduct-
ively when such advantage or benefit is less than their
value. The prosperity and decay of nations depends on
this balance. If, in given periods, the commodities pro¬
duced in a country exceed those consumed in it, the
means of increasing its capital are provided, and its popu¬
lation will increase, or the actual numbers be better accom¬
modated, or both. If the consumption in such periods
fully equals the reproduction, the stock or capital of the
nation not being increased, society will be at a stand. And
if the consumption exceed the reproduction, every suc¬
ceeding period will see the society worse supplied; its
prosperity and population will evidently decline, and pau¬
perism will gradually spread itself over the country.
It is impossible, however, to fix on any standard by a
comparison with which even a tolerable approximation may
be obtained of the value or advantage of different kinds of
consumption. This is a point on which the sentiments of
no two individuals ever exactly coincide. The opinions
of each always depend more or less on the situation
in which he is placed. A rich man is inclined to give
a greater extension to the limits of advantageous con¬
sumption than a man of middling fortune; and the latter
than he who is poor. And it is a truism to say that a
man’s expenses should always bear some proportion to his
fortune and condition in society; and that what might be
proper and advantageous expenditure in one case, might
be exceedingly improper and indeed absurd in another.
Hence it is quite impracticable to frame any system of
rules with regard to expenditure applicable to all indivi¬
duals ; and were it practicable, there is no ground for
thinking that they would be of the smallest utility. The
public interest requires that the national capital should, if
possible, be constantly kept on the increase; or, which is
the same thing, that the consumption of any given period
should become the means of reproducing a greater value.
But it has been sufficiently proved that this desirable re¬
sult cannot, under any circumstances, be brought about by a
system of surveillance and restriction. Industry and fru¬
gality never have been, and never will be, promoted by such
means. To render a man industrious, secure him the peace¬
able enjoyment of the fruits of his industry :—to wean him
from extravagance, and make him frugal and parsimonious,
allow him to reap all the disadvantage of the one line of
conduct, and all the advantage of the other. The poverty
and loss of station that inevitably result from improvident
and prodigal consumption are a sufficient security against
its becoming injuriously prevalent. Wherever the public
burdens are moderate, property protected, and industry
free, the efforts of the body of the people to rise in the
world and improve their condition occasion the continued
increase of national wealth. It is idle to expect that all
unproductive and unprofitable expenditure should ever be
avoided ; but the experience of all tolerably well governed
states proves, that the wealth which is productively ex¬
pended, greatly exceeds that which is expended unpro-
ductively.
It was long a prevalent opinion among moralists, that Luxury not
the production and consumption of luxuries was essentially disadvan-
unproductive. But this opinion is now almost universally tageous.
abandoned. Unless, indeed, all comforts and enjoyments
are to be proscribed, it is not possible to say where neces¬
saries end and luxuries begin. But if we are to under¬
stand by necessaries such products only as are absolutely
required for the support of human life, everything but
wild truits, roots, and water, must be deemed superfluous;
and in this view of the matter, it would follow that the
POLITICAL ECONOMY.
257
Consump¬
tion of
Wealth.
peasantry of Ireland when they lived only on potatoes
and butter-milk, had much more of the character ot
productive labourers than those of Britain ! I he mere
statement of such a doctrine is sufficient for its refutation.
Everything that stimulates exertion is advantageous. 1 he
mere necessaries of life may be obtained with compara¬
tively little labour; and those savage and uncivilized
hordes, who have no desire to possess its comforts, are pro¬
verbially indolent and dissipated. To make men indus¬
trious,—to make them shake off what seems to be their
natural lethargy, — they must be inspired with a taste
for the luxuries and enjoyments of civilized life. When
this is done, their artificial wants become equally cla¬
morous with those that are strictly necessary, and they
increase exactly as the means of gratifying them increase.
Wherever a taste for comforts and conveniences is gene¬
rally diffused, the wants and desires of man become alto¬
gether illimitable. The gratification of one leads directly
to the formation of another. In civilized societies, new
products and new modes of enjoyment are constantly pre¬
senting themselves as motives to exertion, and as means
for its reward. The operations of industry are prosecuted
without intermission, and idleness, with its attendant
train of evils, almost entirely disappear. “ What,” asks
Paley, “ can be less necessary, or less connected with the
sustentation of human life, than the whole produce of the
silk, lace, and plate manufactory? Yet what multitudes
labour in the different branches of these arts! What can
be imagined more capricious than the fondness for tobacco
and snuff? Yet how many various occupations, and how
many thousands in each, are set at work in administering
to this frivolous gratification !” The stimulus given to in¬
dustry by the desire to possess these articles renders their
introduction advantageous. The earth is capable of fur¬
nishing food adequate for the support of a much greater
number of human beings than can be profitably employed
in its cultivation. But its owners will not part with their
produce for nothing; or rather they will not raise what
they can neither use themselves nor employ to buy what
they want. As soon, however, as a taste for conveniences
and luxuries is introduced, this difficulty is got over. The
occupiers of the ground forthwith endeavour to raise from
it the most that it can be made to produce, that they may
exchange the surplus for the articles offered to them by
manufacturers and merchants. And hence, though the
latter have neither property in the soil, nor any concern in
its cultivation, they are regularly and liberally supplied with
its produce. In this way the quantity of necessaries, as
well as of useful and agreeable products, is vastly increased
by the introduction of a taste for luxuries; and while the
people are infinitely better provided for, their numbers are
greatly augmented.
So long, therefore, as the consumption of luxuries is
confined within proper limits, it is quite unexceptionable.
But when it exceeds these limits, that is, when it is greater
than the consumers can afford, it becomes injurious. The
injury, however, would be quite as great if they consumed
an equivalent amount of necessaries. The mischief con¬
sists in the cost or value of the articles consumed exceed¬
ing the means of the consumers, and not in their belong¬
ing to this or that description or species of articles. Bu',,
except in cases where credit has been obtained through frau¬
dulent representations, this is a fault which may be safely
left to be dealt with by those concerned. The poverty
and degradation that are sure to result from reckless
consumption is a sufficient guarantee against its being
carried to an injurious extent. To attempt to lessen it by
proscribing luxury, is like attempting to enrich a country
by taking away some of the most powerful motives to pro¬
duction.
Adam Smith has given another criterion of productive
VOL. XVIII.
and unproductive consumption. But though exceedingly Cons-amp-
ingenious, and supported with his usual ability, his opinions tion of
on this point appear to rest on no solid foundation. He ^ealth-
divides society into two great classes. The first consists
of those who fix, or, as he terms it, “ realize their labour Smith,s
in some particular subject, or vendible commodity, which criterion °f
lasts for some time at least after that labour is past;” the
second, of those whose labour leaves nothing in existence duetive1' 0*
after the moment of exertion, but perishes in the act ofconsump-
performance. The former are said by Smith to be pro- tioa-
ductive, the latter miproductive labourers. Not that, in
making this distinction, he meant to undervalue the services
rendered by the latter, or to deny that they are frequently
indispensable. But he contends that, how advantageous
soever, these services not having any results of a fixed and
transferable character, add nothing to the wealth of a
country; and that, consequently, the labour of those by
whom they have been rendered has been unproductively
expended. To avoid, however, all chance of misrepresen¬
tation, we shall give Smith’s opinions in his own words.
“ There is one sort of labour,” says he, “ which adds to
the value of the subject upon which it is bestowed; there
is another which has no such effect. The former, as it
produces a value, may be called productive, the latter un¬
productive labour. Thus the labour of a manufacturer
adds generally to the value of the materials which he
works upon, that of his own maintenance, and of his mas¬
ter’s profit. The labour of a menial servant, on the con¬
trary, adds to the value of nothing. 'Though the manufac¬
turer has his wages advanced to him by his master, he in
reality costs him no expense, the value of those wages
being generally restored, together with a profit, in the im¬
proved value of the subject upon which his labour is be¬
stowed. But the maintenance of a menial servant never
is restored. A man grows rich by employing a multitude
of manufacturers; he grows poor by maintaining a mul¬
titude of menial servants. The labour of the latter, how¬
ever, has its value, and deserves its reward, as well as that
of the former. But the labour of the manufacturers fixes
and realizes itself in some particular subject, or vendible
commodity, which lasts for some time at least after that
labour is past. It is, as it were, a certain quantity of labour
stocked and stored up, to be employed, if necessary, upon
some other occasion. That subject, or, what is the same
thing, the price of that subject, can afterwards, if necessary,
put into motion a quantity of labour equal to that which
had originally produced it. The labour ot the menial
servant, on the contrary, does not fix or realize itself in
any particular subject or vendible commodity. His ser¬
vices generally perish in the very instant of their perform¬
ance, and seldom leave any trace or value behind them for
which an equal quantity of service could afterwards be
procured.
“ The labour of some of the most respectable orders in
the society is, like that of menial servants, unproductive ot
any value, and does not fix or realize itself in any perma¬
nent subject or vendible commodity, which endures after
that labour is past, and for which an equal quantity of
labour could afterwards be procured. T he sovereign, for
example, with all the officers both of justice and war who
serve under him, the whole army and navy, are unproduc¬
tive labourers. They are the servants ot the public, and
are maintained by a part of the annual produce of the in¬
dustry of other people. Their service, how honourable,
how necessary', or how useful soever, pioduces nothing for
which an equal quantity of service can afterwards be pro¬
cured. This protection, security, and defence of the com¬
monwealth, the effect of their labour this year, will not
purchase its protection, security7, and defence for the yeai
to come. In the same class must be reckoned some both of
the o-ravest and most important, and some of the most fri-
° 2 K
il
258 POLITICAL
Consump- volous professions: churchmen, lawyers, physicians, men
tion of of letters of all kinds; players, buffoons, musicians, opera-
^ Wealth. gingers> opera-dancers, &c. The labour of the meanest of
these has a certain value, regulated by the very same prin¬
ciples which regulate that of every other sort of labour;
and that of the noblest and most useful produces nothing
which could afterwards purchase or produce an equal quan¬
tity of labour. Like the declamation of the actor, the
harangue of the orator, or the tune of the musician, the
work of all of them perishes in the very instant of its pro¬
duction.” {Wealth of Nations, p. 146.)
Smith’s It will not, we think, be very difficult to show the fallacy
distinction of the distinction which Smith has endeavoured to estab-
between jjg]-, jn tj)e paragraphs now' quoted, between the labour, and
ent classes consecluently also ^le consumption of the different classes
of society of society. To begin with the case of the menial servant:
shown to —His labour is said to be unproductive, because it is not
be ill- realized in a vendible commodity, whereas the labour of
founded, the manufacturer is productive, because it is so realized.
But of what, may we ask, is the labour of the manufacturer
really productive ? Does it not consist of comforts and
conveniences required for the use and accommodation of
society ? The manufacturer is not a producer of matter,
but of utility only. And is it not obvious that the menial
servant is also a producer of utility ? If the labour ex¬
pended in converting the wool when in the fleece into a
coat be, as no one doubts, productive, then surely the
labour expended in cleaning and brushing the coat, and
rendering it fit to be worn, must be so too. And if the
husbandman w'ho raises corn, beef, and other articles of
provision, be a productive labourer, why is the menial
servant who performs the indispensable task of dressing
these articles, and fitting them to be used, to be stigma¬
tized as unproductive ? It is clear there is no sub¬
stantial difference between their employments—that they
are either both productive, or both unproductive. To
have a fire, it is quite as necessary that coals should be
brought from the cellar to the stove, as that they should be
brought from the bottom of the mine to the surface of the
earth. And if it be said that the labour of the miner is
productive, must we not say as much of that of the ser¬
vant employed to make and mend the fire? The whole
of Smith’s reasoning proceeds on a false hypothesis. He has
made a distinction where there is none, and can be none.
The end of all human exertion is the same—that is, to in¬
crease the sum of necessaries, comforts, and enjoyments;
and it must be left to the judgment of every man to deter¬
mine what portion of these he will have in the shape of
services, and what in the shape of material products. A
man is not more readily impoverished by maintaining
menial servants than by indulging in any other species of
expense. Doubtless he will be ruined if he keep more of
them than he has occasion for, or can afford to pay; but
his ruin will be equally certain if he purchase an excess
of food or clothes, or engage a greater number of work¬
people in his business than are required to carry it on,
or his capital can employ. The keeping of two plough¬
men when one only might suffice, is as improvident and
wasteful as the keeping of two footmen to do the busi¬
ness of one. It is in the extravagant quantity or cost of
the things or services we require, irrespective of anything
else, that we must seek for the causes of impoverishment.
Case of the The same reasoning applies to all the instances mentioned
physician, by Smith. Take, for example, the case of the physician.
He is classed, like the menial servant, among the unpro¬
ductive labourers, because the bodies on which he exerts
his art are not vendible or exchangeable. But if so, then
it is plain that the veterinary surgeon who has charge of
horses and dogs, wall be entitled to rank in the productive
class; and when the physician prescribes for and cures a
slave, he also will become productive! Without, how-
ECONOMY.
ever, insisting on such self-contradictory statements, is it Consumj
not clear that if the exertions of the physician conduce to tion of
health, and if he enable others to produce more than they Wealth,
could do without his assistance, he is, indirectly at all events
if not directly, a productive labourer ? Smith makes no
scruple about admitting that a workman employed to re¬
pair a steam-engine should be enrolled in the productive
class; and yet he would place a physician, who had been
instrumental in saving the life of an Arkwright or a Watt
among those that are unproductive! It is singular that he
was not struck by such flagrant inconsistencies. And the
errors into which he has fallen in treating this important
branch of the science, set in a strong light the necessity of
advancing with extreme caution, and of subjecting every
theory, how ingenious soever it may appear when first
stated, to a severe and patient examination.
The amusements furnished by players, singers, and so
forth, come under the description of luxuries, and have
the same effect on the public wealth as a taste for champagne,
tobacco, tea, or other superfluities. They create new wants,
and, by so doing, stimulate industry to procure the means of
gratifying them. They are really, therefore, a means of
production; and while they furnish fresh comforts and
amusements, they add to the mass of useful products.
The productiveness of the higher class of functionaries Public
is still more obvious. Far, indeed, from being unproduc- function-
tive, they are, when they properly discharge the duties ofaries pro-
their high station, the most productive labourers in a state. |'uctlve
Smith says, that the results of their service, that is, to use ourers•
his own words, “ the protection, security, and defence of
the commonwealth any one year, will not purchase its pro¬
tection, security, and defence for the year to come.” But
this is plainly an error. He allows that the food and
other articles produced by society in any given year, fur¬
nish in great part the means of producing its supplies of
the same articles for the succeeding year. But without
the security and protection afforded by government, these
articles would either not exist at all, or their quantity would
be very greatly diminished. How, then, is it possible to
deny that those by whom this security is afforded are pro¬
ductively employed ? Take the case of the labourers who
construct fences: no one ever presumed to doubt that
their labour is productive; and yet they do not contri¬
bute directly to the raising of corn or anything else.
The object of their industry is to give security ; to guard the
fields that have been fertilized and planted from depredation,
and to enable the husbandman to prosecute his employ¬
ments w'ithout being distracted by the care of watching.
But if those who defend a single corn field against the
neighbouring crows and cattle, are justly said to be pro¬
ductive labourers, on what pretence shall we deny that title
to the judges and magistrates, the soldiers and sailors, who
protect every field in the empire ?—to those to whose exer¬
tions we are indebted for our independence, and the free
enjoyment of our property and privileges ?
That much wealth has been unproductively consumed
by the servants of the public, both in this and other coun¬
tries it is impossible to doubt. But we are not to argue,
from abuses extrinsic to a benefical institution, against the
institution itself. If the public pay their servants exces¬
sive salaries, or employ more than are required for the
purposes of good government and security, it is their own
fault. Their conduct is similar to that of a manufacturer
who should pay his labourers comparatively high wages,
and employ more of them than he had occasion for. But
though a state or an individual may act in this foolish and
extravagant manner, it would be not a little rash thence
to conclude that all public servants and all manufactur¬
ing labourers are unproductive! If the establishments
which provide security and protection be formed on an
exf'-avacant scale, if there are more judges and magistrates,
POLITICAL ECONOMY.
Wealth.
Consump- more soldiers or sailors, than are necessary, or if they re-
tion of ceive larger salaries than would suffice to procure the ser¬
vices of others quite as competent to discharge their du¬
ties, let their numbers and their salaries be reduced. The
excess, if there be any, is not a fault inherent in the nature
of such establishments, but results entirely from the extra¬
vagant scale on which they are arranged.
But, in showing that Smith was mistaken in calling the
:tion ought consumption of menial servants, lawyers, physicians, and
>0t t0 aced Pub^c functionaries, unproductive, we must beware of
for the sake falling mto the opposite extreme, and of countenancing the
ofstimulat-erroneous and infinitely more dangerous doctrine of those
" igproduc-who contend that consumption, even when most unpro-
Consump¬
tion
nproduc-
ve con-
unption
3t neces-
•ry to pre-
dnctive, should be encouraged as a means of stimulating
production, and of increasing the demand for labour!
The consumption of the classes mentioned by Smith is
advantageous, because they render services in return, which
those who employ them, and who are the only proper
judges, consider of greater value than the wages they
pay them. But the case would be totally different were
government, capitalists, and others, to employ labourers
not to profit by their services, but to stimulate produc¬
tion by their consumption. It is a fallacy to suppose, as
many do, that production is encouraged by a wasteful
consumption of the products of industry. A man is
stimulated to produce when he finds a ready market for
the produce of his labour—that is, when he can readily
exchange it for other products. And hence the only
legitimate encouragement of industry consists in the in¬
crease of production, and not in the increase of waste¬
ful and improvident consumption. Every new article
forms a new equivalent for, or means of purchasing some
other article. It must always be remembered, that the
mere existence of a demand, how intense soever it may
be, cannot of itself be a means of encouraging produc¬
tion. “ I he sale of articles,” to use the words of Paiey,
“ depends upon the number, not of those who want, but of
those who have something to offer in return for what they
want; not of those who would consume, but of those who
can buy ; that is, upon the number of those who have the
fruits of some other kind of industry to tender in exchange
for wdiat they stand in need of.”1 The more, therefore,
that these fruits are increased, that is, the more industrious
individuals become, their power to buy or to offer products
of one sort or other in exchange for what they stand in need
of, will be proportionally increased, and the market rendered
so much the more extensive.
It was contended by Sismondi and Malthus, in opposition
to this doctrine, that the productiveness of industry may
be carried to excess, and that where it is peculiarly
efficient a large unproductive consumption is necessary
But if we
put gluts. prevent the overloading of the market.
attend to the motives which make men engage in in¬
dustrial undertakings, we shall be satisfied that the appre¬
hensions of these writers are unfounded, and that the
greatest facility of production cannot occasion a permanent
glut of the market, or require to be countervailed by
means of unproductive expenditure. In exerting his
pioductive powers, every man intends either to consume
the produce himself, or to exchange it for such articles
as he wishes to get from others. If he do the first.—if he
consume the articles he produces, there is an end of the
matter, and it is evident that no conceivable increase of
such articles could occasion a glut: If he do the second
—if he bring them to market, and offer them in exchange
for other things, then, and then only, there may be glut.
But why ? Not because there has been an excess of produc¬
tion, but because the proper things have not been pro¬
duced. A., for example, wished to obtain silks, and he
manufactured cottons, and offered them in exchange to
the holders of silks. But the latter did not want cottons,
but broad cloths. And hence the glut in this case (and
what is true of it, is true of every other case) does not ori¬
ginate in over-production, but in the production of articles
which were not wanted, instead of articles which were. Let
this error be rectified, and the glut will disappear. Even on
the very improbable supposition that the holders of silks
are supplied with cloth and everything else which those
who wished to trade with them had it in their power to
offer, the principle for which we are contending would not
be in any degree invalidated. Such parties as cannot get
the articles they want by means of an exchange are not at
their wits’ end; but would forthwith turn their industry
into other channels, and, instead of producing their equiva¬
lents, would set about directly producing the articles them¬
selves, or substitutes that might be used in their stead.
Production is never carried on except as a means to an
end; and if it be rightly adapted to compass that end, it is
contradictory to suppose it can be too great. Owing to
miscalculations of one sort and another there is often an
excess of one or of a few articles; but it is quite impos¬
sible that there should be an universal glut. For every
surplus, on the one hand, there must be a correspond¬
ing deficiency on the other. The fault is not in pro¬
ducing too much, but in producing commodities which are
not suited to those to whom we wish to sell them, or
which we cannot ourselves make use of. If we attend to
these two grand requisites, we may increase the power of
production ten or twenty times, and yet be as free of all
excess as if we diminished it in the same proportion.
Unproductive consumption is not therefore required to
prevent the overloading of the market; and though it were,
no government would be justified in carrying it on for such
a purpose.2
It must, however, be remembered, consistently with what
has been previously advanced, that in deciding as to the
character of the consumption or expenditure of wealth, we
must look at its indirect and ultimate, as well as its direct
and immediate effects. An expenditure which, if we take
its immediate results only into account, we should pronounce
improvident and unproductive, may yet be discovered, by
looking at it in its different bearings, and in its remote in¬
fluences, to be distinctly the reverse; and it is also true
that cases frequently occur in which that expenditure
which is ruinous to the individual may, by stimulating in¬
dustry in others, be beneficial to the state.
Montesquieu has said, “ Si les riches ne depensent pas
beaucoup, les pauvres mourront de faim”3 The truth of
this proposition has, however, been disputed; and this is
not to be wondered at, as it may be either true or false,
1 Moral Philosophy, b. vi., cap. 11.
D iWaS wj10 showed in a satisfactory manner that effective demand depends upon production. (See his chapter De
e ouctes.) But the principles from which his conclusions are drawn had been stated so early as 1752 in a tract of Dean Tucker, en-
“Wv, ?n late Naturalization Bill. As this tract is now become of rare occurrence, we subjoin the queries referred to:—
et er it is possible in the nature of things for all trades and professions to be overstocked ? and whether, if you were to remove
®ny proportional number from each calling, the remainder would not have the same grounds of complaint they had before ?—Whether,
in act, any tradesman thinks there are too many of other occupations to become his customers ; though narrow selfish views lead him
o W!s there were fewer of his own trade ? If a particular trade be at any time overstocked, will not the disease cure itself? that is,
rp1 J*0Ine Per.sons tnke to other trades, and fewer young people be bred up to that which is least profitable ? and whether any other
I1^.^1818 not in fact curing one transient disorder by bringing on many which are dangerous, and will grow inveterate?—
e er it is not an infallible maxim that one man’s labour creates employment for another ?” p. 13. For a further demonstration of
the same principle see Mill’s Commerce Defended, p. 80. 3 Esprit de Loix, liv. vii., cap. 4.
259
Consump¬
tion of
Wealth.
POLITICAL ECONOMY.
260
Consump- according to the sense in which it is understood. If it be
tion of construed to mean that a rich man will be able continu-
Wealth. ously to employ a greater number of servants or labourers
if he spend his revenue in luxurious accommodations than
if he lay out a part of it on the improvement ot his estate,
or in accumulating a provision for his younger children, it
is plainly erroneous. An increased demand for labour is
the effect of an increased amount of capita]; and as those
who spend their whole incomes cannot amass capital, so
neither can they employ a greater number of labourers.
But the proposition advanced by Montesquieu should not
be interpreted in this confined sense, or as being restricted
to the direct influence of the demand of the rich for the
services of the poor, but as also referring to and comprising
its indirect influence over the demand ot the middle classes
and society in general for these services. And it we so inter¬
pret it, and suppose it to mean that the lavish expenditure and
luxury of the great and affluent becomes a means of materially
benefiting the poor, by exciting the emulation of others, who
cannot expect, except through an increase of industry and
economy, to be able to indulge in a similar scale of expense,
it will, we apprehend, be found to be perfectly correct.
To suppose, indeed, that the passion for luxurious gratifi¬
cations should decline amongst the rich, and that men
should, notwithstanding, continue equally industrious, is a
contradiction. Riches are desirable only because they
afford the means of obtaining these gratifications; and so
powerful is the influence of a taste for them, that it may
be doubted whether the extravagance which has ruined so
many individuals has not been, by giving birth to new arts
and new efforts of emulation and ingenuity, of material ad¬
vantage to the public.
These remarks are not made in the view of countenanc¬
ing extravagant expenditure, but to show that those who
attempt to decide as to the influence, in a public point
of view, of an outlay of wealth, without endeavouring’ to
appreciate and weigh its remote as well as its immediate
effects, must, when they are right in their conclusions, be
so only through accident. But without insisting farther on
this point, it is abundantly certain that there is nothing to
fear from the improvidence of individuals. No people, as
has been already observed, ever misses an opportunity to
save and amass. In all tolerably wrell-governed countries
the passion for accumulation has always had a decided
ascendancy over the passion for expense.
The incomes of individuals being, in the vast majority of
cases, the result of their own industry and frugality, they
are fully conscious of the sacrifice which their expenditure
compels them to make, and endeavour, with but few excep¬
tions, to confine it within the narrowest limits. This, how¬
ever, is but seldom the case with the consumption of govern¬
ments and their servants. They do not consume their own
wealth, but that of others; and this circumstance prevents
them from being so much interested in its profitable outlay,
or so much alive to the injurious consequences of wasteful
expenditure, as their subjects. But, though more difficult
to practise, economy on the part of governments is of in¬
finitely greater importance than economy on the part of
individuals. A private gentleman, being master of his own
fortune, may dispose of it as he pleases. He may act on
the erroneous principle of profusion being a virtue, or he Conclusio;;
may attempt to excite the emulation and industry of his 's—
fellow-citizens by the splendour of his equipages and the
magnificence of his mode of living. But government can
with propriety do none of these things. It is merely a
trustee for the affairs of others, which it is bound to admi¬
nister as economically as possible. Were the principle
admitted, that money might be raised to excite industry
and ingenuity by the pressure of taxation or the luxury
of public functionaries, an avenue would be opened to
every species of malversation. It is, indeed, pretty cer¬
tain that no people would submit to be taxed for such
purposes; but if they did, the flagrant abuses to which it
would inevitably lead could hardly fail of ending either
in revolution or in national poverty and degradation.
Economy in expenditure is, upon all occasions, the
first virtue of a government, and the most pressing of its
duties.
We have now seen how labour may be rendered most Conclusion
productive of wealth—how that wealth is distributed among
the various classes of society—and how it may be most ad¬
vantageously consumed. We have seen the indissoluble
connection between private and public opulence; that
whatever has any tendency to increase the former, must to
the same extent increase the latter; and that security of
PROPERTY, FREEDOM OF INDUSTRY, AND MODERATION IN
the public expenditure, are the only, as they are the
certain means by which the various powers and resources
of human talent and ingenuity may be called into action,
and society made continually to advance in the career of
wealth and civilization. Owing to the different dispositions
and capacities of individuals, and the widely different cir¬
cumstances under which they are placed, they will no doubt
continue to exhibit in time to come, as they have done
hitherto, great differences in their situation and conduct.
But the adoption of a well-digested system of public eco¬
nomy is sure, notwithstanding, to conduce to their general
well-being. While it adds to the numbers and wealth of
the rich, it makes still greater additions to the numbers and
wealth of the middle classes, and raises the poor more
nearly to a level with the others. The latter, indeed, are
now in possession of a vast number of conveniences and
luxuries which formerly could not be commanded even by
the richest lords. In a well-constituted society, all who
pursue their occupations w’ith diligence, perseverance, and
economy, may reasonably expect to realize the advantages
attached by Providence to such conduct. At all events,
that is the only way in which their condition can be honour¬
ably, and therefore beneficially improved, and the public
wealth augmented. It is by the spontaneous and uncon¬
strained, but well-protected efforts of individuals to improve
their condition and rise in the world that nations become rich
and powerful. Their labour and their savings are at once
the source and the measure of national opulence and
public prosperity. They may be compared to the drops
of dew, which invigorate and mature all vegetable nature.
None of them has singly any perceptible influence ; but we
owe the foliage of summer and the fruits of autumn to their
combined action. (j. R. h.)
POL POL
Poll POLL, a word used in ancient writings for the head, and Lepidus, and had assigned to him the difficult task of
|| Hence to poll is either to vote, or to enter down the names being administrator of Transpadane Gaul. It was at this
Pollio. nf those persons who give their votes at an election. juncture that he saved the property of the poet Viro-il at
^V""'' POLLA, La, a town of Naples, in the province of Prin- Mantua from being confiscated. On his return to Rome
cipato Citra, on a hill at the entrance of the beautiful, fer- he became consul, and had the honour to have addressed to
tile, and populous Val di Diano, 10 miles N.N.W. of La him the fourth Eclogue of Virgil. In 39 b.c. Antony
Sala. It has a number of churches and monastic institu- sent him with a portion of his army to fudit against the
tions ; and there are manufactures of silk and coarse woollen Parthini; and his success was the means of o-ainino- him a
cloth. The Negro, which is here a considerable river, triumph, and the eighth Eclogue of Virgil. Fi*om this time
suddenly disappears at the foot of the hill on which the he seems to have withdrawn altogether from political life
town is built, and flows underground for 2 miles as far as and to have devoted himself to the study of literature. He
Pertosa. Pop. 5000. lived to see Augustus fully established in his reign, when
POLLEN. See Botany. he died at his Tusculan villa, a.d. 4.
POLLAJUOLO, Antonio, an eminent goldsmith and Asinius Pollio was the first to establish a public library
painter, was born at Florence in 1426. Apprenticed in his at Rome. He was likewise the patron of Virgil and Ho-
youth to the famous goldsmith Lorenzo Ghiberti, he soon race {Carmen ii. 1), not to speak of other eminent poets
lose to the place that was suitable for the exercise of his and writers. None of Pollio5s works have come down to us.
genius. The exquisite touch of his chisel immediately Besides his speeches, he was author of a history of the civil
maiked him out among his fellow-pupils. In the fabrica- wars, in seventeen volumes, besides tragedies, which have
tion of the celebiated bionze gates of San Giovanni he be- led his contemporaries and successors to class his name
came his master’s chief assistant, and surpassed all the other with those of Cicero, Virgil, and Sallust, as an orator, a
coadjutors in correct design and patient execution. His poet, and a historian. The reader may consult Eck-
increasing excellence soon enabled him to open a shop for hard’s Commentatio de C. Asinio, Jena,” 1793; Thor-
himself, and to take the first place in his profession. He becke’s Commentatio de C. Asinii Pollionis 'vita et
established his reputation and immortalized his name by Studiis, Lugd. Batav., 1820; and Smith’s Dictionary of
working in silver, for the altar of San Giovanni, a series of Biog. and Myth., London, 1851.
stories representing the “ Feast of Herod” and the “ Dance POLLOCKSHAWS, a burgh of barony and town of
of Herodias’ Daughter.” Pollajuolo next became a com- Scotland, in the county of Renfrew, on the White Cart,
petitor for the fame of a painter. Placing himself under here crossed by an old bridge of two arches, 2£ miles S-W]
the tuition of his younger brother Pietro, he acquired the of Glasgow. It consists of one long irregular street, and
art in a few months. Then applying himself to anatomy, a other smaller ones. The town has recently been much
subject which no artist had ever studied before him, he be- improved, and many good houses have been built. The
came especially excellent in representing the action of the Established Church and the Free Church have each two
muscles. A work representing the martyrdom of St Sebas- places of worship, and the United Presbyterians, Original
tian, and called by Lanzi “one of the best pictures of the Seceders, and Roman Catholics have one each. Pollock-
fifteenth century,” still remains in the church of San Sebas- shaws contains also an old town-house, a bank, and several
tiano de Servi, to be a specimen of his artistic skill. Polla- schools. The prosperity of the town depends chieflv on
juolo spent his last years in Rome, working in bronze the the cotton-spinning which is carried on here, and in which
tomb of Sextus IV. He died in that city in 1498. Inti- most of the inhabitants are employed. Silk and cotton are
mately associated with the name of Antonio Pollajuolo is woven by hand and power looms; and bleaching, dyeing,
that of his brother Pietro. Only two years his junior, and calico-printing are carried on in the town. Coal mines
Pietro instructed him in painting, assisted him in executing are worked and stone is quarried in the vicinity of Pollock-
many of his pictures, died in the same year, and was buried shaws. Pop. (1851) 6086.
in the same tomb in San Pietro in Vincoli. (See Lanzi’s POLLOK, Robert, the author of The Course of Time,
Histori/of Painting, a.\A Ya.sa.vx's Painters, &ici) was born at Moorhouse, in the parish of Eaglesham in
POLLENZA, a town in the island of Majorca, on the Renfrewshire, in 1798, and received his elementary educa-
north coast, 28 miles N.E. of Palma. The houses are well tion at the school of Mearns. His characteristic love of
built, and the streets paved. There are a handsome church, learning displayed itself when he was still a rough rustic
a town-hall, hospital, prison, and schools. Black woollen boy, hoeing and weeding in his father’s fields. From that
cloth is made here, as well as some other articles ; and there time it was his chief ambition to train himself for being a
is some trade in oil and wine. The bay, 2 miles to the literary man, and especially a poet. While preparing for
east, is large, and sheltered on all sides but the N.E. Pop. the university at the parish school of Fenwick, he gave his
6402. days and nights to the Latin language and to English poetry.
POLLIO, Caius Asinius, a distinguished orator, poet, While studying at Glasgow college, between 1817 and
and historian of the Augustan age, was descended from a 1822, he kept the great authors ever standing as models
family of the Marrucini, and was born b.c. 76. He had before his mind’s eye. His master-passion assumed a more
consequently frequent opportunities during his youth of decided form when he had taken the degree of Master of
hearing Cicero, Caesar, Hortensius, and the other great Arts, and had become a theological student in the United
orators of his day. He attempted early to signalize him- Secession Church. He then produced those stories which
self by accusing C. Cato, b.c. 54, when in his twenty-second were afterwards published together under the title of Tales
year, but the powerful influence of Pompey proved too of the Covenanters, and set himself to evolve by degrees
gieat for him. He espoused Caesar’s party when a rupture the ambitious plan of a great poem. At length, in July
took place between Pompey and Caesar, joined his army in 1826, just when he was on the eve of taking license as a
Cisalpine Gaul, accompanied him across the Rubicon, preacher, his Course of Time, a poem written in blank
served with him in the campaign against Pompey at Phar- verse, and consisting of ten books, was completed. The
salia, b.c. 48, and fought at his side against the Pompeian circumstances attending this work’s appearance before the
party in Africa. On his return to Rome, he was created public were very favourable. Blackwood the publisher, to
prcBtorius, b.c. 44; and shortly after was sent to Spain, whom it was first sent, submitted the manuscript to the
.arch of the same year saw the death of Caesar; and Asi- perusal of Professor Wilson. That genial critic discovered
nms Pollio well-nigh lost his life in fighting against Sextus its merit immediately, and recommended that it should be
ompey. He joined the triumvirate of Octavian, Antony, printed. Accordingly, the book was published in March
261
Pollock-
shaws
II
Pollok.
262
POL
POL
Pollux 1827, and was at once received as a poem of no ordinary
Polna rner^* is true that, to a discriminating eye, the design
, appeared unwieldy, the execution unequal, the images con-
fused, indistinct, and distorted, and the diction frequently
mere empty turgidity. Yet there were many qualities
which secured the approbation of a wide circle of readers.
Those who were fond of religious verse were delighted to
find so much deep piety and orthodox sentiment joined
with such a fresh and vigorous genius. Those who in¬
dulged in general literature admired the bold and striking
imagination, the touches of tender feeling, and the signs of
a strong crude power which the author everywhere dis¬
played. The consequence was, that the edition was sold
rapidly ; the poem was favourably treated by the reviews ;
and the new poet was even placed by some thorough-going
admirers on a level with Dante and Milton. It soon ap¬
peared that poor Pollok had purchased fame with his pre¬
cious life. As his reputation began to increase, his body
began to sink. In the course of a few months symptoms
of consumption, the effect of his intense mental toil, became
apparent. Several eminent and rich patrons rose up to
assist him; but their assistance was too late. As a last
resource, it was determined to send him to the mild
climate of Italy ; but his death-stricken frame could not be
carried any farther than Southampton. There, on a Sep¬
tember morning, six months after the publication of his
great poem, he breathed his last; and there a granite
obelisk erected over his grave, and bearing an inscription
by the late Dr John Brown of Edinburgh, still tells of his
untimely fate. The Life of Pollok, by his brother, ap¬
peared at Edinburgh in 1843. The twenty-first edition of
his Course of Time, beautifully illustrated, was also pub¬
lished by Blackwood in 1857.
POLLUX. See Dioscuri.
Pollux, Julius, a Greek writer of antiquity, was born
at Naucrates, a town in Egypt, and flourished in the reign
of the Emperor Commodus, a.d. 183. He was educated
under the Sophists, and made great progress in grammatical
and critical learning. Having taught rhetoric at Athens,
he became so famous that lie was made preceptor of the
Emperor Commodus. He drew up for the use of the
latter, and inscribed to him, whilst his father Marcus An¬
toninus was living, an Onomasticon, or Greek vocabulary,
which he divided into ten books. It is extant, and contains
a vast variety of synonymous words and phrases, ranged
under the general classes of things. It was intended to
facilitate the knowledge of the Greek language to the
young prince; and it is still very useful to all who have a
mind to be perfect in that tongue. The first edition of the
Onomasticon was printed at Venice by Aldus in 1502, and
a Latin version was afterwards published along with it;
but there was no correct and handsome edition of this work
till that of Amsterdam, 1706, in folio, by Lederlinus and
Hemsterhusius. Lederlinus went through the first seven
books, and corrected the text and the version, subjoining
his own along with the notes of Salmasius, Vossius, Vale-
sius, Jungermann, and Kuhnius. This was followed by
the edition of W. Dindorf, Leipsic, 5 vols. 8vo, containing
the works of previous commentators. The last edition is
that of Bekker, Berlin, 1846, which contains only the Greek
text. Pollux wrote nine other works, none of which re¬
mains. He lived to the age of fifty-eight. Philostratus
and Lucian have both treated him with much contempt
and ridicule. (Philostrat. de Vit. Sophist., lib. ii.; and
Lucian in Rhetorum Prceceptorei)
POLNA, a town of Bohemia, in the circle of Czaslau,
not far from the Moravian frontier, 31 miles S.S.E. of
Czaslau. It contains a church and a princely palace. The
manufacture of cloth is carried on ; this, together with agri¬
culture and mining, occupying the most of the inhabitants.
Pop. 6000.
POLO, Marco, a celebrated traveller, was the son of
a Venetian merchant, and was born about 1250, at a time
when his father was absent in the East. He was approach¬
ing the age of manhood when his parent, Niccolo Polo,
and his uncle, Maffio Polo, returned to Venice in 1269
with a long account of their many travels and adventures.
They had repaired, in pursuit of commerce, to Bolgar, on
the Volga, the seat of the khan of the Western Tartars.
A fierce war in the neighbourhood had cut off their return,
and had left them no alternative but to travel round the
northern shore of the Caspian Sea, and take refuge in Bok¬
hara. After residing there for three years, they had been
persuaded, in 1264, by a Persian ambassador to accompany
him to Kemenfu in Chinese Tartary, the court of Kublai,
the grand khan. Taking their lives in their hands, they
had passed through severe snow-storms and over flooded
rivers to their destination, a place that had never been
visited before by any European. The great potentate had
received them with condescension and affability, had shown
a deep interest in the institutions of the western nations,
and had sent them back to Europe on an embassy to the
Pope. The brothers Polo now resolved to take young
Marco with them on their return. Accordingly, in 1272,
the three set out from Acre, bearing letters and presents
from the newly-elected supreme pontiff, Gregory X. A
journey of three years and a half, over toilsome deserts and
through dangerous defiles, brought them to Tai-yuen-foo,
the city where the grand khan was then holding bis court.
They were welcomed with the most distinguished honours,
and were immediately raised to places of dignity and trust.
Marco soon found himself in the most favourable circum¬
stances for obtaining correct and extensive information
regarding the land of his sojourn. The natives, gratified
with the easy manner in which he assumed their lan¬
guage and manners, admitted him into their society, and
treated him as one of themselves. The khan himself was
constantly sending him on confidential missions to the most
distant parts of the empire. The government of the city
of Yang-tchoo-foo was even entrusted to him for the space
of three years. At the same time, he was encouraged by
his sovereign employer to take notes of everything that
seemed rare or remarkable. Marco Polo had been employed
in this manner for seventeen years, wdien he and his com¬
panions set their minds upon returning home. Kublai was
at first unwilling to gratify their request. A circumstance,
however, soon occurred which compelled him to yield. A
Persian embassy, who were charged with conducting home
a bride to their native prince from the court of the khan,
found that they could not proceed by land, on account of
the prevalence of hostilities along their route. At the
same time, it was evident that they could not journey by
sea, except under the guidance of those who wrere more
skilful in navigation than the natives. There was therefore
no resource but to allow the three Europeans to depart, in
order that they might pilot the ambassadors as far as the
Persian Gulf. Accordingly, in 1295, after an absence of
twenty-four years, they arrived in Venice, complete fo¬
reigners in dress, appearance, and language, and without a
single home-bred feature to recall them to the remembrance
even of their nearest relations. Marco Polo, however,
during the rest of his life, was treated with great honour
and respect by all classes of people. Many of his fellow-
citizens repaired to his house to drink in his wonderful
stories about the grand khan and the far-distant Cathay.
Still more went to pay court to the priceless wealth which
he had brought home with him, and to bask in the delicious
atmosphere of luxury which he had spread around him.
No less consideration was paid to him when he had been
taken prisoner in a sea-fight, and consigned to a prison in
Genoa. It soon became fashionable among the Genoese
to visit the cell of the far-travelled Venetian. So often
Poltava.
POL
Polotzk was he called upon to tell his adventures that he grew
tired, and resolved to recount them once for all in a written
narrative. Rusticien de Pise, a well-known mediaeval
writer, was employed to put the facts into a legible form ;
and in 1298 the manuscript was circulated, to the great
delight and satisfaction of the traveller’s numerous admirers.
At length, after a lapse of four years, the public interest in
his welfare became so great that he was released, and sent
home to his native Venice to live to a good old age.
During the three centuries after Marco Polo’s death, his
narrative continued to be very popular in different coun¬
tries. In fact the translations into various languages be¬
came so numerous that there is a difficulty of determining
what tongue is the original, and what text is the most cor¬
rect. It et it seems to be ascertained that the original
language was French, and that the best edition is that in
Italian, by Count Baldelli, in 4 vols. 4to, Florence, 1827.
The latest English translation of the Travels of Marco Polo
is that of Marsden, edited by Thomas Wright, Esq., and
published in Bohn’s “Antiquarian Library,” London, 1854.
POLOTZK, a town of European Russia, in the govern¬
ment of Vitebsk, on both sides of the Polota, at its con¬
fluence with the Diina, 60 miles W.N.W. of Vitebsk. It
is surrounded by fortifications, and has a ruined castle
and numeious churches and convents. The most remark¬
able building is the college and beautiful church that for¬
merly belonged to the Jesuits, but now to the Piarists. An
active trade is carried on in flour, hemp, and other pro¬
duce of the country; and annual markets are held, which
aie much frequented. Polotzk is a very ancient town; it
existed as early as the time of Rurik, the founder of the
Russian power. Battles were fought here in July and Octo¬
ber 1812 between the French and the Russians. On the
former occasion the French were successful, and took pos¬
session of the town; but on the 2(7111 of October it was
stormed and retaken by the Russians. Pop. (1851) 11,131.
POLTAVA, or Pultava, a government of European
Russia, lying between N. Lat. 48. 48. and 51.4., E. Long.
30. 25. and 36; bounded on the N. bv the government of
Tchenigov, E. by those of Kursk and Charkov, S. by those
of Ekaterinoslav and Kherson, and W. by that of Kiev;
length, from N.W. to S.E., 212 miles; greatest breadth, 145
miles; area, 19,059 square miles. The whole surface con¬
sists of an extensive plain, sloping gradually from the N.E.
towards the Dnieper, which forms the S.W. boundary of the
government. Along the banks of this and the other rivers,
its tributaries, in the country, there are a few hills, but these
are the only interruptions to the monotonous flatness which
prevails throughout the country. The principal affluents of
the Dnieper in the government are the Sula, Psiol, Vorskla,
and Orel, all flowing from the N.W. The Dnieper is navi¬
gable all a ong the frontier of Poltava; and the Sula and
Psiol are likewise navigable during the spring. The whole
of the arable and meadow land is very rich and fertile.
A small part of the country is occupied by forests; and a much
larger portion consists of grass-covered steppes. The o-overn-
d ini849’ 5)397,198 acres of arable land;
l °J mea10W1 k"?; 1)640,467 of wood; and
1,006,685 of waste land. I he quantity of corn produced in
|a“e Jea,r ™ 40,883,029 bushels, and of potatoes
4842,535 bushels. There were at the same time in the go¬
vernment 1 / 3,352 horses, 661,061 horned cattle, 1 704 294
sheep, 410,050 swine, and 3702 goats. The kinds’ of grain
principally raised here are rye, oats, barley, wheat, buck¬
wheat, and millet. Tobacco, linseed, rapeseed, peas, and
other vegetables are grown, as well as many kinds of fruit.
Jiees are kept in large numbers; many farmers have more than
tuu hives; and the honey that is produced is of very excellent
quality Hares and partridges are numerous; and fish
abound in the rivers. _ The climate is mild and healthy;
ut the cold in winter is sometimes severe when the north
POL
wind prevails. The only mineral productions are clay, lime
chalk, and saltpetre. Neither manufactures nor commerce
are extensively carried on. There were, however, in 1849
166 manufactories, employing 8014 hands. Amono- the
former there were 55 of saltpetre, 24 of tallow and candles,
2_ of tiles, 18 of cloth, 1 7 of sugar, and 9 of leather. The
principal articles of export are corn and other rural produce
tallow, horses, cattle, wool, hemp, and flax. The majority
of the inhabitants belong to the Greek Church ; there are
however, 24,354 Jews, and a few Protestants and Roman
Catholics in the country. Education is very much ne¬
glected, though nominally under the charge of the university
of Charkov. There were in 1854, besides a gymnasium
and other superior schools, 89 village schools, with 99
teachers, and 3643 scholars. Pop. (1851) 1,668,694.
POnLnAVA’ dlG caP^a^ ^ie ahove government, stands
on a hill near the confluence of the rivers Poltawka and
V orskla, 445 miles S.S.W. of Moscow. It is walled, and
defended by a castle in the centre occupving the summit
of the hill. The streets are broad and straight, and the
houses are for the most part of wood, though some of them
are of stone or brick. Near the middle is the fine Alexander
Square, with a granite monument to Peter the Great, com¬
memorative of his victory at Poltava in 1709. Among
the public institutions of the town are a cathedral and
numeious other churches, a convent, several schools, a
museum of industry, a lunatic asylum, and other benevo¬
lent establishments. In the vicinity there are large salt¬
petre works and extensive plantations of cherry trees. There
are here also tanneries and distilleries. Some trade is carried
on in the produce of the country with Turkey and Ger¬
many. The town was besieged by Charles XII. in 1709;
but Peter the Great, advancing to raise the siege, totally
defeated the Swedish monarch in the vicinity. This deci¬
sive battle forced Charles to take refuge in Turkey, and
securely established the power of Russia. An obelisk has
been erected on the field of battle, near which high mass is
annually performed. Pop. (1851) 20,071.
POLTEN, St (contracted for St Hippolyt), a town of
Lower Austria, capital of the circle of Ober Wienerwalde,
on the left bank of the Trasen, 35 miles W. of Vienna. It
contains a splendid cathedral, an episcopal palace, several
schools, an hospital for the deaf-and-dumb, a town-hall,
theatre, and ball-room. In the principal square in the town
stands a triangular column in honour of the Trinity (Drei-
fultigkeitssaule). St Polten has potteries, glass-works, cot¬
ton factories, and paper-mills. Pop. 5800.
POLY2ENUS, the name of many famous men recorded
by the ancient writers. Amongst them was JuliusPolyienus,
of whom we have some Greek epigrams extant in the first
book of the Anthologia. I he Polyaenus whom it most con¬
cerns us to know about is the author of the eight books of
the Stratagems of Illustrious Commanders in War. He
was probably a Macedonian, and perhaps a soldier in the
early part of his life ; but of this there is no certainty. He
was undoubtedly a rhetorician and a pleader of causes; and,
from the dedication of his work to the emperors Antoninus
and Verus, he appears to have lived towards the latter part
of the second century. The STpar^yr^/xara were published
in Greek by Isaac Casaubon, with notes, 1589, in 12mo;
but no good edition of them appeared till that of Pancra-
tius Maasirtius, Leyden, published in 1690, in 8vo. This
work was translated into English by R. Shepherd, London,
1793.
We have in this work the various stratagems employed by
above three hundred captains and generals of armies, chiefly
Greeks and barbarians, for the Romans seldom resorted to
such arts; and, besides, Polyaenus has shown that he was
little acquainted with Roman aftairs. A great number of
these stratagems appear to us to be ridiculous or im¬
practicable; and neither the generals nor common sol-
264
Polybius.
POL
POL
diers of our day would be found simple enough to be
caught by them. Few of the latter order indeed are ca¬
pable of reading Polyaenus’ Stratagems ; and if they were,
they would reap but little benefit from the book. It is
useful, however, to such as study the Greek language and
antiquity; for many things will be found in it illustrative
of the customs and opinions of ancient times. The sixth
and seventh books are both imperfect. Polyaenus com¬
posed several other works besides the Stratagemata.
Stobceus has produced some passages out of a book De
Republica Macedonum ; and Suidas mentions a piece con¬
cerning the Thebans. If death had not prevented him,
he would have written Memorabilia of the Emperors Anto¬
ninus and Verus, which he promised to undertake in the
Preface to his sixth book of Stratagems. Casaubon, in the
.Dedication of Polyaenus to Mornaeus, calls him an elegant,
acute, and learned writer.
POLYBIUS, a celebrated Greek historian, was the son
of Lycortas, a native of Megalopolis in Arcadia, who suc¬
ceeded Philopcemen in the chief direction of the Achaean
League. H is father, therefore, must have been one of the
most distinguished men of his time; and we find him ac¬
cordingly taking part in the principal transactions of his
country. The exact date of his birth is unknown, but it is
generally believed that it took place between 210 and 200
B.c.; and his death was therefore not earlier than 129 B.C., as
he lived to the advanced age of eighty-two. Plutarch tells
us that the character of Polybius was formed under the eye
of Philopcemen ; and that at the funeral of that general he
carried the urn which contained his ashes, 182 b.c. The
following year he was, along with his father and the son of
the celebrated Aratus, appointed as ambassador to return
thanks to Ptolemy Epiphanes for the assistance which he had
offered to the Achaeans; but the death of that prince took
place before the ambassadors left the Peloponnesus. In the
war which arose between the Romans and Perseus, King of
Macedonia, the opinion of Polybius and his father Lycortas
was, that the Achaeans should observe a strict neutrality;
but they were overruled, and the Achaeans were implicated
in the ruin of Perseus. To break the spirit of the Achaeans,
and to prevent any further attempts at insurrection, more
than a thousand of the principal citizens were sent to Rome,
and afterwards dispersed throughout the different cities of
Italy. Polybius was one of these exiles ; but he was so far
favoured that he was allowed to remain in Rome, where he
resided for sixteen years, from 167 to 151 b.c. He became
the intimate friend and instructor of Scipio the younger,
at that time only eighteen years old, and who afterwards
showed how much benefit he had derived from the care
Polybius bestowed on his education. At last, through the
influence of Scipio and Cato, the Senate was prevailed on
to allow the Achaean exiles to return to their country; but
of tbe original thousand only three hundred survived to
enjoy the permission thus granted to them. Polybius seems
now to have employed bis time chiefly in travelling, with the
view of acquiring more accurate notions of geography. He
examined with great care and minuteness the passes of the
Alps, that he might be enabled to give a correct account
of the passage of Hannibal. He afterwards visited Gaul,
Spain, and Africa, to which latter country he accompanied
Scipio, 146 B.c., when that general took and destroyed
Carthage. But the calamities of his own unhappy country
called him away, and he hurried to the Peloponnesus, where
his presence, however, was unable to save Corinth from the
fate which had overtaken Carthage. He did all in his power
to prevail on his countrymen to submit to a fate which they
only made worse by resistance; and the Roman deputies
felt such reliance on his good intentions, that they appoint¬
ed him to the office of judge in all disputes that might
arise in any part of the Peloponnesus. He gradually ac¬
quired the esteem of his countrymen, and many of the
cities of Greece erected statues to his honour. He subse¬
quently extended his travels into Egypt, which he visited
in the reign of Ptolemy Physcon. Whether he was pre¬
sent with Scipio at the siege of Numantia, B.c. 134, we are
nowhere told; but he left behind him a work on the sub¬
ject. He also wrote a biographical sketch of Philopoemen,
a work on Military Tactics, and another on the Equatorial
Regions.
His principal work, however, was entitled General His¬
tory, though it referred more particularly to a space of
fifty-three years (from 220 to 168 B.c.), from the com¬
mencement of the second Punic war, where the historian
Timaeus, and Aratus of Sicyon, had stopped, to the defeat
of Perseus, King of Macedonia, by the Romans. It was di¬
vided into forty books, of which we now only possess the
first five entire, and rather long fragments of most of the
others. The first two books are occupied with introduc¬
tory matter, giving a sketch of the events that happened
anterior to the second Punic war. He explains the causes
which gave rise to the first Punic war, and then relates the
various events which took place during the twenty-four
years it lasted. He gives also some account of the con¬
test which arose between the Carthaginians and their
stipendiaries. The second book contains the wars of the
vEolians, Illyrians, Achseans, the expeditions of the Romans
against the Illyrians and Gauls, and the transactions of An-
tigonus, King of Macedonia, andCleomenes, King of Sparta,
occupying a period of seventeen years, from 237 B.c. to
220. The third book enters into what is more properly the
subject of his history, and, after explaining what he consi¬
ders to be the true causes of the second Punic war, follows
the path of Hannibal’s victories as far as the battle of
Cannae, 216 B.C. Yet it would appear that he was defec¬
tive in method, as th^ fourth book carries us back to ante¬
rior events, which had happened in 220, 219, 218 b.c.
After a sketch of the people of the East during the reign of
Philip, son of Demetrius, King of Macedonia, of Ariarathes,
King of Cappadocia, of Antiochus, King of Syria, and Pto¬
lemy Philopater, King of Egypt, this book traces the history
of wars and seditions in Greece. In the fifth book we have
the victories of Philip, the wars in Syria between Antio¬
chus and Ptolemy, and the confederated arms of Greece
turned against Rome. It would be useless to give any de¬
tailed account of the fragments of the thirty-five books that
have been preserved; but we know that the thirty-ninth
book ended with the destruction of Corinth, 146 b.c.
There have been many editions of this work, but the most
critical is that of J. Schweighauser, 8 vols. 8vo, Leipsic,
1789-1795. The last edition is that of Immanuel Bekker,
Berlin, 1844, 2 vols. 8vo. It has been translated into
English by Hampton, 1772, 2 vols. 4to; into French by
Thuillier, 7 vols., Par. 1759, with numerous plates and
critical annotations ; into German by Chr. Seybold, Lemgo,
1779-1783, and by L. Storch, PrenzI. 1828.
POLYCARP, one of the most ancient fathers of the
Christian Church, was born towards the end of the reign
of Nero, probably at Smyrna, where he was educated at
the expense of Calista, a noble matron distinguished alike
by her piety and charity. He was unquestionably a dis¬
ciple of St John the Evangelist, and he conversed fami¬
liarly with others of the apostles. When of a proper age,
Bucolus ordained him a deacon and a catechist of his
church ; and upon his death he succeeded Bucolus in the
bishopric, to which he is said to have been consecrated by
St John, who also directed his Apocalypse, amongst others,
to him, under the title of “ the angel of the church of
Smyrna.” When the controversy about the observation of
Easter began to run high between the eastern and western
churches, he went to Rome to discourse with those who
were of the opposite party. The Roman see was then
occupied by Anicetus, with whom he had many conferences,
Polycarp,
POL
Polycarp, which were carried on in the most amicable manner; and
though neither of them could bring the other to embrace
his opinion, they both retained their own sentiments with¬
out violating that charity which is the great law of religion.
Whilst at Rome he particularly opposed the heresies of
Marcion and Valentinus. His conduct on this occasion is
related by Irenaeus, who informs us that when Polycarp
passed Marcion in the street without speaking, Marcion
said, “ Polycarp, own us;” to which he replied with indig¬
nation, “ I own thee to be the first-born of Satan .” Iren¬
aeus adds, that when any heretical doctrines were spoken
in his presence, he would stop his ears, and say, “ Good
God, to what times hast thou reserved me, that I should
hear such things,” and immediately left the place. He was
accustomed to mention that St John, going into a bath at
Ephesus, and finding in it Cerinthus the heretic, imme¬
diately started back without bathing, crying out, “ Let us
run away, lest the bath should fall upon us whilst Cerinthus,
the enemy of truth, is in it.” Polycarp governed the
church of Smyrna with apostolic purity till he suffered
martyrdom in the seventh year of Marcus Aurelius. The
manner of his death is thus related r— I he persecution wax¬
ing hot at Smyrna, and many having sealed their faith with
their blood, the general cry was, “ Away with the impious;
let Polycarp be sought for.” Upon this he privately with¬
drew into a neighbouring village, where he continued for
some time praying day and night for the peace of the
church. He was thus employed when one night he fell
into a trance, and dreamed that his pillow took fire and was
burned to ashes. When he awoke he told his friends the
circumstance, and pronounced it a presage that he should
be burned alive for the cause of Christ. Three days after¬
wards, in order to escape the incessant search after him, he
retired into another village. His enemies, however, were
at hand, and having seized upon two youths, one of whom
they forced by stripes to confess, they were by these lads
conducted to his lodging. He might have saved himself
by getting into another house; but he submitted, saying,
“ The will of the Lord be done.” He therefore came down
from his bed-chamber, and saluting his persecutors with a
serene and cheerful countenance, he ordered a table to be
set before them with provisions, invited them to partake,
and only requested for himself one hour for prayer; after
which he was set upon an ass, and conducted towards
Smyrna. On the road he met Herod, a justice of the pro¬
vince, and his father, who were the principal instigators of
the persecution. Herod took him up into his chariot, and
strenuously eudeavoured to undermine his constancy ; but
having failed in the attempt, he thrust him out of the
chariot with so much violence and indignation, that his
thigh was bruised by the fall. When at the place of exe¬
cution, there came, as is said, a voice from heaven, saving,
“ Polycarp, be strong, and quit thyself like a man.” When
before the tribunal, he was urged to swear by the genius of
Caesar. “ Repent,” said the proconsul, “ and say with us,
take away the godless.” Upon this the martyr, lookino-
round at the crowd with a severe and angry countenance,
beckoned w’ith his hand, and looking up to heaven, said
with a sigh, in a very different tone from what they ex¬
pected, “ Take away the godless.” At last, having con¬
fessed himself to be a Christian, the crier thrice proclaimed
his confession, and the people shouted, “ This is the great
doctor of Asia, and the father of the Christians; this iS the
destroyer of our gods, who teaches men not to do sacrifice
to or worship the deities.” When the fire was prepared,
Polycarp requested not to be nailed, as usual, but only tied
to the stake ; and after a short prayer, which he pronounced
with a clear and audible voice, the executioner blew up the
fire, which increasing to a mighty flame, “ Behold a won¬
der seen by us, wdio were purposely reserved,” says the
relator, “ that we might declare it to others; the flames
VOL. XVIII.
POL
265
1 ll0lthe :eSeumblanCe 0f a" arch, like Polycletu*.
the sails of a ship swelled with the wind, gently encircled
the body of the martyr, who stood all the while in the
midst, not ike roasted flesh, but like the gold or silver
purified in the furnace, his body sending forth a delio-htful
fragrance, which, like frankincense or some other costlv
spices, presented itself to our senses. The infidels, exas-
peiated by the miracle, commanded a spearman to run him
tnough with a sword; which he had no sooner done than
such a vast quantity of blood flowed from the wound as
extinguished the fire, and then a dove was seen to fly from
the wound, which some suppose to have been his soul
clothed in a visible shape at the time of its departure.”
1 lie Christians endeavoured to carry off his body entire
but were not allowed by the irenarch of justice, who com¬
manded it to be burned to ashes. The bones, however
were gathered up, and decently interred by the Christians.
1 hus died Polycarp, on the seventh of the kalends of
May, in the year 167. The amphitheatre on which he
sufteied was mostly remaining not many years ago; and
ns tomb, which is in a little chapel in the side of a moun¬
tain, on the south-east of the city, was solemnly visited by
t e Greeks on the festival day; whilst, for maintaining and
repairing it, travellers were wont to throw a few aspers into
an earthen pot w'hich stands there for the purpose. He
wrote some homilies and epistles, which are now lost, ex-
cept that to the Philippians, which is a truly pious and
Christian production, containing short and useful precepts
and rules of life, which Jerome informs us was even in his
time read in the public assemblies of the Asiatic churches.
It is singularly useful in proving the authenticity of the
books of the New Testament; for he has cited several
passages and expressions from St Matthew, St Luke, the
Acts, St Paul’s Epistles to the Philippians, Ephesians, Ga¬
latians, Corinthians, Romans, Thessalonians, Colossians,
the first Epistle to Timothy, first Epistle of St John, and
first Epistle of Peter; and makes particular mention of St
Paul s Epistle to the Ephesians. Indeed the whole of this
epistle consists of phrases and sentiments taken from the
New Testament. (See Halloix, lllustr. Eccles. Orient.
Scriptorum Vita ; Cave, Apostolici, or the Lives, fyc., of the
Primitive Fathers; "lillemont, Memoirs, vol. ii. ; Lard-
ner, Credibility, part ii.; Neander, Hist, of the Church,
vol. i.; Milman, Hist, of Christianity, b. ii., c. 7.)
POLYCLE 1 US, one of the most celebrated statuaries
of the ancient world, was named of Sicyon, probably by
birth, and of Argos, probably by citizenship. This cele-
biated sculptor, architect, and artist is said to have been
the pupil of the great Argive statuary Ageladas, where he
had Phidias and Migron for his fellow-disciples. Of his
personal history nothing is known. As an artist he stood
at the head of the schools of Argos and Sicyon ; and he was
judged to have surpassed his great Athenian rival Phidias
on one occasion (if only on one)—the famous competition
of the Amazons. The essential difference between these
artists lay in this, that Phidias was unsurpassed in making
the images of the gods, Polycletus in those of men.
The praises heaped upon Polycletus by ancient critics
are numerous, and of the very highest order. Pliny has
recorded of him that he brought the art of statuary to per¬
fection, and Cicero supports the judgment. Dionysius of
Halicarnassus, Quintilian, Lucian, and the poets of the
Anthology, are all loud in his praise; while Xenophon,
Plato, and Lysippus speak of him in terms implying an
equality with Phidias. As a toreutic artist, Pliny believed
him to have perfected the art which Phidias had begun.
As an architect, Polycletus designed the theatre, and the
circular building which he raised in the sacred inclosure of
JEsculapius at Epidaurus. The former Pausanias thought
the best worth seeing of all the theatres, whether of the
Greeks or of the Romans.
2 L
266 POL
Polycrates The work which he probably designed to be the greatest
II of all his performances was his statue of Hera in ivory and
Polygamy. g0](^ jn jier temple between Argos and Mycenae. It was
doubtless meant to rival Phidias’s chryselephantine statues
of Athena and Zeus, which, in the judgment of Strabo
(viii., p. 372), it equalled in beauty, though surpassed by
them in costliness and size. The goddess was seated on a
throne, her head crowned with a garland, on which were
worked the Graces and the Hours,—the one hand holding
the symbolical pomegranate, the other a sceptre surmounted
by a cuckoo. The lower part of the figure was robed from
the waist downwards. In short, she was the white-armed
goddess of Homer, with beautiful eyes, a splendid robe, a
queen-like figure, and seated on a golden throne. (See an
excellent essay on this statue by Bbttiger, Andentungen,
pp. 122-128.)
POLYCRATES, a Greek tyrant, was celebrated for the
uninterrupted course of success which characterized his life.
With the aid of no more than fifteen armed men he seized
the sovereignty of Samos, and held it for some time in con¬
junction with his brothers Pantagnotus and Syloson. He
then managed to get rid of the one brother by assassination
and of the other by banishment, and to retain the entire
power for himself. This was only the preparation for a
more vigorous and efficient system of policy. The city was
strengthened, 100 fifty-oared galleys were manned, and 1000
archers were enlisted. His fleet scoured the seas, sweeping
before it all opposition, capturing many of the islands in the
neighbourhood, and taking some of the cities in the mainland.
In fact, so invariable was his good fortune that Amasis,
King of Egypt, looking upon him as the future victim of the
joy-avenging Nemesis, broke off an alliance which had sub¬
sisted for some time between the two kingdoms. Poly¬
crates, however, although standing alone against his ene¬
mies, continued to be as successful as ever. In vain did
some malcontents among his subjects attempt to raise a
general revolt. Incarcerating the women and children of
the city, he threatened to set fire to the former if any more
should join the insurrection. In vain did the rebels, re¬
pulsed from the town, return banded with the Spartans and
Corinthians. A beleaguerment of forty days ended only in
complete failure. The Samian tyrant was fast increasing
in power ; and no enterprise now was a fitting object for his
ambition but the conquest of Ionia and of the islands in the
Aegean Sea. Yet just at this crisis the bright career of
Polycrates was doomed to be suddenly extinguished in
darkness. Oroetes, the satrap of Sardis, for some reason
unknown, allured him over to Magnesia by the promise of
a large sum of money. No sooner had he set foot within
that city than he was seized and crucified in 522 B.C. (See
Herodotus, iii. 39-47, 54-56, 120-125.)
POLYDORE, Virgil. See Virgil.
POLYGAMY, a plurality of wives or husbands in the
possession of one man or woman at the same time. Poly¬
gamy has found favour in Asia from time immemorial, and
the Mohammedans adopted and confirmed it. Montesquieu
holds that it is owing to the greater number of female
births in the East; but this is by no means proved. Another
more plausible reason may be found in the premature old
age of the female sex in these countries. Niebuhr, in his
Travels in Arabia, gives a curious piece of conversation
which he had with an Arab on polygamy. Selden, in his
Uxor Hebraica, has shown that a plurality of wives was
allowed among the Hebrews. It has to be noticed, how¬
ever, that polygamy was not countenanced by the Greeks
or Romans. It is remarked by Tacitus in his Germania,
that the Germans 4< alone, among all the barbarians, are
content with a single wife.” Bernardus Ochinus, general
of the Order of the Capuchins, and afterwards a Protestant,
published, about the middle of the sixteenth century, Dia¬
logues in favour of Pohjgamy, which were replied to by
Beza. About the close of the seventeenth century an art- Polyglot
ful treatise on polygamy was published at London by John ||
Lyser, under the title Pohjgamia Triumphatrix, and as- Polygnotw
signed to “ Theophilus Aletheus,” which has been replied v'—
to by several writers. Bruce has introduced the argument,
that in some parts of the world the proportion of female
children is much superior to that of the male ; and the Rev.
W. Madan, in his Thelyphthora, has come forward more
boldly in favour of polygamy than any other modern writer.
In Christianity, polygamy receives no countenance ; and in
Christian countries it has been long since forbidden.
POLYGLOT, or Polyglott (iroXvs, many, yAw-rra, a
tongue), a word generally applied to Bibles printed with the
text represented in various languages. The idea of a Poly¬
glot seems first to have occurred practically to Origen in the
third century, who spent much time in forming the Old Tes¬
tament into such a work. This is commonly known as the
Diblia Hexapla, or the Bible in six columns, of which various
imitations have been published since the invention of print¬
ing. The fragments of Origen which remain were published
by Montfaucon, in 2 vols., Paris, 1714, under the title of
Hexaplorum Origenis quae supersunt. The principal Poly¬
glots printed since the time of Origen are :—1. The Complu-
tensian Polyglot, named from Complutum, the Latin name
of Alcala de Henares in Spain. It was printed under the
superintendence of Cardinal Ximenes in 1502-17, in four
languages, comprehending 6 vols. folio. 2. The Antwerp
Polyglot, printed by Christopher Plantin, under the edi¬
torship of Arias Montanus, and with the sanction of Philip
II. of Spain, It was published at Antwerp in 8 folio vols.,
1569-72. 3. The Parisian Polyglot, printed at Paris by
Antony Vitre, and edited by Guido Michael Le Jay,
1628-45, 10 vols. folio. This splendid performance, be¬
sides containing all that is in the former two polyglots, has
the addition of an Arabic version of the Old and New
Testaments, a Syriac version of the Old Testament, and
the Samaritan Pentateuch. 4. The London Polyglot was
edited by Brian Walton, in 6 vols. folio. It was published
between 1654-57. It consists occasionally of nine lan¬
guages,—namely, Hebrew, Chaldee, Samaritan, Syriac, Ara¬
bic, Persian, Ethiopian, Greek, and Latin. Dr Edmund
Castell, one of Walton’s assistants, afterwards published
a Lexicon Heptaglotton, 2 vols. folio, 1669, with gram¬
mars of all the languages prefixed. This work is by no
means equal in appearance to the foregoing ; but for solid
usefulness it is greatly their superior. Its history is re¬
corded at length in Archdeacon Todd’s Memoir of the
Life and Writings of the Right Rev. Brian Walton, D.D.,
fjord Bishop of Chester, 2 vols. 8vo, London, 1821. 5.
Bagster’s Polyglot was published by Bagster the bookseller
in 1 vol. folio, London, 1831. The Old Testament is in
eight languages and the New in nine,—viz., Hebrew,
Greek, English, Latin, German, Italian, French, Spanish,
and Syriac, the New Testament being given in the last
language by way of appendix. Prefixed to the work are
fifty pages of prolegomena in Latin, by Professor Lee of
Cambridge. The entire volume presents a very attractive
appearance. (On the entire subject of Polyglots the reader
may consult Horne’s Introduction, Butler’s Horce Bibiicce,
and Clarke’s Bibliographical Dictionary.)
POLYGNOTUS, a famous painter of Thasos, flourished
about 422 years before the Christian era, and was the son
and scholar of Aglaophon. He adorned one of the public
porticos of Athens with his paintings, in which he had re¬
presented the most striking events of the Trojan war. The
Athenians were so pleased with him that they offered to
reward his labours with whatever he pleased to accept, but
he declined the offer; and the Amphictyonic Council, which
was composed of the representatives of the principal cities
of Greece, ordered that Polygnotus should be maintained
at the public expense wherever he went. Of the talents of
1
POL
Polygon Polygnotus much honourable mention is made bv many of
|| _ the best authors of antiquity,—as Aristotle and Plutarch,
Polynesia. Dionysius of Halicarnassds, Pliny, and others. Pausanias
| speaks of his pictures of the events of the Trojan war, and
in his tenth book introduces a long description of other
pictures by the same artist, painted also from Homer, in
the temple at Delphi. The passage, however, gives but a
confused and imperfect idea of the painter’s performance.
How much the art is indebted to this ancient master, what
grace and softness he gave to the human countenance,
what embellishments he added to the female figure and
dress, are much more happily described by Pliny.
POLYGON (ttoAu?, many, ywvia, an angle), according
to Euclid, is any plane rectilineal figure having more than
four sides or angles; but geometers' generally treat of the
triangle and the quadrangle under polygons.
POLYHEDRON (ttoA^s, many, cSpa, a seat), in Solid
Geometry, denotes a solid bounded by many faces or planes.
When all the faces are regular the solid becomes a regular
body.
POLYHISTOR, the surname of Alexander Cornelius,
a native of Ephesus, or, according to some, of Cotyacum.
The first part of his career was attended with misfortune.
POL 267
Enrolled in the forces of Mithridates the Great, he was Polyhvm
taken prisoner in Greece by the army of Sylla, and was ex- nia
posed for sale as a slave. Cornelius Lentulus bought him, II
and taking him to Rome, employed him as a pcedagogus. Polynesia.
In course of time, however, fortune began to smile upon N-—
the enslaved Alexander. His master liberated him; and
Sylla is said to have bestowed upon him the Roman fran¬
chise. His varied and extensive learning, and the many
miscellaneous works which he produced, secured for him
the surname of Polyhistor, and introduced him to the notice
of patrons. He was living in easy circumstances at his
villa at Laurentum when he perished in a fire which con¬
sumed his household effects. A list of the works of Poly¬
histor is given in De Historicis Grceeis of Vossius. But a
part of a History of Judaea, found in Eusebius, and a few
fragments of a History of Rome preserved in Servius, are
the only remnants of his great and multifarious erudition.
POL A HYMNIA (WoXvyvta, contr. for UoAiaSpivia, i.e.,
She of the many dreams), one of the nine Muses. She
was the goddess sometimes of the higher lyric poetry, some¬
times of eloquence.
“ Nec Polyhymnia
Lesboum refugit tendere barbiton ” (Hor., Od. i. 1, 33.)
POLYNESIA.
Character- Polynesia is a name given by several early writers on
iinction" £eograPhy> but first> we believe, by De Barros, to the nu-
1 ' merous islands scattered over the Pacific Ocean, or, as it
was usually called, the Great South Sea. Modern writers
have also given the name of Micronesia to the small
chains or clusters of islands scattered over that part of the
Pacific lying to the E. and S. of the Sandwich Islands, and to
the N. of the equator, but this region may still be reckoned
part of Polynesia, the name which is now applied by
modern geographers to the sixth great division of the
earth’s surface. This division will probably appear on ex¬
amination less arbitrary than some others ; for whether we
consider it in a political, physical, or moral point of view,
the separation from America on the one hand, and from
Australasia and the Asiatic islands on the other, is marked
by very strong and distinct features. A considerable por¬
tion of the last, for instance, have ages ago been invaded
and taken possession of by foreigners, and several parts of
Australasia have more recently been colonized by Euro¬
peans. No colonies have yet been planted in Polynesia,
with the exception of that on one of the Ladrone Islands
by Spain, and the recent military occupation under the pro¬
tectorate of trance at Tahiti. Since the commencement
of the present century, however, many of these islands have
been visited by European missionaries, for the purpose of
spreading amongst the natives the light of the gospel; and
in most cases tbeir efforts have been so far successful that
they have established permanent settlements in these islands,
and have instructed the natives, not only in the doctrines
of the Christian religion, but in many useful mechanical
arts and other improvements of civilized society. The in¬
habitants, excepting those of Tahiti with France, have no
political connection with any of the other divisions of the
earth, and but little exists between any two of its groups or
separate islands, each being governed by its own chiefs,
and confining its friendships or hostilities to some neigh¬
bouring group or island.
lysically All geographical divisions are to a certain degree arbi-
nsidere trary ; but if the islands south of the equator, and eastward
from New Holland as far as the New Hebrides and New
Zealand, be considered as included in Australasia, the
boundary of Polynesia, physically considered, is almost as
distinct as its political seclusion. If a line be drawn in a
south-easterly direction along the eastern extremity of the
Philippine Islands, Mindanao, Papua or New Guinea, New
Ireland, and Solomon’s Archipelago, and from thence con¬
tinued southerly along the eastern shores of the New He¬
brides and New Zealand, this line will mark with sufficient
precision the separation of the Asiatic islands (mostly to
the northward of the equator), and Australasia (to the
southward of the equator) from Polynesia. The geologi¬
cal structure of the islands which constitute the first-men¬
tioned divisions is also, generally speaking, essentially dif¬
ferent, consisting chiefly of lofty mountains of primary or
secondary formation, partaking of the same structure as
those on the continent of Asia, with which some of them,
indeed, may probably have once been connected, their
rugged sides presenting as it were a broken barrier to the
great Pacific ; whereas Polynesia exhibits over a large
part of its surface a series of low, flat islands, scarcely rising
above the level of the sea, which, with the exception of
the lofty groups of volcanic formation, are the labours of
minute sea animals, and are usually distinguished by the
name of lagoon or coral islands.
In a moral point of view, the distinctive character of the MoraMy
Polynesians is as strongly marked as the physical structure considered,
of the islands which they inhabit. In the Eastern Archi¬
pelago, or the Asiatic islands, and in Australasia, two dis¬
tinct races of men have been traced,—the black and the
brown. In the archipelago, and more particularly in the
Philippine Islands, a few individual families of the Negro
race were discovered by the early European visitors; in
New Guinea and the Papuan Islands the whole population
appears to consist of this race. They differ in some re¬
spects from the Negroes of the western coast of Africa, re¬
sembling rather those which are found on the eastern
coast, particularly in the hair, which is strongly twisted
into small tufts, and very different from that of the Negro
of Guinea.
The only Negroes that have been discovered on any ofNatives of
the islands of Polynesia are the Fijians, who are of the same Polynesia
race as the inhabitants of that part of Australasia which
some modern writers have called Melanesia, all the other in¬
habitants being of the brown race, and by some supposed to
be derived from the same common stock to which the Tar¬
tars, the Chinese, the Japanese, and the Malays, owe their
268
POLYNESIA.
Polynesia.
Language.
origin. In this opinion Sir William Jones, Dr Buchanan,
Mr Marsden, and Sir Stamford Raffles to some extent
concur. To whatever source the whole of these races
may be traced, the Malays and the Polynesians pre¬
sent so many points of I’esemblance as to lead to the con¬
clusion that they have been derived from the same parent
stock. The several portions of this race which inhabit the
different groups of the Pacific exhibit considerable variety
in figure and colour ; but are generally rather above the
middle stature,1 with frames well knit and robust. Their
limbs are muscular and firm; their hands and feet small;
their heads not unduly large nor disproportioned ; the face
sometimes exhibiting in a slight degree the triangular
form of the Tartar races, though as frequently oval, oc¬
casionally with broad and well-shaped foreheads; the eyes
black, not large, but placed horizontally, with somewhat
straight and well-defined eyebrows. The nose is frequently
small and broad, but occasionally aquiline and well formed,
with nostrils open. The mouth is usually large, and the
lower lip projecting; the teeth regular, perfectly white, and
well set; and the hair is often coarse, black, and straight
or curling. The chin is seldom projecting; but in some
tribes the jaw is large, and broad at its junction below the
ear, which produces a peculiar fulness, as seen in New
Zealand and the Sandwich Islands.
Dispersed as the Polynesians are, and rarely and purely
accidental as any communication between distant islands
must be, there is strong evidence that the different dialects
spoken, from the shores of India and Africa to those of
America, are the derivatives of one common language,
which, according to Marsden, still forms the primitive por¬
tion of the Malay language, mixed as it now is with San¬
scrit and Arabic.
Although the dialects of Polynesia and Australasia
bear some resemblance to each other, the resemblance is
not so close as that which prevails between those of the
former and the Asiatic Archipelago and Madagascar, which
seem to have belonged to one language, designated by
Marsden the Polynesian. The Asiatic source of the lan¬
guage is supposed to be indicated by the presence of
Sanscrit words in all. Considering the state of civilization
in which the people have been found, their language is
remarkably comprehensive, clear, and exact, especially in
its grammatical structure ; and so philosophical as to con¬
vey the impression that it must have descended from a
people possessing a higher degree of civilization than
those by whom it is now spoken. The vowel sounds
predominate; and the peculiarity in the Polynesian lan¬
guage, which expresses almost every syllable by a single
vowel, or a consonant and vowel, and invariably termi¬
nates every word with a vowel, renders it, when spoken,
remarkably euphonic, flowing, and easy. The softness of
the language is also increased by the rejection, throughout
all the dialects, with the exception of that spoken by the
Samoans and Fijians, of all sibilants and sounds produced
by double consonants.
Religion. Not less remarkable is the general accordance of the
Polynesians in manners, superstitions, and religious observ¬
ances. The conversion of the Malays of the archipelago
to Mohammedanism has nearly obliterated their ancient
faith, but enough still remains on some of the Asiatic
islands, and still more on the Asiatic continent, to trace the
source whence the Polynesians have derived many of their
religious opinions and practices.
General These preliminary observations on the physical form,
view of the features, language, and religion of the Polynesians, are
islands. made with a view to indicate their common origin, and may
be taken as a general description of the natives of the Polynesii
various groups of islands which are scattered over the sur-
face of the vast Pacific Ocean. But though the language
and mythological legends of the brown-complexioned and
straight-haired races inhabiting Eastern Polynesia may be
traced to the Asiatic archipelago, information has lately
been collected among the Melanesians, or woolly-haired
race inhabiting the Fijis and the islands of Australasia,
from which it appears that their language bears a resem¬
blance to some of the languages spoken in the interior of
Southern Africa. It is worthy of notice also, that if the
religion of the Polynesians was derived from Asia, it does
not seem to have been limited to the islands of the vast
area over which it has been spread ; and without enter¬
ing into a comparison of the mythology of the aboriginal
inhabitants's'of South America, it is a singular fact, that
massive relics met with in Polynesia, some evidently of
high antiquity, and almost Cyclopean in their dimensions
and structure, the ruins of their ancient temples and fort¬
resses, bear a remarkable resemblance in form and size to
the extensive pyramidal structures composed of successive
terraces, and other buildings, found amongst the Peruvians
by the discoverers of America.
The chief characteristic of the religion of the Poly¬
nesians seems to be a sort of hero-worship, their principal
gods having been renowned men who still exercise an in¬
fluence over the affairs of this world, appearing in the form
of some living creature, through the medium of which they
exert their power. With this is associated throughout the
islands a firm belief in spirits or demons, and in sorcery.
The groups of Polynesia are exceedingly different in their
extent, both as to number and size, as well as in their com¬
position. Sometimes single islands are met with, surrounded
by extensive reefs. These islands and reefs are dispersed, as
already observed, over the whole of the Pacific Ocean, but
chiefly between the thirtieth degree of northern and the
thirtieth degree of southern latitude. The following classi¬
fication will be found to embrace the greater part of those
islands which are comprehended under the geographical
division “ Polynesia”:—
In the Northern Hemisphere.—1. The Marian or La- Classifica
drone Islands ; 2. The Carolinas, including the Pellew Is- tion of tt
lands ; 3. The Marshall’s Islands, and the Kingsmill group ; elands.
4. The Sandwich Islands ; 5. The numerous reefs and coral
islands scattered over the Northern Pacific, and designated
Micronesia.
In the Southern Hemisphere.—1. The Fijis; 2. The
Friendly Islands, including the group of the Tonga Islands ;
3. The Navigators’ Islands ; 4. The Society Islands; 5. The
Georgian Islands, including Tahiti and the Austral Islands ;
6. The Marquesas ; 7. Easter Island; 8. Pitcairn’s Island;
9. The Mangareva Group; 10. The Paumotus, or Dan¬
gerous Archipelago.
IN THE NORTHERN HEMISPHERE.
The Ladrone Islands were first discovered by Magelhaens on Ladrones,
the 6th of March 1521. This name, by which they are generally
known, was given to them by the Spaniards on account of the
thievish disposition of the natives ; and afterwards, when mission¬
aries were first sent thither in 1668, under the patronage of Mary-
Anne of Austria, queen of Philip, they took the name of Las Mari¬
anas, in honour of that lady. (See Ladrone Islands.)
The expedition of Loyosa touched at the Ladrone Islands in 1526,
and were received in the most friendly manner by the natives.
They found no quadrupeds on the island, but plenty of excellent
fruits, fish, and rice. The only birds were turtle-doves, of which
the islanders appeared to be so fond that they kept them in cages,
and taught them to speak. In 1565 the Ladrone Islands were
again visited by Lopez de Legaspe, and, notwithstanding his
1 The measurement of eleven natives of ten different races in Polynesia were taken during the progress of the United States exploring
expedition under Commodore Wilkes in 1840 : only one was so low as 5 feet 2 inches; one was 6 feet 10 inches; but the average was
5 feet 10 inches.
POLYNESIA.
269
BllitS.
Polynesia, anxiety to prevent quarrels, skirmishes took place, and one of the
t y seamen who had strolled into the woods being found murdered,
^ — the Spaniards landed in force, set fire to their houses and canoes,
wounded several of the natives, and hung upon the spot three
wounded prisoners.
Visited by In 1588 our countryman Cavendish came in sight of the La-
Cavendish; drones, and sailed along the coast of Guahan, from which a num-
bv Olivier ^er canoes came off with fruits and vegetables, which were ex-
VanNoort; changed for pieces of iron; but the natives became so troublesome
that, in order to get rid of them, Cavendish ordered muskets to be
fired at them. In 1600 Olivier Van Noort made the Ladrone
Islands, and stopped near Guahan for two days, from which island
above 200 canoes came off to the ships with fish, fruits, and rice
to exchange for iron : fowls are mentioned, for the first time,
by Spil- in this voyage. In 1616 Spilbergen made the Ladrone Islands,
bergen and and stopped two days to traffic with the natives for provisions of
the Nassau fruit, fowls, and fish, in exchange for bits of iron. In 1625 the
fleet, fleet under Prince Maurice of Nassau refreshed at Guahan, and
were supplied by 150 canoes, with immense quantities of cocoa-
nuts, yams, bananas, rice, and fowls, which were of great ser¬
vice, as the scurvy had made such havoc among the crews that in
some of the ships they had scarcely strength enough to manage the
sails.
Of the Spa- 1° fh0 year 1668 the Spaniards established a mission on the
nisb Je- island Guahan, consisting of P. Servitores and five other fathers,
with several lay assistants, most of them natives of the Philippine
Islands, and well acquainted with the Tagul language, the same as
that spoken by the natives of the Ladrone Islands. For some time
the chiefs of the islands behaved with great kindness to the Jesuits,
and gave them ground for building a church. From this seat of
the mission the fathers spread themselves amongst the other islands,
where they were received with equal kindness. In short, P. Servi¬
tores says, that in the first year they had baptized more than 13,000
islanders, and instructed 20,000, in the eleven islands which they
had visited. The imprudent zeal, however, of the missionaries
ruined their cause by shocking the prejudices of the natives.
These simple people took it into their heads that, as an infant had
died shortly after being baptized, its death had been occasioned by
that ceremony; and such was the terror of mothers on seeing a
missionary approach, that they seized their children and ran off
with them into the woods. This opinion gathered ground from the
eagerness of the Jesuits to get hold of infants for the purpose of
baptizing them, and more than one of these holy fathers fell mar¬
tyrs to their imprudent zeal. Several murders ensued ; and as the
Spaniards had taken care to strengthen the mission with a body of
troops well armed, with the obvious intention of taking possession
of the Ladrones as an important outpost to the Philippine Islands,
after a great number of the natives had been put to death, the res.t
submitted to the yoke of the Spaniards; though most of the mis¬
sionaries suffered in the contest, and last of all Servitores, who was
killed by the man to whom he had been the greatest benefactor, be¬
cause the missionary insisted on baptizing his child. Thus, at the age
of forty-five, this pious and good man, for such he appears to have
been, fell by the hand of an assassin, after having, as we are told,
“ established the faith in thirteen islands, founded eight churches,
established three seminaries for the instruction of youth, and bap¬
tized nearly 50,000 of the islanders.” From this time constant re¬
volts and massacres ensued, and the most inhuman cruelties were
inflicted on the unhappy islanders ; so that in 1681 the island of
Guahan, which, on the first landing of the Spaniards, counted
40,000 inhabitants (some accounts make them more), had become
so completely depopulated that it was found necessary to bring in¬
habitants from the northern islands to cultivate the soil.
In the year 1685 the ship of John Eaton, the bucaneer, touched
at Guahan, the crew of which quarrelled with the natives, and
killed some of them. Having satisfied the Spanish governor that
it was done in their own defence, “ he gave us toleration,” says
Cowley in his narrative, “ to kill them all if we could.” . .. . “ We
took four of these infidels prisoners,” continues the narrator, “ and
brought them on board, binding their hands behind them ; but they
had not been long there when three of them leaped overboard into
the sea, swimming away from the ship with their hands tied behind
them.”
In 1686 Dampier touched at Guahan, and states the number of
natives not to exceed 100. He gives a particular description of their
“ %ing proas,” with their outriggers, which, he says, “ sail the best
of any boats in the world; adding that he tried the swiftness of
one by his log, and that she ran 12 knots out before the half-minute
glass was half out.” “ I believe,” says Dampier, “ she would run
24 miles an hour.” Woodes Rogers, who visited the Ladrones in
1710, states it as his opinion that one of these proas would sail at
the rate of 20 miles an hour.
In the month of August 1742, Commodore Anson anchored before
the island of Tinian. It was deserted; but cattle to the number of
Visited by
he buca-
leers;
>y Dam-
lier;
y Anson.
at least 10,000, besides hogs and fowls, were running about wild. Polynesia.
Cocoa-nuts in innummerable quantities, bread-fruit, oranges, limes, v y
water-melons, and other tropical fruits, were in the greatest abund-
ance. Though now deserted, Tinian, on the arrival of the Spaniards
is said to have contained 30,000 inhabitants. Ruins of buildino-s’
consisting of pyramidal pillars of considerable dimensions, were met
with in all parts of the island.
Commodore Byron anchored in the year 1765 before Tinian, and Visited by
found the island overgrown with large trees and underwood, Byron •
amongst which were most of the tropical fruits. J ’
Lieutenant Kotzebue visited Guahan in 1817. No canoes nor by Kotze-
proas, nor happy islanders, greeted his approach ; the whole race of bue.
natives had long been extirpated. “ We looked,” he says, “ in vain
for a canoe or a man on the shore; and it almost seemed as if we
were off an uninhabited island.- The sight of this lovely country
deeply affected me. Formerly these fertile valleys w-ere the abode
of a nation who passed their days in tranquil happiness; now only
the beautiful palm groves remained to overshadow their graves;
a deathlike silence everywhere prevailed.” Soon, however, a per¬
son appeared from the Spanish governor, and piloted the ship into
the harbour: and after this Kotzebue proceeded to the town of
Agana, situated upon a beautiful plain some hundred paces from
the shore, in the midst of fine palm groves, some of the houses be¬
ing built of coral rock, others of bamboo. It had a church and a
convent, and two fortresses,—one to protect the town from the sea¬
wards, and the other to keep the Indians in awe. The town con¬
tained about 200 houses and 1500 inhabitants, who derived their
origin from Mexico and the Philippines. The population of the
island is about 5000 souls. “ There is but one man and his wife,”
says Kotzebue, “ on the whole island of the original stock ; with the
death of these two people the race of the old Ladrones will be totally
extinguished.” “ The present race,” says Chamisso, “ no longer
know- the sea, are no mariners, no swimmers; they have ceased to
build boats. They now scarcely hollow out, without skill, the
trunks of trees to fish within the breakers.” All the other islands
to the north of Guahan are entirely uninhabited, and overrun with
wild cattle, hogs, and goats, which afford a supply to the American
vessels trading to the Sandwich Islands and the N.W. coast of
America. Indeed it was said that some of these people had been
allowed to settle themselves in Agrigan, on condition of acknow¬
ledging their allegiance to Spain, and that they were peopling the
island with natives kidnapped from the Sandwich Islands.
The Carolinas, or Caroline Islands.—In 1686 a Spanish ship, Carolinas.
being near the meridian of the Ladrones, fell in with an island,
which her commander, Don Francisco Lazeano, named La Carolina,
in honour of the King of Spain, Carlos II. This island has given
the name to a very extensive chain spreading over a space of not
less than 6 degrees of latitude and 25 degrees of longitude, the
western extremity being the group of the Palaos or Pellew Islands,
in Lat. 7. N., Long. 135. E.; and the easternmost island, that of
Hogolen, in Lat. 9. N., Long. 155. E. The whole group, as far as
is known, which however is very imperfectly, consists of at least
150 separate islands, besides various coral reefs with islets upon
them. Yet, numerous as they are, being somewhat out of the
direct and usual route of the Spaniards in their voyages from
South America to the Philippines, they had the good fortune to
escape any intimate connection with them, —a connection which
has proved equally baneful to others, whether established by the
cross or the sword, by their professions of friendship or avowals of
hostility.
Some of these islands, and especially those towards the western
extremity of the group, had been seen by various navigators long
before that of Carolina was noticed and named by Lazeano. The
Portuguese, Da Rocha, fell in with islands in 9. or 10. N. Lat.
in 1526, which he named Sequeira, after his pilot; and in 1628
Saavedra, a Spaniard, in his passage to the Philippines, dis¬
covered islands in Lat. 11., which he named Los Reyes. In
1579, our countryman Drake saw some islands to which he gave
the name of the Islands of Thieves, and which, from His description,
have been supposed to be the Pellew Islands. In 1595 one of the
islands, in about 6. N., was seen by Mendana; but two proas full
of people, driven by the violence of the wind from a group of
islands in the east as far as Samal, roused the attention of the Col¬
lege of Jesuits at Manilla, who made several unsuccessful attempts
to establish missions on those islands, which the wrecked natives
described to be thirty-two in number. In the year 1710 the
two fathers, Duberron and Cortel, embarked in the San Trinidad
with a crew of eighty-six men, to establish themselves on the Pel-
lew Islands. They landed on Sonsorol, with the quartermaster and
ensign of the troops, in all sixteen persons; but the ship was
driven off by the current, and what became of the missionaries was
never ascertained.
In the Letlres Edifiantes et Curiemts is a letter and chart from
P. Juan Antonio Cantova, a missionary at Guahan, addressed to
270
POLYNESIA.
Polynesia, the King of Spain’s confessor in 1722, in which is given a more par-
v - v -i ^ ti'cnlar account of the Carolinas than any which had been published.
English and American vessels, chiefly whalers, have for several
years past resorted in great numbers to the Caroline Islands for
water and refreshments, ten or twelve ships arriving, and two or
three hundred sailors being on shore amongst the natives, at one
island during a single season. Several white men, generally run¬
away sailors, also reside on the islands thus visited, and keep what
are called accommodation-houses for the use of the officers and crews
of vessels resorting to the shores. The effect of the large influx of
foreigners of this class has been disastrous to the natives, who have
learned to make and use intoxicating drink to such an extent that
the drunkenness, debauchery, and disease attendant upon such prac¬
tices are rapidly destroying the population. Within the last few
years a small number of self-denying American missionaries with
their wives, accompanied by some Christian natives of the Sandwich
Islands, have established themselves on Ponape or Ascension Island,
and Ualau or Strong’s Island, two of the largest of the Caroline
Islands. They have met with much discouragement from the in¬
fluence of the heathen priests, the open hostility of the white men,
and the recklessness and apathy of the people, as they see their
race, under the destructive influence of vice and disease, rapidly
melting away. In 1854 the smallpox appeared with frightful viru¬
lence among the people, and being ascribed to the prayers of the
missionaries, exposed them to peril, while it deterred the natives
for a time from submitting to vaccination or other means of pre¬
servation, which the medical missionary and his companions were
anxious to apply. So fearful were the ravages of this visitation,
that in the course of a few months more than half the entire num¬
ber of one of the tribes on Ascension Island died. The safety of
those who submitted to vaccination ultimately produced a re-action
in favour of the missionaries, who still remain to continue their
praiseworthy efforts.
Marshall’s To the N.E. of the Carolines is a large cluster of low coralline
Islands. islands, discovered by Marshall and Gilbert in 1788, the northern
portion being usually called Marshall’s, and those to the south
Gilbert’s Islands. This cluster extends from 160. to 172. E. Long.,
and from 4. 35. to 12. N. Lat. These islands range, in two lines or
chains running north and south, parallel to each other, and 60 or
100 miles apart. The western chain is called the Radick, and the
eastern the Ralick chain, each comprising fifteen or sixteen islands,
of which the chief part are said to be under the government of one
chief. Mile or Mulgrave Island consists of twenty-four or thirty
islets connected by a reef of coral, and inclosing a lagoon 12 or 15
miles across. The islets are each from half a mile to 6 miles in
length, and about half a mile wide. Nearly all the islands are of
similar formation. In some the soil, though scanty, supports vege¬
tation, and bread-fruit and cocoa-nut trees, with a few bananas, are
found there. The inhabitants are a finer race than the natives of the
adjacent islands, having sharper features, long and curling hair,
and more athletic frames. They accomplish long voyages in canoes
made of bread-fruit planks. The men are partially clothed, and
the women wear fine, beautifully-made mats, reaching from the
waist to the feet. They are fond of ornaments. The lobe of their
ears is pierced, and the aperture extended, by means of a pandanus
leaf rolled up, until a man can pass his arm through it. These
islanders have not had much intercourse with foreigners. During
one of the early visits of shipping to their shores, a theft having
been committed, a general attack was made upon the people, and
many killed. Amongst these was the brother of the king, who,
himself being wounded, was determined upon revenge. No white
men reside upon the islands ; but they have been visited by Ame¬
rican missionaries, with a view to the ultimate conversion of the
natives to Christianity.
The Kings - These islands, sixteen in number, lie chiefly to the northward of
mill group, the equator, though some are in the Southern Hemisphere. Hurd’s
Island is in 3. S. Lat., and the group extends to Makin, in 3. 20. N.
They reach from 172. 57. to 176. E. Long. All are low coral
islands, the highest land in the group being about 20 feet above
the sea. Drummond’s Island, one of the largest of the group, is
said to be about 40 miles long, and less than half a mile wide.
Several are 20 miles long, while few are more than half a mile
across. There is usually a reef at some distance from the island,
uniting the extremities of the island and inclosing a lagoon. Water
is obtained by digging through the coral sand, but is brackish to
the taste. The shallow soil is composed of coral sand and vegetable
mould. Vegetation is scanty ; but the bread-fruit, cocoa-nut, and
a species of arum or taro, are cultivated with great care. The
islands are populous. The natives, a fine race of people, bear a
stronger resemblance to the Malays than many farther west. Their
colour is darker than that of the Tahitians, and their faces exhibit
great variety of form and expression. They have black glossy
hair. Their features, according to the testimony of Commodore Polynesi
Wilkes, are small, but high and well marked; their eyes are large, s 
black, and bright; nose straight or slightly aquiline, and rather
wide at the base; mouth large, with moustache and slender beard,
full lips, and small teeth. Both sexes are but slightly clothed,—
the men wearing a girdle and a mat over the shoulder, the women
a girdle of split leaves reaching to the knees. The women are
guarded with great jealousy, separate houses being erected for
their abode • and any man besides the husband or some near rela¬
tive entering the house set apart for the woman, would be put to
death or reduced to slavery. Wars appear to be frequent; and the
natives use spears, with prongs at the point, armed with rows of
sharks’ teeth. They also manufacture a sort of defensive armour
made of the twisted or braided fibre of the cocoa-nut husk, matted to¬
gether about half an inch in thickness, so as to cover the limbs.
Their helmets are made of the skin of the porcupine fish. The
women go out to war as well as the men. Whales abound in the
neighbourhood, and are occasionally stranded on the reefs or sand¬
banks among the islands. Excepting at one of the islands, there
has been but little intercourse with shipping, but where this has
taken place it has not improved the condition of the people. They
manufacture a considerable quantity of cocoa-nut oil. In 1855 an
American medical missionary. Dr Pierson, spent about six weeks
amongst these islands. He reports them healthy, and estimates the
population of the group at from 30,000 to 35,000.
Besides the clusters already noticed, there are numerous single
islands, mostly of coral formation, spread over that portion of the
Pacific designated Micronesia, which extends from 3. S. to 21. N.
Lat., from 130. to 180. E. Long., and is estimated to contain a
population of 200,000.
This fine group of islands in the northern Pacific had the good Sandwich
fortune to escape the visits of the old navigators, and the discovery Islands,
of them was reserved for Captain Cook, who first touched at them
in the year 1778. This distinguished navigator was received by
all classes of the people with the liveliest demonstrations of asto¬
nishment and delight. Offerings and prayers in homage were pre¬
sented to him by their priest in one of the temples near the bay in
which his vessels anchored, and on the shore of which he subse¬
quently fell by the dagger of a native in the year 1779. His bones
were afterwards preserved by the priests, and continued to receive
offerings and homage from the people until 1819, when the whole
system of idolatry was abolished. A rude monument (the stump
of a cocoa-nut) inscribed with his name, was the only memorial by
which his countrymen have marked the spot where he fell. The
name by which this group of islands is known was given by Cap¬
tain Cook in honour of the Earl of Sandwich, first lord of the
Admiralty at the time of their discovery.
The group consists of ten islands. The following table (from
the Polynesian} July 6, 1844) gives the extent and population of
these islands. The population was supposed by their discoverers
to amount, in 1779, to 400,000 :—
Islands.
Hawaii 
Maui........
Lanai 
Molokai 
Kahoolawe.
Oahu 
Kauai 
Niihau 
Total...
Length.
88
48
17
40
11
46
22
20
292
Square
Miles.
73
30
19
7
8
25
24
7
193
4000
620
100
190
60
530
500
90
6090
Population
as estimated
in 1825.
85,000
20,000
2.500
3.500
50
20,000
10,000
1,000
142,050
Census
of 1832.
45,792
35,062
1,600
6,000
80
29,755
10,977
1,047
130,213
Census
of 1836.
39,364
24,199
1.200
6,000
80
27,809
8,934
993
108,579
These islands are situated between Lat. 18. 54. and 22. 2. N., and
between Long. 155. and 161. W. Hawaii, the largest, rises majes¬
tically in grand unbroken lines from the ocean, crowned with three
massive mountain peaks, on two of which the snow lies for the
greater part of the year. They are as follows:—
Mouna Roa (Long or High Mountain)...height 13,760 feet.
Mouna Kea (White Mountain)   „ 13,953 „
Mouna Huararai (1687 toises)  » 11,067 „
The first two of these measurements are given by Commodore
Wilkes, of the U.S. exploring expedition, and the latter by Kot¬
zebue.
The whole group is of volcanic origin, and the entire substance
of the islands is basalt or lava. Extensive craters crown the sum¬
mits of the loftiest mountains, and amongst these the largest is
Kirauea, on the east side of Hawaii, and about 4000 feet above the
A newspaper belonging to the Sandwich Island government.
POLYNESIA.
Polynesia, sea. This immense volcano, one of the largest yet discovered, was
y _ / unknown to the civilized world until it was visited in 1823 by a
party of missionaries, three Americans and one Englishman, of
whose explorations an account was afterwards published. (Tour
through Hawaii, by Rev. Wm. Ellis, author o{Polynesian Researches.)
At an elevation of 4000 feet above the level of the sea these tra¬
vellers found, in the midst of a plain many miles in circumference,
and 300 feet below the summits of the walls of volcanic rock around,
a vast oval crater 9 miles in circumference, with perpendicular
sides 1000 feet deep, covered at the bottom with a lake of liquid
lava, at one end red and boiling. Around the edge, or from the
midst of this fiery lake, fifty-one conical craters sent forth jets of
lava or smoke and flame. From the ledge projecting round the
crater, 300 or 400 feet above the burning mass, it appeared as if
the lava had recently risen to this height in the vast furnace,
and had then flowed out through a subterranean channel towards
the sea, where some miles of the coast had been filled up with
liquid lava not many weeks before. Immense banks of finely-
crystallized sulphur, as well as smaller craters, were discovered in
the vicinity. Two years afterwards this wonder of the Pacific was
visited by Captain Lord Byron and the officers of H.M.S. Blonde,
and in the year 1840 by the commander and a number of officers
of the United States exploring expedition. The volcanoes had con¬
tinued in action during the intervening time; but the scientific
measurements of the crater taken on these occasions differed only
slightly from those first published by the missionaries. Eruptions
occur at intervals in other parts of the island ; and in 1843 two
new craters opened on the summit of Mouna Roa, 13,000 feet above
the sea, from which, during six or eight weeks, the burning lava
poured forth, forming three rivers 5 or 6 miles in width, and ex¬
tending between 20 and 30 miles towards the sea. These eruptions
being accompanied by earthquakes, and sometimes fearful thunder¬
storms, present at such seasons spectacles of the most sublime and
awful grandeur. Nor have the spectacles of human action and
feeling connected with these appalling convulsions of nature been
less affecting; as when, after offerings and prayers had failed to
appease the imagined anger of the gods, the sovereign, attended
by the priests and followed by his people, has moved in solemn
procession to the edge of the flowing lava, and there, as the costliest
offering they could present, the priests have cut off part of the hair
of the sovereign, by them considered sacred, and cast it into the
fiery stream, whose progress was afterwards stayed. The last and
the most appalling eruption which has taken place within the
memory of the oldest inhabitants, commenced in August 1855,
when a crater opened near the summit of Mouna Roa, and for the
next ten months continued to pour forth burning lava, which
formed a stream 70 miles in length, from 1 to 5 miles wide, and
from 10 to several hundred feet in depth.1
Although entirely volcanic, the shores of these islands are pro¬
tected by coral reefs, and each island possesses several harbours,
some of them spacious and secure, as Hilo, or Byron’s Bay, on the
east, and Kealake’kua, on the west side of Hawaii; Lahaina
in Maui; and Honolulu in Oahu. This last is generally considered
the best in the islands, and is the resort of the greatest number of
vessels. All the islands are mountainous, and great part of their
surface is lava in various stages of decomposition, often sterile ; but
where the lava is ancient and disintegrated, covered with forests or
inferior verdure ; while the plains and valleys are often exceed-
ingly fertile. 500,000 acres are supposed to be suitable for tillage,
and half of this for the production of sugar. All the islands, with
the exception of some parts of Hawaii, are well watered. The chief
indigenous productions used as food are cocoa-nuts, bananas, bread¬
fruit, sugar-cane, yams, arrow-root, and several varieties of escu¬
lent arum (taro), which is extensively and carefully cultivated, and
forms the chief support of the natives. To these may be added the
Convolvulus battatus (sweet potato), which is grown in consider-
able quantities. The island also produces the paper mulberry and
the kava plant. The forests abound with large and valuable tim¬
ber, chiefly hard and durable. Sandal-wood was formerly exported
in large quantities, but is now exhausted. Many valuable fruits
and vegetables, as well as grain, have been introduced, and appear
to thrive well. Amongst the most important of these are grapes,
oranges, coffee, pine-apples, and melons. Pumpkins, Irish potatoes,
cabbages, maize, and wheat are amongst the most useful vegetables ■
and grain.
The climate, considering that the islands are within the tropics,
is remarkably healthy, being generally dry, and the temperature
varying with the elevation. The following are the results of a
meteorological table for one year, kept on the western shore of
Oahu:—Greatest heat, 88°; least heat, 61°; range, 27°; general
range, 70° to 80°; mean temp., 75° ; general course of wind, N.E.
The only animals found by Captain Cook in the islands were
271
hogs dogs, and rati. Captain Vancouver, eorae years afterwards Polynesia
left there a breed of cattle, which resorted to the mountains in the
interior, where they soon became numerous. The natives used to
shoot them, or take them by digging pits near pools of water It
was in one of these pits that Mr Douglas, an intelligent and inde¬
fatigable botanist from the Horticultural Society in England suf¬
fered a frightful death. He was found there gored to deathby a
bull, which also was found in the same pit. These cattle were
some years ago more numerous than at present ; a number of
Spaniards having come over from California, with horses trained
for the service, to hunt them, chiefly for the sake of their hides.
It is said that as many as 5000 hides were exported in one year
which induced the government to prohibit the shooting of these
animals, otherwise they would soon have been exterminated,
(Wilkes’ Exploring Expedition, vol. iv., p. 203.) Tame cattle^
horses, mules, goats, have since been introduced, as well as poultry!
The inhabitants of these islands are, considered physically,
amongst the finest races in the Pacific, bearing the strongest resem¬
blance to the New Zealanders in stature, and in their well-developed
muscular limbs. The tatooing on their bodies is less artistic than
that of the New Zealanders, and much more limited than among
some of the other islanders. They are also more hardy and indus¬
trious than those living nearer the equator. This in all probability
arises from their salubrious climate, and the comparative sterility
of their soil, rendering them dependent upon the cultivation of the
ground for the yam, the arum, and the sweet potato, their chief
articles of food. The language of the two races is also so nearly al¬
lied, that although occupying the most remote regions north and
south at which any of their race have been found, they have little
ditficulty in understanding each other.
Though, like all undisciplined races, the Sandwich islanders have
proved deficient in firm and steady perseverance, they manifest
considerable intellectual capability. Their moral character, when
first visited by Europeans, was not superior to that of other islanders;
and excepting when improved and preserved by the influences of
Christianity, it has suffered much from the vices of intemperance and
licentiousness introduced by foreigners. Polygamy prevailed among
thechiefs and rulers, and women were subject to all the humiliationsof
the tabu system, which subjected them to many privations, and kept
them socially in a condition of inferiority to the other sex. Infan¬
ticide was practised to some extent, the children destroyed being
chiefly females. Though less superstitious than the Tahitians, the
idolatry of the Sandwich islanders was evidently ancient. It was
equally barbarous and sanguinary, as in addition to the chief ob¬
jects of worship included in the mythology of the other islands, the
supernatural beings supposed to reside in the volcanoes, and direct
the action of subterranean fires, rendered the gods of the Sandwdch
islands objects of peculiar terror. Human sacrifices were slain on
several occasions, and vast offerings presented to the spirits sup¬
posed to preside over the volcanoes, especially during the periods of
actual eruptions.
The requisitions of their idolatry were severe, and its rites cruel
and bloody. Grotesque and repulsive wooden figures, animals, and
the bones of chiefs, were the objects of worship. Human sacrifices
were offered whenever a temple was to be dedicated, or a chief was
sick, or a war was to be undertaken ; and these occasions were fre¬
quent. The apprehensions of the people with regard to a future
state were undefined, but fearful. The lower orders expected to be
slowly devoured by evil spirits, or to dwell with the gods in burn¬
ing mountains. The several trades, such as that of the fisherman,
the tiller of the ground, and the builder of canoes and houses, had
each their presiding deities. Household gods were also kept, which
the natives worshipped in their habitations. One merciful provi¬
sion, however, had existed from time immemorial, and that was
sacred inclosures, places of refuge into which those who fled
in time of war, or from any violent pursuer, might enter and be
safe. To violate the sanctity of the Marai was one of the greatest
crimes of which a man could be guilty. Campbell was present at
the execution of a man who had committed this offence, in getting
drunk and running into the Marai during tabu. He was taken to
the Marai, where his eyes were put out; in this state he remained
two days, when he was strangled, and his body exposed before the
image of the Atua, or idol.
The Sandwich Islands, although the last important discovery in
the Pacific, have, in consequence of their geographical position,
been more frequently visited by Europeans, and have advanced in
civilization more rapidly, than any of the other islands, presenting,
at the present time, a degree of improvement unsurpassed, if
equalled, during a corresponding period in any other part of the
world. The first movement in this direction was made by the chief
who governed the large island of Hawaii, after the death of the
king who ruled at the time of Captain Cook’s visit. This prince,
1 Letter from Mr Coan to General Miller, in Journal of Geological Society, 1S5G.
272
POLYNESIA.
Polynesia. Tamehamaha, the founder of a new dynasty, and sometimes com-
^ pared to Peter the Great, was a chief of quick perception and
great force of charactpr. The Sandwich islanders are necessarily
a nautical people, and their king was one of the first to perceive
the immense superiority of European vessels over the native canoes.
When Captain Vancouver visited these islands in 1792, the king
being desirous of having a vessel of European construction, this
able navigator laid down the keel of one, which was speedily
finished. Ten or twelve years after this, when Mr Turnbull visited
the islands, the king had a naval force of twenty vessels or up¬
wards, of from twenty-five to fifty tons, which traded amongst the
islands. To these he subsequently added others, purchased at
enormous prices from foreigners visiting the islands. Bent not
only on the improvement of his own island, but the subjugation of
others, the king encouraged a warlike spirit in the people, intro¬
duced European arms among his soldiers, and by means of his in¬
fant navy, and the superior weapons of his troops, conquered,
though not without great destruction of life, one island after an¬
other, until he became undisputed sovereign of the whole group.
He also encouraged trade with foreigners, and derived from its
profits a large increase of his revenue, as well as the means of con¬
solidating his power. This energetic and successful ruler died in
1819, leaving his kingdom to his son, a mild and good-natured
prince, kindly disposed towards the people, but destitute of the
energy of his father, which was in a great measure supplied by
Karaimoku, one of his councillors, who became prime minister of
the young king, and was called by the people “ the iron cable of
the country.” One of the first acts of the young king was to abolish
the tabu throughout the islands. He was induced to adopt this
policy from various causes ; namely, a desire to improve the condi¬
tion of his wives, who were subject, along with all other females,
to the operation of the tabu; secondlj, several foreigners and in¬
telligent chiefs advised the change; and the report of what had
been done by Pomare, King of Tahiti, had great weight with him.
Some disturbances took place in consequence of the abolition of
idolatry ; but the insurgents were defeated, and peace was restored,
which has since been but slightly disturbed by the natives them¬
selves.
In the year 1820 a number of well-qualified missionaries arrived
from America, and after some ditficulty arising from the misrepre¬
sentation of foreigners, were allowed to land, and commence their
labours at Honolulu, in the island of Oahu. A short time after¬
wards the present of a small schooner from the British government
to the king afforded an opportunity for Mr Ellis, an English mis¬
sionary, and a number of Christian natives from the Society Islands,
to visit Oahu. These native Christians disabused the minds of the
king and chiefs of the erroneous opinions they had been induced to
entertain as to the objects of the foreign teachers ; while Mr Ellis,
who had been a number of years in the southern islands, finding
the language nearly the same, was able to assist the American
missionaries in reducing the Hawaiian language to writing, in
preparing books, teaching the natives to read and write, and in
preaching the gospel to them in their own language.
In the year 1824 the King and Queen of the Sandwich Islands
embarked, amidst the sighs and tears of their subjects, on a voyage
to Great Britain, where they died the same year. Their bodies,
with their surviving attendants, were brought back to the Sandwich
Islands, in the Blonde frigate, under the command of Lord Byron.
Kauikeoli, the brother of the king, was unanimously acknowledged
as his successor, under whose protection the missionaries continued
their labours, often under great discouragements, in establishing
schools, planting churches, and training native teachers and mis¬
sionaries. Amongst those who paid attention to the instruction of
the missionaries, numbers made an open profession of Christian
faith; and a stricter morality prevailed. They became more humane,
more industrious and honest. The Christian females adopted a dress
after the European fashion, and became examples of domestic virtue.
The introduction of letters, the reception of the Christian faith,
and the guarantee thus afforded for the security of commerce, con¬
stituted an era which may be regarded as the turning-point in the
history of this people. From that time they have continued steadily
to advance in intelligence, resources, civilization, and religion.
Their progress has been at times painfully interrupted by means of
the misrepresentations of the representatives of foreign govern¬
ments, and the conduct of foreign officers. On one occasion an
English officer went so far as to take possession of the island, and
establish a commission for its government; and French officers
abrogated the laws, dictated treaties, and by force of arms esta¬
blished the Homan Catholic religion in the country. The act of
the English officer was disallowed by his superior as soon as known ;
but these acts of violence led to a representation on the part of the
native sovereign to the governments of England, France, Belgium,
and America, and by these powers the independence of the Sand¬
wich Islands was guaranteed in the year 1844.
The Hawaiian government has since been regularly organized ; Polyne '
its several departments are efficiently administered, and its laws y J 11
obeyed throughout the islands. Most of the principal offices of "
government are filled by foreigners, chiefly Americans, who have
become Hawaiian subjects.
The present condition of the islands is shown by the following
financial statement for the two years ending March 31, 1858
Cash in treasury, April 1,1856 L.5,853
Keceipts for two years ending March 31, 1858 133,134
Total L.138,987
Expenditures same period  138,914
Balance in treasury, March 31, 1858  L.73
The liabilities of the treasury, March 31, 1858... L.12,641
The assets of the tx-easury, March 31, 1858   1,521
Balance    L.11,120
Since their independence has been secure, the progress of the
people has been uninterrupted ; and the resources of the island
have been greatly augmented by the discovery of gold in Califor¬
nia, which, lying within a short distance, has increased the trade,
opened important markets for produce, and raised the value of
labour throughout the islands.
The material prosperity of the people is remarkable. Houses are
built in European forms and of durable materials ; good roads con¬
nect the different parts of several of the islands; a large portion of
the inhabitants are well clothed, and are possessors of money, or
herds, or plantations; and numbers of foreigners, chiefly Ameri¬
can and English, have settled in the islands either for purposes of
commerce or as permanent residents. Of these thei'e are about
500 at Honolulu in Oahu, and perhaps an equal number in other
islands. Improved and productive agriculture, introduced by
foreigners, has been adopted by the natives; and besides the ordi¬
nary indigenous productions, wheat and other grain is raised, and
converted into flour. Horned cattle are numerous. Extensive
plantations of coffee and sugar yield a good return for the capital
invested, and reward the skill and labour employed. A sort of
national agricultural society exists; and the government has en¬
couraged agriculture, especially the culture of sugar-cane, by the
award of premiums or the remission of taxes to the most success¬
ful native cultivators.
The cultivation of cane for the manufacture of sugar was com¬
menced in Oahu in 1825, when about 100 acres were planted.
This attempt was not successful. Ten years later, sugar-planting
was commenced on Tauai, and subsequently on the other islands of
the group. There are five different varieties of cane indigenous
to the islands, three of which yield a good return. Besides a num¬
ber of small plantations, which have not been found remunerative,
there are five of considerable size on the islands, one of which,
on Hawaii, conducted by Chinese, yields 100 tons per annum;
while the total produce of sugar in the islands at the present time
is about 800 tons, of which one-third is consumed in the islands.
Besides sugar, corn is raised, and flour produced ; while large
numbers of cattle are reared for the purpose of furnishing fresh
meat, or salt beef for exportation. A large fleet of coasting vessels
bring the greater part of the produce of the islands to Honolulu in
Oahu, the chief port in the islands ; and 2000 barrels of domestic
salt beef, and 3000 barrels of flour, equal to any imported, and
large quantities of firewood, potatoes, pumpkins, vegetables, and
fruits of all kinds, are annually furnished at this port to merchant
and whaling ships; while native as well as foreign seamen may
usually be obtained in this port at short notice. Less than forty
years ago there was only one house built after the European model.
The walls and thatch of the others were chiefly of native grass, and
simple bai ter was the only species of commerce. How the popula¬
tion of this town averages about 9000.
There are four ship-chandlery stores, about twenty importing
houses, and from fifty to sixty retail stores ; twelve hotels, nine or
ten physicians, and five printing-offices. There are six churches,
some of them very substantial specimens of architecture, and
capable of accommodating each from 300 to 3000 persons. The
schools are numerous both for the native and foreign children,
and it is generally thought, by those most capable of judging, that
the advantages afforded in Honolulu for a thorough education are
equal to those of New England, excepting only her universities and
colleges. (Hunt’s Merchant's Mag., Feb. 1858.)
To the other channels of productive enterprise and skill has re¬
cently been added that of whaling. The whaling fleet of the Sand¬
wich Islands now numbers fifteen vessels. The proximity of the
islands to the whaling grounds, and other facilities, premise to
render this a profitable investment of capital, while it will increase
the market for the native products which its prosecution requires.
The commerce of these islands has been far more rapid and as¬
tonishing than even the material improvement in the circumstances
of the people. Ever since the discovery of the sperm whale in the
northern parts of the Pacific, the captains of numerous vessels en¬
gaged in the whale fishery have resorted annually to these islands
to refit their ships, recruit their crews, and procure refreshments.
The geographical position of the islands has also rendered them
the natural point of junction for the commerce between South
America, India, and China. The discovery of gold in California
has greatly increased this commerce; and the advantages which
POLYNESIA. 273
ascribe it to the effects of maladies of foreign origin, and to habits Polynesia
of licentiousness and intemperance. But hv „„„„„ „„ 1 "V116151'1-
ntemperance. But by whatever cause, or
combination of causes, it has been produced, it casts a mournful
shadow over the future of the Hawaiian race.
The only relief to the gloom which this fact produces arises from
the progress of education and religion throughout the islands.
The commencement of missionary operations in 1820 has been
already noticed; these efforts have been continued, progressively
augmented, and spread over the whole group. The American Board
of Foreign Missions, who have carried forward this work, have de¬
voted to it a number of labourers and an amount of means
  unsur-
^ . «-> Passed ln any other missionary field of equally limited extent- and
the position the resources, and the security afforded by the con- the results have been corresponding. Every vestige of idolatr’y has
sohdauon of the government in the hands of one sovereign, have long since disappeared. Education has been diffused so extensively
rendered these islands a centre of commerce between regions far that a child of suitable age who cannot read is rarely seen • whBe
more remote than the borders of the Pacific. The increase and many can write a good hand, and are acquainted with arithmetic
present magnitude of that commerce will appear from the following Besides the common native schools, 300 in number, containing neariy
tables, which contain a detailed statement of the several classes of 9000 scholars, three hio-h schools for imnnrt;™
imports at Honolulu in 18o7, and were prepared by the collector-
general of customs in the Sandwich Islands:—
Value of Goods Imported from
United States, Atlantic side L.55,381
„ Pacific „    55,986
Great Britain     41,322
Vancouver’s Island  89.9
Australia  y 992
Bremen    12’958
Hamburg  1)173
Society Islands     3 217
Sea» &c  4,’300
China (Hong Kong)   4,454
Japan      223
Total L. 181,905
Imports Free of Duty by
Returned cargoes L.3,659
Whalers    2,292
Missions  897
Charitable societies  332
Agriculturists  768
Rifle company      557
H.M.’s chamberlain.....    244
Fire department  Ill
Diplomatic agents      73
Total L.8,933
Goods and Spirits Bonded, from
United States, Atlantic side L.22,354
„ Pacific „    5,471
Great Britain, &c     3,089
China (Hong Kong)    49
Sea    4,196
Society Islands  553
Bremen..        1 139
Hamburg.     251
Total L.37,102
Aggregate value of imports at Honolulu in 1857, L.227,943.
The values imported at the other ports were,—free, at Lahaina,
L.2108 j atHilo, L.652; atKawaihae, L.323; at Kealakeakua, L.116:
and dutiable, at Lahaina, L.2136; at Hilo, L.163; at Koloa, L.ll: ag¬
gregate at these ports, L.750. Making the total value of imports
at the Sandwich Islands, L.235,448. (Hunt’s Merchant's Mag.)
In the midst of this external and material progress, the continued
decrease of the native population is a source of depressing anxiety
to the government and the best friends of the people ; for notwith¬
standing the improved habits of many, the better food, better
clothing, improved dwellings of multitudes of the people, their
numbers are diminishing. The number of deaths every year is
still in excess of the births to an extent far beyond what the epi¬
demics which have at times visited the islands can be supposed to
have produced; and a large number of the married couples are
childless. In the year 1857 the deaths in the islands were 2017,
the births only 1615 ; but this excess of deaths was moderate com¬
pared with many past years. Various causes are assigned for this
wasting away of the people. Some consider it caused in part by
the less active occupations of the women, and the different modes
of life which the progress of civilization has produced, especially
as the decrease has been greatest in those parts where foreigners
are most numerous, and the changes have been greatest; others
VOL. XVIII.
scholars, three high schools, for imparting more extensive
instruction, have been established, and have sent into the commu¬
nity 500 or 600 better educated young men. There have been be¬
tween 10 and 20 schools for teaching English, as well as a royal
school for educating the sons of the chiefs; and now a college is
established, to enable the youth of the islands to receive a solid
education sufficient to qualify them, without leaving the country,
to carry forward the processes of civilization, as well as to dis¬
charge all the duties which the nation may require. These educa¬
tional efforts are sustained by the native government. The first
missionaries carried out a printing-press. Others have been added;
and the efforts of the press have kept pace with the advance of
education. There are now a number of presses; and besides school¬
books and other works connected with education and religion, there
are several newspapers regularly published in English, and one or
more in Hawaiian ; and one, the Polynesian, in English, is the paper
of the government. The total number of pages printed since the
commencement by the presses connected with the missionaries ex¬
ceeds 196 millions. These educational efforts have been considered
subsidiary to the great work of the missionary, the preaching of
the gospel and the conversion of the people, and in this they have
been eminently successful. Congregations of professed Christians
have been gathered in most of the principal districts, and in many
parts substantial churches have been built for the worship of God;
while numerous communities of men and women have been united
in Christian fellowship, and are living exemplars of the excellence
and power of the gospel of Christ. Besides the difficulties natu¬
rally arising from the wickedness of the human heart, impediments
to the religious progress of the people have arisen from the in¬
fluence of Popery and the examples of Mormonism ; but religious
improvement among the people has continued to advance, and the
numbers in church fellowship throughout the islands amount to
about 22,000, and the Christian portion of the people raise annually
for religious objects about 23,000 dollars. Notwithstanding all the
defections from the integrity and purity required and maintained
in the Christian communities, this proportion of nearly one-fifth of
the entire population being members of the church exhibits a state
of society truly encouraging.
To these islands the American society has, since 1820, sent out
145 labourers, of whom 42 were ministers, 7 physicians, 20 lay
assistants, and 76 females. Upwards of 20 ministers, and a pro¬
portionate number of schoolmasters and assistants, including 40
native teachers, are now in the islands, supported in part from
America, but chiefly by the government or people.
SOUTHEEN HEMISPHERE.
The Fiji Islands.—Regarding the New Hebrides as the eastern The Fiji
limit of Australia, the Fijis constitute the western boundary of Islands.
Polynesia. By French writers these islands are included in the
regions to the west, to which the name of Melanesia has been given ;
but as this term designates rather the colour of the people than the
peculiarities of their country, it does not necessarily define geogra¬
phical boundaries; and, as ethnologically considered, the Fijis
seem to form the connecting-link between the black races of Me¬
lanesia and the lighter-coloured brown races of Polynesia, and ex¬
hibit some fusion of Polynesian race and language, they may not
inappropriately be classed with the latter.
This extensive group of islands, lying between 15. 30. and
20. 30. S. Lat., and between 177. E. and 178. W. Long., and
comprising 225 islands and islets, about eighty of which are inha¬
bited, was first seen by Tasman in 1643, and named by him
Prince William's Islands. Captain Bligh, after the mutiny in
the Bounty, passed amongst the south-western portion- of the group
in 1789. Captain Wilson, in the ship Duff, after leaving the first
missionaries at Tahiti and Tongatabu, got entangled amongst these
islands in the eastern part of the group in 1797. Early in the
2 M
274
POLYNESIA.
Polynesia, present century a sort of piratical or bucaneering trade in sandal-
^ wood was commenced in the Pijis and western islands. The sandal¬
wood was taken to China by vessels from New South Wales. In
1804 a number of convicts, escaped from New South Wales,
reached these islands, and settled chiefly on two of them, by the
chiefs of which they were treated with great consideration, in con¬
sequence of the aid which they rendered with their firearms in times
of war. They were men of desperate character, and depraved and
barbarous habits ; and while the islands derived a degree of supre¬
macy from the aid thus rendered in war by these foreigners, their
reckless waste of human life increased rather than restrained the
barbarity of the natives.
M. d’Urville visited the islands in 1827 ; and in 1840 they were
regularly surveyed by the United States exploring expedition
under Commodore Wilkes. These islands are of varied size, two
of them being from two to six miles in circumference, apparently
coral formations covered with deep vegetable soil. The others are
of volcanic formation, the highest mountains on the Viti Leva
(Great Fiji) rising perhaps 5000 feet above the sea. Their forms
are exceedingly varied, and often remarkably beautiful; the soil
generally fertile, and in the parts where rain is most frequent the
verdure is rich and constant. Vanua Leva, one of the largest
islands, is 100 miles long and 25 miles wide- and Viti Leva is 90
miles from east to west, and 50 miles from north to south. The
islands are entirely or partially protected by reefs, and most of
them have lagoons of considerable extent. The numerous reefs and
islets, together with the force of the currents, render navigation in¬
tricate, at times perilous; and, together with the supposed invin¬
cible ferocity of the natives, have caused them to be less visited
than other islands of the same great ocean.
The temperature of the Fijis, though warm, is not insalubrious.
The vegetable productions used as food are more numerous than in
many of the other islands, as, besides the bread-fruit, cocoa-nut,
banana, sugar-cane, taro or arum, yams, sweet potatoes, arrow-
root, and dracoena, there are several others which the natives use
for food. The population of the islands is estimated at 150,000.
As in other parts of this region, the population of this group ap¬
pears to have diminished one-third within the last 50 years, and
in “ some districts as much as one-half.” (I'iji and the Fijians,
by Thomas Williams, vol. i., pp. 102, 103.) Judging from their
descendants, they must have been a fine race of men. They are
usually taller than Europeans ; men about 6 feet in height are
frequently seen. They are often well-formed and muscular, but
not corpulent, having broad chests and strong sinewy limbs. Their
hair is abundant, long, black, and frizzled or bushy, with whiskers
and a thick large beard. The outline of the face is a good oval,
the nose well shaped, with full nostrils, yet distinct from the Negro
type. The colour varies, but the pure Fijian seems to be between
the black races of the West and the brown or olive-coloured races
of the East. “ The chiefs, as in several other groups, are incon-
testibly much finer-looking than the common people, their features
having much less of the Negro cast, and their foreheads—partly,
perhaps, on account of the form and height of their head-dresses—
appearing loftier and more expansive. I did not perceive that, in
general, the colour of their skins was lighter ; although at Bua I
noticed that the older men were in many instances of a deeper
black than the younger ones.” (Erskine’s Cruise among the Islands
of the Western Pacific, p. 240.)
The Fijians appear to have been regarded, from the period of
our earliest acquaintance with them, as in some respects more ad¬
vanced than the neighbouring tribes. In the volume containing
Captain Wilson’s voyage in the Duff it is stated :—“ The Friendly
islanders regarded the people of Fiji as superior to themselves, both
in military prowess and in mechanical ingenuity,—their weapons
and clothing being wrought in a more masterly style, and some
manufactures, especially that of earthen vessels, being carried on
at Fiji which are not attempted at Tongataboo.” {Missionary Voyage
of the Ship Duff, p. Ixxi.) The Fijians seem to be the only inhabi¬
tants of Polynesia w-ho practise the manufacture of pottery to any
extent, and evince in the form and ornamentation of their vessels
artistic taste and skill. Great ingenuity is also manifested in their
mats and clothing, in their ear-rings and other ornaments, as well as
in their articles of dress and arms. Indeed, their dress altogether
might not inappropriately be described as a species of ornament,
neither their climate nor their general habits requiring that it
should be used for purposes of comfort or convenience. That of
the men consists chiefly of a kind of figured sash, sometimes ex¬
tending in length to 100 yards, though 6 or 10 yards is the usual
measure. This is wound round the body so as to fall over the knees
like a curtain, and is then fastened behind, or left to trail upon the
ground. The women are not allowed to use the same material; but
they also emulate the train by allowing a sash of inferior quality Polynesia.
to sweep the ground behind. A white turban, consisting of a kind y  ^
of gauze-like scarf of extremely fine material, is worn by all the
Fijians who have any claim to this badge of respectability ; and this
head-dress is rendered peculiarly ornamental by the taste with
which it is adjusted,—sometimes being tied with a knot in front, or
at the top of the head, while portions of the scarf are allowed to
float on either side or down the back. Upon this part of the per¬
son especially is the taste of the Fijians displayed. Their hair is
naturally strong and abundant; but the different modes in which
it is arranged by artificial means, and the patience with which the
chiefs especially submit to the operations of the hair-dresser, are
truly astonishing, the result being, to produce a roundness and
softness of surface almost geometrical in the exactness of its outline.
The following description is given by Captain Erskine of a dis¬
tinguished chief of one of these islands:—“The chief himself, the
most powerful perhaps of any in the Pacific, and certainly the
most energetic in character, was seen seated in the attitude of re¬
spect to receive us. He rose, however, as we entered, seeing that
it was expected, unfolding, as he did so, an immense train of white
native cloth 8 or 10 yards long from his waist, and invited me to
occupy the one chair he possessed, the others taking their seats on
rolls of cloth, or, like the natives, sitting cross-legged on the floor.
It was impossible not to admire the appearance of the chief: of
large, almost gigantic size, his lirnbs were beautifully formed and
proportioned ; his countenance, with far less of the Negro cast than
among .the lower orders, agreeable and intelligent; while his im¬
mense head of hair, covered and concealed with gauze, smoke dried,
and slightly tinged with brown, gave him altogether the appear¬
ance of an eastern sultan. No garments confined his magnificent
chest and neck, or concealed the natural colour of the skin, a clear
but decided black ; and in spite of this paucity of attire—the evi¬
dent wealth which surrounded him showing that it was a matter of
choice, not of necessity—he looked ‘ every inch a king.’ ” (Ers¬
kine’s Voyage, p. 186.)
In the structure of their dwellings the Fijians also evince con¬
siderable skill. Their houses are .compact and durable; and their
-double canoes are among the finest and fleetest in the Pacific. The
Fijians are exceedingly superstitious, the priests exercising great
power over the lives and property of the people. They have no
idols,—i.e., they worship no images or other material representa¬
tions of their gods. Their term for divinity, kolan, is also applied
to anything great or wonderful, good or bad ; but they reverence
certain stones as shrines of their gods, regard some weapons with
superstitious feelings; while certain birds, fish, plants, and even
men, are supposed to have gods residing in or connected with
them. Their chief god is an impersonation of their idea of cease¬
less existence. Others of the higher order are supposed to be also
eternal, and to exercise influence over the elements of nature, the
islands, or their inhabitants. The gods of the lower class are the
spirits of deified men. Each island has its own god ; each locality
its own superstitions. Nearly every chief has a god in whom he
places especial confidence; and some are of opinion that their god
follows them wherever they go. Different classes, as the carpen¬
ters, fishermen, &c., have their respective gods. Nearly every house
or village has its own bure,1 or temple, some more than one. These
are constructed with great care, highly ornamented, and generally
raised on an artificial mound, sometimes 20 feet high. Several
spears set in the ground, and some blanched human skulls, are fixed
in the sacred place; offerings of weapons decorate the interior; while
a long piece of white cloth, used as a girdle or sash, fixed to the top,
and carried along the rafter and corner-post to the ground, forms
the path down which the god is supposed to descend to enter the
priest. The priests are at times also doctors, and in these cases a
number of the articles presented, or the fees, are deposited in the
temple. This building is also used as a council-chamber or town-
hall, as well as a place of entertainment for strangers and sleeping
place for the chief personages of the village. The homage and
offerings appear to be provided by appeals to the fears of the people.
Offerings are presented when the favour or aid of the god is re¬
quired, or it is wished to ascertain his will; and the priest, pre¬
tending to be filled by the god, exhibits phrenzied and convulsive
action, and in incoherent utterances delivers the response of the
oracle. Upon his uttering the word “ I depart,” or flinging him¬
self violently down and beating the ground, a shell is then blown
or a musket fired to announce that the god has departed. A good
understanding mostly exists between the chief and the priest, and
the revelations from the latter generally accord with the wishes of
the former. On one occasion, when a priest ventured to utter an
inspiration contrary to the wishes of the chief, the latter silenced
the priest by exclaiming, “ Who are you ? Who is your god? If
1 Bure is the word for prayer or worship in the dialects of Eastern Polynesia.
POLYNESIA.
275
nesia. you mal{e a stir, I will eat you.” (Fiji and the Fijians, vol. i., p.
j 227.) And this the priest knew well was no idle threat.
The cannibalism of the Fijians is naturally incorporated in their
religion. Their gods are described as delighting in human flesh,
and to minister to this horrible propensity neither age nor sex are
spared. At one time, with each basket of fruits brought to their
idol a human body, male or female, was required. But this was
peremptorily forbidden by the chief on his observing some infor¬
mality in the treatment of the victim; thus showing virtually the
power of the chief above that of the god. Divination and witch¬
craft are also practised, and the effects of the latter regarded with
general dread. The tabu, or system of prohibition common through¬
out Polynesia, prevailed amongst the Fijis, whose religious belief
included a future state, which in its chief characteristics very much
resembled the present life.
But the most repulsive and appalling custom among the Fijis is
their cannibalism. With them it was not an occasional exhibition
of the extreme abasement to which human nature can sink, but a
regular custom, and by the mass regarded as dignified and com¬
mendable. Human bodies are eaten in many of the frequently oc¬
curring events of life i on building a temple, commencing the
structure of a canoe, launching the canoe ; and men are sometimes
killed to furnish blood with which to wash the decks of a newly-
made canoe, and the bodies of such men are eaten. On the arrival of
a new canoe at an island, fourteen or fifteen men have been killed
and baked to make a feast. The same has taken place on lowering
the mast for the first time. On one occasion the number of bodies
procured was more than could be consumed. In this case the
limbs were cooked, but the trunks thrown away. Two days were
occupied in cutting off and cooking the limbs. In the year 1851
fifty bodies were cooked at one time on Namena. Prisoners taken
in war, and those who escape from shipwreck, are usually eaten,1—
the former being first offered to the war god, and then prepared for
food. Sometimes the human body is baked whole, in which case, on
being removed from the oven, it is placed in a sitting posture,
covered with black powder, and in this state it is carried about as
if alive.
Revenge is a frequent but not the only cause of this revolting prac¬
tice. The only motive sometimes seems to be the gratification afforded
by eating human flesh. It is never eaten uncooked,though the victim
be in full health and vigour. Young women are sometimes placed
alive amongst heaps of vegetables, and other food presented to the
chiefs, but would be killed and baked before being eaten. The vic¬
tims are confined to neither age nor sex; gray-headed persons and
children of both sexes furnish the repast. Some of the chiefs never
eat human flesh, but they are exceptions to the mass of the people ;
women seldom eat of these bodies. When a chief has wished to
have the skull of an enemy for a soup-dish or drinking-cup, orders
have been given not to strike the victim on the head. Murder for
this horrible purpose is sometimes rendered more horrible by the
infliction of tortures,— such as cutting off limbs of the victim while
still living, cooking and eating them before him, and even making
him eat part of his own flesh. The number of bodies eaten by
some of the chiefs appears also almost incredible. Human nature
has never presented depravity so revolting as that by which this
custom, not arising from any want of wholesome food, exhibits.
The Fiji race, distinguished among other races as they undoubt¬
edly are by physical and intellectual vigour, by industry, skill, and
daring, their inhuman barbarities and cannibal orgies were such as
to deter commerce from their shores, and even to repel all attempts
of humanity and religion to rescue them from apparent self-destruc¬
tion, and to render such attempts, according to all human appear¬
ances, hopeless, if made. Insurmountable, however, as the difficul¬
ties appeared, and imminent as was the peril of the attempt, it has
been made; and these natives, far as they seemed removed beyond
the reach of the humanizing influences of true religion, have formed
no exception to the evidences so abundantly furnished in the pre¬
sent age of the power of the gospel.
In the year 1835 two Wesleyan missionaries from the Tonga
Islands went to the Fijis. They were received and protected by
the king of Lakemba,.and encouraged by a number of Tongese resid¬
ing there. They made themselves acquainted with the language,
prepared books, taught the Fijians and Tongans, and preached to
them the gospel, assisted by native Christians from Tonga.1 A
number of the Tongans placed themselves under instruction, and
after a’short time professed themselves Christians. In 1838 one of
these devoted men proceeded to Kewa, and there, under the protec¬
tion of the king, prosecuted his arduous work. Additional la¬
bourers arrived during the same year, and the printing-press was
set to work. In the next year missionary labours were commenced
in Vanua Leva, or Great Land, where one of the earliest events after
their arrival was the strangling of sixteen women in honour of a Polynesia
young chief and his companions who had been lost at sea. The mis- v 1 j
sionaries tried in vain to avert the cruel fate of these women Soon
afterwards eleven dead men were brought and laid down before the
house, and there cut up and cooked in ovens not far distant. The
endeavours of the missionaries to dissuade from this practice and
even the drawing down the blinds of their windows that they mbrht
not witness the horrid spectacle, offended those who were prepar¬
ing this inhuman repast. The missionaries, however, continued
their labours, and the first convert was the king’s brother, whose
protection and influence greatly aided their efforts, and averted
the execution of the threat of the king, that he would kill the first
person who should embrace the new religion.
In 1840 the converts amounted to twenty, and the missionaries
constantly employed their influence to save women from being
strangled and captives from death. But seven years afterwards
the discouragements induced the missionaries to leave this station,
and seek a more promising field. They had continued their labours
amidst many trials,— sometimes interposing to save life, at others
endeavouring to induce the people to receive their message. The
following account shows the manner in which two of the mission¬
aries, in 1849, interposed in the midst of horrid butchery, and even
in the presence of the cannibal king, to save the lives of a number
of devoted women :—“ Fourteen of the poor creatures were seized,
one man who was with them being killed on the spot. The news
of the capture reached Mbau the day before the canoes, and great
was the rejoicing. The place was all excitement, and the people
flocked together to greet the approaching fleet of death. The re¬
port soon crossed over to Viwa, and reached the mission-house,—
‘ Fourteen women are to be brought to Mhau tomorrow to be
killed and cooked for the Mbutoni people.’ Mrs Calvert and Mrs
Lyth, missionaries’ wives, were alone with the children. Their hus¬
bands were many miles away on a distant island. The thought of
the horrid fate which awaited the poor captives roused the pity
of those two women. But what could be done ? Every moment
was precious. Amidst such fiendish excitement, it would be a des¬
perate thing for any one to venture into Mbau for the purpose of
thwarting the blood-thirsty people. Those two noble women de¬
termined to go. A canoe was procured ; and as they went poling
over the flat, they heard with trembling the wild din of the can¬
nibals grow louder as they approached. The death-drum sounded
terrible, and muskets were fired in triumph. Then, as they came
nearer, shriek after shriek pierced through every other noise, and
told that the murder was begun. Fear gave way to impatience at
that wild warning, and the English women’s voice urged the labour¬
ing boatmen to make better speed. They reached the beach, and
were met by a Christian chief, who dared, to join them, saying,
‘ Make haste ! Some are dead; but some are alive.’ Surrounded
by an unseen guard which none might pass through, the Chris¬
tian women passed among the blood-maddened cannibals unhurt.
They pressed forward to the house of the old king, Taura, the en¬
trance to which was strictly forbidden to all women. It was no
time for ceremony now. With a whale’s tooth as a present in each
hand, and accompanied by the Christian chief, they thrust them¬
selves into the presence of the king, and prayed their prayer of
mercy. The old man was startled at the audacity of the intruders.
His hearing was dull, and they raised their voices higher, and pled
for their dark sisters’ lives. The king said,—‘ Those who are dead
are dead; but those who are still alive shall live.’ At that word a
man ran to Ngavindi to stop the butchery, and returned to say that
five still lived ; the rest of the fourteen were killed. But the mes¬
sengers of pity could not leave their work unfinished. They went
to the house of the murderer, and found him sitting in state in full
dress, but evidently very uncomfortable. He winced under the
sharp rebukes of the missionaries’ wives, and muttered something
about his friendliness to the lotu. Even in cannibal Mbau, all did
not consent to the deed of darkness. Thakombau’s chief wife, and
Ngavindi’s wife, had already secured the life and liberty of two of
the victims; and when Mrs Calvert and Mrs Lyth left there were
others who blessed them for their work of love. What the doing
of it cost those intrepid hearts none may know; but their deed
stands in the record above all praise. They have their reward.”
(Fiji and the Fijians, vol. i., p. 288.)
In 1854, after many reverses, Thacombau, the powerful king of
Mbau, made a public profession of.Christianity, and this facilitated
the spread of religion among his people;. and amidst many perils
and labours, the missionaries have persevered. There are eight
missionaries and a number of native teachers. They number about
60,000 hearers and 7000 church members; while the influence of
their labours is visibly extending among classes who are still the
votaries of idolatry.
1 Before the arrival of the Europeans, native missionaries from the Society Islands had resided among this people.
276
POLYNESIA.
Polynesia. The Tongan or Friendly Islands.—This group, comprising three
principal clusters, with a number of smaller ones, is situated to the
S.E. of the Fijis, from which it is distant about 300 miles, lying be¬
tween 19. and 22.S.Lat., theN.W. point of Lefuka, one of the largest
of the central cluster, lying in 19. 45. S. Lat., and 174.14. 30. W.
Long. Vavau, the principal island of the northern cluster, is about
35 miles in circumference. Tonga, the largest of the southern clus¬
ter, is about the same. Hapai and Lefuka, the largest of the central
cluster, are much smaller. These latter are surrounded or connected
with about thirty smaller islands; and the whole of these are called
the Hapai cluster. Most of the Friendly Islands are low coral forma¬
tions, some of them covered with rich soil. The uniform elevation
of Vavau is a few hundred feet above the sea, while the highest
land in Tonga is a round hill about 60 feet high. A few of the
islands are lofty and volcanic ; in some of the latter volcanoes are
in action, while the evidences of volcanic disturbance appear in
places where no actual eruptions take place. It is stated by Erskine
(Voyage of H.M.S. Havannah, p. 120) that “earthquakes are very
common, and there are several active volcanoes in the islands.
Amargura or Fanua-lai, in about 18. S. Lat., is said to have been
so shaken by an eruption in June 1846, that canoes can now sail
in and out of the crater ; and the Rev. Mr Lawry describes the
islet, which until that year was covered with verdure and abounded
with fruit, as changed, in August 1847, to a mass of lava and
burnt sand, without one leaf or blade of grass of any kind. All
things that had life had been utterly destroyed; the inhabitants
having, however, warned by violent earthquakes which preceded
the eruption, previously escaped to Vavau. Mr Lawry adds,
that the noise of the ‘ fiery disgorge ’ was distinctly heard at
Niua Foou, distant 100 miles, and that its withering effects on the
trees and crops, which it damaged considerably, were experienced
at Vavau, 35 miles off. An American ship, the Charles W. Mor¬
gan, had sailed through a shower of ashes for 40 miles, getting out
of it in Lat. 11.2. 8., and Long. 171.45. W.; and another, the
Massachusetts, at the same time, although 60 miles farther to the
eastward, had the deck covered with ashes, which the crew were
obliged to clear off from time to time. Banks were also said to
have been raised above the level of the sea to the eastward of
Tonga-tabu.”
The navigation among the Tongan islands, though less dangerous
than among the Fijis, is intricate, and, excepting in favourable
weather, perilous, and the attraction to ships not so great as those
presented by other islands. They furnish but few articles of ex¬
portation, the chief productions for barter being vegetables, roots,
and other supplies for whaling vessels. At some, water is neither
abundant nor good. The productions are those common to other
islands, though apparently fewer in variety than in the neighbour¬
ing group of the Fijis. Pigs are not numerous, and are generally
kept confined, sometimes in the trunks of hollow trees, which are
thus used as sties. Many of the islands, however, are well culti¬
vated. Speaking of the difference between the island of Vavau as
seen from the outer sea and the inside of the harbour, Captain
Erskine observes (p. 121),—“ On walking to the king’s residence,
called Mua, a distance of a mile or two, we were astonished with
the richness of the country, cultivated like a garden. The broad
pathway, admirably kept, is bordered by the ‘ ti’ plant and other
evergreens, regularly planted, while behind them are seen the pro¬
vision-grounds of bread-fruit and bananas.” And on landing at
the island of Lefuka, he continues,—“ entering a large inclosure,
we found King George and his wife seated in a house of moderate
dimensions, which it is understood he only occupies during the
construction of a larger one on a European model. This house
differs from those of his subjects in being inclosed nearly all round
with reed-work, resembling the fences of the country, and in being
divided into two separate rooms. Although both George and the
queen were seated on the ground in the usual manner, there were
a table and one or two chairs in the room ; and on shelves around
were ranged some dishes and plates of English crockery, with a
few decanters, and bottles of clear glass containing scented cocoa-
nut oil. The king himself is a very fine-looking man, about forty-
five years old, above the ordinary size even of his own people, and
apparently of great personal strength. He was lightly clothed in
native cloth, as was his wife, a stout, handsome woman, with her
only son, an intelligent boy of seven or eight years old, seated by
her. The complexions of both were a clear brown, differing very
little, if at all, from the hue of the Samoans ; the boy, as is usually
the case with children, being a good deal lighter in colour. On
presenting his hand to shake, I remarked that George had one
joint of the little finger amputated, an operation which, under the
name of ‘ tutuu-nima,’ it is well known is still common, and was
formerly almost universal as a sign of mourning, or of deprecation
of sickness or misfortune.”
The population of this entire group has been variously estimated.
Commodore Wilkes reckoned it at 18,000, and Mr Lawry states
that in 1841 it was supposed to be 50,000. Captain Erskine oh- Polynesia
serves that the population of the whole of these islands may be y
estimated at between 20,000 and 30,000. ( Voyage of H.M.S. Ha-
vannah, p. 13.) The colour, features, and stature of the people re¬
semble those of the Samoans. Many of the natives are tall and
well made, and some of the chiefs are remarkably fine and noble¬
looking men. In describing the people, Captain Erskine (p. 155)
observes,—“ The Tongans, in personal appearance, resemble so
closely the Samoans, that no person would hesitate at first sight to
pronounce them the same people ; and as their habit of tatooing
their bodies, from the hips to below the knees, is precisely similar,
a stranger would find it difficult to distinguish individuals of the
two groups if they were placed naked before him. On further ac¬
quaintance with this people, one is struck with the marked supe¬
riority in stature and the lightness of colour on the part of the
chiefs over the common people, betokening a great difference in
the care bestowed on their nursing and food during childhood, and
the degree of exposure they are subjected to afterwards. That this
distinction is not a mere outward one is soon perceived, the autho¬
rity of the chiefs, as well as the gradations of rank, being every¬
where apparent. The effect on manners is also evident, although
not exactly what one would expect from a system which exacts
great ceremony and attention from inferiors towards superiors.
The manners of the chiefs are certainly as polished as those of the
Samoans, and not inferior in courtesy to any in civilized life; but
the common people, when not in the immediate presence of their
chiefs, are much more rude and boisterous than in Samoa, and less
agreeable people to deal with generally.”
The southern portion of this group was discovered by Tasman
in 1743, who gave the name of Amsterdam to Tonga,—sometimes
called Tonga-tabu,—Tonga being the native name of the island, and
tabu intimating that it was regarded by them as sacred. These
islands were visited by Captain Cook between the years 1773 and
1777. In consequence of the attention he received, the profuse
hospitality, apparent amity, and the efforts to gratify their visitors,
on the part both of chiefs and people, Captain Cook designated the
group the Friendly Islands; though it afterwards appeared that,
at the very time the chiefs were feasting and amusing their guests
with night-dances and other exhibitions, they had planned their
death and the destruction of their ships, and were only prevented
from carrying their purpose into execution by the departure of the
vessels.
The first attempt to form a settlement on these islands was made
by a number of missionaries from the London Society, sent out in
the ship Duff, under the command of Captain Wilson, who, after
establishing the mission in Tahiti, landed ten English missionaries
at Tonga in 1797. The chief of the place promised them protec¬
tion ; and in the hope of acquiring the language, and prosecuting
their benevolent object, they took up their abode on the island.
Some abandoned sailors whom they found on shore prejudiced
the minds of the chiefs against them, and the people ascribed the
calamities they suffered to the presence of the missionaries and the in¬
fluence of their God. After enduring great privations, having three
of their number killed by the natives, and feeling their awn lives in
peril, the remaining missionaries left the island within three years
of their arrival. Intestine wars prevailed among the people at the
time; and six years afterwards a British vessel, the Port-au-Prince,
mounting upwards of forty guns, and carrying a corresponding
number of men, was seized by the natives, and all on board, with
the exception of a youth named Mariner, and one other, were mas¬
sacred. In recent years vessels have occasionally resorted to these
islands and to the Fijis to procure sandal-wood for the China market,
or to obtain refreshments ; and several have been wrecked in the
difficult navigation of this region, or have been seized and destroyed
by the people.
In 1822 Mr Lawry, a Wesleyan missionary, visited Tonga, and
returned after remaining little more than a year on the island.
Native teachers from the Tahitian Islands reached this group in
1823, and one of them laboured faithfully in Tonga, where he was
joined by others, who continued the work until the arrival of
Mr Thomas, a Wesleyan missionary, who reached Tonga in 1826,
when they cheerfully led their adherents to the efficient teaching
of the European missionary, and continued to labour on in pro¬
moting the Christian faith among the people. Other missionaries
followed from England ; and although the force of pagan habits
and superstitious feeling among the people, the opposition of the
priests, and the formidable hostility of some of the chiefs, greatly
impeded their efforts, they still persevered. The nature of this
hostility may be inferred from the fact, that one of the chiefs,
Finau, the king of Vavau, publicly told the missionaries that the
teachers might stay, and he would protect them; but that he would
neither receive Christianity himself, nor allow any of his people to
do so, for he would put to death the first man, woman, or child
that did; a threat which they did not doubt he at that time would
POLYNESIA.
277
Polynesia, fulfil- The missionaries directed their efforts to the acquisition of
, / the language, the preparation of books, and the teaching of some
Y few of the natives to read, seeking by both preaching and teach¬
ing to induce them to adopt the Christian faith ; and at length a
certain measure of success followed their endeavours. Numbers of
the people and the chiefs, especially the king of the Hapai Islands,
who was baptized in 1830, encouraged others, who, one after
another, renounced their confidence in their idols, treated them
with indignity, desecrated their sacred places, and professed them¬
selves worshippers of the true God. Amongst these was the king
of Vavau himself, who in 1831 made profession of the Christian
fai th.
In 1831 the printing-press commenced its operations, and ele¬
mentary books, as well as those inculcating Christian truth,
were multiplied. Chapels were built, the Sabbath observed, and
worship established at the islands of the Hapai and Vavau clusters.
The circumstances and the habits of the people improved ; they
built themselves better houses, provided better clothing and regu¬
lations and laws for promoting order and the general good of the
people were established. There were still in the island of Tonga
a number of adherents to the ancient idolatry and heathen prac¬
tices of the country; and in 1837 and 1840 the island was in¬
volved in the miseries of civil war. During the latter period
H.M.S. Favourite, under the command of Captain Croker, arrived.
He undertook to aid the Christians, landed some of his guns, and,
accompanied by a number of his men, proceeded to a fortress be¬
longing to the heathen party to propose peace ; but not succeeding,
he then attacked the place. The captain was killed, and nineteen
of his officers and followers wounded. These, with the dead bodies
of their comrades, his companions barely succeeded in carrying off.
Two years before this, some Roman Catholic priests had reached
the islands, but though kindly treated, were not allowed to remain.
In 1841 a French vessel of war arrived, followed by another with
priests on board. The captain of the armed vessel remonstrated
against the non-reception of the priests by the chiefs and people
as a violation of the law of nations, asking at the same time if they
had not heard what the French had done in Tahiti and the Sand¬
wich Islands. Although this did not induce the chiefs to receive
them, another party afterwards arrived at Tonga, and were re¬
ceived by the heathen party, who professed themselves Papists.
In 1851 war broke out again between the heathens and the Chris¬
tians, the Romish priests remaining with the former ; and when, in
1852, the heathens surrendered their fort, the Christian king pro¬
tected the persons and property of the priests from the soldiers.
Speaking of the influence of the Roman Catholic priests, and the
interference of French armed vessels on their behalf, Captain
Erskine observes— “The apprehension of foreign invasion has been
very general among the Polynesian islands since the establishment
of the French protectorate at Tahiti, and the obligation then im¬
posed upon the people to receive Roman Catholic missionaries in
opposition to the general will. No chiefs with whom I have con¬
versed have ever expressed any objection to the enforcement on
the part of their people of justice towards the subjects or the
citizens of another power; but in those islands where Christianity,
as taught by Protestant missionaries, has taken root, the forced
obligation to admit priests of a different persuasion is always com¬
plained of as a heavy grievance; a feeling which, it must be
allowed, need not proceed from fanatical or narrow-minded
motives.”1
The Protestant missionaries in these islands have continued their
labours, have raised the standard of education in a number of their
schools, and extended the influence of the gospel among the people,
who now possess, in their own languages, the whole of the New
Testament, of which 10,000 copies were recently sent to the
islands, besides several portions of the Old Testament, hymn-books,
catechisms, &c.
The results of missionary effort in the Fiji and Friendly Islands
have certainly been in a high degree satisfactory to the labourers
engaged, and encouraging to those occupied in the same work
elsewhere.
The Samoan Group, or Navigators' /sZawds. —These islands lie be¬
tween Lat. 13. 30. S., Long. 173. and 168.18. The most easterly of
the islands were discovered by Bauman, a captain in Roggewein’s
expedition, in 1722 ; another of larger size by Bougainville in 1768 ;
and the two larger to the westward by La Perouse in 1787. The
whole were visited in 1791 by Captain Edwards in the Pandora,
sent out by the British government in search of the Bounty. But
they were little known until after the commencement of missionary
operations in 1830. The French often call this L'Archipel des Na- Polynesia.
vigateurs, a name originally given to the eastern portion only, when
discovered by M. De Bougainville in 1768 ; the natives, however
term the whole group Samoa, which, decidedly more correct and
appropriate, is generally superseding its comparatively modern
designation, usually rendered into English as the Navigators’
Islands. This group, which is called by the inhabitants Sa-moa,
consists of eight islands:—Manua, Orosenga, Ofu, Tutuila, Upoluj
Manono, Aborima, and Savaii. In addition to these there are several
small islands off the coast of Tutuila and Upolu.
Manua is the first island west of Rose Island. It is about 18
miles in circumference, and upwards of 2500 feet above the level of
the sea. Its shores are high and bold, rising in most places preci¬
pitously to the height of 300 or 400 feet. Above this the ground
inland swells gracefully until it attains its greatest elevation, like
a vast dome above some huge citadel. It is well wooded, and
covered with rich verdure to its summit. Four miles N.W. of
Manua is Orosenga, consisting of a narrow ledge of rocks, 3
miles long, rising abruptly out of the water. The only productive
portion of it is a narrow strip, running lengthwise of the island,
and overspread with the most luxuriant vegetation. Ofu is west
of Orosenga, separated from it by a channel for boats, one quar¬
ter of a mile in width. It is of little importance, and contains
but few inhabitants,—most of them having been cut off during the
sanguinary wars which have more than decimated the population of
these islands.
Tutuila, 15 miles west of Ofu, and visible therefrom in fine
weather, is the most central, and, after Upolu, the most import¬
ant island of the whole group. It is nearly 50 miles in circum¬
ference, its shores precipitous, with generally a broken and rugged
appearance, occasioned by the numerous sharp spurs and ridges
which vary its surface. Its scenery is highly romantic ; and its
unevenness is more than half-concealed by forests of cocoas and
bread-fruit: the thickly-matted verdure, interlaced with creepers,
covers the island as with a carpet. Its highest peak is Matafoa,
upwards of 2300 feet above the sea. Tutuila contains a large
population, chiefly congregated in the valleys and plains sloping
down to the ocean. Lofty and impassable hills separate the island
into two parts, the only intercommunication being by the sea¬
shore. The part on the N.E. is exceedingly rough and uneven;
that on the S.W. lower, more level, and easy of cultivation.
Tutuila was visited by the unfortunate La Perouse in December
1788, and derives a melancholy interest from the fact that M. De
Langle, captain of the Astrolabe, and the naturalist of the expedi¬
tion, with ten other persons, lost their lives there in a collision
with the natives.
Upolu, 36 miles W. of Tutuila, is 70 miles in circumference.
It is neither so lofty nor so much broken as the other islands of the
group; but in population, beauty, and fertility, far exceeds them
all. The land rises gradually for some distance from the shore,
and then breaks into a succession of mountainous ridges, clothed to
the top with the richest verdure. Wide tracts of table-land lie
along the coast, and broad valleys between the ridges, carpeted
with flowers and diversified with clumps and groves of bread-fruit,
pandanus, and cocoa-nut. The steep hill-sides are fringed with
the white foliage of the candle-nut, the long fronds of fern-tree
and the mountain-palm. The hamlets of the natives enliven
the scenery. On one side there is all the dreamy softness of an
Italian landscape; on the other the sublime grandeur of Alpine
scenery. Within the sea-reef of Upolu, and near its western extre¬
mity, is the small but important island of Manono, on which there
is a missionary station. Directly off the west end of Manono lies
the islet of Nulofa. Connected with Upolu and Manono by a line
of soundings is Apolima, about a mile to the west of the latter.
In former days this was the citadel of the inhabitants of Manono in
time of war and danger.
Savaii, the westernmost and largest of the group, is also connected
with Apolima by a line of soundings, at the distance of 3 or 6
miles. It is not so populous as Upolu, and its outline is much less
beautiful. It is above 100 miles in circumference, and is pro¬
tected on the north and east from the violence of the surf by reefs of
coral; on the opposite sides, however, the breakers dash unchecked
against the rocks. Except on the south and west the shores are
low, and there is a gradual ascent to the centre of the island, where
many extinct volcanic craters are seem. Above these towers a
single peak, 4500 feet high, almost always enveloped in clouds,
and on a clear day visible at a distance of 50 or 60 miles. Moun¬
tain streamlets, sometimes swelling into rivers, frequently inter-
1 During the year 1858, it is stated that, because the governor of Vavau refused to allow some priests to settle on the island without
the consent of the king (which is the law of the islands), the captain of a French armed vessel proceeded to Tonga; required the king
to dismiss the governor, who had only acted according to the laws of the country ; to build houses and inclose lands for the Catholic
priests equal to those occupied by the Wesleyan missionaries; and that the king was obliged to comply with this request.
278
POLYNESIA.
Polynesia, sect the larger islands, with the exception of Savaii, which has no
^ in- v -»u ' permanent streams, though possessing an abundance of copious
springs. There are likewise numerous lakes and waterfalls, the
latter of which may one day be serviceable for mills or machinery.
On Upolu there is a pretty lake called Lauto, occupying the basin
of a crater 2450 feet above the level of the sea, with 9 J fathoms in
its deepest part, and having a subterranean outlet. Like the Society
Islands, the members of this group appear to be of volcanic origin,
and are generally surrounded by coral reefs, with occasional open¬
ings, through which vessels may pass. The general structure is
conglomerate, lying in horizontal strata. All the higher hills and
mountain peaks are volcanic. The soil is principally formed of
decomposed volcanic rocks and vegetable mould. The climate is
mild and agreeable, and the temperature about 80 degrees. It is
more moist than Tahiti, and the vegetation more thrifty. Nearly
one-third of the days in the year are rainy. Prom April to No¬
vember the season is fine, the winds being light, and affording
merely a pleasant variety in the long-continued calms. During
the remainder of the year high winds prevail, principally from the
south and east. Destructive hurricanes sometimes occur ; and earth¬
quakes are not unfrequent. The latter are not usually violent,
but produce a slight wavy motion, like that of a vessel in an
ordinary sea.
There are a number of excellent harbours among these islands;
and the navigation, being exempt from intricacies and perils of
numerous low or sunken reefs, is comparatively safe. Excellent
water is abundant. The whole group covers a surface of about
2000 square miles, and much of the land is fertile and available
for cultivation. The commercial resources of the islands are unde¬
veloped ; although about sixty ships, chiefly English, American, and
colonial, visit Apia, the harbour of Upolu, annually, principally
for refreshments.
The natives of this group are handsome and well-made Malayo-
Polynesians, a shade darker than the Society islanders, but in fea¬
tures bearing a strong resemblance to that race. Their language,
although copious and refined, contains many words similar to those
found in the Tongese dialect; and it is also said, in construction,
closely to approximate to the Tahitian, being even yet smoother,
softer, and more flexible than that tongue, though not so easily
spoken. The sounds of the Samoan alphabet are represented by an
alphabet of fourteen letters ; and it is remarkable as the only branch
of the Malayo-Polynesian family in which the sound of the s is heard.
The population of Samoa has been variously estimated from as
many as 160,000 to as few as 38,000. The Rev. J. Williams esti¬
mated them at the former number in 1830, and Captain Erskine,
in 1854, at the latter; but by the missionaries (Samoan Reporter,
1845) the population was reckoned at from 50,C00 to 60,000. At
present the Samoan nation does not probably exceed 40,000 souls.
In the year 1830 Messrs Williams and Barff, from the Society
Islands, visited the Samoas in a small vessel built by Mr Williams,
for the purpose of extending the blessings of Christianity to the re¬
mote islands of the Pacific. They found the islanders engaged in
war ; and one of the first objects which attracted their notice on
the shore was the smoke and flames of the burning villages on
Upolu. The king left the seat of war, and came to bid them wel¬
come. He expressed his willingness to receive and protect the
missionaries, but declared, in answer to their endeavours to per¬
suade him to peace, that he must finish the war in which he was
then engaged, and after that there should be peace. Eight native
missionaries, five of whom were accompanied by their wives and
children, were at that time left on these islands, and a promise
made that white men should come and reside amongst them. Two
years afterwards Mr Williams visited them again, and found that
numbers of the people, including the inhabitants of thirty villages,
with some of the chiefs, had renounced the idols of their country,
and were pupils of the native missionaries. During his visit the
king avowed his determination to become a Christian, and to exert
his influence to extend Christianity throughout the islands.
In June 1836 six missionaries, five of them married, arrived
from England, and were welcomed by all classes, who promised
their protection, and expressed a willingness to receive their in¬
structions. As an evidence of their sincerity, and to show their
disposition to attend to the wishes of the missionaries, the inhabi¬
tants of Aana, who had been conquered in the war raging when
the first missionaries arrived, were invited to return to the lands.
Pour hundred of these had been cruelly burned to death, and the
rest banished. The exiles were now invited to re-occupy their
country ; and in less than eighteen months three thousand of them
returned, rebuilt their villages, and tilled their lands. The num¬
ber of the European missionaries was afterwards increased, and
they acquired the language, prepared books, and taught the natives
to read. In 1839 the labours of the press were commenced j and the
greater part of the population had renounced heathenism. A Wes¬
leyan missionary and some native teachers had come from Tonga;
but in order to avoid the disadvantages that might arise from the Polynesia.,
slightest apparent difference in teaching Christian truth among a v _i
people who were only beginning to learn the difference between
Christianity and heathenism, it was arranged by the societies at
home, in accordance with the agreement entered into at the be¬
ginning by the missionaries of the two groups, that they should
confine their operations to the fields they first occupied ; and thus
this cause of apprehended difficulty was then removed.
In 1846 a number of Roman Catholic missionaries arrived, and are
labouring in the islands, where there are at present a bishop, a num¬
ber of priests, seven places of worship, and above 500 adherents.
The Protestant missionaries have, besides the ordinary native
schools, established schools of a higher class for the more intelli¬
gent youth, and boarding-schools for females, in which upwards of
100 are taught. They have also maintained, in great efficiency, an
Institution for training native teachers, from which a number of
excellent men have gone forth as pioneers to European missionaries
among the most ferocious and hostile of the cannibal and other
islands to the west. The teachers remain in the Institution from
three to five years before they are sent forth. This institution con¬
tains 57 young men in the teachers’ class ; 45 in the youths’ class ;
wives of the teachers, 47 ; their children, 45 ; making 244 in the
establishment. 137 teachers have been educated and sent forth from
this institution. Besides lesson-books and catechisms, books on arith¬
metic and geography have been printed, not in the Samoan only,
but also in the languages of the islands to which native teachers have
been sent; and the printing of the whole Bible, after a committee
of missionaries had been occupied for nine years in its revision, was
completed in 1855—less than twenty years after the arrival of the
European missionaries. Part of the expense of this establishment is
defrayed by the natives, who also purchase the copies of the Scrip¬
tures, and contribute liberally towards the extension of the gospel.
During the year 1856 they contributed for these purposes L.1203.
There are in these islands 11 missionaries (including the missionary
printer), 190 native teachers, 154 schools, 4700 scholars, and
2500 native communicants. The entire native population, with
the exception of a very small number, profess Christianity. There
is also at Apia, on Upolu, a chapel for seamen, of which, at certain
seasons, there are large numbers in the port. An English and an
American consul, with about sixty foreigners, reside there, and an
equal number in the other parts of this group.
To the northward and eastward of these groups are three smaller
clusters, with a number of single islands and lagoon reefs. The
chief of these are
Ellice's Islands, or Vaitapu Group.—A numerous cluster of Ellice’s
straggling low coral islands, situated to the northward of the Islands, or
Friendly Islands, and W.N.W. from the Samoan, from which they Vaitapu
are distant 500 miles. These are sometimes called De Peyster's Group.
Islands. The centre of Vaitapu, also called Achilles Island and
Tracy Island, is situated in 7. 28. S. Lat., and 178. 44. E. Long. It
is a lagoon island, and contains about 400 inhabitants.
The islands of this group are well wooded with the cocoa-nut,
Pandanus, and Pisonia; and their inhabitants chiefly subsist upon
the first two, together with a species of taro, and another larger
root called pulaka. The people of these islands are darker in
complexion than the Fakoafoans and Samoans, to whose language
their own has a considerable affinity; and they are regarded by
ethnologists as an interesting and important link between the races
of N.W. Polynesia, and S.E. Micronesia. They practise tattooing;
and both sexes wear the maro, as well as the takai, or girdle, with a
heavy fringe two feet broad for the women, but narrower for the
men. They have many peculiar weapons ; and large canoes hol¬
lowed out of a single tree, for which they use sails of a triangular
shape, with outriggers and paddles, like those common in Polynesia.
The population is supposed to be not more than 1700 to 1800.
To the north-east of these is situated the Phcenix cluster, consist - phcenix
ing of seven or eight islands uninhabited. Birnie’s Island, one of an{] Union
the largest, is situated in Lat. 3. 34. S., and 171. 3. W. To theciusters.
south of these is situated the Union cluster, consisting of three prin¬
cipal islands, viz., Otafu, or Duke of York’s Island ; Nukanono, or
Duke of Clarence Island ; and Fokakafo, or Bowditch Island. These
islands are of a coralline formation, and in their general aspect
resemble the atolls of the Paumotus. Their inhabitants (who chiefly
subsist on cocoa-nuts, pandanus-nuts, and fish), are stated to have
been, previous to the arrival of foreigners, altogether unacquainted
with the use of fire. They are a quiet and harmless people, con¬
sidered to be the fairest race in Central Polynesia, and much re¬
sembling in form and feature the natives of Samoa, to whose lan¬
guage their dialect is similar. They are not numerous, probably
not more than 1000.
The Hervey Islands.—This cluster of seven islands, of which six Hervey
are inhabited, is situated between Lat. 18. and 22. S, and Long. 157. Islands.
and 160. W. Several of the islands, including that from which the
cluster takes its name, were discovered by Captain Cook in 1773 and
POLYNESIA.
Polyne
1777. They are of different structure, Rarotonga, the largest, being
volcanic and mountainous, surrounded by a reef of coral. Others
consist of ancient coral formations raised from 20 feet to 60 feet
above the sea, some of them lower, and all surrounded by live coral
reefs. Most of the islands are fertile, and capable of supporting a
much larger population than the present, which has been estimated
at 11,000. The inhabitants belong to the Malayo-Polynesian race, and
as they are able to trace their origin satisfactorily and clearly, they
have had, in all probability, fewer infusions from other sources
than the larger groups. Their language bears a striking resem¬
blance to that of the Samoas, from which part of the people have
been derived. It also resembles the New Zealand and Sandwich
Island dialects, as well as those of the more central islands. Little
was known, excepting what Cook has recorded of some of them, un¬
til 1821, when they were visited by missionaries. The first account of
the largest island is that given by Mr Williams, who found it in
1823. At this time the inhabitants were heathen, their idols cor¬
responding with those of Tahiti; their government a sort of feu¬
dalism; they were addicted to war; and were cannibals. Their
history is the history of the introduction and influence of Chris¬
tianity ; their intelligence, civilization, industry, and piety, the
effects of Christianity amongst them; and, according to the con¬
current testimony of all who have visited them, these effects have
been as extraordinary as they are satisfactory.
Rarotonga, the largest island, with its encircling reef, is about
35 miles in circumference, the highest mountains about 4000 feet
above the sea. There are openings in the reef, but no secure har¬
bours for shipping. The island is well watered and fertile, yield¬
ing the bread-fruit, cocoa-nut, banana, taro, and other Polynesian
productions. The ferocity and barbarity of the natives, when the
missionaries visited them in 1823, were such that the native mis¬
sionaries and their wives dare not remain amongst them, and a
single man was the only teacher that could be left. He was after¬
wards joined by another. Their efforts in humanizing the barba¬
rians, teaching refined lessons of Christianity, inducing them to cast
away their idols and profess themselves worshippers of the true God,
were eminently successful. In 1827 the first European missionary
arrived amongst them, and the second in the following year; and these
were subsequently followed by a third. Their efforts were neither
unopposed nor exempt from danger from the natives ; but with their
native associates they persevered, and the whole island became an
educated, industrious, civilized, and Christian community, increas-
ing in intelligence and comfort as their industry in raising supplies
brought ships in considerable numbers to their shores for refresh¬
ments , and the returns enabled them to provide clothing, books,
and many of the comforts of civilized life. A large proportion of the
people are clothed in European apparel, and dwell in comfortable
houses, (some of them built of stone), manufacture useful furniture,
and have an abundance of native food. They have regular market-
houses in which supplies for shipping are collected, and salesmen
appointed to manage their trade with foreigners; about ten mer¬
chant and thirty whaling ships visit the island every year. In 1831 the
printing-press wasset up in the island, and has printed spelling-books,
reading lessons, hymn-books, catechisms, Pilgrim’s Progress, and
other religious books, including the several parts of the Old Testa¬
ment and commentaries on portions of the New Testament, besides
elementary books on arithmetic, grammar, geography, astronomy
and natural history. Books in the language of the New Hebrides, and
New Caledonia and other islands to the west, have also been printed.
Upwards of 20,000 small books were stitched up in covers, and
nearly 6000 books bound in leather, all accomplished by native
young men taught by the missionaries. The whole of the Bible has
been translated by the missionaries, and printed for the people by
the British and Foreign Bible Society. Few, if any, of the young
are unable to read and write; and there is an admirable institution
for training native teachers in carpentry and useful arts; as well
as in the learning required for the efficient discharge of their duties
in their own island, or as missionaries to other islands, and the
steadfastness, energy, and remarkable success which has attended
their efforts, is evidence of the value of the training they have re¬
ceived. The entire population is Christian. They have at their
respective stations spacious and substantial stone chapels, well built
and suitably fitted up by native workmen. Thirty years after the
commencement of missionary effort there were 7000 communicants
connected with the churches, and nearly 1000 communicants had
been removed by death. The island has been visited repeatedly by
fearful hurricanesand the ravagesof diseases, which, with other causes
have greatly diminished the population, and retarded the progress
of the people; but they have been favoured with peculiarly well
qualified and devoted European teachers. Mr Williams felt great
attachment to the people, and laboured some time among them; built
his missionary ship at the island; and when he fell a martyr to his
holy zeal as a Christian missionary, was mourned as a father by the
people. }
279
The other islands of the cluster, Mangia, Aitutake, Atiu, Mauke, p0lvnesia
and Mitiaro,—smaller islands, the largest not above 20 miles in cir- ^ y 8la-
cumference, and all of coral formation,—were some of them disco-
vered by Cook, and their inhabitants were, till within the last forty
years, cruel and ferocious cannibals. Mangia contains between
3000 and. 4000 inhabitants; some of the others 1000. European
missionaries reside on two of them, and native missionaries occupy
the rest. Results corresponding with those on Rarotonga have fol¬
lowed their labours. Shipwrecked seamen are safe; °supplies to
vessels are furnished; the whole population is civilized, intelligent,
and Christian, maintaining the institutions, and aiding liberally to
extend the knowledge of Christianity to others. At the entire
group, not fewer than 100 ships trade annually with the natives, and
receive produce of native labour in exchange for manufactured
goods, amounting to not less than L.3000. (Gill, Gems from the Coral
Islands, vol. ii., p. 125.)
About 600 miles to the north of the Hervey cluster are Maniiki
Penrhyns, and Savage islands, all lagoon coral islands : the first con¬
taining about 1200 people; the second, Tongareoa or Penrhyns, 9
miles long and 5 miles broad, with about 1300 inhabitants; Niue,
the Savage Island of Captain Cook, within two days’ sail of the
Samoas, nearly 40 miles in circuit, and containing a population of
3000 or 4000. Great dread of being wrecked among these islands
was formerly felt by mariners sailing near; but they have been
visited by missionaries, the people have become Christians, and
have treated shipwrecked seamen with great kindness.
Society Islands.—The first account of these islands is given in the Society
v°yflge of Jacob Roggewein, who touched at Raiatea in the year Islands.
1722 ; at least it is conjectured by Burney, on probable grounds, that
the Verquickkingor Recreation Island of that navigator is the same.
On sending a boat on shore, the inhabitants assembled on the beach,
and advanced into the water armed with lances to oppose their land¬
ing. The Hollanders fired upon them, and having dispersed them,
landed on the beach, and the inhabitants Returned in a friendly man¬
ner, and brought them cocoa-nuts and other articles of food. The
Hollanders then advanced up a valley towards the mountains; but
some thousands of the natives coming out of the glens and crevices,
made signs to them to return. The Hollanders, however, paid no
regard, but proceeded, upon which showers of stones were hurled at
them, by w-hich some were killed and others wounded. These
volleys were answered by a discharge of musketry, which killed
many of the islanders, who nevertheless continued the action, and
finally drove the Dutchmen into their boats. Many of the latter
subsequently died of the wounds they had received.
Captain Cook visited these islands in 1769, and again in 1777.
They consist of six in number (besides small coral islets), the names
of which are Raiatea and Tahaa (both encompassed by the same
coral reef), Huahrine, Borabora, Tubai, and Maurua. They extend
from about 16. to 17. S. Lat., and from 151. to 152. W. Long. The
climate and the productions resemble those of Tahiti. The surfaces
of all the islands are uneven and hilly, in some parts mountainous;
the hills are finely wooded, and the low lands exceedingly fer¬
tile. The inhabitants, like those of the Navigators’ Islands, are
above the middle stature. The late Sir Joseph Banks measured one
of the natives of Huaheine, and found him to be six feet three in¬
ches and a half in height; and the women are described as generally
somewhat fairer than those of Tahiti. Borabora differs from the rest
of the islands by having a lofty double-peaked volcanic mountain
near its centre. In Raiatea there is a large Marai, in which a number
of jaw-bones are kept as trophies of war. The coral reefs which
everywhere surround these islands form numerous safe and commo¬
dious harbours for shipping, and refreshments of hogs, fowls,
plantains, cocoa-nuts, and other fruits; yams, sweet potatoes,
taro, and similar edible roots, are generally to be had in great
abundance.
In these islands the missionaries, though long disappointed, and
though their lives were frequently endangered by the contests and
revolutions which agitated the country, at last succeeded, by their
perseverance and intrepidity, in establishing stations in Huaheine,
Raiatea, Taha, and Borabora. The idolatry of these islands was
the same as that which obtained in Tahiti, but was more zealously
maintained, as Raiatea was supposed to be the cradle of their my¬
thology. The people have been distinguished by their force of cha¬
racter, energy, and love of war, and have often exerted an important
influence in the affairs of the islands to the eastward. Their form
of government is in two of the islands a hereditary monarchy, and in
the other principal island, viz., Huahine, that of a confederated
state. The three chief islands—Huahine, Raiatea, and Borabora—
have always been politically independent of any other group and
of each other, and frequently at war among themselves. The de¬
struction of idolatry in Tahiti in 1815 was followed, a year or two
after, by the same change in these islands, not, however, without
opposition. The inhabitants of Taha, strongly attached to their
ancient idolatrous worship, opposed the introduction of Christi-
J
280
POLYNESIA.
Polynesia, anity, and even went to war with the King of Ilaiatea because he
had agreed to renounce idolatry. But they were defeated in the
contest, and their king was taken prisoner. Instead, however, of
being put to death, as formerly, with cruel tortures, he and his
people were humanely treated, which made such a deep impression
on their minds that they embraced Christianity. In 1817 the mis¬
sionaries first established themselves in these islands, and have been
remarkably successful in educating the people, who are now all
professing Christians, and many have gone to other islands, or are
labouring in their own as Christian teachers. Commodious chapels
and good school-houses have been erected; and a great change in
the moral character, habits, dress, and mode of life, has taken
place among the people. In addition to the indigenous produc¬
tions of these fertile islands, oranges, pine-apples, custard-apples,
and coffee have been introduced; as well as the manufacture of
sugar, and the growth of cotton and tobacco. They have been
taught to build comfortable houses and manufacture furniture ; to
work in iron and wood ; and are described as a sociable, cheerful,
and busy-moving community. Many engage in ship-building, un¬
aided by Europeans, forging their own bolts, and performing what¬
ever iron-work they may require, with the facility of ordinary
artizans. Several of the schooners thus built by them are from
18 to 20 tons burden, and they have often as many as eight or ten
upon the stocks at a time. The Huahinians are active and enter-
prizing traders, and their flag—which, in common with Raiatea
and Borabora,is the same as the old red and white ensign of Tahiti 
is well known and respected, even as far north as the seaport
towns of the Hawaiian Islands.
Huahine first received a regular code in 1822. The “ Ture na
Huahine”—consisting of twenty-nine laws, with numerous ordi¬
nances respecting the due administration of justice appended
thereto—having been solemnly enacted by the national assembly
of this island in the month of May in that year. These were
printed and published for general circulation 5 and afterwards, in
1826, considerably revised and improved ; with various necessary
modifications, they are understood to be still in force. An addi¬
tional series, chiefly affecting the relations of foreigners with Hua-
binians, and those of natives with foreigners, were, subsequent to the
second revision, put forth by authority, and adopted, under the title
of “ The Harbour Regulations of the Port of Huaheine,” by Captain
J. Laws of H.M.S. Satellite, 17th of March 1829. On accepting
these last-mentioned ordinances, Captain Laws, on the part of Great
Britain, officially recognised what is now usually known as the old
flag of Tahiti (red, with a white fess or bar thereon), to be also
the national ensign of the whole of the Society Islands. Similar
laws and regulations have been established at the other islands, and
a British consul resides at Raiatea, the central island of the group.
A number of vessels, traders, and whale ships visit these islands
annually ; but the advance of the people in intelligence, civiliza¬
tion, and outward prosperity has been retarded by a series of im¬
pediments arising from the disturbance and civil war, in which the
whole of the islands have been involved ; the prevalence of epidemic
diseases, which have swept off many of the people ; the insolent and
injurious conduct of foreigners in promoting intemperance and
vice amongst the people. To the evils thus produced must be
added the disorganization produced by proceedings of the French
at Tahiti, and their forcible seizure of Huahine, from which they
were expelled by the natives who held the island, till they were
assured, on the authority of Admiral Seymour in 1847, that
their independence with that of the other islands of the Society,
or, as they are also called, the Leeward group, was secured and guar¬
anteed by the English and French governments. Great attention
has been given to the schools and the religious teaching of the
people. The population is about 8000.
Geargnsn) Georgian Group, or Tahitian Islands.—Tahiti was discovered by
group,. Captain Wallis in 1767, visited by M. Bougainville in 1768, and
by Captain Cook in 1769. The group consists of five principal
islands, the most westerly about 70 miles to the S.E. of the Society
Isles, between 17. 2. 23. and 17. 53. of S. Lat., and 150. 40.
and 148. 9. 45. W. Long. The principal island of the series is
Tahiti, which consists of two peninsulas, chiefly mountainous,
but with a good deal of low land upon and near the coast well
fitted for cultivation. The large peninsula is described as about
90 miles in circumference, the small one about one-third of that
extent, and the isthmus connecting them about three miles
across. Present population under 6096. Ten miles W. of Ta¬
hiti, from reef to reef, lies Eimeo, an island about 40 miles in cir¬
cumference, wild and mountainous, but with a fair proportion of
level land and magnificent scenery. It contains a population of
about 900 souls. Between 40 and 50 miles to the westward of
Eimeo lies another island, that of Tabuaemanu, much smaller than
Eimeo, but of the same general character. The surrounding reefs Polynesia,
of this island are so narrow and intricate that it can never be a ^ ^ /
place of any trade. The population of Tabuaemanu is not, it is
believed, at present more than 200. This island, though geogra¬
phically nearest the Georgian group, is politically connected with
Huahine, the inhabitants acknowledge the supremacy of Huahine,
and pay tribute to its chiefs; the laws of the latter are also the
laws of this island. Tetuaroa, a small series of very low
islets, with but few inhabitants, lies 24 miles to the north of
Tahiti, to the ancient inhabitants of which it formerly served as
a sort of watering-place. Lastly, Matia or Maitea, the most east¬
erly of the Georgian group, is a steep mountainous island, very
thinly inhabited, about 70 miles E. of Tahiti.
Tahiti and her adjacent islands are capable of producing sugar,
oil, arrow-root, coffee, cotton, and indigo; but the Tahitians, never
very fond of labour, have of late years, since the seizure of their
country by the French, given themselves up to such sullen apathy,
that any healthy development of the resources of their group seems
to be, under existing circumstances, totally out of the question.
Wilkes, however, informs us that in 1840 the yearly produce of
sugar was, at Tahiti 105 tons, valued at 8000 dollars; and at
Eimeo 22 tons, valued at 2000 dollars. Annual produce of cocoa-
nut oil at Tahiti 55 tons, valued at 3500 dollars; and at Eimeo 20
tons, valued at 1500 dollars. Not a tithe of this has, it is under¬
stood, been produced of late years. Even the statistics of the
whaling trade show that the French profit but little, in a commer¬
cial point of view, by the toy so dearly bought to satisfy the grasp¬
ing ambition and vanity of one who died himself unsceptred.
With every disadvantage, the United States’ whalers are at Tahiti
far before the French, and indeed those of any other nation. The
Americans, in fact, here engross nearly all that lucrative trade.
During the whaling season, for example, in 1854, thirty whalers
arrived in the Tahitian harbours,— viz., one English, four French,
and twenty-five American. The natives are stated to have aban¬
doned agriculture. The few other arts which had begun to thrive
in 1840 are now quite neglected. The guava has completely sup¬
planted the grass ; cattle, in consequence, cannot thrive, and have
become well nigh extinct. The garrison, 300 in number, are all
clothed and sustained by stores sent out from France, and have
neither means nor opportunity to spend much money. Some ap¬
pearance of trade, no doubt, is kept by the supply of these men
with what they need; but, to judge from observation, it must be a
ruinously unremunerative affair, a mere outlay without any benefit
whatever. (Gazetteer of Central Polynesia, by E. Reeve, pp. 41, 42.)
The island of Tahiti is fertile and its scenery beautiful.1 The
bread-fruit is here superior to that which grows on the other
islands. The fruit affords the natives a nutritive food; the trunk
supplies them with timber for their buildings and canoes. It
exudes a gum which serves for pitch, and from the inner bark is
manufactured a substantial cloth. They reckon no less than thirty
varieties of this most useful tree, which, with the different exposures
to the trade-winds and the difference of elevation above the sea, afford
to the natives a bread-fruit harvest at almost all seasons of the
year. The cocoa-nut, next to the bread-fruit, supplies them with
meat, drink, cloth, and oil, and sometimes clothing. Of plantains
they reckon fifteen different sorts. Yams and sweet potatoes, taro-
root of different kinds, and various other edible roots and fruits,
are abundantly produced; to which missionaries and others have
added the orange, pine-apple, the grape, and various culinary vege¬
tables of Europe.
The animals found on the island were hogs, dogs, and rats.
Horses, horned cattle, and goats have been introduced. Common
poultry are abundant, and the woods supply wild pigeons and parrots.
The colour of the natives is that of olive or light copper. The
men are above the middle size; the chiefs are almost uniformly
tall, muscular, and well limbed, measuring from 5 feet 9 inches to
6 feet 4 inches, and continue healthy and vigorous to a good old
age. The women of the upper ranks are likewise tall, with limbs
finely turned. Their skins are soft and delicate; their eyes black,
sparkling, and full of expression ; their teeth beautifully white
and even; their hair jet black, and generally ornamented with
flowers; and in their gait they are firm, but easy and graceful.
Their language, their deities, and superstitious observances re¬
semble those of the other races in Eastern Polynesia, and have been
repeatedly described.
The early visits of the European navigators to these islands pro¬
duced no advantages whatever to the inhabitants, who were only
contaminated by the vices, without participating in the blessings,
of civilized life. In the year 1796 the London Missionary
Society sent out their first missionaries to Tahiti, their object was
to communicate the knowledge of Christianity to the natives, who
Darwin, in his Naturalist's Voyage, has given an interesting account of the mountain scenery and vegetation cf Tahiti, p. 406.
POLYNESIA.
281
Polynesia, gladly received them, as well as several others who were afterwards
^ r j sent out in the year 1800. Their prospects were for a long time
uncertain or unpromising, and they laboured with very little suc¬
cess to draw the attention of the natives from their cruel rites and
superstitions to the purer faith of the gospel. About the year 1814
they began, however, to make some converts. In the neighbouring
island of Eimeo, about fifty persons voluntarily renounced idolatry,
and embraced Christianity. Pomare, the king, was among their
earliest converts. These first converts were continually increased
by new accessions, until the great body of the inhabitants, as well
as those in the neighbouring islands, embraced Christianity. They
now assemble regularly for public worship, decently attired, in
congregations of four or five hundred, and occasionally eight hun¬
dred or a thousand persons. Along with religion, they have been
instructed in mechanical trades of Europe; they are taught to
read, write, and to cast accounts, the natives with singular industry
teaching each other. Great numbers have been taught to read in
the Tahitian language, which the missionaries have reduced to
writing, and into which the Scriptures have been translated. A
great reformation followed the propagation of Christianity through¬
out the islands; the profligate practices of the Arreoi societies
were abolished, and many of the improvements of civilized life
were adopted. The dwellings of the chiefs have been enlarged and
beautified; a distinct house has been assigned to each family, in
place of their being, as formerly, all crowded into one. Schools
for girls have been established by the wives of the missionaries,
where instruction is given in sewing, in reading, and writing. In
these accomplishments many of the females have made considerable
proficiency; and since 1815 reading and writing has become gene¬
ral among the natives. Pomare, the king of Tahiti, and the first
convert to Christianity, was born about the year 1774. He died
in the year 1821, and was immediately succeeded by his son Po¬
mare III., who was crowned in 1824, being then only four years
of age. Shortly afterwards he was placed at the South Sea
academy in the island of Eimeo, for the purpose of receiving, with
the children of the missionaries, an English education. He died
in 1827, and was succeeded by a daughter of Pomare II., who is
still nominally the sovereign of Tahiti.
The missionaries experienced, after the gloss of novelty
had worn off their religion, a considerable defection of their
proselytes, and for a time their fair prospects of usefulness were
overcast. At first the natives appeared zealous in their attachment
to the Christian creed, and schools and congregations multiplied in
all quarters. In a short time, however, the people began to re¬
lapse into their former evil practices ; and the letters of the mis¬
sionaries themselves contain a full and candid account of these
defections. Many of the converts, they observe, grew weary of the
restraints which Christianity imposed on their passions; and the
introduction of ardent spirits, the licentious example and the de¬
bauchery of the European sailors when vessels touched at the
islands, the propagation of delusions among the people by vision¬
aries, and finally a bloody war which broke out in Tahiti, com¬
pleted the corruption and the defection of many converts. The
missionaries spared no pains to counteract this tendency to vice.
They established throughout the island temperance societies, and
prevailed on the chiefs to restrain the importation of spirits. The
Queen Pomare and most of the chiefs, who show an ardent desire
for the instruction of the people, joined these societies, and coun¬
tenanced the efforts of the missionaries, who have in some degree
succeeded in stemming the torrent of profligacy which was inun¬
dating these countries, and was fast sweeping away all traces of
that purer morality which had been planted among the natives.
But even after all the defections that have taken place, a letter,
dated April 1836, mentions that there were two thousand natives in
church-fellowship ; that two-thirds of the people could read ; that
a great number had learned to write; and that the schools and
chapels were well attended. A letter from one of the missionaries
mentions that he had seen Queen Pomare in the midst of a group
of little girls, teaching them words of one and two syllables.
A great step in the progress of improvement has been the com¬
mencement of trade and manufactures. A knowledge of useful
arts, such as rope-making, turnery, carpentry, and the art of work¬
ing in iron, had been introduced. Some were employed as smiths
others in the preparation of lime, and in the construction of neat
and comfortable dwellings, and also in boat and ship building, in
which many of them are adepts.
They also began to carry on commerce. A number of small
vessels built by the natives, of from 20 to 35 tons burden, were
employed in fetching from a group of islands situated 200 or 300
miles eastward, cargoes of pearl-shell, which they dispose of to the
English and American traders.
Such were some of the results of nearly fifty years of self-deny¬
ing labour, when, instigated by Romish priests and the misrepre¬
sentations of an unscrupulous adventurer, who persuaded the French
VOL. XVIII.
officers to constitute him consul for their nation, the French, under Polynesia,
the name of a, protectorate, took forcible possession of Tahiti and ^ .
its dependencies. The defenceless queen appealed in vain to Europe ”' V '
for the restitution of her country, and her people defended them-
seives for two years ; but being at length betrayed into the hands
of the French, resistance ceased, and these islands have since been
in their policy, commerce, educational and religious institutions’
under French rule and authority, as already noticed.
Besides Eimeo and the rest of the Georgian group, there are to Austral
the south of Tahiti a number of islands, designated the Austral Islands
Islands. The principal of these—Raivavai, Tubuai, Rurutu, Rima-
tara, and Rapa—are hilly and well watered. Missionaries have
visited them, and Christian teachers have instructed the people,
who profess themselves Christians, and have been taught to read!
Ships occasionally call for refreshments, and shipwrecked mariners
have experienced from the people assistance and security for them¬
selves and their property; but since the fall of Tahiti but few
accounts of them have been received.
The Marquesas.—This cluster of islands was discovered by Alva- The Mar-
rode Mendana in 1595, and named by him Las Marquesas de Men- quesas.
dofa, in honour of the viceroy of Peru. Four only are described
by Quiros the pilot, under the names of La Dominica, Santa Chris¬
tina, San Pedro, and La Madalena. The Spaniards anchored in a
port of Santa Christina, to which they gave the name of Madre de
Dios. This port is protected from the trade-wind, and has two ex¬
cellent streams of fresh water flowing into it. The people are de¬
scribed as being an elegant race ; the men and women are remark¬
ably beautiful, in symmetry of form and gracefulness of movement
surpassing all others in the Pacific, their complexions and general
appearance being said to excel those of the women of Lima. Their
dress consisted of a cloth made of the leaves of a palm-tree, with
which they were covered from the breast downwards ; and so civilly
disposed were they, that a beautiful native woman seated herself by
the side of Donna Isabel, the wife of Mendana, and began to fan
her, But the Spaniards, as usual, found means to quarrel with the
natives, and to drive them with fire-arms into the woods.
The islands are mountainous, with but little low land. The pro¬
duce of the islands are hogs, fowls, fish, cocoa-nuts, sugar-canes,
plantains, and the bread-fruit, which is described for the first time
by the writer of this voyage.
Subsequent voyagers have made us nearly as well acquainted
with the Marquesas as with Tahiti. Captain Cook visited them in
1774, and Captain Wilson in 1797. From these we know that they
consist of eight in number, besides some smaller islands to the west¬
ward, which being seen by an American master of the name of
Ingram, he called them Washington's Islands. They had previously
been seen by Marchand in 1789, and may fairly be grouped as part
of the Marquesas. The centre of the group may be reckoned in
about the Lat. of 9. 30. S., and Long. 139. 30. W.
The manners, the religious ceremonies, the Marais, and the
general appearance of the natives, are similar to those of Tahiti.
To their earliest English visitors the natives appeared hospitable
and gentle, but they have been frequently engaged in barbarous
wars, and are reported to have been cannibals.. In 1797 Captain
Wilson landed a missionary amongst them, who was kindly treated,
and furnished with a share of their scanty food ; but after remaining
little more than eighteen months in the islands he returned to Eng¬
land. About thirty years ago they were again visited by English
missionaries from Tahiti, two of whom remained some years in the
islands, though their labours appeared to be unproductive of good
among the natives. The French then took possession of the islands,
and placed some Roman Catholic missionaries among the people,
with what result is not known. Very recently some American
missionaries, with native assistants, have gone from the Sandwich
Islands, and are now labouring in the northern portion of the
Marquesas among the small, but in many respects deeply interest¬
ing, people by whom they are inhabited.
Easter Island.— This small island, not 30 miles in length, is Easter
chiefly deserving of notice from its solitary position, its great dis- Island,
tance from any of the islands of the Pacific, its comparative prox¬
imity to the coast of South America, and its being inhabited by a
race of men who differ no more from the rest of the Polynesians
than the latter do from one another,—having the same language,
the same features, the same religious notions, and Marais constructed
as they generally are in other islands. On the platforms of the
latter are erected shapeless and uncouth masses of stone carved in
imitation of the human bust, with rude faces 4 or 5 feet in length,
set on trunks of 10 or 12 feet in height. Kotzebue, the last visitor
to this island, looked, however, in vain for any traces of these
statues on the spots where they are described by Cook and La
Perouse.
This island is supposed to have been discovered by the bucaneer
Davis in 1687, although some have contended that the Dutch ad¬
miral Roggewein was the discoverer, and he it was who gave it
2 N
Jj
282
POLYNESIA.
Polynesia.
Pitcairn
Island.
the name of Paaschen or Easter Island, having first seen it on the
day of that feast. Its latitude is 27. 5. S., and longitude 109. 14. VV'.
It is not remarkably fertile ; but few trees are found on it, and
no running stream. The natives are very industrious in raising
food for their support, which consists chiefly of bananas, taro-roots,
sugar-canes, sweet potatoes, and yams. The inhabitants are about
1200 in number. By some navigators they are described as a very
savage people, and by others as a mild and amiable race. The fact
is, that their conduct has always corresponded with the treatment
they have received from foreign visitors. Thus their decided hos¬
tility to Kotzebue, when he attempted to land on the island, was ex¬
plained on his arrival at the Sandwich Islands. An American,
commanding a schooner called the Nancy, from New London, had
obrerved a vast multitude of seals on the shores of the small unin¬
habited island of Massafuero, to the westward of Juan Fernandez ;
and thinking it might turn out an excellent speculation if a small
establishment were formed on the island to carry on the fishing,
he therefore proceeded to Easter Island, and seized and carried off
twelve men and ten women. For the first three days they were
confined in irons, and were not released till fairly out of sight of
land, when the first use they made of their liberty was to jump
overboard, choosing rather to perish in the waves than to be carried
away they knew not whither, or for what purpose. The women,
who"were with difficulty restrained from following them, were car¬
ried to Massafuera, but what ultimately became of these poor crea¬
tures M. Kotzebue does not relate. No wonder, then, that such
practices should have driven the natives to acts of hostility against
all foreign intruders.
Pitcairn Island is a rocky, triangular island about 5 miles in
length, situated in Lat, 25. 3. S., and Long. 130. 8. W. It was dis¬
covered by Captain Carteret in 1767, celebrated on account of its
having been the retreat of the mutineers of H.M.S. Bounty, and
the abode of their descendants, until, more than forty years after¬
wards, when the descendants of the mutineers were, at their own re¬
quest, removed by the British government to Tahiti, the country from
which their mothers had been taken by the mutineers. The en¬
tire number amounted to 87 individuals. They were kindly re¬
ceived, a piece of land was given to them, and new temporary houses
erected for their accommodation by the natives, and eight months’
provisions left with them by the captain of the British ship in which
they arrived. Soon after their arrival they were attacked by an
epidemic disease, which proved fatal to twelve of their number, and
this, together with the unsettled state of the island at the time, was
so discouraging to the rest, that they expressed a desire to return.
In order to comply with their wishes, a subscription was raised, and
a small vessel chartered to convey them to their island home, where
they continued leading the same exemplary moral and religious life
as before until recently, when the resources of the island proving in¬
sufficient for their support, their number being 194 persons, they
were, at their own request, removed by the British government to
Norfolk Island. This small but fertile island is attached to the
government of New South Wales, and is now appropriated to the
use of the Pitcairn islanders. A resident has been appointed, with
a liberal salary, to act as magistrate or governor among them. The
island is salubrious and fertile, and is surrounded by reefs, yet pos¬
sesses no harbour; but this will prove no insurmountable impediment
to intercourse between Australia and this interesting Anglo-Poly-
nesian community, whose future welfare all must ardently desire.
Mangareva Group, also called Gambler Islands, a cluster at the
S.E. extremity of the Paumotus Archipelago, and W.N.W. of Pit¬
cairn’s Island, was discovered by the Missionary Ship “ Duff,” in
1797, and named by Captain Wilson, her commander, after Admiral
Lord Gambler. It consists of four large islands, and several smaller
ones, situated in a lagoon formed by a reef of coral, and lying be¬
tween Lat. 23. 1. and 23. 15. S., and Long. 134. 49. and 135. 3. 30.
W. They are all (with the exception of two sandy reef islets on
the northern and western aspects) extremely steep and rugged, and
obviously of volcanic origin, clothed with verdure, and for the
most part with trees. The Mangareva group is, moreover, a lo¬
cality well supplied with good water, than which nothing can be
more important to the navigation of these seas, that indispensable
article not being elsewhere found in a pure state between Tahiti
and the coast of Chili (a distance of 4000 miles), except, indeed, at
Pitcairn Island, whence it is difficult, and well-nigh impossible, to
get it on board ship. Captain Beechy, B.N., under whose direction
a survey was made of this series in 1826, states that in addition to
several sorts of wood (some of a very useful description) and
flowers, the group is by no means deficient in a variety of edible
roots, nor in those kinds which are most productive and nutritious.
Besides the ti-plant (Dracaena terminates'), sweet potato, sugar
cane, water melon, cocoa-nut, plantain, and banana, he found on
his visit that the natives possessed the bread-fruit and the taro,
from both of which an abundance of wholesome food is procurable.
Ike Dangerous Archipelago, or Paumotu Dlands.-— This vast
archipelago, if not geographically and politically the most import- Polynesia
ant, is, on account of its geological structure, one of the most v |
deeply interesting, as well as the most extensive groups of Poly-
nesia. It lies to the south of the Marquesas, and stretches from T*le ®ar>-
the Georgian and Society Islands in a south-easterly direction, be- gerous Ar.
yond Mangareva or Gambler’s Island,—thus covering an area of the chipelago.
ocean nearly 1000 miles in length and 600 miles in breadth.
This archipelago is an immense series of groups, mostly of low
coralline islands, more or less detached from each other. Most of
them are lagoons, and the majority of them rising but a few feet
above the level of the sea at high-water. Oana or Rairoa is 46
miles long and 20 miles broad; it is inhabited by a quiet people.
Hao or Bow Island is 34 miles long and 10 miles broad. The
lagoon which it surrounds is generally about 20 fathoms deep, and
abounds with the pearl oyster. The ring-like shore of the lagoon
is covered chiefly with cocoa-nuts : the inhabitants are about 100.
The other islands are generally smaller, but some of them much
more populous; and many of them are clothed with cocoa-nut trees.
Navigation amongst them is exceedingly perilous, on account of
the numerous reefs which are found in every direction. Their
native name Paumotu, which signifies islands of shallow water, in¬
dicates the peril to large vessels. They are also called the Pearl
Islands, on account of the large quantities of mother-of-pearl shell
found amongst them. Most of them are inhabited, chiefly by the
Malayo-Polynesian race; and some of those nearest to Tahiti have
become Christians through the exertions of native missionaries
from the latter island.
But, curious, attractive, and deeply interesting as these laby¬
rinths of islands are,—seeming like so many rings of coral and
sand scarcely higher than the long swelling billows of the wide
ocean in which they rise, and each inclosing a smooth placid lake of
comparatively shallow water ; and covered as they are for the most
part with waving palms, beneath which the almost amphibious
native builds his hut, and in this isolated home begins and ends
his days,—the agencies by which these wondrous structures have
been raised, the vast extent over which they have been spread, and
the records they exhibit of the changes that have taken place in
the surface of our globe are among the wonders of the world we
inhabit. These innumerable and gigantic structures are the work
of small marine animals of several different kinds, which separate
calcareous substances from the sea, and with it rear, in all their varied
and often beautiful forms, these marvellous structures. According
to the theory of Mr Darwin, who traversed a large portion of this
region in 1835, with Captain (now Admiral) Fitz-Roy in H.M.S.
Beagle, these reefs., which sometimes surround like a fringe existing
islands, or stretch like a barrier in a line parallel with a coast, and
at unequal distances from the shore ; or surround like a circular
breakwater, at a distance of 3, 5, or more miles, a mountainous
island ; while others rise like a ring from the depths of mid-ocean,
and inclose a lake of calm and shallow water,—all these have been
formed by one uniform process, and in obedience to one invariable
law. Mr Darwin, it appears, supposes that where fringed reefs
exist, the land to which they are attached slopes gradually down be¬
low the water,and is subsiding,but that as the land subsides the corals
rise to the surface; that where there are barrier reefs or circular
breakwaters at a distance from the present existing land, the whole
land has gradually subsided. The coral-building insects, which are
most vigorous on the outside of the reef, or the part next the ocean,
rearing their encircling walls higher and higher as the foundations
sink lower and lower, and then in the atolls or lagoon islands,
which present a ring-like reef inclosing a smooth lake, the land
has subsided entirely beneath the level of the ocean, while, as it
sank, the myriads of marine architects continued to keep their
outer wall up to the level of its waves. It has been found that the
reefs never rise above the level of the sea, and that the building
animals do not live at a greater depth than from 20 to 30 fathoms;
so that, as the coral structures have gradually subsided to that
depth, their inhabitants have died, and their cells have become
their graves, and a new generation has carried on the structure up
again to the surface of the waves, to give place, as the foundation
subsided, to succeeding generations. Such appears the outline of
Mr Darwin’s theory. What vast changes must be in progress
when an area of subsidence so large as that covered by this archi¬
pelago is considered; but how much more astonishing when we
consider that, from this archipelago single islands stretch in a
north-westerly direction to the Radic chain ; that these two archi¬
pelagos on opposite sides of the equator indicate a line of subsi¬
dence in mid-ocean of “ more than 4000 miles in length, in which
not one single island rises above a specified height!” In closing
his account, Mr Darwin observes :—“ The reef-constructing corals
have indeed reared and preserved wonderful memorials of the sub¬
terranean oscillations of level; we see in each barrier-reef a proof
that the land has there subsided, and in each atoll a monument over
an island now lost.” (Voyage of a Naturalist, p. k%2.) (w. E.)
POL
Polyphe¬
mus
POLYPHEMUS, King of the Cyclops in Sicily, was
the son of Neptune and Thoosa. (See Cyclops.)
PorUbai. POL\ PLEC IRON (from the Greek ttoXv, much, and
,, ^ j TrXrjKrpov), a musical instrument invented by Dietz about
thirty years ago, and played upon in the manner of a piano¬
forte. Its sounds are produced by the friction of numerous
narrow slips of leather made to revolve upon a cylinder and
over pulleys, and brought into contact with the strings by
pressing down the finger-keys. The powers of this instru¬
ment were highly commended by Prony, Savart, Cherubini,
Paer, and others after they had made trial of it on the 11th
of July 1828. According to the touch, firm and legato, or
light and staccato, the quality of the tone varied. The lower
sounds and medium ones closely resembled those of the
double bass, violoncello, and viola. Dietz had not succeeded
in imitating the sounds of a violin. The orchestrino of
Poulleau, and some other instruments on the same prin¬
ciple, preceded Dietz’s polyplectron. (g. f. g.)
POLYTHEISM (ttoAvs, many, 0ed?, God), the doctrine
of a plurality of gods. I his word, although not used bv
Greek writers, differs from idolatry with respect to the
forms of the object worshipped. Polytheism refers to a plu-
mlity of gods, without including, of necessity, the notion of
forms; whereas idolatry refers either to one God only, under
some visible form, or to any number of gods under as manv
visible forms. No one taking the Bible for his guide will
believe that men were polytheists before the flood; but it
is plain that men had embraced this doctrine in the time
of Moses (1500 b.c.) The ancient Persians, so far as
we are aware, became first Sabians, or worshippers of the
host of heaven, and afterwards Magians, or worshippers of
file. According to the latter view, they held that Ormuzd
was the principle of light and the cause of all good, and
that Ahriman was the principle of darkness and the cause
of ail evil. Ihe Egyptians in Moses’ time were polytheists,
and not a few of the provisions of the law were designed
to guard the Israelites against the polytheism and idolatry
of Egypt. The Greeks and Romans acknowledged one
being, Zeus or Jupiter, as superior to the other deities, but
nevertheless they bound him hard by the absolute control
of Fate. \ et the lesser deities were worshipped as gods,
and the system was essentially polytheistic. Cudworth has
laboured very ingeniously to show that the ancient philo¬
sophers in general worshipped mentally but one Supreme
Being under different names. But granting the truthful¬
ness of this doctrine, it only establishes with greater soli¬
dity that the people were polytheists; and as Philo-
Judaeus has it, Polytheism in the mind of the ignorant
is atheism.” Wherever the Christian religion has been
established, polytheism has disappeared; but there still re¬
mains vast portions of territory where polytheism still pre¬
vails. (See Mythology.)
^1LLA a town of Brazil, in the province
of Minas Geraes, on the River Pomba, an affluent of the
Parahiba, 60 miles E.S.E. of Ouro Preto. It has a church
and town-hall; and most of the inhabitants are employed
in the cultivation of the sugar-cane. Some trade is car¬
ried on in sugar, rum, &c. Pop. of the district, 12,000.
POMBAL, a town of Portugal, in the province of Es-
tremadura, stands on a hill near the Sora, 20 miles N E
of Leiria. It contains the ruins of a castle, and of a church
of the Templars, and three modern churches. Hats are
manufactured here; and large markets are held weekly
Pop. 5000. y'
POMBAL, Marquise de, Dom Sebastiao Josri de
Carvalho, a celebrated Portuguese statesman, was born
m 1699 at Soura in Coimbra. As he advanced towards
manhood he appeared in the character of an accomplished
votary of fashion. His tall, handsome, and animated figure
fascinated every eye; and his easy, agreeable, and intelli¬
gent address captivated every heart. No dissipation im-
P O M
paired his robust constitution, and no pleasure palled upon
ns strong and healthy appetite. Life, in fact, seemed to
mm to be a gay pageant, where a man was required to plav
his part not from a sense of duty, but merely for his own
amusement. He attempted to study law at Coimbra but
his highly pampered tastes revolted at the dry and heavy
nutriment of jurisprudence. He then entered the royal
guards, but his mettlesome spirit could not brook the re¬
straint of military discipline. His last resource was to elope
with a wealthy widow, and to live in indolent privacy upon
her fortune until circumstances occurred to draw' him into
active life. In 1739 Carvalho, through the influence of
his uncle, a canon of the royal chapel at Lisbon, com¬
menced the preparatory steps of his political career by
being appointed ambassador extraordinary to Great Britain.
Ihe ability which he displayed recommended him in 1745
to the office of plenipotentiary at the court of Vienna.
He returned from that post to find that he had improved
his prospects by contracting a second marriage with the
voung Countess of Daun. The queen-dowager of John
• conceiving an attachment for his wife, recommended
him to the notice of her son Joseph I. Accordingly, in
1750, the year of that prince’s accession, he was raised to
the congenial office of secretary for foreign affairs. The
determined efforts which he put forth to rouse the country
from its lethargy began to make a favourable impression
upon the king. His promptitude, activity, and address in
allaying the universal distraction caused by the earthquake
of 1755 completed the impression; and in the following
year he was created prime minister of the kingdom. Ca£
yalhe, thus raised to the very summit of his political ambi¬
tion, ably engrossed the virtual sovereignty, and commenced
to rule the Portuguese with a rod of iron. His first acts
were directed to the utter and merciless extermination of
all those abuses that clogged or obstructed the national
prosperity. No grievance, however highly connected and
time-honoured, met with any quarter. His edicts went
through the land smiting and crushing their victims with
blows as summary and remorseless as those of Destiny her¬
self. The desperadoes who plundered and murdered on the
midnight streets of the capital w'ere shot down on the spot.
The proprietors who refused to raise corn on their lands had
their vineyards torn up by the roots. The Jesuit confessors
who abused the ear of the sovereign with their wily and
selfish schemes w'ere turned out of court. The self-seek¬
ing magnates who mismanaged the affairs of the state were
removed from their snug sinecures to prisons prepared ex¬
pressly for them. It was to no purpose that the parties
smarting under these stripes sent forth a murmur of in¬
dignation and discontent. A decree was forthwith issued
daring any one to speak against the measures of the govern¬
ment on pain of capital punishment. It was to no purpose
that an attempt was made to assassinate the king on the
night of the 3d September 1758. The minister’s policy
only assumed greater rapidity, force, and decision. No
compunctions deterred him from pouncing upon some of
the principal nobility as accomplices in the treasonous
crime. The Duke of Aveiro was broken on the wheel ;
his sons and his servants were strangled; and all the dead
bodies were consigned to the flames. Suspicion then fell
upon the Jesuits; and they were commanded as rebels and
traitors, to quit the country in a body. On refusing, they
■were seized by the military, shipped to the number of
1854, and landed in the States of the Church. After this
thorough-going manner were the impediments to advance¬
ment destroyed or removed out of the way. Nor while
Carvalho was eradicating old abuses did he fail to intro¬
duce improvements. It was his great aim to draw out the
torpid energies of Portugal into a full and healthy develop¬
ment. Accordingly, he set on foot a system of universal
education. The Portuguese, both at home and in the co-
283
Pombal.
284 POM
Pomerania, lonies, were instructed in the cultivation of new kinds of
crops. Englishmen and Frenchmen were employed to
teach the people navigation and ship-building. Special
schools were established to train the young for the pursuits
of industry and commerce. At the same time, the disci¬
pline of the university was investigated; the physical and
mathematical sciences were introduced into the course of
study; and every facility was furnished to the students for
acquiring information, both practical and theoretical. For
so many public benefits it was natural that Carvalho should
be bountifully rewarded. Accordingly pensions and estates
were lavished upon him; the title of Marquis of Pombal
was added to his name ; and the government of the country
was more and more completely entrusted to his charge.
He was still continuing to hold undisputed possession of
the royal favour when the death of Joseph I., in 1777, left
him exposed to the malice of his many enemies. Pombal,
however, maintained his heroical bearing to the last. His
foes, indeed, closed in around him, clamouring for his head;
but he entrenched himself behind the prerogative of the
deceased sovereign, and dared them to punish him for
simply executing the commands of his royal master.
Leaving court unharmed, with all his titles and wealth, he
lived in dignified retirement till his death in May 1782.
POMERANIA (Germ. Pommerri), a province of
Prussia, lying between N. Lat. 52. 58. and 54. 50., E.
Long. 12. 30. and 18. 2. ; bounded on the N. by the
Baltic, E. and S.E. by the province of West Prussia, S. by
that of Brandenburg, S.W. and W. by the grand duchies
of Mecklenburg. Its length from E. to W. is upwards of
200 miles, its breadth varies from 30 to 80, and its area is
12,221 square miles. It is entirely low and flat, with a few
hills in some parts. The largest river that flows through
Pomerania is the Oder; but the province contains only a
small portion of its course. After entering the country,
it separates into two branches, the larger, towards the left,
retaining the name of Oder, and the other taking that of
Reglitz. The latter spreads itself out east of Stettin into
the Lake of Damm; then again contracts, and, re-uniting
with the Oder, expands, first into the Papenwasser, and
then into the Pomeranian Half, from which it falls into the
Baltic by three mouths. East of the Oder there are a num¬
ber of small rivers, flowing generally from lakes in a N.W.
direction to the Baltic. The chief of these are the Rega,
Persante, Wipper, Stolpe, and Leba. The largest river
west of the Oder is the Peene, which flows N.E. from Meck-
lenburg-Schwerin. The coast of Pomerania is generally
low and shallow; and the land is only protected from the
overflow of the water by sand-hills or artificial dykes.
Several sheets of water are formed at the mouths of the
rivers, separated from the sea by narrow stripes of land.
The largest of these is the Pomeranian Half, or gulf, at
the mouth of the Oder. The island of Riigen, separated
by a narrow strait from the mainland, belongs to Pomerania.
The principal lakes in the province are those of Vilm, Pile-
borg, Liibbe, Plbne, and Madine. The soil is generally
good, especially along the Baltic coast and near the lakes of
Plone and Madine; in other parts it is of inferior quality.
In some places there are extensive moors and bogs. Po¬
merania contained in 1852, 3,474,252 acres of arable land,
1,680,981 acres of pastures and meadows, 1,359,891 acres
of forests, and 1,237,313 acres of waste land. Agriculture
is well managed; and the produce in favourable seasons is
somewhat more than the wants of the people. There were
in the province in 1855, 150,241 horses, 450,637 horned
cattle, 2,651,030 sheep, 182,992 swine, and 27,263 goats.
Deer, hares, and other kinds of game are found in Pomer¬
ania; and fish abound in the lakes and rivers. Iron, salt,
and alum are the only minerals found in the country.
Manufactures are extensively carried on here; the most
important establishments in 1852 were 16 paper-mills, 14
POM
tanneries, 249 breweries, 258 distilleries, 16 iron-works, Pomeroy
11 glass-works, and 13 manufactories of porcelain; besides
many cotton and woollen factories. There is a considerable
trade in corn. Ship-building is carried on in the coast-
towns. The great majority of the population belongs to
the Reformed Church; but there were also in 1855,
11,577 Roman Catholics, and 11,336 Jews in the province.
Education is well attended to in Pomerania, as in other
parts of Prussia. The province contained in 1852, 9
gymnasia, with 124 teachers and 2018 scholars; 6 normal
schools, with 124 scholars; 124 middle schools, with 432
teachers and 17,777 scholars; and 2489 elementary schools,
with 2923 teachers and 497,697 scholars. There are also
many benevolent establishments in the country.
The country between the Oder and the Vistula was in¬
habited in the earliest historical period by the German tribes
of Sueves and Vandals ; but these people gradually migrated
southward; and about the end of the fifth and beginning
of the sixth century, the Wends, a Slavonian nation, settled
in the country, and gave it the name of Po More (“ beside
the sea”), from which the present name has been derived.
The first prince of Pomerania was Mestibock, who lived
about the year 960. His great-grandson Sambor died in
1107, and left four sons, who divided the country into two
parts. Of these, the eastern, called Pomerellen, now West
Prussia, on the extinction of its line of princes in 1296, fell
to the Teutonic knights, though it was also claimed by the
Polish monarchs, who more than a century afterwards ob¬
tained possession of it. The princes of the Pomeranian or
elder line possessed the present province, and were in 1182
recognised as princes of the German empire (Reichsfursten)
and dukes of Pomerania. In 1295 the ducal line was di¬
vided into two, that of Stettin and that of Wolgast. Wra-
tislaw IV., the second duke of the latter line, was elected in
1325 lord of Riigen, which he held as a vassal of the King
of Denmark. The extinction of the Stettin line in 1464
led to a dispute between Wolgast and Brandenburg about
the succession ; but finally, in 1478, the whole of Pomerania
was united under a duke of the Wolgast line. The Refor¬
mation was introduced at the diet of Treptow in 1534; John
Bugenhagen, surnamed from this, his native land, Pomer-
anus, being the chief founder of the new church. The
whole line of the Pomeranian dukes became extinct in 1637,
and the electoral house of Brandenburg had, according to
former treaties, the next claim on the country ; but in the
peace of Westphalia (1648), the whole of Hither Pomerania
(west of the Oder), with the island of Riigen and part of
Further Pomerania, were given to Sweden, and the rest
to Brandenburg. By the peace of Stockholm in 1720, the
country between the Oder and the Peene was ceded to
the House of Brandenburg, which had assumed the Prussian
crown; but a part of Pomerania was retained by Sweden
till 1814, when it was given up to Prussia in exchange for
the duchy of Lauenburg. Pomerania is at present divided
into the circles of Stettin, Kbslin, and Stralsund; and con¬
tained in 1855 a population of 1,288,964.
POMEROY, a town of the United States of North
America, state of Ohio, on a narrow strip of land between
the Ohio river and a steep rugged range of hills, 100 miles
S.E. of Columbus. With the neighbouring villages of
Coalport, Minersville, Carltonville, and Middleport, which
are almost parts of the same town, it extends nearly 3
miles along the river. Since its foundation in 1841 the
town has rapidly increased in size and prosperity, from the
abundance and excellence of the coal found in the vicinity,
of which 5,000,000 bushels were mined and exported in
1851. There are here salt springs of a very superior
quality, and several companies have been formed for the^
purpose of working them; so that the salt manufactures of
Pomeroy will soon be very extensive. Pop. (1853) esti¬
mated at 4000.
POM
Pom fret POMFRET, John, an English poet, son of the vicar of
Luton in Bedfordshire, was born in 1667, and educated at
Queen’s College Cambridge; after which he took orders,
and was presented to the living of Malden in Bedfordshire.
About 1703 he went to London for institution to a larger
and more considerable living ; but he was stopped for some
time by Compton, then bishop of London, on account of
four lines of his poem entitled the Choice (1699):—
“ And as I near approach’d the verge of life,
Some kind relation (for I’d have no wife)
Should take upon him all my worldly care,
While I did for a better state prepare.”
But he was soon convinced that this representation was the
mere effect of malice, as Pomfret at that time was actually
married. The opposition which his slanderers had made to
him, however, produced its effect; for, being thereby ob¬
liged to stay in London longer than he intended, he caught
the small-pox, and died in 1703, at the age of thirty-five.
He published in 1699 a volume of his poems, with a
very modest and sensible preface. Two pieces of his were
published after his death by his friend Philalethes : one en¬
titled iiWorc, and written in 1700, when the disputes about
the I rinity ran high ; and the other Dies Novissima, or the
Last Epiphany, a Pindaric ode. His versification is not
unmusical, but his writings want that force which is neces¬
sary to constitute a poet. “ The Choice” says Dr Johnson,
“ exhibits a system of life adapted to common notions, and
equal to common expectations ; such a state as affords plenty
and tranquillity, without exclusion of intellectual pleasures.
Perhaps no composition in our language has been oftener
perused than Pomfret’s Choice. In his other poems there is
an easy volubility ; the pleasure of smooth metre is afforded
to the ear ; and the mind is not oppressed with ponderous or
entangled with intricate sentiment. He pleases many ; and
he who pleases many must have some species of merit.”*
POMCERIUM, is derived from post and mcerium (mu¬
ms), and thus signifies a line running by the walls of a
town. The pomctrium consisted of a symbolical not of an
actual wall, and the course of it was marked by stone pil¬
lars. The custom of making a pomcerium was peculiar to
the Latins and the Etruscans. It was done as follows :—
“After this,” says Plutarch, “the founder, yoking a bull
and a cow together, ploughed a deep furrow with a brazen
ploughshare round the bounds. The attendants took care
that all the clods fell inwards,—that is, towards the city.”
This sacred line might be built beyond, but it was neces¬
sary to leave a certain space on each side of it unoccupied,
so as not to unhallow it by profane use.
POMONA, or Mainland, an island of Scotland, the
largest of the Orkneys, lies about the centre of the group.
It is about 20 miles in length, and its breadth varies from
3 to 15 ; area, 150 square miles. In shape it is very ir¬
regular, being penetrated on all sides by arms of the sea, so
that no part of the land is more than 4 or 5 miles from the
sea. 1 he western and north-western coasts are steep and
lofty; the waves of the Atlantic roll in and dash upon the
rocks with such violence that several remarkable caves
have been hollowed out by them. The surface gradually
slopes towaids the south-east, and is diversified with hills
and valleys, though bare of trees, and consisting chiefly of
moors and mosses. There are, however, sheep pastures
and some fertile tracts of ground. The geological struc¬
ture of the greater part of the island is old red sandstone,
containing many fossil fishes. There are also some dykes
of whinstone, and a range of granite hills, forming a pro¬
montory on the west coast. Oats, beans, and bere are the
crops principally raised, on the island. Grouse, plover, and
other kinds of game abound here, as well as fish. The
island has several good harbours, and the only towns in
Orkney, Kirkwall and Stromness. It is divided into 13
parishes. Pop. (1851) 16,757.
POM
285
POMPEII, an ancient city of Italy, situated in that part Pompeii,
of the country to which the ancients gave the name of v—>v-"-''
Campania. It lies at the bottom of the Gulf of Cumae
known in modern times as the Bay of Naples, 5 miles from
the volcanic mountain of Vesuvius, and 13 miles S.E. of the
city of Naples. Of the early history of Pompeii little is
known. It is said to have been founded by Hercules, and
that its name is derived from Pompa, in allusion to the
pomp with which that hero celebrated his victories whilst
awaiting his fleet at the mouth of the river Sarnus (Sarno)
after his reputed conquest of Spain. This refuge in mv-
thology, to which men have betaken themselves in account¬
ing for the origin of Pompeii, is a sufficient proof that the
obscurity in which it is hidden is too profound to be pene¬
trated. Strabo, however, asserts that these towns were
first founded by the Oscans, afterwards by the Pelasgians
and I yrrhenians, and subsequently by the Samnites; and
this statement is by no means destitute of plausibility. The
early history of the city is nearly as uncertain as the date
of its foundation and the etymology of its name. It is first
mentioned in b.c. 310. And the next account we have of
it is in the Social or Marsic War, which broke out 91
years before the birth of Christ, as one of the towns of
Campania that had revolted. It escaped the punishment
with which some other places were visited ; and the only
subsequent event of any moment which is related of it is a
quarrel between its inhabitants and those of Nuceria (now
Nocera), in which the latter were worsted. This transac¬
tion occurred a.d. 59. Four years afterwards Pompeii was
almost destroyed by an earthquake, the terrible effects of
which are recorded by Seneca. A great part of the town
was reduced to ruins ; and Herculaneum was likewise con¬
siderably injured. Similar alarms, the usual presages of an
approaching eruption, were repeated, until the memorable
23d of August a.d. 79, when the first recorded volcanic
paroxysm of Vesuvius occurred. We are fortunately in
possession of a faithful and striking narrative of the event,
contained in two letters of Pliny the younger to Tacitus.
He was an eyewitness of the catastrophe ; and, besides a
description of it, he gives an account of the death of his uncle,
who fell a victim to his inquiring spirit and humanity.
It was not lava, but showers of stones, cinders, and mud,
which overwhelmed Pompeii; pouring down for more than
a week, and much of the matter having been deposited in a
liquid state. Nor was it by one eruption alone that the cities
were covered to their present depth. Successive layers are
clearly to be traced, and the lowest bears marks of having
been moved, whilst the others are untouched ; a plain proof
that some time elapsed between their deposition, and that
the inhabitants had made excavations in search of their
more valuable property. The bed of ashes and stones which
covered Pompeii varied in depth from 12 to 14 feet. Under
this it remained for 1676 years ; for although indications of
its ruins were observed in 1689, the excavations did not
commence till 1755. The disappointment experienced on
the failure of the attempt to excavate Herculaneum to any
extent has thus been compensated; for whilst the thick layers
of lava which covered the latter city rendered the under¬
taking too difficult to be persevered in, the light friable
mass which entombed Pompeii was easily removed. The
upper storeys of the buildings, which were probably com¬
posed of wood, were either burned by the red-hot matter
which fell upon them, or forced inwards by the weight of
the enormous superincumbent mass, or the violence with
which it descended. With this exception, we see a beau¬
tiful and once flourishing city just as it existed nearly
eighteen centuries ago. The buildings stand as they were
originally designed, unviolated by time or fashion; and in
some instances memorials of a more impressive character
bear sad testimony to the suddenness and completeness of
the calamity which overwhelmed the city.
286
POMPEII
Pompeii. Pompeii was originally situated upon the sea-shore, as is
proved by shells and sea-sand being found on the side ad¬
joining the Bay of Naples; and it is even said that rings
have been discovered close to the ruins, intended, as is sup¬
posed, for the mooring of vessels. By the gradual elevation
of the coast, it is now at some distance inland ; and the river
Sarnus (Sarno), which, it is not improbable, was once ca¬
pable of receiving the vessels of the ancients, has shrunk to
a mere rivulet, and is diverted from its original course. The
city stood on an insulated spot formed by the lava which,
at some remote period, the action of subterranean fire seems
to have thrown up in various directions around the foot of
Vesuvius. Thus situated, it combined all the advantages
of mercantile convenience with the security of a military
station, and the romantic beauty of a spot celebrated in all
ages for its surpassing loveliness, and which was a favourite
resort of strangers for health or recreation. The city was
surrounded by a wall, the whole, or nearly the whole, of
which has been traced; and six gates and twelve towers
have been counted. Its greatest length is little more than
three-quarters of a mile, its breadth is less than half a mile,
and its circumference is nearly two miles. Its general
figure is irregularly oval, and it occupied an area of about
161 acres. There have been excavated above eighty houses,
an immense number of small shops, the public baths, two
theatres, two basilicse, eight temples, the prison, the am¬
phitheatre, and other public buildings, besides fountains and
tombs. The streets are paved wdth large irregular pieces
of lava, neatly dovetailed into one another. This pave¬
ment had been deeply rutted by the chariot-wheels which
formerly rattled over it In general, the streets are so
narrow that they may be crossed at one stride. Where
they were of greater breadth, a stepping-stone was placed
in the middle, it is supposed for the convenience of foot-
passengers. On each side there is a footpath, along which
run curb-stones to prevent the encroachment of the chariot.
From the position of the town, and the discoveries made by
the excavators, it seems clear that only three principal roads
could have led to it. The first, which was on the western
side, led to Naples ; the second joined the Popilian Way at
Nola; and the third crossed the Sarnus, and afterwards
divided into two branches, of which the principal led to
Nocera, and the other to Stabise. The city is generally
approached by the first road, because it was the ancient
route from Rome to Herculaneum, and the chief entrance
of Pompeii. The first object of interest met with is the
Street of Tombs, now' completely excavated, which rises
by an easy ascent to the city gate, called the Gate of Her¬
culaneum. The road is flanked by tombs of much beauty
and interest, as well as by other buildings, amongst which
is a hostelry. We quote the following description of Pom¬
peii, as entered by this gate, from an interesting work on
the subject:—“ On entering, the visitor finds himself in a
street running a little east of south, wdiich leads to the
Forum. To the right stands a house formerly owned by a
musician, to the left a thermopolium, or shop for hot drinks ;
beyond is the house of the vestals; beyond this the custom¬
house ; and a little further on, where another street runs
into this one from the north, at a very acute angle, stands
a public fountain. In the last-named street is a surgeon’s
house, at least one so named from the quantity of surgical
instruments found in it, all made of bronze. On the right
or western side of the street by which we entered the
houses are built on the declivity of a rock, sloping down to
where the sea formerly came, and are several storeys in
height. The fountain is about 150 yards from the city
gate. About the same distance farther on the street
divides into two, the right-hand turning seems a bye-street,
the left-hand turning conducts you to the Forum. The
most important feature in this space is a house called the
house of Sallust, or of Actaeon, from a painting in it repre¬
senting that hunter’s death. It stands on an area about 40 Pompeii,
yards square, and is encompassed on three sides by streets,
—by that, namely, which we have been describing, by
another nearly parallel to it, and by a third perpendicular
to these two. East of this island of houses is an unex¬
cavated space, beyond which is another broad street run¬
ning parallel to the first, the limit of the excavations in this
quarter. Between these two are indications of another
street, which is cleared out, south of the transverse street.
Still farther south these streets all terminate in a transverse
street. Thus the w hole quarter already described is divided
by four longitudinal and two transverse streets into what
the Romans called islands, or insulated masses of houses.
One of these is entirely occupied by the house of Pansa,
which, with its court and garden, is about 100 yards long
by 40 wide. The average interval between the western
and eastern street is not more than 150 yards. The island
immediately east of the house of Pansa has three houses of
considerable interest, called the house of the tragic poet,
from dramatic paintings on the walls; the cloth-dyer’s
house, from paintings illustrating the processes and utensils
of that trade ; and the house of the mosaic fountains.
“From the transverse street which bounds these islands
on the south, two streets lead to the corners of the Forum;
between them are the baths, occupying nearly the whole
island. Among other buildings are a milk-shop and gladia¬
torial school. At the N.E. corner of the Forum was the
triumphal arch. At the end of the broad eastern street,
and higher up in the same street, another triumphal arch is
still to be made out; so that this was plainly the way of
state into the city. The Forum was distant from the gate of
Herculaneum about 400 yards. Near the south-eastern
corner two streets enter it, one running to the south, the other
to the east. We will follow the former for about 80 yards,
wl*en it turns eastward for 200 yards, and conducts us to the
quarter of the theatres. The other street, which runs east¬
ward from the Forum, is of more importance, and is called
the Street of the Silversmiths. . . . The quarter of the
theatres comprises a large temple of Hercules, a temple of
Isis, a temple of iEsculapius, two theatres, and two spacious
porticoes inclosing open areas. On the north and east it is
bounded by streets ; to the south and west it seems to have
been inclosed partly by the town, partly by its own walls.
Here the continuous excavation ends, and we must cross
nine yards to the amphitheatre, distant from the theatre about
550 yards, in the S.E. corner of the city, close to the walls,
and in an angle formed by them. On the other side are
traces of walls, supposed to have belonged to cattle-markets.
Near at hand a considerable building, called by the Italians
the palace of Giulia Felice, has been excavated and filled
up again. A considerable distance to the westward is the
first excavation, made near the centre of the city ; it is
surrounded by vines, which hang in festoons from the
poplars on which they are trained ; it is small, and appears
to have been abandoned on account of the few coins and
vessels discovered. From the amphitheatre we return along
the Street of Silversmiths towards the Forum ; but before
we arrive at the latter, turn up a street running parallel to
it. Arriving at the end of it, we turn to the right, and
soon reach the triumphal arch of the Forum, having now
traversed the whole excavated portion, except a few insig¬
nificant streets.”
This account of the general aspect of Pompeii renders it
less necessary to give any description of particular places
and buildings. The Forum was the focus of business, the
resort of pleasure, and the scene of all political and legal
contention. Entering at the gate of Herculaneum, the
main street of the town leads the visitor to the N.W. cor¬
ner. Here he gains admittance by a flight of steps lead¬
ing downwards through an arch in a brick wall. Upon
entering, the spectator finds himself in a large area sur-
POM
Pompeii, rounded by columns and the ruins of temples, triumphal
arches, and other public buildings, the particular uses of
which can in general be only conjectured. There are also
a number of pedestals, which once supported statues; and
around the west, south, and east sides there runs a Doric
colonnade in the Grecian style. At the end by which the
place is entered stands a building, called by some the temple
of Jupiter, and by others the Senaculum, or council-cham¬
ber. It is prostyle, and of the Corinthian order, and stands
upon an elevated basement, which was ascended by a flight
of steps. Those near the columns, which served for orna¬
ment, and also for supporting the upper part of the build¬
ing, run along the whole front of the portico. The interior
had been painted; red and black are prevailing colours.
Fragments of a colossal statue and a sun-dial were dis¬
covered. Near this temple are the ruins of what has been
conjectured to have been the granary. Adjacent to this
building is the prison, where were found the skeletons of
two men, their leg-bones still within the shackles. On
the opposite side of the temple of Jupiter stands an edifice
which has been called the Pantheon, from its having had
in the centre of its area an altar encircled with twelve
pedestals, and which, it is supposed, once supported sta¬
tues of the aristocracy of Italian mythology. The area
is 120 feet in length by 90 feet in breadth. To this
building are attached numerous cells, in all probability
for the accommodation of priests. Near to this building
were discovered 93 brass coins and statues of Nero and
Messalina.
On the northern side of the Pantheon there runs a street
named the Street of Dried Fruits, from the quantity of
fruits of various kinds preserved in glass vases which have
been found in it. Scales, money, and moulds for pastry
and bread were discovered in the shops ; and a bronze
statue of Fame was also found. On the western side of the
Forum are the Basilica, a temple supposed to have been
dedicated to Venus, and the granary and prison already
noticed. The Basilica, or court of justice, is the largest
building in Pompeii. It is of an oblong form, 220 feet in
length by 80 feet in breadth, and corresponds in some par¬
ticulars with the ancient description of that building. The
temple of Venus is the only remaining building of import¬
ance connected with the Forum. It possessed the usual
apartments, in one of which was found a painting of Bac¬
chus and Silenus in a state of perfect preservation. In
most of the paintings the colours are as vivid as when they
were first laid on.
Amongst other objects of interest, there is a broad street,
which, from various articles of jewellery having been found
there, is called the Street of the Silversmiths. On the walls
of the shops several inscriptions appear, one of which has
been thus translated:—“ The scribe Issus beseeches Marcus
Cerrinius Vatia the sedile to patronize him ; he is deserv¬
ing.” At the end of this street was discovered a skeleton,
supposed to have been that of a priest of Isis. In the
hand was a bag of coarse linen, not entirely destroyed, con¬
taining 360 silver coins, 42 of copper, and 6 "of gold.
Near him were also found various articles belonging to the
worship of Isis.
The baths of Pompeii were excavated in the year 1824.
They surpass ail the other buildings of Pompeii in magni¬
ficence, decoration, good taste, arrangement, and the state
of preservation in which they remain. They occupy a con¬
siderable space, and are divided into three separate com¬
partments ; one was for fire-places and for the use of ser¬
vants, another was for the men, and a third for the women.
rI he walls of the frigidarium are ornamented with figures ;
and the apartment is round, and altogether remarkable for
its beauty. The basin is 12 feet 10 inches in diameter,
and 2 feet 9 inches deep, and is entirely lined with white
marble. The tepidarium is divided into a number of com-
P E I I.
partments, and has also been highly ornamented. The
ceiling is adorned with figures and carvings in stucco. In
the bronze frame of the window were four beautiful panes
of glass, from which it is evident that windows of glass were
in use amongst the ancients. Glass-blowing seems to have
been better understood by them than many of the learned
are inclined to admit. This is proved by the quantities
of bottles, vases, glasses, and other utensils made of the
same material, which have been discovered in this subter¬
ranean city. The caldarium, the third, and last description
of bath made use of by the Romans, is an apartment in all
respects as highly finished and decorated as the others.
Two theatres have been excavated in Pompeii, a large
one and a small one, both displaying the remains of con¬
siderable magnificence. They are constructed after the
usual plan of a Roman theatre, and need not therefore be
described here. In the large theatre there must have been
sufficient space for 5000 persons. This theatre appears to
have been entirely covered with white marble, although
only a few fragments remain. The other theatre nearly
resembles the one here mentioned, but is much smaller,
was capable of holding 1500 spectators, and appears from
an inscription to have been permanently roofed.
Adjoining the theatres there is an edifice which, from the
style of its architecture, has been called the Greek temple,
or the temple of Hercules. It is supposed by some to be of
great antiquity, and is in a very dilapidated state. In this
quarter also is situated the temple of Isis. It is also one of
the most perfect examples now extant of the parts and
disposition of an ancient temple. In one of the rooms was
found the skeleton of a priest. Near his remains lay an
axe, from which it would appear that he had delayed his
departure till the door was choked up with the falling ashes,
and so had attempted to force his way through the walls
with the hatchet. He had already penetrated through two,
but before he could break through the third, death arrested
his flight. A number of other skeletons were here found,
and also some paintings of the priests of Isis, together with
a statue of the deity herself. In this neighbourhood stands
the temple of Alsculapius, where were found three terra¬
cotta statues of iEsculapius, Hygeia, and Priapus. Near
this is one of the most interesting buildings discovered in
Pompeii, not for its beauty, but for its contents, which prove
it to have been the abode of a sculptor. There were found
statues, some half finished, others just begun, with blocks
of marble, and all the tools required by the artist, as mallets,
compasses, chisels, saws, and the like. The amphitheatre,
which has been excavated, does not differ from other Ro¬
man buildings of the same kind. It was calculated to con¬
tain 10,000 persons.
In a street which conducts to the Forum, and is called the
Street of Fortune, an immense number of utensils have been
found. Amongst these were vases, basins and handles,
bells, elastic springs, hinges, buckles for harness, a lock,
an inkstand, gold ear-rings, a silver spoon, an oval cal¬
dron, a saucepan, a mould for pastry, a number of lamps
(about 1000 were found at the baths), and three boxes
with a slit to admit money, one of which contained coins of
Titus Vespasian and other Roman emperors. Here also
were found seven glazed plates packed in straw, a pair of
scales, and a steelyard. In other parts of the city were dis¬
covered fishing-nets, some of them quite entire, and linen
with the texture well defined. In the shop'of a baker there
was found a loaf, still retaining its original form, and with
the maker’s name stamped upon it. On the counter of an
apothecary’s shop lay a box of pills, and by the side of it
was a small cylindrical roll, evidently waiting to be cut up.
This mode of administering medicine, therefore, is of very
high antiquity. In various parts of Pompeii have been
dug up a number of bronze helmets, greaves, and other
warlike furniture; more than one candelabrum, braziers of
287
Pompeii.
288 POM
Pompeii, various sorts, vases, cooking-vessels and other kitchen
utensils, glass vessels, articles of dress, female ornaments,
and other articles of luxury.
But the relics most calculated to interest our feelings are
the remains of the human beings who perished in the great
catrastrophe. A comparatively small number of skeletons
have as yet been brought to light; and hence it is clear that
most of the inhabitants had found time to make their escape.
Besides those already mentioned, there were discovered in
the vaults of a house in the suburbs of Pompeii the skele¬
tons of seventeen individuals, who appear to have sought in
vain an asylum there from the tempestof ashes which poured
down from the sky. There was likewise preserved in the
same place a perfect cast of a woman, supposed to have been
the mistress of the house, with an infant locked in her arms.
Her form was imprinted upon the consolidated mass in
which she was entombed, but of her body only the bones
remained. To these a chain of gold was suspended, and
rings with jewels were upon the bones of the fingers. The
remains of a soldier were found in a niche, where in all pro¬
bability he was performing the office of sentinel. His hand
still grasped a lance, and the other military accoutrements
worn at the time were found beside him or upon his bones.
The architecture of Pompeii is not always in the best
taste ; yet there is much to be admired in it, both for design
and execution. At the same time, except in those quarters
where the public buildings were situated, there could have
been nothing striking or magnificent in the appearance of
the city as a whole. The houses were of small height, and
externally gloomy ; the lower part being usually a blank wall
plastered over, and often painted with different colours, and
the upper pierced with small windows to light the apart¬
ments on the first floor. Internally there is very little costly
decoration to be found, with the exception of mosaic pave¬
ments, which are numerous and extremely beautiful; and
even in the public buildings marble is of rare occurrence.
Its place, however, was not inadequately supplied by a stucco
of great beauty, equally adapted to receive paintings or to
be modelled into bas-reliefs ; and these have been found in
great abundance. The paintings are in general in a state
of perfect preservation, and have all the freshness of recent
finishing. In the Pompeian houses every species of ma¬
sonry described by Vitruvius may, it is said, be met with,
but the cheapest and least durable sorts have been gene¬
rally preferred; and by far the greater part of the private,
and many of the public edifices, are built of bricks, or of the
rough masonry which is called opus incertum. Hence arises
their rapid decay on being exposed to air. Copper, iron,
lead, and other metals have been found employed for the
same purposes as those for which we now use them ; so
that the articles discovered need not be enumerated. Al¬
most all the doorways are nearly of the same size and form,
a little more or less care in the execution of capitals and
entablatures making all the difference between them. It
is rare in Pompeii to see a whole house set apart for pur¬
poses of trade, a portion of it almost invariably furnishing
an abode for the owner. The houses of the richer classes
were usually surrounded by shops. Throughout the streets
numerous signs are to be seen upon the shops, indicative of
the trades which were pursued within. One of these repre¬
sents two men carrying an amphora, and probably served
as the sign of a wine-shop. And there is a painting of a
boy mounted upon the back of another, and undergoing a
process of flagellation; an ominous indication to all idlers
that the schoolmaster was at home.
Fountains are very numerous both in the streets and
houses of Pompeii, but it is not known from what source
or sources the city was supplied with water. But, however
obtained, the waters once brought to the city were distri¬
buted to its different quarters by conduits of masonry, lead,
or baked earthen pipes. Fountains, which appear to have
POM
been jets d’eau, have been found in several houses; and Pompey
there is a painting of one representing a broad vase with a
jet of water rising from the centre. Of the manner in which
the town was drained, and the numberless impurities carried
off, little is known satisfactorily ; but remains of a consider¬
able sewer, with minor drainages converging to it, have been
observed. The tombs line the approach to the city through
the gate of Herculaneum. They are numerous, and almost
all those which have been found are raised upon a platform
of masonry above the level of the footway. They are them¬
selves solid, elegant, and in many instances highly orna¬
mented structures.
No perfect manuscripts, nothing but mere fragments, have
been found at Pompeii. It may be mentioned that most
of the houses have received their names from the paintings
on the walls; but some have been designated from persons
of rank being present at their excavation, and from other
accidental circumstances. (See Mazois and Gau’s Les
Ruines de Pompeii, ^ vols., Paris, 1812-38; Sir William
GeWs Pompeiana, 1st series, 2 vols., London, 1824; 2d
series, 2 vols., London, 1830; Pompeii, 2 vols., 1831, by
the Society of Useful Knowledge; Pompeia, Paris, 8vo,
1855 ; Pompeji, by Overbeck, Leipsic, 1856. Also Momm¬
sen’s Inscription's Regni Neapolitani.) (j. F. s.)
POMPEY, Cneius, commonly known as “ Pompey the
Great,” was the son of Pompey Strabo, a Roman general,
and was born on the 30th September 106 b.c. His
first fame as a general was won in the great struggle against
the Marian party. Hearing in 84 B.o. that Sylla, the
leader of the opposite faction, was returning from the East,
he resolved, with the most decisive activity, to advance the
cause of that famous commander. Although only in his
twenty-third year, he succeeded in raising a force of three
legions in his family district of Picenum, marched south¬
wards, routing or terrifying all the troops that came across
his path, and at length had the honour of presenting to
the chief of his party an entire army, well equipped, and
flushed with several victories. His next act was to proceed
to Sicily for the purpose of driving out Perperna, and re¬
covering the island. No sooner had that been effected
without any opposition, than he was found in Africa de¬
feating Domitius, and reducing the savage country of Nu-
midia. The title of Magnus, and the honour of a triumph,
which were conferred upon him on his return to Rome in
81 b.c., only served to increase his military ardour. He
did not rest until, in 76 b.c., he was sent into Spain to
finish the war by subduing Sertorius, the only surviving
general of the Marian party. At first, indeed, his youthful
impetuosity was checked and repulsed by the veteran tac¬
tics of his able foe. Yet no sooner had Sertorius been
assassinated by Perperna in 72 b.c., than he annihilated
the hostile forces in one great battle, reduced the entire
peninsula shortly afterwards, and returned to Italy in 71 b.c.
to claim a second triumph. Pompey now entered upon
the meridian splendour of his career. His personal qualities
began to show themselves, and to give a fresh and exquisite
interest to the remembrance of his great exploits. In pri¬
vate he was seen to be simple in his tastes, temperate in his
habits, fond of domestic quiet, and faithful to his marriage
vows. In public he appeared a thorough-trained soldier, a
dignified general, a man of honour and integrity, gracious
in granting a favour, and prompt in giving a telling reply.
The people pampered and idolized him on every occasion.
There was no commission which could be refused to him, and
which he could not execute with honour and success.
Appointed in 67 B.c. to the great task of exterminating the
hordes of pirates who revelled in plunder and license along
the entire length of the Mediterranean, he received the un¬
divided empire of the sea and the coast, and commenced
the enterprise with all the bold decision and comprehensive
power of a mighty potentate. His numerous squadrons,
POM
Pompey. distributed along the shores, chased the corsairs out of their
Wsy—^ favourite haunts in the numerous creeks and harbours.
Then he himself, ranging the middle of the main with the
body of his fleet, swept them all eastward before him, and
bringing them to bay off the promontory of Coracesium,
completely routed them, and remained undisputed king of
the seas. Nor were his growing dominion and triumph
checked even at this stage. As soon as it was known at
Rome that he had extirpated the pirates, it was decreed
that his command should also be extended over Asia Minor
—that in fact almost the entire empire should be entrusted
to his sway. Accordingly in 66 B.c. he began his progress
through his new domains, invested with all the majesty and
awe of a virtual emperor. Wherever he marched strife and
opposition gaveway before him. Mithridates, that formidable
and inveterate foe to the Romans, fled at his approach to the
distant regions of the Cimmerian Bosphorus. Kings and
princes laid their crowns down at his footstool, and received
them again from his hand. One country after another—
Pontus, Armenia, Cappadocia, Paphlagonia, Media, Colchis,
Iberia, Albania, Syria, Cilicia, Mesopotamia, Phoenicia,
Palestine, and Judea, were compelled to submit to the
Roman yoke. He was even meditating to extend his con¬
quests as far south as the Persian Gulf, when in 62 b.c.
the intelligence of the death of Mithridates led him to con¬
sider that the chief object of the war was accomplished,
and to return with his spoils in triumph to Rome. This
triumph, in 61 B.c., was the culminating point of Pompey’s
career, and from that date his influence began to decline.
A much greater and abler man, Caius Julius Ctesar, was
now silently and successfully plotting to supplant him in
the supreme place of power. At first that wily rival art¬
fully used him as a tool. He formed the league of the first
triumvirate with him and Crassus, in order that he might
obtain by their assistance the province of Gaul. He then
gave him the hand of his daughter Julia, in order that he
might bind him still more closely to his interests. At the
same time, under the protection of these alliances, all his
energies were bent to train a veteran army which might
execute his plans by sheer physical force, to achieve a mili¬
tary renown which might inspire his foes with terror and
his friends with confidence, and to amass a treasure of
wealth which might buy him partisans in the distant city
of Rome. At length, when all his projects were ripe for
execution, he boldly demanded leave from the Senate to
stand for the consulship without appearing personally at
Rome, and on his being balked in his request, he crossed the
Rubicon at the head of his army in 49 B.c., and marched to¬
wards the city. It was then that the sad decline of Pompey’s
power became apparent. He could procure no thoroughly-
disciplined trustworthy levies, with whom he could oppose
his formidable enemy. Those who flocked to his standard
weie raw recruits, helpless senators, and luxurious and
foolhardy nobles. His army was bound together by no
spirit of mutual confidence or unity of purpose. He felt
himself compelled to leave Caesar in undisputed possession
of Italy, and to cross over in his fleet from Brundisium to
Dyrrhacium. There, too, he failed to gain any real ele¬
ments of strength. Although a year elapsed before he was
confronted by the enemy, the spirit of insubordination and
license was as prevalent in his camp as ever. Taunts and
criminations continued to be cast against his generalship.
He received no respite from blame, until he set aside his
own plans of following closely upon the hostile troops and
cutting off their supplies, and on the 9th of August 48 b.c.
drew up his line of battle on the plain of Pharsalus. The
consequence was, that his ranks were soon broken to pieces
before the hardy battalions of the foe ; his cause was totally
ruined ; and Caesar remained the undisputed master of the
world. Pompey was completely stunned by this sudden
blow of fortune, and made no attempt whatever to retrieve
VOL. XVIII.
POM
his fate. Departing from the fatal field with a few attend¬
ants, and walking silently and sadly on, he reached the
mouth of the river Peneus, and took refuge for the night in
a fishermans hovel. On the following day a Roman vessel
took him on board, and repaired to Lesbos to take in his
wife Cornelia and his boy Sextus. He then, without any
definite purpose, coasted westwards along the shores of
Asia Minor, receiving acquisitions of ships and attendants
as he proceeded. On arriving at Cyprus, it was determined
that he should seek an asylum with Ptolemy, Kino- of
Egypt, whose father he had been the means of restoring to
the throne. His friends accompanied him to the coas^ of
Pelusium, and with sad forebodings saw him entrust him¬
self to an Egyptian boat which had come out to take him
to land. Their fears were doomed to be realized. Just as
he was on the point of stepping on shore, they saw the
dastardly hirelings stab him from behind, and beheld him
calmly muffle up his face in his toga, and fall with a dignity
that was worthy of Pompey the Great.
Pompey, Sextus, surnamed “ Magnus,” after his father,
was the younger son of Pompey the Great, and Mucia, and
was born in 75 b.c. He first appeared on the field of ac¬
tion immediately after his elder brother Cneius had been
defeated by Caesar at Munda in 45 b.c. He then deter¬
mined to take up the sword that had fallen from his brother’s
hand, and to devote his life to the avenging of his father’s
death, and to the recovery of his patrimony in Italy. Ac¬
cordingly no time was lost in escaping to the border terri¬
tory of the Lacetani, and in rallying around him in the
mountain fastnesses a gang of banditti and desperadoes.
In the course of a short period his band had swelled into
an army, and his stealthy depredations had been exchanged
for open and aggressive warfare. He marched southward,
overwhelming all opposition, until he gained a firm footing
in Baetica, and assumed the state and authority of a petty
sovereign. Caius Carrinas and Asinius Pollio, the succes¬
sive governors of the invaded province, tried in vain to
crush him. Equally in vain was the attempt of the go¬
vernment at Rome to wheedle him into a surrender of his
arms. Manning a fleet, he steered for the neighbourhood
of Massilia, and lay off the coast, awaiting the issue of the
political turmoil which had followed the death of Caesar.
When the result was announced in 43 b.c., and he per¬
ceived that a second triumvirate was formed, and that his
own name was among the number of the proscribed, his
future plan of action was determined. There was no resource
for him but to resort to piracy, and become as daring a sea-
king as he had formerly been a brigand chief. His mari¬
ners therefore commenced to board traffickers, and to make
descents upon cities, with telling effect. Corsica, Sardinia,
and Sicily fell into his power ; Rome was reduced to the
point of starvation by his interception of their corn-ships ;
and the triumvirs were at their wits’ end how to deal with
him. The negotiation which was held off the promontory
of Misenum in 39 B.c. eventually proved fruitless. The
attempts to subdue him by force were also signally foiled in
the sea-fights at Cumae and Messana. It was not until
Octavian strained every effort to extirpate this pest of the
sea that the aspect of the contest began to change. Then,
indeed, the doom of Sextus Pompey was virtually sealed.
A Roman squadron, under Agrippa, annihilated his fleet
off Naulochus in 36 b.c. Forced to flee for safety, he re¬
paired to the coast of Asia Minor only to involve himself
in greater perils. A plot which he had formed for seizing
the eastern provinces was detected ; Titus, the legate of
Antony, overtook him in his flight towards Armenia; and
after being carried to Miletus, he was put to death in 35 b.c.
POMPEIUS, Trogus. See Trogus.
POMPONIUS MELA. See Mela.
POMP 1INE or PONTINE MARSHES {Pomptince
Paludes) was the name given to the extensive fens in the
2 o
290
PON
PON
Ponany south of Latium, on account of their vicinity to the town
II _ of Suessa Pometia. They covered a space which was 7 or 8
^)ndl' miles in breadth, and which extended in a south-easterly
c erry- ^ (jirection to the length of about 30 miles. On the W. a
desolate tract of sandy downs, diversified with clumps ot
trees and lagoons, separated them from the sea. On the other
side they were hemmed in by the dry slopes of the
Volscian Hills. Through the level district thus inclosed
the Amasenus (Amaseno), the Ufens {Uffente), and other
streams from the neighbouring high lands, took their course,
creeping sluggishly along, spreading their ooze and slime
over the entire dead flat, changing the ground into one
large quaking bog, and sending up disease, pestilence, and
death into the overhanging air. This immense stagnant
pool continued for many centuries to swamp and swallow
up all attempts to reclaim the soil from its dominion. In
312 b.C. the censor Appius Claudius Caecus, while carry¬
ing his famous Via Appia directly through the middle of
it, diverted the water into various channels; but in no long
time the streams had risen above these, and filled them all
up with mud. Many years afterwards, Augustus cleared
and repaired the choked-up drains; but the silent sapping
of the floods soon destroyed them once more. Equally
vain were the successive efforts of several emperors and
many popes to convert this scene of noisome desolation
into a dry and habitable region. Highwaymen, footpads,
and desperadoes were the only persons who ventured to
dwell in it. The waters also continued steadily to increase,
until the Appian Way, with its arches and bridges, was
completely submerged. It was not until the pontificate of
Pius VI. that the attempts at draining were in any degree
successful. Canals were then dug which effectively carried
off the floods, and which have been able, with occasional
repairs, to keep the greater part of the plain dry down to
the present day. Rich pastures and fertile corn-fields now
extend over a large portion of that space which was once
covered with soaking and barren mud.
PONANY, a seaport town of British India, in the dis¬
trict of Malabar, presidency of Madras, on the south side of
a river of the same name, at its mouth in the Arabian Sea,
34 miles S. by E. of Calicut. It is a straggling place, built
on level sandy ground; and it contains no fewer than 40
mosques, being inhabited chiefly by Mohammedans. Some
of the houses are well built of stone, two storeys high, but
the most of them are mere huts. The inhabitants live by
fishing and trade. The latter is chiefly carrried on by the
patemars or sea-going boats of the natives, in which they
sail to Madras, Bombay, and even as far as Arabia or Bengal.
The chief exports are pepper, rice, cocoa-nuts, iron, and
timber; the imports, wheat, sugar-canes, molasses, spices,
salt, &c. Pop. about 10,000.
PONCE, Pedro, a Spanish Benedictine monk who
lived in the middle of the sixteenth century, was celebrated
as the inventor of the art of teaching the dumb to speak.
His principal pupils were two brothers and a sister of the
constable of Castile, and a son of the gran justicia of Ara¬
gon. They learned not only to write correctly, but even
to express themselves by an articulate living voice. One
of them, Don Pedro de Velasco, although he died at the
age of twenty, had become a proficient in Greek, and a
fluent writer and speaker of Latin. Another, assuming
the garb of a Benedictine monk, was able to preach, and
to go through all the other oral exercises of his calling.
POND, John, an astronomer, was born about 1767,
succeeded Maskelyne as astronomer-royal in 1811, and
died in 1836. (For an account of his contributions to the
advancement of science, see Dissertation Sixth.)
PONDICHERRY (Fr. Pondicherie), a town of India,
and the capital of the French possessions there, on the E.
coast of the Carnatic, 85 miles S. by W. of Madras; N.
LaU 11.56., E. Long. 79.54. It is built at the S.E. extre¬
mity of a long flat hill, quite close to the beach, and to the Poniatow.
mouth of a small river. From the sea it presents a grand ski.
and conspicuous appearance ; nor is the visitor disappointed
on a nearer approach, as it has straight and regular streets,
a handsome square planted with trees, and fine boulevards.
It is divided into the White and the Black Town by a canal,
which is crossed by elegant bridges. 4 he former part,
which lies to the east, consists of lofty flat-roofed houses,
with gardens in front. The Black Town is regularly laid
out, but it consists for the most part of mere huts. The
most notable buildings are the splendid government palace,
the church of foreign missions, and the bazaars, which were
erected in 1836. In the Black Town the most conspicuous
edifice is an enormous and grotesque pagoda. Pondicherry
has no harbour; and as there is a shallow bar, where the
surge is very violent, peculiarly constructed boats with flat
bottoms are necessary for landing. The river can only
admit the very smallest craft. Abreast the town is a pretty
good roadstead ; and there is a lighthouse (finished in 1836)
89 feet high, and visible in clear weather 16 or 17 miles.
Pondicherry has some cotton factories; and rice, indigo,
and sugar are raised in the adjacent country. Fishing is
also actively pursued, and there is an extensive trade.
The territory of Pondicherry, which has an area of 106
square miles, and is inclosed within the British district of
South Arcot, consists of the three districts of Pondicherry,
containing, besides the capital, eleven villages; \ allanor,
containing forty-five villages; and Bahour, containing thirty-
six villages. The executive and legislative establishment
consists of a governor, a council of administration, and a
council-general; the judicial establishment includes a royal
court, a tribunal of the first instance, and a tribunal of peace
and police. The governors of the other French possessions
in India are subject to that of Pondicherry. The first
French settlement here took place in 1674, they having^
purchased the town two years before from the Rajah ot
Bejapoor. In 1693 the place was taken by the Dutch;
but restored, with its fortifications much improved, by the
peace of Ryswick in 1697. Pondicherry was attacked by
a British fleet and army in 1748, but without success, and
the siege had to be raised. In 1758 Count Lally arrived
here, and commenced vigorous measures against the British.
Fort St David, Arcot, and the town of Madras fell succes¬
sively before the French arms; but Fort St George, the
citadel of Madras, held out till it was relieved, and Lally
was obliged to retreat to Pondicherry. Subsequently the
fortune of the war turned decisively against the French:
Pondicherry was besieged, forced to surrender, and razed
to the ground; while the other French posts in the Car¬
natic met with a similar fate. Along with their other pos¬
sessions in the Carnatic, Pondicherry was restored to the
French in 1763; and though subsequently more than once
captured by the British, it was finally secured to France in
1814. Pnn. nf thp town from 25.000 to 30.000; of the
district (1856), 119,755.
PONIATOWSKI, Prince Joseph, the nephew of
Stanislaus, the last king of Poland, was born at Warsaw in
1763, and was trained to the profession of arms in the
Austrian service. His life from early manhood was conse¬
crated to the cause of national liberty. In 1792 he led the
Polish troops against the Russians; in 1794 he fought for
freedom under the banners of Kosciusko ; and on the defeat
of his cause he went into exile, refusing to come to terms
with the oppressors of his country. The arrival of Napo¬
leon in Warsaw brought him once more into the field of
patriotic action. Identifying the cause of his country with
that of the great conqueror and deposer of kings, he devoted
himself henceforth to the service of the French emperor.
The command of the fifth corps of the “ grand army ’ was
entrusted to him in the fatal invasion of Russia; he gained
fresh laurels on several fields during the campaign of 1813;
i
PON
Pons and he was discharging the important commission of pro-
11 tecting the retreat of the French army, when he was
Pont St drowned in the river Elster in October of the same year.
Esprit. PONS, a town of F ranee, in the department of Charente-
^ Inferieure, stands on the left bank of the Seugne, 14 miles
S.S.E. of Saintes. It has the remains of an old castle, now
used as a prison, with a square tower 108 feet high, an
ecclesiastical school, and an orphan hospital. Dyeing, tan¬
ning, and the manufacture of woollen stuffs are carried on
here; and there is some trade in wines and brandies. Pop.
4765.
Pons, St, a town of France, capital of an arrondissement
in the department of Herault, on the Jaur, an affluent of
the Orb, 60 miles W. of Montpellier. It is well built,
chiefly of variegated marble, quarried in the vicinity. The
church, of this material, is historically of some interest. St
Pons has also an ecclesiastical school, a communal college,
a tribunal of the first instance, manufactories of woollen
cloth, dye-works, tanneries, saw and flour mills, &c. There
is some trade in corn and cattle. Iron mines, as well as
marble quarries, are worked in the vicinity. Pop. (1856)
6512.
PONT-A-MOUSSON, a town of France, in the de¬
partment of Meurthe, on the Moselle, here crossed by a
bridge, from which the town takes its name, 16 miles N.
of Nancy. On a hill to the east stand the ruins of the
old castle of Mousson. The ramparts with which the town
was surrounded are now public walks planted with trees.
The principal square, which is lined with arcades, contains
an old house, called the “ House of the Seven Deadly Sins,”
from the curious sculptures on its front. The chief public
edifices are the Gothic church of the thirteenth century, the
town-hall, cavalry barracks, and the seminary occupying the
buildings of the ancient abbey of St Mary. Pont-ti-Mous-
son has also an hospital, tanneries, breweries, potteries,
sugar-houses, and some trade in corn, wine, brandy, &c.
Pop. 7843.
PONT-AUDEMER, a town of France, capital of an
arrondissement in the department of Eure, on the left
bank of the Rille, which here becomes navigable, 38 miles
N.W, of Evrua. It is a prettily-situated, clean, and well-
built town, surrounded with walls and ditches. Here tan¬
ning is the staple employment of the people ; there are no
fewer than forty lanyards, besides currieries and establish¬
ments for dressing leather. Even one of the churches,
that of Notre Dame des Pres, has been converted into a
tan-house. This building, and the churches of St Germain
in the suburbs, and of St Ouen and St Sepulchre, are archi¬
tecturally interesting. Pont-Audemer has also public baths
and a small theatre. There is some trade in hides, leather,
corn, cider, flax, and other articles. Pop. (1856) 5832.
PON TARLIER, a frontier towm of P'rance, in the de¬
partment of Doubs, stands on the river Doubs, at the foot
of one of the chains of the Jura, and at the entrance of a
mountain pass leading into Switzerland, 35 miles S.E. of
Besan^on. It has much of the appearance of a Swiss town,
with its neatly-built houses arranged in broad straight
streets. Its town-hall, college, market-house, and cavalry
barracks, are its chief buildings. There are here large
iron foundries and furnaces, a copper foundry, a brewery,
saw-mills, and tan-yards ; besides manufactories of scythes
and other implements. Some trade is carried on in horses,
cattle, marble, timber, clock-work, essence of wormwood,
paper, &c. Pop. (1856) 4783.
PONT ST ESPRIT, a town of France, in the depart¬
ment of Gard, on the right bank of the Rhone, 32 miles
N.E. of Nismes. It derives its present name (for it was
formerly called St Saturniri) from the great bridge which
crosses the broad and rapid river, and which is the longest
stone bridge in the world, being 2717 feet, or three times
as long as London Bridge. It crosses the river obliquely,
PON
and has 23 arches, varying in size, the largest beino- 108
feet wide. It was finished in 1309, after 45 years of
labour \ and the cost was partly defrayed by offerings made
at a small chapel of the Holy Ghost at one of its ends. The pontefract.
town is ill built, with narrow irregular streets ; it is de-
fended by ramparts, and by a citadel built by Louis XIII.
against the Protestants. There is here a good harbour, and
some trade in wine, oil, fruits, provisions, &c. Pop. 5538.
PONTECORVO, a town of the Papal States, in an
isolated district of the same name belonging to the province
of Frosinone, but surrounded by the Neapolitan province of
Terra di Lavoro, on the left bank of the Garigliano, 20
miles S.E. of Frosinone. It is the seat of a bishop, and
has a mediaeval castle, a cathedral, a fine bridge, and an
hospital. In the vicinity there are some remains of the
ancient Interamna. Pop. 5300.
PONTEFRACT, or Pomfret, a parliamentary and
municipal borough and market-town of England, in the
Mest Riding of Yorkshire, on an eminence near the Aire,
24 miles S.S.W. of York, and 177 N.N.W. of London.
The original appellation of the town was Kirkbymxdev the
Saxons ; but it obtained its present name (from the Latin
poyis fractus) on account of the breaking of a bridge over
the Aire. A castle, the remains of which still exist, was
built here in 1080 by Ilbert de Lacy, who received from
William the Conqueror a grant of the adjacent lands. In
the beginning of the fourteenth century it passed by mar¬
riage to Thomas, Earl of Lancaster, uncle to Edward II.,
who was executed here by his nephew in 1322. Several
important historical events took place in the castle of Pon¬
tefract ; as the murder of Richard II. in 1399, the execution
of Archbishop Scrope for rebellion against Henry IV. in
1405, and the murder of Lord Rivers and others by order
of Richard III. in 1483. During the civil war the castle
was garrisoned for Charles I. by Colonel Lowther; be¬
sieged in vain by Lambert in 1644 ; surrendered to Fair¬
fax in 1645; retaken in 1648 by Colonel Morrice, who
first issued money in the name of Charles II. here ; and
finally captured and destroyed by Lambert in 1649. It
seems to have consisted of several towers; the remains are
very few, and the site is now occupied by gardens. The
town is well built, chiefly of brick, and has several broad
well-paved and well-cleaned streets. The parish church is
old, but has been very much altered. The old church of
All Saints, formerly the parish church, is cruciform, and
has a fine tower. It has recently been restored and fitted
up for public worship. Besides these, there are places of
worship in Pontefract for Roman Catholics, Independents,
Quakers, Wesleyan and Primitive Methodists. Of several
ecclesiastical establishments, colleges, and hospitals, that
formerly existed here, no traces now remain. There is here
a town-hall and a commodious court-house, in which the
Easter quarter sessions are held. There is a free grammar
school with an interest in several exhibitions to Oxford, a
charity school, national and British schools, a subscription
library, mechanics’ library, news-room, and savings-bank.
The charitable institutions include a dispensary, poor-house,
and several almshouses. The surrounding country is cele¬
brated for its gardens and nurseries, from which vegetables
are supplied to York, Leeds, Doncaster, and other places.
Liquorice is extensively raised on the deep rich soil of this
district. There are also coal-mines and flour-mills in the
neighbourhood,andfiltering’stones arequarried on the castle-
hill. Though not remarkable for its manufactures, Ponte¬
fract produces hats, iron and brass castings, earthenware,
bricks, tiles, beer, &c. There is some trade in liquorice,
malt, corn, &c.; and eight annual cattle-markets are held
at Pontefract. The borough is governed by a mayor, three
other aldermen, and twelve councillors ; and it returns two
members to the House of Commons. Pop. (1851) of the
municipal borough, 5106 ; of the parliamentary, 11,515.
291
Ponte-
corvo
292 PON
Ponte La- PONTE LAGOSCURO, a town of the Papal States,
goscuro jn the province of Ferrara, on the Po, 4 miles N. of Ferrara.
II . It has a free harbour, and an active transit trade. Pop. 6000.
danT’ PONTEVEDRA. See Galicia.
v, ^ , PONTEVICO, a town of Austrian Italy, in the province
” of Brescia, on the Oglio, 20 miles S.S.W. of Brescia. It
is an old walled town, and has a ruined castle, formerly very
strong. Many of the houses are well built. There is much
manufacturing industry; and an active trade is carried on
in corn and wine. Pop. 5870.
PONTIANAK, a town in the Island of Borneo, at the
mouth of a river of the same name on the W. coast, 391
miles E.S.E. of Singapore, almost under the equator, in E.
Long. 109. 20. It is the seat of the governor of the Dutch
possessions of the W. coast of Borneo, and of a tributary
sultan. Though built on marshy ground the climate is
healthy; and the town is chiefly remarkable for its com¬
merce. There are many Chinese here, who export dia¬
monds, gold-dust, birds’ nests, and other articles. Pop. of
the town, 3000; of the district, 19,115, chiefly Malays.
Pontianak was settled in 1823.
PONTIFEX, Pontiff, or High Priest (probably from
pons, a bridge, and facere, to sacrifice), a person among
the Romans who had the direction and superintendence of
divine worship. The Roman pontiffs, which formed the
most illustrious among the great colleges of priests were
supposed to be founded by Numa. A pontifex might hold
any other office, whether military, civil, or priestly, pro¬
vided they did not interfere with one another. The college
of pontiffs, which was always ruled over by the emperors,
continued to exist until the overthrow of paganism, when
the title was assumed by the Christian bishop of Rome,
and subsequently by the Pope.
PONTIVY, a town of France, capital of an arrondisse-
ment in the department of Morbihan, on the left bank of the
Blavet, 30 miles N. by W. of Vannes. It is ancient, and
has still some remains of the old walls and gates. A new
quarter was added by Napoleon I., who gave the town the
name of ISapoleonville. On the restoration of the Bour¬
bons the old name was resumed ; but recently it has again
been called Napoleonville, and is given under that name
in the census of 1856. The chief building in the town is
the picturesque but ruinous old castle of the dukes of Rohan.
The new portion lies outside the walls, and has broad re¬
gular streets; but being unfinished, it has a desolate appear¬
ance. Pontivy has a prison and very handsome cavalry
barracks. It contains numerous tanneries, and has an
active trade in corn, linen, thread, horses, cattle, hides,
leather, &c. Pop. (1856) 6859.
PONTOISE, a town of France, capital of an arrondisse-
ment in the department of Seine-et-Oise, on the side of a
steep hill on the right bank of the Oise, 18 miles N.W. of
Paris. The river is here crossed by a bridge, whence the
town derives its name (Pont Oise, Oise bridge). Remains
of the castle and walls that formerly defended the town
still exist. The streets are in general steep and narrow.
There is an interesting church in various styles of archi¬
tecture ; a Gothic court-house, a public library, and a splen¬
did hospital. Pontoise has also a college and several
schools. Clocks and watches, chemical substances, cotton
yarn, leather, &c., are manufactured here; and there are
many corn-mills turned by the Oise and its affluent the
Vionne. Pop. (1856) 5366.
PONTOON, a kind of flat-bottomed boat, the body of
which is composed of wood lined without and within with
tin. Pontoons serve for the construction of bridges over
rivers to facilitate military operations. Our pontoons are
21 feet in length, 5 feet in breadth, and in depth within 2
feet P5 inches.
PON 1 OPPIDAN, Eric, a learned Dutch writer, was
born at Aarhuus in Jutland in 1698, and studied divinity
PON
at the university of Copenhagen. His passion for the study Pontremoli
of geography and history was encouraged by a consider- ||
able amount of patronage. On finishing his education he p°ntus.
was appointed travelling tutor to several young noblemen;
in 1735 the office of one of the king’s chaplains was con¬
ferred upon him ; in 1738 he was promoted to a theological
chair at Copenhagen; and in 1747 the bishopric of Bergen
in Norway was entrusted to his charge. Accordingly, at his
death in 1764, he left behind him various works on the
typography and annals of his native country. Among these
were Theatrum Danice Veteris et Modernce, 4to, 1830;
and Gesta et Vestigia Danorum extra Daniam, in 2 vols.
8vo, 1740. He was also the author of a work on the
natural history of Norway, which was translated into Eng¬
lish in 1755.
PONTREMOLI, a town of the duchy of Parma, stands
at the confluence of the Magra and Verde, on the southern
slope of the Apennines, 36 miles S.W. of Parma. It con¬
sists of an upper and lower town ; the upper is ancient,
defended by a castle and massive picturesque fortifications;
the lower town has a more modern aspect, and contains a
cathedral and many good houses. There is here an epis¬
copal seminary, a literary society, and several schools.
The weaving of silk and linen stuffs is the principal branch
of industry. Pontremoli was formerly an important place,
commanding one of the chief passes of the Apennines
between Tuscany and Lombardy. It belonged at one time
to tbe Genoese, at another to Milan, and previously to
1847, when it was ceded to Parma, it formed a part of
Tuscany. Pop. 10,600.
PONTUS, an ancient kingdom in the N.E. of Asia
Minor, which derived its name from its being on the Pon-
tus Euxinus, extending from the River Colchis in the
east to the River Halys in the west. In early times its
various parts were designated after the tribes which inha¬
bited them. The most important of those tribes are,—•
the Leucosyri, Tibareni, Chalybes, Mosynceci, Heptaco-
metse, Drilae, Bechires, Byzeres, Colchi, Macrones, Mares,
Taochi, and Phasiani. From the middle of the seventh
century B.C., many of those tribes inhabiting the coast rose
to great power and opulence, spreading Greek culture and
civilization around them; while many of those of the in¬
terior were extremely savage and wild. According to tra¬
dition it was conquered by Ninus, founder of the Assyrian
empire; and it was certainly under the Persian dominion
after the time of Cyrus the Great. In the reign of Arta-
xerxes II., Ariobarzanes conquered several of the Pontian
tribes, and laid the foundation of an independent kingdom.
Mithridates II. succeeded him B.c. 337, who, by availing
himself of the disputes of the successors of Alexander,
considerably enlarged his dominions. He was followed by
Mithridates III., by Ariobarzanes III., by Mithridates IV.,
by Pharnaces L, and by Mithridates V. Under Mithri¬
dates VI., from b.c. 120 to b.c. 63 (see Mithridates), the
kingdom of Pontus rose to its highest dignity. In his
war with the Romans his kingdom was dismembered by
Pompey, B.c. 65, who annexed the western part of the
nation, and gave the remainder to the native chiefs. A
portion between the Iris and the Halys was given to the
Galatian Deiotarus, which was henceforth called Pontus
Galaticus. The Colchiansand other tribes received a king
in the person of Aristarchus. Pharnaces II., son of Mith¬
ridates, received the Crimea and some neighbouring districts,
under the name of Bosphorus; and the central part of the
Pontian kingdom, subsequently given to Polemon, was
henceforth termed Pontus-Polemoniacus. The widow of
Polemon, on her marriage with Archelaus, King of Cappa¬
docia, transferred to him the eastern part of the kingdom,
subsequently called Pontus Cappadocius. On occasion of
Polemon II., son and successor to Polemon I., resigning
his kingdom into the hands of Nero, Pontus was made a
PON
Roman province a.d. 63. In the changes which transpired
under Constantine, the province was divided into two parts,
—viz., Helenopontus after the emperor’s mother Helena,
and Pontus Polemaicus.
Pontus embraced the modern pashaliks of Trebizond
and Siwas. The country was surrounded by mountains,
and the plains were highly fertile. It grew excellent fruit,—
cherries, apples, pears, various sorts of grain, timber, olives,
and aconite. Game was found in abundance; and the
bees were much valued. The mineral wealth of the country
consisted chiefly of iron and salt. The chief mountains
of Pontus are the Pharyadres, and on the east Sccedises,
two ranges of Antitaurus, sending off various branches.
Proceeding from W. to E. we have the promontories He-
racleium, Jasonium, and Zephyrium, which form the bays
of Amisus and Cotyora. The mountains of the south give
rise to the Halys, Lycastus, Chadisius, Iris, Scylax, Lycus,
fhermodon, Beris, Thoaris, CEnius, Phigamus, Sidenus,
Genethes, Melanthius, Pharmathenus, Hyssus, Ophis, As-
curus, Adienus, Zagatis, Prytanis, Pyxites, Archabis,
Apsarus, Acampis, Bathys, Acinasis, Isis, Mogrus, and the
Phasis. To the west, north of the river Scylax, is the lake
called by the ancients the Stiphane Palus“
PONT \ POOL (said to be a corruption of Pont-ap-
Hywel, Howell’s Bridge), a market-town of England, in
the county of Monmouth, stands in the midst of mountains,
on a steep hill on the right bank of the Afon Llwyd, an
affluent of the Usk, 19 miles S.W. of Monmouth, and 149
W. by N. of London. It is straggling and irregularly built,
but contains many good houses and shops. The parish
church, which stands on a hill about a mile from the town,
is a fine building in the early English style, with a square
embattled tower. The Wesleyans, Independents, Roman
Catholics, and other sects, have also places of worship here.
There are, besides, national and infant schools, a reading-
room, and a savings-bank. The prosperity of the town is
derived chiefly from the manufacture of iron and tin wares
which is carried on here, and from the coal-pits and iron
mines that are worked in the vicinity. From the rapid
extension of these sources of employment, the population
of the town and parish has also rapidly increased. Weekly
markets and annual fairs are held at Pontypool; and there
is some trade in iron and coal. Pop. (1851) 3708.
PONZ, Antonio, an industrious and useful writer on
art, was born at Bexix, near Segorbe in Valencia, in 1725.
He was educated for the church; but a strong bias turned
his mind from his professional studies to the fine arts and
kindred subjects. While finishing his theological course
at Valencia, he took lessons in painting from Richarte.
After he had gained the degree of Doctor of Divinity, he
placed himself as a pupil at the provisional academy at
Madrid, and studied there from 1746 to 1751. His pre¬
dilection for the antique then led him to Italy ; and the next
nine years were spent in imitating the great masters at
Rome. . On his return to his native country he was still
continuing to improve himself in art, and was copying Ra¬
phael, Paul Veronese, and Guido, in the Escorial, when a
new sphere of labour was opened up to him. Commis¬
sioned by government to visit the colleges of the ejected
Jesuits, and to collect whatever valuable works of art might
be found there, Ponz began to write an account of his
observations and travels. It soon appeared that he was
even better fitted for this task than for painting. His style,
it is true, was sluggish, dull, and prolix. His mind also
observed no method, loitered over every object that chanced
to fall in its way, and was allured by every accidental cir¬
cumstance into the most irrelevant digressions. Yet he
was an inquisitive, indefatigable, and candid investigator.
Especially were his zeal and his fidelity commendable in
describing works of art, and in rescuing the names of many
artists from oblivion. The book accordingly met with a
POO
very favourable reception. The first seventeen volumes,
which appeared during the author’s lifetime, were the
means of securing for him much patronage and honour till
his death in 1792. The entire work, published after his
death in a complete form, under the title of TW de Es
pana, 18 vols., 1772-94, took the first place as a guide¬
book to Spain. It is only within recent years that it has
been superseded by the English hand-book of the late
Richard Ford.
, (anciently Pontid), the largest and only in-
habited island of a small group in the Mediterranean, lyino-
off the coast of Naples, included in the province of Terra di
Lavoro, and 29 miles S.W. of Terracina. It is crescent¬
shaped, 5 miles long and 1 or 2 broad, and has a natural
harbour on the concave side, which looks towards the main-
land. Near the harbour stand a castle, governor’s house
storehouses, and a few houses and huts. The surface is
entirely rocky, and generally barren ; but there are some
good pastures for cattle. Ihe inhabitants are chiefly em¬
ployed in fishery and salt-works. Pop. 1500. The other
islands of the group are Palmarola and Zannone. Ponza
and Palmarola were used as places of banishment by the
Romans.
POOLE, a municipal and parliamentary borough, sea¬
port, and market-town of England, forming a county by
itself, in Dorsetshire, on a peninsula on the N. side of
Poole harbour, 20 miles E. of Dorchester, and 97 W.S.W.
of London. It is an old town, built for the most part of
red brick, and somewhat resembling Sheerness and Ports¬
mouth. The streets are irregular, and many parts of the
town have a mean appearance ; but the more modern por¬
tions are well and substantially built. The parish church
of St James (rebuilt in 1812), the custom-house, town-hall,
guild-hall, jail, and an old edifice called the King’s Hall or
wool-house, are the principal public buildings in the town.
J he Independents, Baptists, Wesleyan and Primitive Me¬
thodists, Unitarians, Roman Catholics, and Quakers, have
places of worship in Poole; and there are also National
and British schools, a free grammar school, a public li¬
brary, a savings-bank, and several well-endowed almshouses.
J he peninsula on which Poole stands is lined towards the
sea with broad and convenient quays and warehouses.
Shipbuilding is extensively carried on especially the con¬
struction of sailing-yachts ; sail-cloth, ropes, and other ar¬
ticles used in ships are also made here. The number of
sailing-vessels registered at Poole, December 31, 1857, was
113, tonnage 15,445; of steam-vessels 1, tonnage 22. In
the year 1857 there entered the port 751 sailing-vessels,
tonnage 61,514; and there cleared 517 sailing-vessels, ton¬
nage 31,183, and 1 steamer, tonnage 18. Poole harbour
is an extensive estuary, communicating with the sea by a
very narrow entrance. It is 6 miles in length, and 4 or 5
in breadth, and has a very irregular outline. The water is
shallow throughout, and there are many mud-banks laid
bare at low water. A fine view is obtained from the town
and its vicinity of the harbour, the beautiful island of
Brownsea, the extensive heaths which spread around,
the bold chalk range on the south, in a deep cleft of
which stand the ruins of Corfe Castle. North of the town
is a smaller arm of the sea, called Holes Bay, connected
with the harbour by a narrow channel, which is crossed by
a swing bridge. It is remarkable that the tides in Poole
harbour ebb and flow twice in twelve hours. This is
caused by the position of the entrance facing the E., and
by the ebb tide from the Isle of Wight forcing the water
up into the bay. On a bank near the harbour’s mouth
many oysters are obtained, and taken to the shores of Kent
and Essex to be fattened. The fishing of plaice and her¬
ring is also carried on at Poole ; and there is a considerable
trade in the export of corn and clay. It is supposed that
there was a harbour at Poole as early as the time of the
293
Ponza
Poole.
294 POO POO
Poole Romans, as there are traces of a Roman road between it
II and Winchester. The town received its first charter in the
00na‘ , time of Richard L, but it was Elizabeth who raised it from
being a mere fishing village to the rank of a town and
county. In the civil war, Poole, then a fortified place, was
held by the republican party; and in the reign of Charles
II. its fortifications were destroyed. The borough is go¬
verned by a mayor, five other aldermen, and eighteen
councillors; and it returns two members to Parliament.
Pop. (1851) 9255.
POOLE, Matthew, the learned author of the well-known
Synopsis Criticorum Biblicorum, was born at York in
1624, where he inherited a good family estate. He was
educated at Emmanuel College, Cambridge, and was after¬
wards transferred in 1648 to succeed Anthony Tuckeney
in St Michael le Querne, London. He held this rectory for
some time, but was compelled to leave it, being unable to
comply with the terms of ministerial conformity imposed
by the Act of Uniformity just passed. Before this time he
had been actively and successfully engaged in a project for
the education of those intending for the ministry, of which,
in 1658, he printed an account, entitled A Model for
the Maintaining of Students of Choice Abilities in the
University, and principally in order to the Ministry. In
1662, being ejected from his living for Nonconformity,
he had leisure to complete the great work by which his
name has become so extensively known. The design was
to bring into one view all that had been written to illustrate
the Scriptures throughout all ages. This he completed in
ten years; and the Synopsis Criticorum Biblicorum ap¬
peared in 5 vols. in 1669-76. He was likewise engaged
in most of the controversies of his time. He attacked
Biddle on Socinianism, published a defence of the Non-
conforming clergy in 1662, wrote against the intrusion of
laymen into the ministerial office, and numerous pieces in
opposition to Popery. His last work was Annotations on
the Holy Bible, which he had carried as far as the 58th
chapter of Isaiah. It was subsequently completed by seve¬
ral of his Nonconforming brethren, and appeared in 2 vols.
folio, 1685. This very able critic retired to Holland in
quest of toleration, and died at Amsterdam in 1679.
POONA, a town of British India, capital of a collector-
ate of the same name in the presidency of Bombay, stands
at the confluence of the rivers Moota and the Moola, which
form the Moota Moola, in a treeless plain bounded on the
W. by the Ghauts, 74 miles S.E. of Bombay, and 58 N. of
Sattara. Until recently it was an ill-built place, having more
of the appearance of a village than of a town ; but since
1841 it has been much improved: two good stone bridges,
instead of the ruinous old Mahratta one, have been thrown
across the Moota Moola; many good and some splendid
houses have been built; and the streets adjacent to the can¬
tonments on the east have been macadamized.. The chief
building in the town is the former palace of the Peishwa,
now used as a prison, hospital, and lunatic asylum. It is
extensive, and consists of a fine quadrangle lined with
ranges of carved wooden pillars. The British cantonments,
which occupy an elevated position to the west of the town,
are among the best and largest in India. Here there are
broad streets, and a large but not very elegant church. The
chief street in the town is broad, and presents a cheerful
appearance, as many of the houses are adorned with painted
and carved representations of mythological subjects. Poona
contains numerous pagodas and extensive bazaars. The
town has long suffered from the want of an adequate supply
of water, and various efforts have been made to procure it.
It was resolved to obtain a sufficient supply from the Moota
Moola by means of a dam; and this was completed, after
several failures, in 1850, chiefly at the expense of Sir
Jansetjee Jejeebhoy. But after all, these works were found
to be unsuitable to the end in view; they had to be aban¬
doned, and other measures resorted to for supplying the Poona,
town with water. There was at Poona a government Eng-
lish school, which has recently been united with the San¬
scrit College, established in 1821, This institution had in
1853, 497 pupils. The town has also three girls’ schools,
all established since 1851, and attended in 1853 by 237
pupils in all. The manufactures of Poona have fallen
off very much since the introduction of European goods;
and there is only now a manufacture of paper to a very
small extent. There is a profitable trade carried on in
grain and the rawr produce of the country ; but with this
exception, the merchants of Poona are said to be declining
in wealth ; and the trade in jewellery and precious stones
which, under its Indian rulers, was carried on here, has
entirely disappeared. In the neighbourhood of the town
there are many ruinous hill-forts and an excavated temple,
similar, but greatly inferior, to those of Elephanta and
Ellora. Poona stands on the south-eastern branch of the
Great Indian Peninsular Railway, and is connected by
roads with Bombay, Sholapore, Ahmednuggur, Nassick, and
Sattara. Communication by water can be carried on dur¬
ing the rainy season by means of the Moota Moola, Bhee-
ma, and Krishna rivers, from within 75 miles of the west
coast of India to the Bay of Bengal.
Poona was, in the flourishing period of the Mahratta
power, a great place of rendezvous for the different inde¬
pendent chiefs, with their numerous followers, in order to
consult on the general interests of the confederacy, and,
when at war, to settle the plan of operations. These
meetings were held about the middle of October, at the
end of the rainy season, and were sometimes attended by
400,000 or 500,000 people, who were encamped in the sur¬
rounding plain, and were well supplied with every neces¬
sary, such as wood, grain, and fodder, which were brought
down the rivers. At the height of the Mahratta power
Poona is said to have contained 1^0,000 inhabitants ; and
at its fall in 1818, 11,000. The population in 1838 was
estimated at 75,170.
The collectorate of Poona, which has an area of 5298
square miles, is bounded on the N. by the collectorate of
Ahmednuggur, E. by those of Ahmednuggur and Shola¬
pore, S. by the territory of Sattara, and W. by the collec¬
torate of Tannah. It belongs entirely to the Deccan ; and
is bounded on the W. by the Western Ghauts, from which
many branches proceed, generally in a S.E. direction, slop¬
ing gradually down to the plain. The chief rivers are the
Bheema and its affluents, the largest of which is the Neera.
The soil and climate of the country are extremely arid, and
the east winds especially very dry; but the climate in general
is not unhealthy, nor unsuitable for Europeans. The country
is almost entirely destitute of trees, but it produces the
ordinary grains of the Deccan, potatoes, &c.; and cotton
also is cultivated to a small extent. Pop. (1855) 666,006.
The first notice of Poona occurs in the early part of the
seventeenth century, when it was included in the jaghire
or estate of Shahjee, father of the famous Sevajee, the
founder of the Mahratta power, who built the palace there
for his own residence. In 1740 the office and the power
of the peishwa or minister was rendered really supreme, and
that of the rajah merely nominal, by Balajee, who fixed his
residence at Poona, and died there in 1761. The dignity
was transmitted to his son Madhoo Rao, who died in 1772,
and was succeeded by his brother Narrain Rao, who was
murdered by his uncle Ragoba; and shortly afterwards a
posthumous child of the deceased was placed on the throne.
He died in 1795 ; and the elder of the two sons of Ragoba,
named Bajee Rao, succeeded. This peishwa was sup¬
ported by Scindia, and took his part against Holkar, who
totally defeated both the allies at Poona in 1802. In order
to avoid total ruin, Bajee Rao applied for an alliance with
the British. A treaty was in consequence concluded which
POO
Poorbun- re-established his authority ; and this good understanding
der continued for nearly fifteen years. But in 1817 the peishvva,
II anxious to emancipate himself from the British yoke, en-
^oor' tered into the hostile combination which was then formed
, aw^ , amongst the native powers for the assertion of their inde-
pendence. As the contest ended in the triumph of the
British armies, the peishwa was compelled to fly; and in
May 1818 he at last consented to resign his office, and to
retire on a pension to Benares. A portion of his country
was given to the rajah of Sattara, the representative of the
line of Sevajee, which had been supplanted by the peish-
was; but that line afterwards becoming extinct, the whole
territory fell to the British.
POORBUNDER, a town of India, on the S.W. coast
of the peninsula of Kattywar, in the province of Guzerat,
presidency of Bombay, 210 miles S.W. of Ahmedabad, and
POOR-
Until very recently, the great interest felt in the body
of laws comprehended under the above title was derived
from the consciousness of the danger with which the man¬
ner of their administration in England threatened the pro¬
perty of the rich, and the morality of the whole people. As
the law continues fundamentally the same as it was before
the adoption of an improved administration, that source of
interest in these institutions remains ; but the present sense
of security renders possible a calmer and more dispassionate
examination of their merits and demerits than could previ¬
ously to the year 1834 have been made by the most candid
persons acquainted with the rapid progress of the evils of
the system.
Origin and It was generally, and is now frequently, assumed by Eng-
objects of ]jsh writers, that a legal system of compulsory relief to the
poor-laws. p00r wag pecuiiar t0 the polity of England. No assump¬
tion could be less justified by the facts, as will presently be
shown. Wherever inquiry has been made, it has been found
that the same objects as were sought by the institution in
England have been sought by means which more strictly
resemble those adopted in England, in proportion as the
condition of the community resembles that of England in
the complexity of its social relations and the progress of
its legal polity.
So general an adoption of analogous institutions amongst
independent communities was, of course, not fortuitous, nor
the mere result of imitation ; and these institutions are
everywhere of too distinct and recent an origin to be trace¬
able to any of the primitive laws or customs of those several
peoples who have descended from one common race.
On the contrary, it was the development of the like evils
in the progress of the civilization of each country which sug¬
gested the adoption of the like remedy. The evils which
were sufficient to induce nations to try a remedy so obvi¬
ously fraught with great dangers both to the givers and to
the receivers, and requiring sacrifices so immediate and so
incapable of disguise, appear to have been at least as press¬
ing elsewhere as in England. The description of these
evils shows that they were and must be of universal pre¬
valence, and that they have their origin in the constitution
of mankind, and not in any such incidents as the dissolution
of monasteries or in any other local or temporary incident.
There never was a time or place in which there were not
to be found men anxious to avoid labour, and yet to live
in ease and enjoyment. There never was a time in which
other men were not, from their sympathy, from their super¬
stition, and from their fears, ready with their bounty to as¬
sist the necessitous, and liable to be imposed upon and in¬
timidated, according as the beggar was crafty or bold. No
community is so poor as not to suffer in some degree from
p o o 295
275 N W. of Bombay. It has a harbour, which, being ob- Poor-
structed by a bar at the entrance, does not admit vessels of Laws-
a large size. The harbour is, however, the best on this
coast, and frequented by many vessels, which carry on an
active trade with the various seaports in Sinde, Beloochis-
tan, Arabia, the east coast of Africa, and the Concan and
Malabar coasts. The principal articles of export are wheat
oil, millet, cotton, and thread; the imports, iron, steel, tin^
lead, sugar, pepper, spices, and other articles. There are
about sixty vessels of various sizes belonging to the port.
The half of the duties levied at the port of Poorbunder,
amounting annually to L.3000 or L.3500, is paid to the
British government by the rana, or chief of the Jaitwa
tribe of Rajpoots, who holds the town and surrounding dis¬
tricts from the Guicowar, himself a dependent ally of the
British.
L A AT S.
the existence of a body of idle and worthless persons, sub¬
sisting profligately on the benevolence, the folly, or the fears
of its members.
And as the condition of the people is found to improve,
as progress is made in the arts and commodities of life,
there is, of course, found a greater disparity in the condi¬
tion of the people, and destitution more violently contrasted
with opulence. Such a state of things, whilst it increases
the means at the disposal of the benevolent and fortu¬
nate, increases the sympathy with the unfortunate, or those
who appear to be so, and at the same time presents wealth
in such masses as to serve as a temptation to those who
may prefer to live by fraud or violence. Mendicancy and
depredation, which are nearly impossible where a popula¬
tion is scattered, and its moveable wealth in small quantity,
become easy in the contrary state of things.
It is accordingly found, in the progress of the civilization
of every country, that a period arrives when beggary in its
many forms, and with its whole train of consequences, ap¬
pears in an alarming extent, usually even professed by large
fraternities having some character of organization ; some¬
times connected by religious profession, like palmers, pil¬
grims, and various orders of mendicant friars, faquirs der¬
vishes; sometimes connected by supposed identity of race,
as the people known throughout the continent of Europe,
and largely in Asia, as Zingari, Gypseys, Bohemians: these,
with the unfortunate and dissolute of all classes, find a means
of living by practising various arts of amusement, and more
frequently by operating on the superstitious credulity, and
often on the fears, of the more wealthy and industrious part
of the community. All accounts of such a state of things,
wherever it may have prevailed, agree in showing that pre¬
datory habits almost invariably accompany, where occasion
offers, the habit of mendicancy.
Great as were the evils obviously connected with the ex¬
istence of such a mass of idlers, impostors, and depredators,
there were not wanting motives to the other classes to per¬
petuate and increase the evil. Individual benevolence, even
where accompanied by intelligence and prudence, although
its objects may be immediately selected from the really un¬
fortunate, would not withhold its indirect aid to this bad
effect, its respectable example seducing many to imitate the
act, without using the due precautions.
But a much greater share of the effect must always be
attributed to the incautious benevolence of the great mass
of those who have the power to give. It requires great
knowledge and sagacity to distinguish the cases in which
alms can be given without directly encouraging idleness, or
some worse vice ; and to direct these qualities effectively to
the case of each applicant would, in the state of things de¬
scribed, require an amount of industry and an expenditure
296 POOR-
Objections of time seldom or never possible. The ignorance and in-
R°r Ufbf^ence’ therefore, of the benevolent, afford the largest en-
teiief,&c. couragements to the idle. Other influences are not want-
ing, especially ostentation and the love of popularity, which,
where many live in idleness, never fail to create depend¬
ents and retainers to the full extent of the power or the
will to maintain them. Superstition, too, has in all times
enforced alms-giving as a virtue, and, operating upon the
consciences of great criminals, has throughout the world
created and endowed the largest and most magnificent of
the so-called charities.
In the above description will be recognised a state of
things partially exemplified, either in one set of its details
or in another, in every country in Europe, more especially
in those in which, like Spain, Naples, many other Italian
states, and other countries, no public or well-controlled and
systematic provision for the poor has been established.1
These observations will be well instanced in England
during the progress of the institutions of which a descrip¬
tion is about to be given.
CHAPTER I.
GENERAL OBJECTIONS TO PUBLIC RELIEF AND TO PRIVATE
ALMS-GIVING.
The fact was adverted to in the beginning of this
article, that the state of the poor-laws since 1834 enables
us to take a more dispassionate view of the abstract
merits and defects of a system of public relief than was
formerly possible, while the question was embarrassed
by the consciousness of the evils which we were suf¬
fering, and of those towards which we were visibly mak¬
ing a rapid progress. On the other hand, the evils of ge¬
neral mendicancy, and the other painful and dangerous
circumstances which are everywhere found to prevail where
a public law of relief has not been established, are so little
known in England, from whence our poor-laws have long
excluded them, that little of the good really derived from
our poor-laws was acknowledged, whilst the whole of their
positive mischief was so apparent as to form almost alone
the matter of every discussion of the merits of the system.
Alms-giv- Before great accumulations of moveable wealth have
ing. taken place in any community, depredation to any large
extent is scarcely possible, and mendicancy as a trade can¬
not be followed in such a community, especially where its
population is widely scattered. Alms-giving, in the usual
sense of the term, does not exist; but its place is often
supplied by hospitality to the stranger and traveller, and by
the readiness to share with friends or relatives the means of
enjoyment which individuals may possess. But in coun¬
tries where comparatively great accumulations of wealth
have taken place, and where poor-laws have not been in¬
troduced, or where, as in Ireland before 1838, they have
not taken root, alms-giving and begging are either avowedly
permitted or connived at. And, for reasons hereafter to
be shown, the alternative of a regulated system of public
relief, or the practical permission, whether avowed or not,
to solicit private alms, appears inevitable.
LAWS.
It would be an evasion of the question to compare a well- Objection!
devised system of poor-laws with a system in which alms- to Public
giving was to be substituted. It is necessary, in order to Relief.&c
do full justice to the comparison, to assume a system of
poor-laws fraught with all the evils known to be derivable Poor-laws,
from such a system, and administered with a degree of
laxity not less than that of which we have had a practical
experience. A system of public relief may be had in prin¬
ciple, and yet judiciously administered ; or it may be good
in its principle and ill administered. For the present pur¬
pose, a system shall be assumed, bad in its principle and
bad in its administration.
In this view, the law may give a claim to all persons not Operation
having means of independent subsistence, to be relieved, of a bad
without subjecting the claimant to any harsh or disagree- ^00r' aw‘
able condition. Such a claim, though never in fact coun¬
tenanced by the law, was practically allowed for above a
quarter of a century in many parts of England. A law of
this kind would obviously render all those who by their
exertions could at the utmost earn but a bare subsist¬
ence, averse to industry, which in such a case would be a
sacrifice of ease without any increased advantage. If pre¬
sent industry were rendered useless, so would thrift and
forethought become a folly, an abandonment of present en¬
joyment without an object. Every present indulgence
which the law allowed would wisely be enjoyed ; good
moral habits and bodily skill would have little merit if the
law should place those with them and those without them
in the enjoyment of the like benefits. What appears de¬
sirable for a man’s advantage, it is a virtue in him to do
also for his progeny. The pauper’s children would be
themselves paupers, and the law would present to them
every inducement to beget other paupers, and no induce¬
ment to refrain. Such we have seen the English pauper,
slothful, thoughtless but of his parish pay, sometimes living
to see three generations of his progeny paupers, like to or
worse than himself.2
But the idle pauper cannot be supported except from
those funds which must otherwise employ and reward the
industrious. Every pauper, for his support, consumes that
which would maintain or nearly maintain an industrious
labourer ; with this difference, that the consumption of the
pauper is never repaid, whilst the value of the labourer’s
consumption is always reproduced with a profit, which again
affords the means of employing other industry. The pau¬
per, therefore, is constantly drawing those above him into
his own rank. The misfortune of those reluctantly be¬
coming paupers produces a sympathy which extends to
the voluntary pauper, and the unfortunate and the idle be¬
come less and less distinguishable.
If the law increases its bounty with the number of the
paupers’ offspring, all these evils are aggravated and acce¬
lerated. If the law, like the former English bastardy law,
renders the reward for having a bastard child greater than
the allowance to a legitimate child, another source of im¬
morality is opened, female virtue is at a disadvantage, and
unchastity, becoming a source of profit, becomes respect¬
able.3
1 For a very ample detail of the state of mendicancy and vagrancy of private and public charitable institutions in the chief countries
of Europe and in the United States, the reader is referred to the Appendix (F) of Foreign Communications made to the Poor-Law Com¬
missioners, 1835, and especially to the interesting abstract of and comment upon these communications by Nassau W. Senior, Esq., en¬
titled “ A Statement of the Provision for the Poor, and of the Condition of the Labouring Classes, in a considerable portion of America
and Europe,” 8vo, Fellowes, 1835.
2 See extracts from evidence received by the commissioners of enquiry:—“ We have cases of three generations of paupers,” p. 204.
See at p. 218 an amusing instance of three generations of the same stock contemporaneously relieved, at the rate of L.100 per year, by
a parish ; see also pp. 220, 226, 358.
3 See extracts from the information received by the commissioners of enquiry into the poor-laws. A clergyman in Cumberland
speaks thus of the practice of that county :—“ A very different description of women have of late years become the mothers of bastard
children. Formerly it was confined to the daughters of cottagers and girls employed in farm-husbandry; but of late very respectable
farmers'1 daughters have been in that situation, and have applied to have their offspring taken care of by the parish.” (Captain Pringle’s
Report, p. 404.) The next extract is from the evidence of an overseer in the same county. “ We at this time, in our parish, are sup-
POO K-L A W S.
Objections
to Public
Relief, &c.
Evils of a
bad admi¬
nistration
of the poor-
law.
If the law takes the yet more insidious course of provid¬
ing relief to those who live partly by regular industry, the
• evils described are enormously increased. In this way
the whole industrious population may be destroyed, almost
without rendering the recipients conscious of their degra¬
dation. In this way the forethought of the industrious
man becomes of as little value to him as it is to the pau¬
per, and the whole of the restraints on population are
destroyed in the great bulk of the people.
But relief to his workmen is in fact for the moment
relief to the master j the public undertaking a portion of
the maintenance of the servant saves to that extent the
wages of the employer. The corruption of the system
thus reaches the master as well as the labourer, and each
is equally induced, by his- immediate interest, to secure
and continue to himself the portion of the benefit, unless
we presume them to be more provident than the law
itself.
That such bad principles might be involved in a poor-
law, is undoubted ^ for although the English law never,
either in letter or spirit, contained all these elements to¬
gether, yet it at one period or another in succession con¬
tained them all, and a loose and in some measure a cor¬
rupt administration gave for a long time prevalence to
all their influences together.
This brings into view the evils of a bad administration
of the law. Suppose its execution intrusted to officers
who must, in a majority of cases, be necessarily ignorant
of its complicate objects, being ignorant of the common
rudiments of education ;1 and let such officers be in no
way distinguished by their interests being made to accord
with the interests of the community in a good administra¬
tion ; the obvious consequence must be such as were seen
in England, that the best portions of the law must be
badly administered, whilst the bad parts, by such instru¬
ments, can scarcely be expected to have these evils soft¬
ened by a good administration. But a certain consequence
would be, that those whose interests were identical with
the welfare of the community, would be reluctant to serve
the office, which would thus be left to others who could
best employ its provisions to their own advantage. Thus
in England the overseer was generally found, even when
zealous in the discharge of his duty, blindly giving effect
to the most pernicious part of the system. When merely
weak, without being corrupt, we find him a tool in the
hands of those whose object it was to procure labour at a
low price, at the expense of the other rate-payers, and at
the peril of the gradual though certain deterioration of
the labourer and his posterity. Such an overseer was
also subject, as a matter of course, to the cajolery or inti¬
midation of the pauper, to the seduction of popularity,
readily to be got by the expenditure in miscalled charity
of other people s contributions. But the natural operation
of the system was to find or to make its officers corrupt,
as it was natural that that class of men should be readiest
to execute the office whose circumstances best allowed
them to avail themselves, for their own advantage, of the
England we found that the more pauperized the
district, the more certainly was the overseer an employer
of pauper labour, or a supplier to the paupers, on his pri¬
vate account, of the objects of their daily consumption, or
the owner of the habitations in which they lived, and Vor
which the parish guaranteed a certain and exorbitant rent.
297
Even these evils might be aggravated by parcelling the Objections
country out into districts too small to allow of the prLr- to PubHc
mg of the necessary means even of an economical adminis- Relief, &c.
tration. In England few parishes or townships were ]aro-e «v-—'
enough to afford a workhouse or to contract for the supnly
of the articles of consumption for the poor. Many were so
small that the cost of purchasing small books of account
was considered as an extravagance.
We have another important example of the way in
which the administration could be carried to the extreme
of badness; namely, by the provision of a control which
could by its nature operate only to enforce an improvident
administration, and which should have no authority to
check it. England, again, affords us an example of such a
device in the authority of the justices of the peace. The
justice was enabled to enforce the giving of relief where
the overseer from any motive had refused it; but the jus¬
tice of the peace had no authority to interfere when the
overseer vyas profligately allowing relief.
1 he effects of such a system, then, would inevitably be Eflm« of
the same as we have witnessed in England. Such have such a
been perhaps too indiscriminately attributed to poor-laws poor-law
generally. These effects were, in a former article in this
publication,2 very distinctly and ably described and eluci¬
dated. They were described, first, as a disturbance of the
natural course of population, which they increased without
leference to the means of support j and, indeed, in the
inveise direction, inasmuch as every addition to the num¬
ber of the non-productive or the partially productive pau-
pei s diminished the means of living of the other portions
of the community. Secondly, as increasing the very pauper¬
ism which it was their object to relieve. Thirdly, as pro¬
ductive of improvidence in the poor, who saw no worse
consequence of a dissolute and idle life than an eventual
reliance, in common with millions of their fellow-subjects,
upon the parish for their support in sickness or old age, or
in the visitation of those calamities against which it is the
task of prudence to provide. A fourth effect, much dwelt
upon, was the misapprehension caused by these institutions
as to the real cause of poverty and distress, and the opera¬
tion of this misapprehension in producing a discontented
spirit in those who entertain the notion that they have a
right to relief, but no equally definite notion of their duty
to provide for themselves. The fifth evil was the en¬
couragement which the system, as administered, was found
to give to every species of immorality: idleness in the
day, depredation, poaching, and smuggling by night, faci¬
litating the resort to the beer-shop again by day; particu¬
larly the law of bastardy was observed to be rapidly de¬
stroying the virtue of the females, and by producing ill-
assorted marriages, sapping the whole of those domestic
virtues, both of parents and children, which depend mainly
on a happy home. It was also remarked that the law of
settlement had a large effect in lowering the character
of all who claimed a maintenance from the parish ; it
being notorious that the most steady, industrious, and
moral workmen, upon whom the employer can place his
surest reliance are those who do not legally belong to the
parish in which they are living.
Such is the description of an extensive system of poor-
laws framed on a bad principle, and badly administered ;
and such are their observed effects.
But it does not thence follow that a poor-law, well de-
«an,ln? w<? asta^ c i ren w ose moiAm Aave fotnded property o/tAetV own, and would not marry the fathers of their children.” (Ibid.)
ron-.u fUf ° so”ie/armers> an<l even landowners, have bastard children. These farmers and landowners, and children with them,
in^h^ ^ ,f'C^jllei1^P01°rjra.te to Ineet the Parish allowance for their daughter’s bastard.” (Ibid.) “Captain Pringle states that
• n.el® our 00<* (-ar^Isle lt: was not unusual for the daughters of small farmers, or statesmen as they are here called (men farm¬
ing their own property), to have bastard children, and to come to the parish for allowance.” (Ibid., p. 403.)
f w o t e. llllterateness, general ignorance, and inefficiency of overseers, the volume of extracts before cited, at the passage re-
ierred to in the index under the title “ Overseers.” r °
2 By Dr Sumner, late bishop of Chester.
1 VOL. XVIII. 2 p
298
Objections
to Public
Relief, &c.
Alterna¬
tive of
alms-giv¬
ing.
P 0 0 K-L A W S.
Mendican¬
cy com¬
pared with
pauperism.
vised and well administered, should find no place in the
polity of a nation.
There appear to be at least two resources besides that of
adopting bad principles in such a law, or adopting a bad
constitution of officers for its administration. The first re¬
source is to exclude such an institution altogether.
Some few countries taking their place by common esti¬
mation amongst civilized nations, have made no public pro¬
vision for the poor. Ireland was practically, before the
session of 1837-38, without such a provision. England
was in the same condition until the reign of Elizabeth. In
all such countries rigorous enactments exist against mendi¬
cancy, but everywhere such enactments are defeated by the
common co-operation of the whole people. It will be seen
that in England the most ferocious penal enactments were
repeated, with every variation that ingenuity could devise,
for the purpose of suppressing mendicancy and vagrancy ;
and yet at every stage of legislation it is avowed that the
evil was still increasing.
It appears a preposterous expectation that any people
will generally sympathize or co-operate with the law which,
whilst it leaves the unfortunate to perish, pretends to ren¬
der mendicancy a crime. So common is the sentiment
against such an attempt, that many systems of jurisprudence
avowedly admit necessity, or the extreme danger of perish¬
ing for want, as a legal excuse for some offences, and as a
palliation of any offence directly incited by the pressure of
such necessity. There appears, therefore, no means of
preventing mendicancy but by a recognised provision of
public relief.
Mendicancy is often expressly permitted by law; some¬
times it is allowed to particular classes of persons,—as
discharged soldiers and sailors and their families, poor
students, discharged prisoners, and such like. Sometimes
a limit is assigned to begging, a given route on the way
homewards, or a given district in which a party may have
been born or may have become otherwise domiciled.
Even in England both these kinds of license and restric¬
tion have, till within these few years, formed part of our
statute-law. The effect of such restrictions has nearly
everywhere been the same as in our own country,—viz.,
to give authority to mendicancy without in any way ope¬
rating to diminish it.
Let us now examine the effects of mendicancy, whether
permitted by the law or not, comparing it throughout with
the operation of a bad system of poor-laws. In the first
place, it, like pauperism, destroys industry, but the mendi¬
cant is wholly and entirely idle, with no one responsible to
see him set to work, and, being for the most part unknown
to those who relieve him, is under no necessity even to
affect, like the pauper, a readiness to work. The mendi¬
cant’s progeny is like himself in this respect, except that,
being early bred to the parent’s habits, industry becomes
nearly impossible to them; whilst the occupation of both
is such, that even on the supposition that an inclination to
adopt a life of industry should be excited, few occupations
could be found to which they would be fitted, and still
fewer employers who would engage them. In respect of
the influences upon industry, therefore, the individual men¬
dicant is under worse influences than the individual pauper
relieved by the worst system of poor-laws. So with respect
to the general morality of the mendicant. The pauper is
under some restraints, owing to his being settled amongst
neighbours upon whose good opinion he is at least in some
measure dependent; he must be known to the officers of
his parish, and by this alone is kept in contact with and in
fear of the law. The local sphere for the exercise of his
vices is one of narrow limits. These restraints keep the
pauper under considerable subjection, both to law and to
opinion. But no such restraints operate upon the mendi¬
cant. No irregularity of conduct, no vice, can exclude
him more from general society than his daily mode of life Objection!:
already does; even if, amongst his fellows, any vice should to Public:
be recognised as sufficiently repulsive to exclude him from &c
their companionship, their unsettled life renders it impos-
sible that the reputation of his odious qualities could very
closely attend him. Add to this absence of restraint the
positive encouragement given by their more various and
adventurous life, the zest with which its frauds and its dar¬
ings are performed, and the glory with which they are re¬
counted,—these accompaniments have rendered the beggar’s
life popular as the subject of romance, and occasionally as
the object of imitation amongst even the better educated
and more fortunate members of society. A pauper was
never yet, as the beggar often is, the romantic hero of a
ballad or a legend. Here, again, the influences on the in¬
dividual mendicant are more pernicious than those on the
pauper.
The same disadvantageous comparison exists when we
consider the unlimited opportunities afforded by the men¬
dicant’s mode of life for every species of petty theft and
depredation; habits which appear invariably to accompany
that of vagrancy.
In England we have a difficulty in conceiving the extent Extent of
to which the habits of mendicancy may be carried on, and mendi-
the varieties in its practice. It would be comparatively a
small evil that a few mendicants should be found to be pre¬
eminently vicious characters; and this evil would bear no
comparison with the evil of a pauperism spread as widely
as that formerly in England. But some estimate may be
formed of the extent to which mendicancy may be carried
where there are no poor-laws, by a reference to the state of
Ireland, in which it is represented that, in a population of
eight millions, not less than 200,000 habitual mendicants
and vagrants existed in the years previous to 1838, and
where this number was annually reinforced by the accession
of the wives and families of those labourers who left their
homes in search of work elsewhere, and which are repre¬
sented, in the evidence collected by the Commissioners of
Poor-Laws Inquiry in Ireland, to have exceeded a million
of persons.
The evil of mendicancy, therefore, may even bear a com¬
parison in the extent and number of those practising it with
the evil of pauperism even under a bad poor-law.
Now, let the operation upon the distributors in both cases Distribu-
be compared. No regular machinery is devised for the tors of
supply of the mendicant, but he is let loose upon the
whole of society, to procure his living by every means by
which the sympathies, the virtues, the follies, the weak¬
nesses, or the vices of man may be attacked. Though much
of the relief given to the mendicant is prompted by the
benevolence of the giver, much also has its origin in sym¬
pathies falsely excited ; in folly, and especially in the vanity
and ostentation of him who dispenses the alms. Much, too,
of the alms given to mendicants, in alms-giving countries,
is given with the object of acquiring power over a disorderly
and reckless class. In all countries, in times of commotion,
we have seen this class unscrupulous instruments in the
hands of those who, by their largesses, or by the exciting of
expectations, had attached a large number of these classes.
An example is seen in Spain, where the merit chiefly pro¬
fessed by the distributors of the alms of enormous charities
is that of relieving the wants of armies of mendicants. No
instrument in the hands of ambitious and designing persons
has ever been found more effective than that of retaining
large classes of ready-formed mendicants, and of bringing
the poorer classes, under specious names, as near as pos¬
sible to the condition of receivers of alms.
Another advantage which a system of poor-laws has over
alms-giving is this: poor-laws are subject to the control
of the legislature. Their evils, as discovered, may one by
POOR-LAW S.
[listory of one be pruned away by the power which has created the
English whole institution ; and they can also, at the will of the legis¬
lature, if such should appear to be an advisable course, be
at any time totally abolished. Mendicancy, on the other
hand, and alms-giving, are beyond the effective control of
the law. Where once established by habit, no interference
of the legislature can effectively modify them, no prohi¬
bition of the legislature can abrogate them. The sole cor¬
rective appears to be a retreat from private alms, by the
adoption of a system of public relief as a means of dis¬
countenancing the mendicant’s claim.
Thus far have been compared bad poor-laws with men¬
dicancy, with the view to show that, even in this com¬
parison, private alms-giving involves disadvantages greater
than those attending a system of public relief. The com¬
parison thus far with poor-laws has, as an abstract question,
been unfair, because it seems possible, and recent ex¬
perience appears to confirm the conclusion, that a poor-
law may be so devised and so administered as to take away
all plea for crime founded upon absolute necessity ; to
diminish no man’s present motives to labour, and bring up
his offspring to industry ; to offer the least possible induce¬
ments to improvidence, so far as improvidence is involved
in neglecting to make accumulations against old age and
other calamities. This appears to be rendered possible by
such an administration of relief that those capable of work¬
ing would reject it, as less desirable than independent in¬
dustry in the time of their health and vigour, and less de¬
sirable than any provisions secured by their own prudence
for their old age.
CHAPTER II.
HISTORY OF ENGLISH POOR-LAWS TILL THE YEAR 1834.
The most authentic accounts, at least those which prove
most incontestibly the prevalence of the habits of mendi¬
cancy and vagrancy in England, and give the best evidence
of the extent to which their evils were recognised, may be
found in the expressions of our early statutes.1
It will not be possible to give a detailed description, either
of the contents of the series of our statutes or of their effects.
The number of statutes passed for the suppression of va¬
grancy, mendicancy, and idleness, and for the relief of the
poor, amount at the least to a hundred and eighty-seven ;
those now in force, commencing with the statute 43 Eliza¬
beth, and including only the modifications of that law,
amount to a hundred and eighteen, and contain matter of
itself about equal to four average volumes of the statutes at
large. None, therefore, but the most salient points in the
legislation of the last four centuries and a half will be ad¬
verted to in the following summary of the progress of legis¬
lation upon these subjects.
Wtraint We first find indications of a general relaxation of the
0 agran- industry of our population in the reign of Richard II.
Civil discord had unquestionably its effect in producing the
result; but a change in the habits of the population had
been produced by the increase of commerce and of com¬
munication with other countries, and a large accession had
at this time been made to the disposable wealth of the com¬
munity. The large system of vagabondage, sanctified by
the name of pilgrimage, of which the expeditions known as
the Crusades were the most salient instance, had begotten
a spirit of restlessness and idleness in Europe, infecting
even our insular population. It was not so much the habit
299
of beggary as the desire of change and restlessness of life Histnrv
that the statute of i2th Richard II., chap. 7, passed in the Chsh
English
Poor-
Laws.
year 1388, was intended to repress. This statute, though
entirely directed against habits characterized in that daylis
vagabondage, scarcely recognises beggary as an habitual
pursuit. Its main provisions are confined to the object of
restraining labourers from changing their abodes. It pro¬
hibits any labourer from departing from the hundred, rape,
wapentake, city, or borough where he has dwelling, with¬
out a testimonial showing reasonable cause for his going, to
be issued under the authority of the justices of peace.
Any labourer found wandering without such letter is to be
put in the stocks till he find surety to return to the town
from whence he came. So far are its enactments from
affording any evidence that able-bodied persons of either
sex exercised by choice to any large extent the trade of
mendicancy, that the only other class besides labourers
which it recognises are the impotent. As to impotent per¬
sons, it provides that they are to remain in the towns in
which they be dwelling at the time of the act; or if the
inhabitants are unable or unwilling to support them, they
are to withdraw to other towns within the hundred, rape,
or wapentake, or to the towns where they were born, and
there abide during their lives.
From the earliest periods, but from this time especially, Restraint
begging was an offence ; yet the chief enactments of the of begging,
two succeeding centuries are rather confined to the object
of restraining the movements of labourers than to the re¬
straining of able-bodied beggars. The provisions of the
11th Henry VII., chap. 2, however, require beggars not able
to work to go to the hundred where last they dwelt, or
were best known, or born, without begging out of the
hundred. The 19th Henry VII., chap. 12, passed eight
years afterwards (in 1504), requires them to go to the town,
city, or hundred where they were born, or to the place
where they last abode for the space of three years, without
begging out of the said city, town, hundred, or place.
The legislation affecting the classes of poor least able to
provide for themselves had thus far been entirely restrictive,
and contained that element of the poor-laws by which they
are connected with police, almost to as great an extent as
is to be found in our most recent institutions. They also
indirectly contain a complete settlement law; for, by con- settlement
fining the labourers, but especially the impotent poor and iaWt
beggars, to the places in which tfiey dwelt at the time of
the act being passed, or in which they had been born, or to
the places of their last abode, they directly settled such
persons on the places thus defined, and rendered the dis¬
tricts chargeable with the burden, at least to the extent to
which the endowments of the church and the benevolence
of individuals could be applied to the purpose. At length,
especially after all the revenues of the church were diverted
from the purpose of maintaining the poor, legislation be¬
comes of a severe penal character, and is more immediately
directed against those who practise mendicancy as a trade,
viz., “ able-bodied, sturdy, and valiant beggars.” At the
same time, the distinction becomes more apparent between
the impotent poor and those whom the legislature evidently
regarded as voluntary poor, and whom the law now subjects
to heavy and even sanguinary penalties. The 22d Henry
VII., chap. 12, passed in the year 1531, directs the justices
to assign to the impotent poor a limit within which they
are to beg. An impotent person begging out of his limit
is to be imprisoned for two days and nights in the stocks,
fed on bread and water, and then sworn to return to the
place in which he was authorized to beg. An able-bodied
1 The whole history and successive characters of English vagrancy and mendicancy, and of the legislative efforts to restrain them, may
he traced from the seventh century downwards, in the extracts from Saxon, Danish, Norman, and English laws, and a great number of
contemporaneous evidences given at length in the Appendix to the Report on the Law of Settlement and Removal of the Poor, House
of Lords papers, 1851 (101).
*
POO R-L A W S.
300
History of beggar is to be whipped, and sworn to return to the place
English where he was born, or last dwelt for the space of three
Laws" years> ar,d there put himself to labour.
v , Thus far restrictions upon vagrancy, whether originating
” in misfortune or idleness, or more serious vice, had proved
Compul- unavailable. The evil had not been repressed ; it had evi-
lie7 Ce dently increased, and at length drove the legislature to the
adoption, not only of severer penalties, according to the old
policy, but of a new expedient.
With imperfect machinery for giving effect to its inten¬
tions, without security that where its intention was carried
into effect evils greater than those against which it was in¬
tended to provide might not arise, a system was now created
which, in all its policy, is identical with that which now
exists in England, and was introduced into Ireland in 1838.
The means employed, and not the policy itself, alone dis¬
tinguish the legislation of the two periods. In the first
place, beggary and vagrancy are still to be repressed, but
no one is to be driven, by absolute destitution, to an infrac¬
tion of the law ; all excuse is to be taken away from the
beggar. In the next place, the sympathy of the community
with the law is to be secured by a provision at the public
expense against the evil consequences of individual desti¬
tution. In the last place, the compulsory provision thus
made by the community is to be protected by compelling
those capable of exertion, and seeking to avail themselves
of it, to accept it subject to the condition of working for
the maintenance thus secured to them ; a condition obvi¬
ously intended to be as hard or harder than that upon which
the independent man obtains his own support, and render¬
ing the alternative of independent industry preferable to that
of dependence on the public charity.1
The 27th Henry VIII., chap. 25, passed in the year 1536,
recites the act last mentioned, and adds, that no provision
is made for the support of the impotent, nor for the setting
and keeping in work of valiant beggars; and then enacts,
that the land-officers of every city, shire, town, and parish,
to which such poor creatures or sturdy vagabonds shall
repair, in obedience to that act, shall most charitably re¬
ceive the same, and shall keep the same poor people by
way of voluntary and charitable alms, within the respective
cities, shires, towns, hundreds, hamlets, and parishes, by
their discretion, so that none of them, of very necessity,
shall be compelled to beg openly, and shall compel the
said sturdy vagabonds and ^valiant beggars to be kept to
continual labour, in such wise as they may get their own
living by the continual labour of their own hands, on pain
that every parish making default shall forfeit twenty shil¬
lings a month. Alms-giving otherwise than to these com¬
mon boxes, or common gatherings, or to fellow-parishion¬
ers, or prisoners, is prohibited on forfeiture of ten times
the amount given. A sturdy beggar is to be whipped the
first time, his right ear cropped the second time; and
if he again offend, he is to be sent to the next jail till
the quarter sessions, and there to be indicted for wander¬
ing, loitering, and idleness; and if convicted, shall suffer
execution of death as a felon, and an enemy of the com¬
monwealth.
As far as the policy of the succeeding legislation is con¬
cerned, its intention appears to be fully expressed by the
terms of this statute. In all the succeeding period we find History oil ]
a very large variety of means adopted for the purpose still English
of giving effect to the same policy ; sometimes an increase Poor-
of severity, even beyond the rigour of this statute, against Law8-
the beggar and vagrant; sometimes an improved machinery
for succouring the impotent, especially for the assessment
and levying of the funds, and for producing an effective
responsibility in the officers charged with this duty; and
eventually a more comprehensive system devised for effec¬
tuating the whole of the objects clearly contemplated by
the statute of Henry, without the adoption of any other than
those objects, but intended merely to prevent the evils result¬
ing from the defective means and instruments previously
employed for their attainment.
Accordingly we find in the statutes of the reign of Ed¬
ward V., “ the” foolish pity and mercy of them which should
have seen to the execution of the goodly laws before enacted,
and the perverse nature and long-accustomed idleness of
persons long given to loitering,” inveighed against in the
usual declamatory manner of preambles of that period ; but
we find indications of the growth of a conviction that the
excessive penalties of the previous legislation had defeated
the operation of the law. The enactments against vagrancy
are therefore rendered somewhat milder; an able-bodied
poor person who does not apply himself to some honest
labour, or offer to serve, though only for meat and drink, if
nothing more is to be obtained, shall be taken for a vaga¬
bond, branded on the shoulder with the letter V, and ad¬
judged a slave for two years to any person who shall demand
him, to be fed on bread and water and refuse meat, and
caused to work by beating and chaining, or otherwise. If
he run away within that period, he is to be branded on the
cheek with the letter S, and adjudged a slave for life; if
he run away again, he is to suffer death as a felon. If no
one demand such loiterer, the place where he is born is to
keep him as a slave, and is to see him set to work ; and if it
fail in this, it is to be mulcted in a penalty, a city forfeiting
five pounds, a borough forty shillings.
By this statute the old settlement law had ingrafted on it Rem ^ J
a law of removal. The taking surety of the impotent poor, |
that they would repair to the places where they were born,
or had dwelt for the last three years, had been found inef¬
fectual ; the officers were therefore directed to convey the
impotent poor on horseback, in cart, chariot, or otherwise,
to the next constable, and so from constable to constable,
till they be brought to the place where they were born, or
most conversant for the space of three years, there to be
kept and nourished of alms.
Gradual improvements were introduced in the detail by
several successive statutes. The 3d and 4th Edward VI.
provides for the keeping of a book in every city, corporate
town, and parish, containing the names of householders and
of the impotent poor. It makes some approach to a special
organization of officers for the objects. The minister and
churchwardens are to appoint collectors of alms ; the alms,
however, are voluntary, except to the extent to which they
can be enforced by the exhortation of the minister and
bishop: it being provided, that if any one able to further
this charitable work do obstinately and frowardly refuse to
give, or do discourage others, the minister and church-
1 With regard to the erroneous impression until recently prevalent in England, that poor-laws were institutions peculiar to this coun¬
try, it is important to observe that the system of law for repression of mendicancy and relief of the poor here described, was a direct
and palpable imitation of a continental institution. Six years before the enactment of the 27th Henry VIII. (that is, in the year 15dt),
the magistrates of Ypres in Belgium enacted a set of regulations, which, as stated by Mr Hallam, manifestly form the model which was
followed a few years afterwards by the legislature of this country. The regulations in question appear to have been adopted in the ad¬
jacent provinces of the Netherlands under the sanction of an edict of Charles V. (See a paper by Mr Hallam in the first volume of the
Transactions of the Statistical Society.) The still earlier legislation of the Romans may be traced from the provision for the lexfrumen-
taria of the younger Gracchus all through the subsequent period of the republic and the empire both in the West and East. The eccle¬
siastical prov sions of the middle ages were only too ample, and are traceable with equal ease and fulness. (See Pashley on Poor-Laws.
1852, chap, iv.) The yet earlier legislation of the Greeks has left frequent traces to be found, especially in the Attic orators. A very
amusing illustration is to be found in the oration of Lysias, T*-ij toZ ituvKriv. (See Boeck Staatsh, i. 343.)
POO R-L A W S.
History of wardens are to exhort him gently. If he will not be so
*PoorSl1 Persuaded> bishop is to send for him to induce and per-
Laws. suade him by charitable ways and means, and so, according
to his discretion, to take order for the reformation thereof.
These provisions being made, beggary is still prohibited,
upon the pains limited in the previous statutes.
Compul- As might be expected, the gentle askings of the collec-
sory tax. tors, and the exhortations of the minister,the charitable ways
and means of the bishop, appear to have been without ef¬
fect in persuading the parishioners to intrust to the collec¬
tors the distribution of their alms. We find, therefore,
twelve years afterwards (5th Elizabeth, chap. 3, passed in
1563), an attempt made to give additional effect to these
provisions, by enabling the bishop to bind any person to
appear at the next sessions, if his froward and wilful mind
should obstinately refuse to give weekly relief to the poor
according to his ability. Here the justices are to come
in to the aid of the bishop, and are charitably and gently
to persuade and move the said obstinate person to extend
his charity. If he will not be persuaded, the justices with
the churchwardens may tax the obstinate person according
to their discretion ; and on his refusal to pay, the justices,
on the complaint of the churchwardens, are to commit him
to jail until he does pay the sum taxed, and arrears. Thus
was created a compulsory tax, though at first only as an alter¬
native where voluntary contributions were refused.
The important statute, 14th Elizabeth, represents in its
recitals, that “ all parts of this realm of England and Wales
be presently with rogues, vagabonds, and sturdy beggars
exceedingly pestered, by means whereof daily happeneth in
the same realm horrible murders, thefts, and other great
outrage.” The sense of these evils seems to have dictated
a resort to a new variety of punishments; all persons defined
in the act as rogues and vagabonds, or sturdy beggars, are
for the first offence to be grievously whipped and burned to
the gristle of the right ear with a hot iron, of the compass
of an inch about; for the second, they are to be deemed
felons ; for the third, to suffer death as felons, without bene¬
fit of clergy. But now chiefly is to be observed the im¬
provements in assessing the burthen; the justices having
power to settle the poor for their abidings, and to set down
what portion the weekly charge towards the relief and sus-
tentation of the poor people would amount unto, and that
done, shall by their good discretions tax and assess all the
inhabitants dwelling within the divisions limited for the set¬
tling of the poor.
License to This statute contained, like some of its predecessors, an
tag. enactment giving a limited license for begging, provided
that the poor people ask relief of victualling only in the
same parish where they do dwell, so the same be at the
time and in the manner directed by the churchwardens and
overseers of the poor. This license has been extended,
modified, and restrained, but still kept in existence, espe¬
cially in the case of discharged soldiers and prisoners, up
to recent times.
13 Eliz. So far we have seen the gradual accumulation of all the
an. i. elements contained in the poor-laws up to the time of the
last amendment in the system made in the reign of the
late King William IV. The statute which permanently
fixed all these elements in one system was passed in the
last year of the reign of Elizabeth, the celebrated statute
the 43d Elizabeth, chap. 2. In this statute we find ex¬
treme severity abandoned, and its place supplied with a
reasonable test of destitution of such as may be presumed
to be voluntary beggars or idlers. The able-bodied, married
or unmarried, are to be set to work; children may be ap¬
prenticed; only the “ lame, impotent, old, blind, and such
others among them, being poor and not able to work,” are to
have “ necessary relief,” without being set to work. For the
fatter class of poor, habitations may be provided at the ex¬
pense of the parish, on the waste or common ; and for the
301
support of these, but not of any who are able to work, History of
natural relations, that is, father, mother, grandfather, grand- English
mother, and children, may be compelled to contribute. Poor'
The voluntary contribution, and the co-operation of the Laws'
minister and bishop, are abandoned. A tax upon the inha- Y ^"
bitants, and upon the occupiers of property, strictly defined,
and upon the parson or vicar, is directed to be levied in
every parish; effectual means are given for the assessment,
collection, and levy of the tax; for appeal for remedy against
its unjust assessment; for the contribution of adjoining pa¬
rishes and hundreds, where the means of the single parish
failed ; above all, a special authority is created for giv¬
ing effect to the provisions of the law. Overseers, not less
than two, nor more than four, are to be appointed in every
parish yearly, in Easter week, to act with the churchwardens,
subject to the orders of the justices, and liable to penal¬
ties for neglect of their office.
Such was the system in operation for above two cen¬
turies and a quarter, from 1601 to 1834, without material
modification : its whole provisions were extended in the
reign of Charles II. to town-lands; the law of settlement
was also extended and refined, in the same and subsequent
reigns; and the provision for setting the able-bodied to
work was rendered more effectual by the 9th George I. chap.
7, which enabled every parish to provide a workhouse, or,
if too small or too poor, to combine with others for the
purpose of maintaining a workhouse, and which rendered
the offer of relief in a workhouse a sufficient bar to the
claim to any other relief.
These statutes, aided by all those other causes which Diminution
operated upon the morals and the general prosperity of the of vagran-
people, had produced the effect intended by their authors ; cy.
and whatever may have been the portion attributable to any
of the several causes in operation, the result unquestionably
was, that vagabondage and idleness were found in the last
half of the last century to prevail in England to a less ex¬
tent than in any of the larger states of Europe, with the
single exception of Holland. As the extremity of the evil
had formerly produced severity in the law, so the disappear¬
ance of the evil produced a disastrous relaxation in the re¬
strictions of which the experience and prudence of the pre¬
vious times had discovered the necessity.
About the middle of the last century, there began to be Relaxation
indicated in the acts of the legislature a growing opinion, of the law.
that the severity of the tests applied to the recipients of
public charity required to be diminished. In the 7th year
of the reign of George III., guardians were especially ap¬
pointed in the city of London, the city of Westminster, the
bills of mortality, the liberties of the Tower, not with any
administrative or executive powers, but “ to guard against
the dangerous consequences which may arise from the false
parsimony, negligence, inadvertency, or the annual change
of parish officers.” These guardians were to protect the
poor children of the metropolitan districts to which the acfc
applied, by visiting the places in which they were kept, re¬
porting on their condition, and calling on the assistance of
the magistracy where it might seem necessary.
Throughout the whole of the reign of George III. the ex¬
ample thus set was followed by constantly succeeding and
increasing relaxations of the rigour of the old law; some of
the most conspicuous instances of which are to be found in
Gilbert’s act, passed in the twenty-second year of that reign,
1782, which, instead of rendering the workhouse a means
of testing voluntary pauperism, by employing the able-
bodied, thereby deterring them from habits of pauperism,
by rendering their state less eligible than one of indepen¬
dence, reverses this principle entirely. It confines the use
of the workhouse to that of a mere receptacle for the aged,
impotent, and infant poor; expressly provides, that the able-
bodied shall not be required to enter it; and proceeds to the
absurd extent in favour of the able-bodied pauper, of com-
302
POO R-L A W S.
History of pelling the guardians appointed under the act to find work
Poor-1 near ^le^r own houses, for all applicants able and professing
Laws. whhng to work, but unable to get employment; and
■ to make up any supposed deficiency of wages out of the
poor-rates.
The evils of able-bodied pauperism were now proceed¬
ing with alarming rapidity. The consummation of the false
policy of the legislature during this reign was attained in
East’s act, 5$ Geo. III. chap. 137 (passed 1815). It con¬
sists of a complete abrogation of almost all the salutary por¬
tions of the 9th Geo. I. chap. 7. The relief was no longer
required to be received in the workhouse, it was to be paid
to any pool' person or persons at his or her or their home or
homes, house or houses. Justices were empowered to order
this relief for any time they might be pleased to define, not
exceeding three months; and two justices might make
subsequent orders for relief for a period not exceeding six
months. The preambles and recitals in this statute consist,
as might have been anticipated from the previous course of
legislation, of descriptions of the grossest disorders on the
part of those maintained by the public charity.
The insolence and general demoralization of the pauper, the
most alarming deterioration in the industry of the labouring
classes, especially the agricultural labourers of the south of
England, the unscrupulous interference of the employers
with the wages and the mode of remuneration of the em¬
ployed, were abundantly shown by the committees of both
houses of parliament, appointed to inquire into the progress
of the poor-laws, especially by that appointed on the motion
of Mr Sturges Bourne (in 1817), and upon the report of
which the act known as Sturges Bourne’s act (59 Geo. III.,
c. 12) was founded. This act does not entirely abandon the
views which dictated the dangerous provisions of East’s act.
Generally, however, it was a salutary measure, providing for
the election of bodies of persons called select vestries, who
were to supersede the overseers, and, in some measure, the
justices, more effectually to avoid the evils consequent upon
the administration being intrusted to annual and unpaid
officers. It made provision also for the performance of the
overseers’ duties, by paid and permanent assistant overseers.
From the end of George III.’s reign to the year 1834,
though legislative changes were not unfrequent, they were
confined to matters of detail, involving neither the aban¬
donment nor the adoption of any important principle.
CHAPTER III.
EFFECTS OF POOR-LAWS IN ENGLAND.
Commission of Inquiry.
Effects of In the course of the foregoing description of some of the
previous principal statutes, the useful or injurious principles involv-
legislation.^gd jn them have been shortly referred to ; the effects ope¬
rated by the working out of those principles have been less
Beneficial remarked upon. In the main, the good effects had consist-
effects. ed in reclaiming from a vagrant and profligate course of life
a large proportion of the population. The settlement laws
especially had been instrumental in this; for we find that
the creation of the claim to relief from the parish funds had
so far attracted the idle and dissolute from the practice of
common begging, that, in the reign of Charles II., after a
period of great commotions, when many disbanded soldiers
and sailors, and others, who, in a period of turmoil, are
either forced upon or voluntarily resort to an unsettled life,
had much swelled the mass of those who in previous times
would have been found in the ranks of sturdy and valiant
beggars, the same order of people were now found to be
systematic though rapacious paupers, making the parish fund
the means of levying their contributions on society.1
We find in a statute of Charles II. in the second year of Operation,
the Restoration (13 and 14 Car. II. cap. 12), a multifarious
law of settlement created, upon reasons thus expressed in
the recital: “ Whereas, by reason of some defects in the
law, poor people are not restrained from going from one
parish to another, and therefore do endeavour to settle them¬
selves in those parishes where there is the best stock, the lar¬
gest commons or wastes to build cottages, and the most
woods for them to burn and destroy ; and when they have
consumed it, then to another parish; and at last become
rogues and vagabonds, to the great discouragement of pa¬
rishioners to provide stocks, where it is liable to be de¬
voured by strangers.” From this period the whole of the
efforts of the legislation are incessantly made to prevent
the too easy settling of the poor upon the parish ; but they
all equally prove that settled pauperism had more and more
taken the place of vagrant mendicancy.
If to the poor-laws can be attributed this good effect,
they must also necessarily have the credit of preventing
that train of evils which follows upon the existence of a
large mass of mendicants and vagrants in any community.
The corruption, the demoralization, the inevitable bodily
misery, to the mendicant himself, his connections, and his
offspring; the extortion, depredation, and the more violent
crime which such a class have almost unlimited opportunity
and frequent temptation to commit; next the deterioration
in the feelings and habits of those whom circumstances may
bring in contact with them; the refuge which they afford
to all who are inclined or tempted to fall off from the more
steady and respectable occupations of life, many of whom
are even tempted by the mere spirit of adventure to become
recruits; add to these the alarm and practical annoyance,
which renders the industry and morality of all other classes
less a security for enjoyment: and we have some idea of the
train of evils which was cut off when vagrancy on the great
scale was at length, in England, successfully suppressed,
to be replaced in a great measure by voluntary pauperism.
The bad effects, as they arose in detail, usually led to the Injurious
successive modifications which we find the law in its pro-effects,
gress undergoing from time to time. Many of the evils
temporarily and partially felt might even now be described
with advantage, and as warnings to future legislators; but
generally their interest would at present be greater to the
historian and antiquary than in a practical point of view.
At no period had these laws attained such an influence on
the interests of the community of England and Wales, as
about the years 1831 and 1832, when the effects of the
whole system had reached a greater height than had ever
yet been attained.
In these years many of the anticipations of those who
had seen the evil tendency of the poor-laws, and had pro¬
phesied that the results of the system must be disastrous,
were realized in such a way as to produce a conviction in
the most supine, that either a remedy must be applied, or a
wide-spread ruin be submitted to. In an article in this
work, written in the year 1823, by one of the most humane
and enlightened men who had ever given their attention to
the subject, it was shown that a crisis was impending, and
could not be far removed; that, as the law then stood, the
poor-rates were increasing in the same ratio in which the
prudence and forethought of the receivers of relief were be¬
ing destroyed. It was shown, that “ whenever the charge
upon the land in support of those who do not add enough to
the annual produce of the country to support themselves is so
great that the land can be no longer cultivated with profit,
then of course it will be thrown up.” In 1832 was seen the
phenomenon of whole parishes of fertile land being aban¬
doned, “ the landlords giving up their rents, the farmers
their tenancy, the clergyman his glebe and the tithes.” "We
find the paupers assembled and refusing to accept of the offer
1 See Report on the Law of Settlement and Removal, 1851, pp. 40-43, and the passages in the Appendix there referred to.
POO H-L A W S.
303
Operation^ of the whole land of the parish, avowing that “ they liked they also collected a vast mass of interesting evidence from fWr '
'—v— the present system better.”* our ambassadors and diplomatic agents in dXrenf.o 2^^
In the article referred to, it had been shown that the sys- tries of Europe and America. & Gnt coun"
tem then in operation was fraught with the danger of dis- The result was a scrutinizing and minute inouirv •
contented turbulence. “ Every one is brought up with the was followed by the suggestion of amendments i/tlJi
belief that the state is bound to provide him with employ- the practical deductions8 from the experience vet so^v 7’
ment and support. When, therefore, the employment as- matic, that their operation could be calculated almost wS
Signed Inm is such as he does not approve, and the recom- certainty, and which were, therefore, proportionally tn hi
pense awarded him falls below his expectations (and when relied upon. As the success in inquiring had been P-Lt
the employment is a loss to the public, the recompense must so was the confidence of the legislature readily o-iven • S
often be below even reasonable expectations), he becomes the most important statute upon the subiect n^ssed sin™
an irritated and uneasy subject; and, unless he is restrained the statute of Elizabeth was carried through both houses h!
by the fear of detection, or by the better influence of moral large and confident majorities. Y
principles, he vents his spleen by any mischief that is in his A description of the evils found in operation at the time
power, and the burning of stackyards, or the destruction of the inquiry, of the remedies proposed for those evils and
of machinery, results from an unsatisfactory interview with of the enactments actually adopted, will afford the most
the overseer, or an ineffectual appeal to the bench of ma- complete and consistent view of the present system of Eng-
^ SInathe mnter of 1831-1832 we find the practical exempli- vis law!and of^e remediefp^ptXwTlfbe condensed
fication of these remarks. In a period of great general pros- from the Report of the Commissioners of Inquiry; that of the
T I’ Th that P0rtl0n °f which the poor- enactments passed, from the Act for the Amendment and
laws had had their greatest operation, and in which by much better Administration of the Laws relating to the Poor in
the largest expenditure of poor-rates had been made, the England and Wales, being 4> and 5 William IV can 76
scene of daily not and nightly incendiarism; and we discover The poor entitled to relief consist,/rtf, of thosewho are
a state of things which, m the sober language of statistics, is impotent through old age or bodily infirmity, through infancv
thus described : Of ninety-three parishes in four ill-admi- through accident, or through mental infirmity; and secondly
mstered counties, the population is 113.147. and the evnen- of the ntile-Periiori }> > Jy
mstered counties, the population is 113,147, and the expen- of the able-bodied poor,
diture L.81,978, or fourteen and fivepence per head ; and
of eighty parishes in three well-administered counties, the
population is 105,728, and the expenditure L.30,820, or five
and ninepence per head ; and those counties in which the
expenditure is large are those in which the industry and
skill of the labourers are passing away, the connection be¬
tween the master and servant has become precarious, the
unmarried are defrauded of their fair earnings, and riots and
incendiarism have prevailed. The three counties in which
it is comparatively small are those in which scarcely any
instance of fire or tumult appears to have occurred; in
which mutual attachment exists between the workman and
his employer; in which wages depend not on marriage, but
on ability, and the diligence and skill of the labourers are
unimpaired or increased.”
The danger had become too real to be neglected if a
remedy could be found; but parliamentary inquiries, both
in the upper and lower house, had repeatedly taken place kind, was found to consist rarely of food, rather less unfre-
comparatively without result, the largest effect produced by quently of fuel, and still less unfrequently of clothes, parti-
any committee of either house being that of the committee cularly shoes ; but its most usual form was that of relieving
appointed in J817, which in the year 1819 produced Sturges the applicants, either wholly or partially, from the expense
.bourne s act ; an act, as events proved, almost wholly un- of obtaining house-room. This last mode of relief was
productive of effect in checking the course of pauperism. extensively prevalent, and productive of important conse-
An ettort ot another kind was now felt to be necessary, quences, both direct and indirect,
and was accordingly made. A Commission of Inquiry was Partial relief from the expense of obtaining house-room
appointed, consisting of individuals remarkable alike for was given, or professed to be given, whenever the occupant
eir interest in the subject and their knowledge of its prin- of a cottage or an apartment was exempted on the ground
S ’ ^ Powei\^ugh only those of ordi- of poverty from the payment of rates. In a great number
I RELIEF OF THE ABLE-BODIED.
It was in the relief of the able-bodied that the greatest
pecuniary expenditure, and, above all, that the greatest mo¬
ral evils, were incurred. The relief granted was in a great
measure unconditional; in many districts it had superseded
the necessity of practising even the thrift and husbandry
necessary in expending the funds placed at the pauper’s
disposal.
I he great source of abuse was found to be the out-door
i elief afforded to the able-bodied on their own account, or
on that of their families. 1 his was given either in kind or
in money.
1. Out-Door Deliej of the Able-Bodied in Kind.
1 he out-door relief of the able-bodied, when given in
nary commissioners of inquiry, far exceeding, for useful pur¬
poses, those of a parliamentary committee. Its labours were
continued incessantly for two years, uninterrupted by the
vacation or recess. Nor were these confined alone to the
examination of witnesses summoned from different parts of
the country. The commission were enabled to examine the
locality itself) the documentary evidence, the living wit¬
nesses, and the actual operation of the system on the spot,
and this by the members of their own body, as well as by
assistant-commissioners appointed to visit and examine all
of cases the labourer, if a parishioner, was not only exempt¬
ed from rates, but his rent was paid out of the parish funds.
2. Out-Door Relief of the Able-Bodied in Money.
The out-door relief afforded in money to the able-bodied
on their own account or on that of their families was found
to be still more prevalent. This was generally effected by
one or other of the five following expedients, which may be
concisely designated as, first, relief without labour; secondly,
the allowance system; thirdly, the roundsman system; fourth-
p, ^ v.'a. cm n i ic dii nit. diiowciricc system * Liiirciiyj tiic TUunQsriidn systGin 5 tourtfi™
S °f C fi°UnjtlX’ SOme WJ om exter>ded their inqui- ly, parish employment; and, fifthly, the labour-rate system,
in o Scotland, France, Flanders, and Guernsey, whilst Relief without Labour—By the parish giving to those who
and^PrnpH t0| ^ '3arJ-S^1 of Cho^biwyin Berkshire, the Report from his Majesty’s Commissioners for Inquiring into the Administration
SndL (A) n 1 6 Poor-Laws’ 8vo rellow^ 1834. See also instances in Warwickshire, in Mr Yilliers’s Report, in Ap“
304
POO R-L A W S.
Operation, were or professed to be without employment, a daily or a week-
' ly sum, without requiring from the applicant any labour.
Sometimes relief, to an amount insufficient for a com¬
plete subsistence, was afforded, without imposing any fur¬
ther condition than that the applicant should shift, as it
was called, for himself, and give the parish no further trou¬
ble. In a still greater number of instances the relief was
found to have been given on the plea that the applicant had
not been able to obtain work, that he had lost a day or a
longer period, and was entitled, therefore, to receive from
the unlimited resources of the parish what he had not been
able to obtain from a private employer.
Allowance.—By the parish allowing to labourers who
were employed by individuals, relief in aid of wages.
In some places allowance was found to have been given
only occasionally, or to meet occasional wants ; to buy, for
instance, a coat or a pair of shoes, or to pay the rent of a cot¬
tage or an apartment. In others, it was considered that a
weekly sum, or more frequently the value of a certain quan¬
tity of flour or bread, was to be received by each member
of a family.
The latter practice was found to have been sometimes
matured into a system, forming the law of a whole district,
sanctioned and enforced by the magistrates, and promul¬
gated in the form of local statutes.1 The allowance fixed
by these scales was usually called bread-money. Of this
kind of relief it was observed, that
“ No attention was paid to either the character of the
applicant or the causes of his distress. In fact, he was con¬
sidered as entitled to it without pleading any distress.
“ The bread-money was hardly looked upon by the labour¬
ers in the light of parish relief. They considered it as much
their right as the wages they received from their employers,
and, in their own minds, made a wide distinction between
‘ taking their bread-money1 and ‘ going on the parish.’ ”
It was further to be observed, that even in those parishes
in which the amount of allowance was supposed to depend
upon that of the applicant’s earnings, the inquiry as to the
amount of those earnings was never carried back further
than the current or the previous week or fortnight. The Operation.
consequence was, that many of those who at particular pe- s 
riods of the year received wages far exceeding the average
amount of the earnings of the most industrious labourer,
received also large allowances from the parish.2
Again, there were other parishes in which no sort of in¬
quiry whatever was made respecting earnings ; but the birth
of a child endowed the parent with an allowance, whatever
might have been his previous income.3 It was to be ob¬
served, also, that under the scale system a child was very
soon considered as an independent claimant for relief, and
entitled to it, though residing with his parents, and though
they might have been at full work on high wages.4
The Roundsman System—By the parish paying the
occupiers of property to employ the applicants for relief at
a rate of wages fixed by the parish, and depending not on
the services but on the wants of the applicants, the em¬
ployer being repaid out of the poor-rate all that he had ad¬
vanced in wages beyond a certain sum. This was the house-
row, or roundsman, or billet, or ticket, or stem, system.
According to this plan, the parish in general made some
agreement with a farmer to sell to him the labour of one
or more paupers at a certain price, and paid to the pauper
out of the parish funds the difference between that price
and the allowance which the scale, according to the price
of bread and the number of his family, awarded to him. It
had received the name of the billet or ticket system, from
a ticket signed by the overseer, which the pauper in general
carried to the farmer as a warrant for his being employed,
and took back to the overseer, signed by the farmer, as a
proof that he had fulfilled the conditions of relief. In other
cases the parish contracted with some individual to have
some work performed for him by the paupers at a given
price, the parish paying the paupers. In many places the
roundsman system was effected by means of an auction.5
Parish Employment.—By the parish employing and pay¬
ing the applicants for relief.
The 43d Elizabeth does not authorize relief to be afford¬
ed to any but the impotent, except in return for work. And
1 “ Town of Cambridge The churchwardens and overseers of the poor are requested to regulate the incomes of such persons as
may apply to them for relief or employment, according to the price of fine bread, namely,
“ A single woman, the price of...34 quartern loaves per week. u A man and his wife and one child...94 quartern loaves per week.
a A single man 4| ... ditto. “ Ditto ditto and two children 11 ... ditto.
44 A man and his wife   8 ... ditto. Ditto ditto and three ditto ...13 ••• ditto.
“ Man, wife, four children and upwards, at the price of quartern loaves per head per week.
“ It will be necessary to add to the above income in all cases of sickness or other kind of distress, and particularly of such persons
or families who deserve encouragement by their good behaviour, whom parish-officers should mark both by commendation and reward.
£t By order of the magistrates assembled at the town-hall, Cambridge,—A Chevell, clerk to the magistrates. Nov. 27, 1829.
^IlsPMr Bishop found a parish in the Bedford Level, in which a recently drained tract of fertile land requires more labour than the
settled inhabitants can provide, and the average yearly earnings of a labourer’s family are from L.60 to L.?0; but during a frost,
and generally from November to March, almost every labourer comes on the parish. When they commented on these facts in their
conversation with a resident magistrate, his answer was, “ Why, what are we to do ? they spend it all, and then come and say they
are starving; and you must relieve them.” “ In our vestry,” says Mr Russell, “ which meets every Monday, the calculation is
confined to the earnings of the past fortnight. No further retrospect is ever taken either for or against the claimant. In some pa-
rishes I believe the account is settled once a week instead of once a fortnight.” Sometimes the inquiry does not go back even to the
beginning of the week at the end of which the claim is made. (/6irf. p. 29.) . , ,
s In the northern division of Devonshire, says Mr Villiers, “ The practice of granting allowance for children is so general and
confirmed, that the pauper is in the habit of giving formal notice to the overseer of the pregnancy of his wife. Should the over¬
seer refuse the application for the fixed sum allowed for the second, third, or fourth child, the magistrates single inquiry, on his ap-
pearance before them under a summons, would have been as to the custom of the parish or the hundred. At what number does al¬
lowance begin with you ?' was the common mode of putting the question, as I was repeatedly assured by overseers. I he previous
or present earnings of the pauper, or of any of his family, were never mentioned. ^ (Ibid. p. 31.)
< At Friston, Suffolk, Mr Stuart states that “ a child is entitled to relief at the rate of three shillings a week on his own account
from the a^e of fourteen.” “ At Bottisham, Cambridge,” says Mr Power, “ a boy of sixteen receives two shillings i.nd sixpence for
the week - he lives at home with his father; the family consists of his father, mother, brother, and himself. Seventeen is the age at
which a voung man is considered entitled to separate relief as an unemployed labourer; his pay then is three shillings and sixpence.
The allowance to our single young men out of employ used to be two shillings and tenpence; according to scale, four quartern
loaves, present price eightpence-halfpenny. Last November they came to the sessions in a body to complain of the insufficiency,
and it was then raised to three shillings and sixpence. This sum they receive when above a certain age, although residing with their
families.” (Ibid. p. 31.) . , , . , •,
6 Mr Richardson states that, £-in Sulgrave, Northamptonshire, the old and infirm are sold at the monthly meeting to the bes. bid¬
der, at prices varying, according to the time of the year, from one shilling and sixpence a week to three shillings; that at \ armey-
Hastings, all the unemployed men are put up to sale weekly; and that the clergyman of the parish told him that he had seen ten men
the last week knocked down to one of the farmers for five shillings, and that there were at that time about seventy men a ou
this manner out of a body of 170.” (Ibid. p. 28.)
POO R-L A W S.
305
Operation, much as this part of the statute had been neglected, its va-
-'v'"'-1''lidity was still recognised by the judges. In the King v
Collett, 2, Barnewell and Cresswell, 324, Lord Tenterden
decided it to be the duty of overseers to provide work, if
ossible, before they afforded relief. And whatever might
ave been the difficulty of finding ’profitable work, one
could scarcely suppose the existence of a parish in which it
would not be possible to provide some work, were it merely
to dig holes and fill them again. But though such was the
law, it appears, from the parliamentary returns, that pay¬
ment for work was the most unusual form in which relief
was administered. The poor-rgte returns for the year end¬
ed the 25th of March 1832 state, that out of L.7,036,968
expended in that year for the relief of the poor, less than
L.354,000, or scarcely more than one twentieth part, was
paid for work, including work on the roads and in the work-
houses. This might easily be accounted for.
In the first place, to afford relief gratuitously proved less
troublesome to the parochial authorities than to require
work in return for it, Wherever work was to be paid for,
there must have been superintendence ; but where paupers
were the w’ork-people, much more than the average degree
of superintendence was necessary. In ordinary cases, all
that the superintendent inquired was, whether the workmen
had performed an average day’s work; and where the work
was piece-work, he needed not make even that inquiry.
The practice of his trade fixed the market-price of the
work, and he paid it without asking whether the workman
had been one hour or one day in performing it, or whether
it exceeded or fell below his wants. But the superinten¬
dent of pauper labourers had to ascertain, not what was an
average day’s work, or what was the market-price of a
given service, but what was a fair day’s work for a given
individual, his strength and habits considered ; at what rate
of pay for that work, the number of his family considered,
he would be able to earn the sum necessary for his and
their subsistence; and, lastly, whether he had in fact per¬
formed the amount which, after taking all these elements
into calculation, it appeared that he ought to have perform¬
ed. It will easily be anticipated that this superintendence
was very rarely given ; and that in far the greater number
of instances in which work was professedly required from
paupers, in fact no work was done. In the second place, col¬
lecting the paupers in gangs for the performance of parish
work was found to be more immediately injurious to their
conduct than even allowance or relief without requiring any
work at all. Whatever might have been the general charac¬
ter of the parish labourers, all the worst of the inhabitants
were sure to be amongst the number; and it is well known
that the effect of such an association is always to degrade the
good, not to elevate the bad. It was amongst these gangs,
who had scarcely any other employment or amusement than
to collect in groups, and talk over their grievances, that
the riots of 1830 appear to have originated. And, thirdly,
parish employment did not afford direct profit to any indi¬
vidual. Under the greatest part of the other systems of relief,
the immediate employers of labour could throw on the pa- Operation,
nsh a part of the wages of their labourers. They preferred,
therefore, those modes of relief which they could turn to
their own account, and out of which they could extract pro¬
fit under the mask of charity.1 1
In some of the agricultural districts, the prevalent mis¬
management in this respect had created in the minds of
the paupers a notion that it was their right to be exempted
from the same degree of labour as independent labourers.
But in many places, whilst the labour required by the pa¬
rish was trifling, the pay equalled or exceeded that of the
independent labourer.2
The Labour-Rate System—By an agreement amongst the
rate-payers, that each of them should employ and pay out
of his own money a certain number of the labourers who
had settlements in the parish, in proportion, not to his real
demand for labour, but according to his rental or to his con¬
tribution to the rates, or to the number of horses that he kept
for tillage, or to the number of acres that he occupied, or
according to some other scale.
n. OUT-DOOR RELIEF OF THE IMPOTENT.
The out-door relief to the impotent, using that word as
comprehending all except the able-bodied and their fami¬
lies, was subject to less abuse. The great source of poor-
law mal-administration was the desire of many of those who
regulated the distribution of the parochial funds, to extract
from it a profit to themselves. The out-door relief to the
able-bodied, and all relief which was administered in the
workhouse, afforded ample opportunities for effecting this
purpose; but no use could be made of the labour of the
aged and sick, and there was little room for jobbing if their
pensions were paid in money. Accordingly, it was found
that even in places distinguished in general by the most
wanton parochial profusion, the allowances to the aged and
infirm were moderate.
General Remarks on Out-door Relief.
We have dwelt at some length on out-door relief, be¬
cause it appears to be the relief which was most extensive¬
ly given, and because it appears to have contained in itself
the elements of an almost indefinite extension ; of an ex¬
tension, in short, which might ultimately have absorbed
the whole fund out of which it arose. Amongst the ele¬
ments of extension were the constantly diminishing reluc¬
tance to claim an apparent benefit, the receipt of which
imposed no sacrifice, except a sensation of shame, quickly
obliterated by habit, even if not prevented by example; the
difficulty, often amounting to impossibility, on the part of
those who administered and awarded relief, of ascertaining
whether any and what necessity for it existed ; and the exist¬
ence in many cases of positive motives on their parts to grant
it when unnecessary, or themselves to create the necessity.
From the evidence collected by the Commissioners, it
will be seen how zealous must be the agency, and how in-
i er e w°rk was completed by two or three o’clock, and the rest of the day spent in idleness, or the men consumed the whole
ay in e azy per ormance or the work of a portion of the day.”...“ In Pollington, Yorkshire, they send many of them upon the
ng u °.11 y work four hours per day. This is because there is not employment sufficient in that way ; they sleep more
ian ey w°r ^ aI1y but the surveyor found them sleeping, they would laugh at them. In Rancliffe they employed a man in
e win er o - ool to look over them; but they threatened to drown him, and he was obliged to withdraw.”...*4 In the parish of
. ance er, in e county ot Warwick, the overseer stated that young able men received two shillings and sixpence a week, and the
agis ia ps wou not allow the parish to employ them more than three days in the week, in order that they might get work for them-
se ves. pon inquiry, it appeared that their characters soon became so infamous, that no person would employ them, having devoted
eir spare ime thieving and poaching. In the township of Atherstone, Mr Wellday, a manufacturer, impatient of contributing
f P^°ller y 0 116 encouragement of vice and idleness by paying men without exacting labour, purchased some water-carts himself,
in „ • i6 ° '’lviri» eniployment to paupers. The magistrates refused to allow them to be used after twelve o’clock in the day,
.I, V er „at/t,,ese men nnight procure work for themselves. They were also described as becoming the most worthless characters in
tne town.” (Report, p. 37, 38.)
b'astbourne, in Sussex, was a striking example. In that place, in which the average wages earned from individuals by hard work
ir inW|£| Ve S * ni^s,a Jve,’je PaPs^TPa^s ^or nominal labour as much as sixteen shillings a week. Two families alone received from
paupers^ ^(Tbid n^e^^'^a^ 1832, L.92. 4s.; and the wives of the few independent labourers regret that their husbands are not
VOL. XVIII. _
2 Q
306
POO R-L A W S.
Operation.
tense the vigilance, to prevent fraudulent claims from crowd¬
ing in under such a system of relief. But it would require still
greater vigilance to prevent the bona fide claimants from de¬
generating into impostors ; and it was an aphorism amongst
the active parish-officers, that “ cases which are good to¬
day are bad to-morrow, unless they are incessantly watch¬
ed.” A person obtained relief upon the ground of sickness ;
but when he became capable of returning to moderate work,
he was tempted, by the enjoyment of subsistence without
labour, to conceal his convalescence, and fraudulently ex¬
tend the period of relief. When it really depended upon
the receivers whether the relief should cease with its occa¬
sion, it was too much to expect of their virtue that they
should, in any considerable number of instances, voluntari¬
ly forego the pension.
Another evil connected with out-door relief, and arising
from its undefined character, was the natural tendency to
award to the deserving more than was necessary, or, where
more than necessary relief was afforded to all, to distinguish
the deserving by extra allowances. The scale which we
have already referred to, promulgated by the magistrates
for the town of Cambridge, as well as several others, all
directed the parish-officers to reward or encourage the de¬
serving. The whole evidence showed the danger of such
an attempt. It appeared that such endeavours to consti¬
tute the distributors of relief into a tribunal for the reward
of merit, out of the property of others, had not only failed in
effecting the benevolent intentions of their promoters, but
had become sources of fraud on the part of the distributors,
and of discontent and violence on the part of the claimants.
A common consequence was, that to satisfy the clamours
of the undeserving, the general scale of relief was raised ;
but the ultimate result of such a proceeding appears always
to have been to augment the distress which it was intend¬
ed to mitigate, and to render still more fierce the discontent
which it was intended to appease. Profuse allowances ex¬
cited the most extravagant expectations on the part of the
claimants, who conceived that an inexhaustible fund was
devoted to their use, and that they were wronged to the
extent of whatever fell short of their claims. Such relief
partook of the nature of indiscriminate alms-giving in its ef¬
fects, as a bounty on indolence and vice ; but the apparent¬
ly legal sanction to this parochial alms-giving rendered the
discontent on denial the most intense. Wherever, indeed,
public charities are profusely administered, we hear, from
those who are engaged in their administration, complaints
of the discontent and disorders introduced.
It appeared from all the Commissioners’ returns, that in
every district the discontent of the labouring classes was pro¬
portioned to the money disbursed in poor-rates or in volun¬
tary charities. The able-bodied unmarried labourers were
discontented, from being put to a disadvantage as compar¬
ed with the married. The paupers were discontented, from
their expectations being raised by the ordinary administra¬
tion of the system, beyond any means of satisfying them.1
Those who worked, though receiving good wages, being de¬
nominated poor, and classed with the really indigent, thought
themselves entitled to a share of the “ poor funds.” What¬
ever addition was made to allowances under these circum¬
stances excited the expectation of still further allowances,
increased the conception of the extent of the right, and
insured proportionate disappointment and hatred if that ex- Operation,
pectation were not satisfied. On the other hand, wherever v-w'
the objects of expectation had been made definite, where
wages, upon the performance of work, had been substituted
for eleemosynary aid, and those wages had been allowed to re¬
main matter of contract, employment had again produced con¬
tent, and kindness became once more a cause of gratitude.
III. IN-DOORS RELIEF.
In-doors relief, that which was given within the walls of
the poor-house, or, as it was usually, but very seldom proper¬
ly, denominated, the workhouse, was also subject to great
mal-administration. But in by far the greater number of
cases it was a large alms-house, in which the young were
trained in idleness, and ignorance, and vice ; the able-bodied
maintained in sluggish and sensual indolence ; the aged and
more respectable exposed to all the misery incident to dwell¬
ing in such a society, without government or classification;
and the whole body of inmates subsisting on food far exceed¬
ing, both in kind and in amount, not merely the diet of the
independent labourer, but that of the majority of the per¬
sons who contributed to their support.
The progress of pauperism, as far as it can be inferred Progress of
from the progress of expenditure, had been such under the pauperism,
unamended law during the present century as is exhibited
in the following table ;2 to which the prices of wheat, and
the quantities which might have been purchased by the total
sums expended, are added, to check somewhat the misap¬
prehension which might otherwise arise as to the true value
of the sums expended through the fluctuating values of
money during the interval to which the table extends.
1801
1803
1811
1814
1815
1816
1817
1818
1819
1820
1821
1822
1823
1824
1825
1826
1827
1828
1829
1830
1831
1832
1833
Sums expended
for Relief of the
Poor.
L.
4,017,871
4,077,891
6,656,105
6,294,581
5,418,846
5,724,839
6,910,925
7,870,801
7,516,704
7,330,256
6,959,249
6,358,702
5,772,958
5,736,898
5,786,989
5,928,501
6,441,088
6,298,000
6,332,410
6,829,042
6,798,888
7,036,968
6,790,799
Population o
England and
Wales.*
Average Price
of Wheat per
Quarter.
8,872,980
9,148,314
10,163,676
10,755,034
10,979,437
11,160,557
11,349,750
11,524,389
11,700,965
11,893,155
11,978,875
12,313,810
12,508,956
12,699,098
12,881,906
13,056,931
13,242.019
13,441,913
13,620,701
13,811,467
13,897,187
14,105,645
14,317,229
s. d.
115 11
57 1
92 5
72 1
63 8
76 2
94 0
83 8
72 3
65 10
54 5
43 3
51 9
62 0
66 6
56 11
56 9
60
66
64
66
58 8
52 11
Number of Quar¬
ters of Wheat for
which the money
could have been
exchanged.
693,234
1,428,751
1,440,455
1,746,474
1,702,255
1,503,240
1,470,409
1,881,466
2,080,748
2,226,913
2,557,763
2,940,440
2,231,094
1,850,612
1,740,447
2,083,221
2,269,987
2,084,855
1,911,671
2,125,772
2,049,916
2,398,966
2,566,601
* The numbers given in this column for the years 1801, 1811, 1821, and 1831,
are those ascertained at the enumeration of those years; those stated for the in¬
termediate and for subsequent years are computed from the baptisms and bu¬
rials, and from the rate of increase, as ascertained at each census.
1 “ They, as well as the independent labourers, to whom the term poor is equally applied, are instructed,” says Mr Chadwick,
“ that they have a right to ‘ a reasonable subsistence,’ or ‘ a fair subsistence,’ or c an adequate subsistence.’ When I have asked of the
rate-distributors what ‘fair,' or ‘ reasonable,' or ‘ adequate' meant, I have in every instance been answered differently; some stating
they thought it meant such as would give a good allowance of ‘ meat every day,’ which no poor man (meaning a pauper) should be
without; although a large proportion of the rate-payers do go without it.” It is abundantly shown in the course of this inquiry, that
where the terms used by the public authorities are vague, they are always filled up by the desires of the claimants, and the desires
always wait on the imagination, which is the worst regulated and the most vivid in the most ignorant of the people. In Newbury and
Reading, the money dispensed in poor-rates and charity is as great as could be desired by the warmest advocate either of com¬
pulsory or of voluntary relief; and yet, during the agricultural riots, many of the inhabitants in both towns were under strong ap¬
prehensions of the rising of the very people amongst whom the poor-rates and charities are so profusely distributed. The violence of
most of the mobs seems to have arisen from an idea that all their privations arose from the cupidity or fraud of those intrusted with
the management of the fund provided for the poor. (Report, p. 50.) . ,
2 For the like information, collected for the years subsequent to 1833, during which the amended law has been m operation, see tne
table at page 315.
1
POO R-L A W S.
307
Operation. Tlie following represents the results of the above table
at the periods of the decennial census.
Years of Cost per head on
the Census. total Population.
s. d.
1801   9 1
1811 13 1
1821 10 7
1831  9 9
The foregoing table, however, can by no means be adopt¬
ed as indicating with any accuracy the real progress of the
evil. In the first place, the progress in the amount expend¬
ed only indicates an increased proportion of pauperism, in¬
asmuch as the increase in the sums expended exceeds the
increase in the population. Thus, from the year 1803 to
the year 1823, the population increased from nine to twelve
millions, whilst the sums expended for relief of the poor
increased from four to five and three-fourth millions. This
indicates but a small increase in pauperism relatively to the
increase of population, and the number of paupers in every
hundred persons might have been nearly the same at the
two periods compared.1 We find, however, that the increase
in the value of the money expended, as reckoned in the
wheat purchaseable by it, was as fourteen to twenty-two,
that is, an increase in pauperism which would have exceed¬
ed the progress of the population in the proportion of twen¬
ty per cent.; and in this period it is to be supposed, either
that the numbers of paupers may have increased in the
proportion of twenty per cent., or that the effective relief,
that is, the quantity of commodities given on the one side
and received on the other, had at least increased in the
proportion of twenty per cent. But, during all this period,
other necessaries and commodities of life had diminished
in price in a still greater proportion. Thus it was calcu¬
lated by Mr Porter,1 from the extensive data contained in
his tables, that the sum of nine shillings and ninepence,
the amount of relief per head, in the year 1831, would have
purchased as much as seventeen shillings would have bought
in 1801. 8
The sums returned as expended in poor-rates, though,
since 1834 and at present, they represent the whole amount
of the burthen, did, in fact, up to the year 1834, include
but a small part of the whole charge. Of the various modes
in which relief was given to the able-bodied labourer, or
rather extorted from a portion of the parishioners, two of
those above described, viz. relief on the roundsman system,
and that on the labour-rate system, were means of casting
the burthen of a man’s support upon a parishioner, without
the levying or expending of any rate. No means exist to
enable us to calculate the amount of the burthen thus in¬
curred by the occupiers ; and of course the means of calcu¬
lating the sacrifices of landlords, who made deductions of Operation,
rate in regard of these charges, are equally wanting We '
however find, that amongst the most conspicuous instances
in which the rents of a parish had been nearly or entirelv
absorbed in the relief afforded by these two systems, very
small rates had been levied upon the occupiers in monev
1 he Commissioners’ evidence, particularly their Appendix
(D), is full of instances of this source of indirect and unre¬
corded loss.2
It must also be borne in mind, that in proportion as these
modes of relief to the able-bodied were extended, and as
the real amount of the burthen was thus concealed, the
deterioration of the labourer’s habits of industry, involving,
not a loss of the particular year, but a permanent destruc¬
tion of his utility as a labourer, as well as of his prudence and
morality, were proceeding in a ratio even more rapid than
the progress of these insidious forms of relief.
It might have been hoped, that, under such circumstances, Objections
a general feeling would have arisen that these abuses were “° amend-
intolerable, and must be put an end to at any risk or at any men^»
sacrifice. But many who acknowledged the evil seemed
to expect the cure of an inveterate disease without expos¬
ing the patient to any suffering, or even discomfort. They
exclaimed against the burthen as intolerable, but objected
to any amendment, if it appeared that it must be, or might
be, attended with any inconvenience. And amongst all
parties, labourers, employers of labourers, and owners of
property, many were to be found who thought that they
would suffer some immediate injury from any change which
should tend to throw the labouring classes on their own
resources.
The labourer felt that the existing system, though it ge- 1. On the
nerally gave him low wages, always gave him easy work. It part of la-
gave him likewise, strange as it may appear, what he valued bourers;
more, a sort of independence. He needed not bestir him¬
self to seek work, he needed not study to please his master,
he needed not put any restraint upon his temper, he need¬
ed not ask relief as a favour. He had all a slave’s secu-
rity for subsistence, without his liability to punishment. As
a single man, indeed, his income did not exceed a bare sub¬
sistence ; but he had only to marry, and it increased. Even
then it was unequal to the support of a family, but it rose
on the birth of every child. If his family were numerous,
the parish became his principal paymaster; for, small as
the usual allowance of two shillings a-head might be, yet,
when there were more than three children, it generally ex¬
ceeded the average wages given in a pauperised district. A
man with a wife and six children, entitled, according to the
scale, to have his wages made up to sixteen shillings a week,
in a parish where the usual wages paid by individuals did
not exceed ten shillings or twelve shillings, was almost an
irresponsible being. All other classes of society were ex-
s vr6 Pn°gvSS °f the N?tion’ by G< J1- Porter, Esq. small 8vo, 1836, p. 83.
,, . r. ,owe 1 s Poport contains the examination of a large farmer and proprietor at Great Shelford, who, on 500 acres, situated in
a pans , pays en shillings per acre poor-rate, or L.250 a year. In addition, though he requires for his farm only sixteen regular
a ourers, le constantly employs twenty or twenty-one. The wages of these supernumerary labourers amount to L.150 a year,
an e ca cu a es the value of what they produce at L.50 a year; so that his real contribution to the relief of the poor is not L.250,
tne sum wmcli would appear in the parliamentary returns, but L.350. In the same Report is to be found a letter from Mr Wedd of
Royston, containing the following passages : 
An occupier ol land near this place told me to-day that he pays L.100 for poor-rates, and is compelled to employ fourteen men
an six oys, an requires the labour of only ten men and three boys. His extra labour at ten shillings a week, which is the cur¬
rent rate for men, and half as much for boys, is L. 130.”
Another occupier stated yesterday that he held 165 acres of land, of which half was pasture. He was compelled to employ
we ve men an oys, and his farm required the labour of only five. He is about to give notice that he will quit. Every useless la¬
bourer is calculated to add five shillings an acre to the rent of a farm of 100 acres.”
ti COni a ^r°,m Royston, the occupier of a farm in a neighbouring parish, stating that “ The overseer
tU . a ^ 6a lat cou ^ n° ^onSer collect the money for the poor-rates without resorting to coercive measures, and that the unem-
p oy e poor must be apportioned amongst the occupiers of land in proportion to their respective quantities, had required him to take
wo more men. Mr Jvash was consequently obliged to displace two excellent labourers, and of the two men sent in their stead one
a married man with a family sickly, and not much inclined to work ; the other a single man addicted to drinking.”
^ su ®e4uent “istory of these two men appears in Mr Power’s Report. One killed a favourite blood mare of Mr Nash’s, and
the other he was obliged to prosecute for stealing his corn. (Report, p. 55.)
POO R-L A W S.
308
Objections posed to the vicissitudes of hope and fear; he alone had no-
^ ment^* to l°se or gain.1
v Y i_ ■ ^ aPPeared to the pauper, that the government had un¬
dertaken to repeal, hi his favour, the ordinary laws of na¬
ture ; to enact that the children should not suffer for the
misconduct of their parents, the wife for that of the hus¬
band, or the husband for that of the wife; that no one
should lose the means of comfortable subsistence, whatever
might be his indolence, prodigality, or vice; in short, that
the penalty which, after all, must be paid by some one for
idleness and improvidence, should fall, not on the guilty per¬
son, or on his family, but on the proprietors of the lands and
houses encumbered by his settlement. Can we wonder if
the uneducated were seduced into approving a system which
aimed its allurements at all the weakest parts of our na¬
ture, which offered marriage to the young, security to the
anxious, ease to the lazy, and impunity to the profligate ?
2. On the The employers of paupers were attached to a system
part of em- which enabled them to dismiss and resume their labourers
ployers; according to their daily or even hourly want of them, to
reduce wages to the minimum of what would support an
unmarried man, and to throw upon others the payment of
a part, frequently of the greater part, and sometimes al¬
most the whole, of the wages actually received by their la¬
bourers. And even if they paid in rates what they would
otherwise pay in wages, they preferred the payment of
rates, which occurred at intervals, and the payment of which
might from time to time be put off, to the weekly ready-
money expenditure of wages. High rates, too, wrere a ground
for demanding an abatement from rent; but high wages were
not.2 * 4
3. On the The owners of rateable property might, at least, have
part of pro-been expected to be favourable to any change w hich should
pnetois. avert their impending ruin. But of the property liable to
poor-rates, there is a portion, and a portion of considerable Objection*
importance, less from its value, than from the number ofto -Amend,
rate-payers amongst whom it is divided, and their influence v men^
in vestries, which not only is, in practice, exempted from
contributing to the parochial fund, but derives its principal
value from the maladministration of that fund. This pro¬
perty consists of cottages or apartments inhabited by the
poor. In almost all places the dwellings of the poor, or at
least of the settled poor, were exempted from rates, and, be¬
sides, the rent was, in a very large proportion, paid by the pa¬
rish. The former practice enabled the proprietor often to in¬
crease the rent by the amount of rate remitted, and always
to be an owner of real property, and yet escape the princi¬
pal burdens to which such property was subjected. The
latter practice gave him a solvent tenant, and, if he had in¬
fluence with the vestry or with the overseer, a liberal one.
Of the higher classes of landlords, those who reside in
towns seldom took much part in parochial government, or
had any distinct ideas as to the extent or the effects of its
mismanagement; and the majority of those who had become
familiarized with the abuses of the villages seem to have
acquired habits of thanking and feeling and acting which
unfitted them to originate any real and extensive amend¬
ment, or even to understand the principles upon which it
ought to be based. To suppose that the poor are the pro¬
per managers of their own concerns; that a man’s wages
ought to depend on his services, not on his wants; that the
earnings of an ordinary labourer are naturally equal to the
support of an ordinary family ; that the welfare of that fa¬
mily naturally depends on his conduct; that he is bound to
exercise any sort of prudence or economy; that anything
is to be hoped from voluntary charity; are views w’hich many
of those who had long resided in pauperised rural districts
seem to have rejected as too absurd for formal refutation.
1 Even in Barnard Castle, in Durham, Mr Wilson states, that if any remonstrance is made on account of the applicant’s bad cha¬
racter, the reply of the magistrate commonly is, “ the children must not suffer for it.”
The following answers are specimens of the feeling and conduct in the southern districts :—“ The answer given by the magistrates,
when a man’s bad conduct is urged by the overseer against his relief, is, ‘ We cannot help that; his wife and family are not to suffer
because the man has done wrong.'’ ”
4‘ Too frequently petty thieving, drunkenness, or impertinence to a master, throw able-bodied labourers, perhaps with large fami¬
lies, on the parish funds, when relief is demanded as a right, and, if refused, enforced by a magistrate’s order, without reference to
the cause which has produced his distress, viz. his own misconduct, which remains as a barrier to his obtaining any fresh situation,
and leaves him a dead weight upon the honesty and industry of his parish.”
Mr Stuart states, that in Suffolk, children deserted by their parents are in general well taken care of, and that the crime of de¬
serting them is largely encouraged by the certainty that the parish must support the family. Even the inconvenience which might
fall on the husband by the punishment of his wife for theft, is made the subject of pecuniary compensation at the expense of the in¬
jured parish. Under what other system could there be a judicial instrument concluding thus:—
“ And whereas it appears to us that the wife of the said Robert Reed is now confined in the house of correction at Cambridge, and
that he is put to considerable expense in providing a person to look after his said five children, we do therefore order the church¬
wardens and overseers of the poor of the said parish, or such of them to whom these presents shall come, to pay unto the said Robert
Reed the sum of eleven shillings weekly and every week, for and towards the support and maintenance of himself and family, for one
month from the day of the date hereof. Given under our hands and seals this twentieth day of February, in the year of our Lord
one thousand eight hundred and thirty-three.” (Report, p. 59.)
* In Air Richardson’s instructive statement of the reforms effected by Mr Litchfield, in Farthingoe, Northamptonshire, we find
that Mr Litchfield has been opposed, not only by the labourers, but by the farmers; first, because they grudged giving the labourer
with no children eight shillings a week; secondly, because they were afraid to displease the labourer who had two children, and pre¬
ferred head-money; and, thirdly, because they were fearful lest, if the rates were lowered, their rents would be raised ; and that
they encouraged the labourers, "at first openly, and afterwards covertly, in their attempts to deter Air Litchfield by menaces and
insult.
“ When a valuer,” says Air Cowell, “values a farm to an in-coming tenant, or fixes the rent from time to time (in these parts they
have no leases), he says, ‘ What are your poor-rates ?’ If the tenant answer, ‘ Rates are low, but wages are high,’ the valuer says,
‘ I have nothing to do with wages, that is your affair; but rates are a positive thing, and I allow for them.’ This Air Ellman considers
as a bad custom, as it holds out an inducement to the farmer to prefer low wages and high rates. Tenants at will, says Mr Cogshill,
too often think, the more poor-rates the less rent. Confidence between landlord and tenant seems quite lost. I have witnessed a
good deal of this."
The following replies to question 36 of the Commissioners’ Rural Queries are further testimonies to the same effect.
“ I think the poor-laws have not diminished the capital, but rather the rent of the landlord, as the tenant considers rents and rates
as payment for the farm, and one can only be increased at the expense of the other.”
“ The farmers are aware that, excepting in cases of long tenures and very sudden augmentation of rates, the burden does not at
all affect them. It is a rent paid to the parish instead of the landowner.”
“ It should be understood that poor-rates are deducted in all calculations for rent; and that landlords pay them, and not the
farmers.”
“ Capital is decreasing, from the loose manner in which the laws are administered, and the tenants feeling that they do not in
effect pay the rates, but the landlord. I cannot otherwise account for the apathy with which they view, and the tenacity with which,
in many instances, they defend abuses.” (Report, pp. 60, 61, 62.)
POO R-L A W S.
Effects of Yet were the effects of the system such, that it might
System, reasonably have been expected that any plan affording a
Eff\?cts”of ^ reasonakle prospect of a remedy would have been welcom-
system on by all classes. The proprietors, who had been mulcted
proprietors, every year of a larger and larger portion of their income,
were not only deprived of the benefits to their property na*
turally dependent on a constant increase of the population
and in the consumption of produce, each such increase
bringing with it an accumulating charge of pauperism. In¬
stances of the total abandonment of the land had not yet
become numerous, but the approach towards it was in many
cases imminent, and in all certain and rapid j1 whilst every
diminution of cultivation was seen to have a double effect in
increasing the i>te on the remaining cultivation, the number
of unemployed labourers being increased at the same instant
as the fund for payment of rates was diminished ; and the
abandonment of property once begun caused the deteriora¬
tion in the res£ to proceed at an accelerated ratio.
The employfers found the services of their labourers de¬
teriorated by the loss of industry, skill, and intelligence,
which can only be secured by a recognition, on the part of
the labourer, of the value to himself of such qualities ; and
they had to contend with many other habits of insolence
and insubordination, the natural results of the labourer’s
ceasing to depend upon his good character.
But. by far the severest sufferers were those for whose
benefit the system was supposed to have been introduced and
perpetuated,—the labourers and their families. Amongst
these the effects were not confined to those who were ac¬
tually relieved. Instances were everywhere found in which
the prudence and forethought of a labourer became his
punishment instead of a reward. So onerous was the entire
support of a man with a large family, and entirely destitute,
that the rate-payers in agricultural parishes were generally
agreed in employing such a one, so as to keep his family off
the rates, in preference to another who had not married, or
who had no family, or who had the means, by greater pru¬
dence or by any good fortune, for a while to support him¬
self.2 The system, in short, was this.
Piece-work was refused to the single man, or to the mar¬
ried man, if he had any property, because they could exist
upon day-wages; it was refused to the active and intelligent
.abourer, because he could earn too much. The enter-
prising man, who had fled from the tyranny and pauperism
of his parish to some place where there was a demand and
a reward for his services, was driven from a situation which
suited him, and an employer to whom he was attached, by
309
on em¬
ployers,
on the la
bourers.
a labour-rate or some other device against non-parishioners, Effects of
and forced back to his settlement to receive as alms a por- System,
tion only of what he was before obtaining by his own exer-
tions. He was driven from a place where he was earnino-
as a free labourer, twelve or fourteen shillings a week, and
was offered road-work as a pauper at sixpence a day, or per¬
haps he was put up by the parish authorities to auction, and
sold to the farmer who would take him at the lowest al¬
lowance.
Can we wonder, then, if the labourer abandoned virtues of
which this was the reward ; if he gave up the economy in
return for which he had been proscribed, the diligence for
which he had been condemned to involuntary idleness, and
the prudence, if it can be called such, which diminished his
means just as much as it diminished his wants ? Can we
wonder if, smarting under these oppressions, he considered
the law, and all who administered the law, as his enemies,
the fair objects of his fraud or his violence ? Can we won¬
der if, to increase his income, and to revenge himself on
the parish, he married, and thus helped to increase that
local excess of population which was gradually eating away
the fund out of which he and all the other labourers of the
parish were to be maintained ?
But though the injustice perpetrated upon the man who
stiuggled, as far as he could struggle, against the oppression
of the system, who refused, as far as he could refuse, to be
its accomplice, was at first sight the most revolting, the se¬
verest sufferers were those that had become callous to their
own degradation, who valued parish support as their privi¬
lege, and demanded it as their right, and complained only
that it was limited in amount, or that some sort of labour
or confinement was exacted in return. No man’s princi¬
ples can be corrupted without injury to society in general;
but the person most injured is the person whose principles
have been corrupted. The constant war which the pauper
had to wage with all who employed or paid him, was de¬
structive of his honesty and his temper; as his subsistence
did not depend on his exertions, he lost all that sweetens
labour, its association with reward, and got through his
work, such as it was, with the reluctance of a slave. His
pay, earned by importunity or fraud, or even violence, was
not husbanded with the carefulness which would be given
to the results of industry, but wasted in the intemperance
to which his ample leisure invited him. The ground upon
which relief was ordered to the idle and dissolute was, that
the wife and children must not suffer for the vices of the
head of the family ; but as that relief was almost always
See the Commissioners’ Report, page 65, where instances like the following are given from all parts of the country The pre¬
sent is taken trom Leicestershire, a county not within the range of the extreme operation of pauperism. “ Mr Pilkington’s de-
scnp ion ot several places in Leicestershire is equally alarming. In Hinckley he found the poor-rate exceeding one pound an acre,
an rapu y increasing, and a general opinion that the day is not distant when rent must cease altogether. On visiting Wigston
agna, in JNovember 1832, he was informed that the value of property had fallen one half since 1820, and was not saleable even at
a re uc ion. It does not appear, indeed, that it ought to have sold for more than two or three years’ purchase, the net rental
o amounting to E.4000 a year, and the poor-rate expenditure growing at the rate of L.1000 increase in a single year. And on his
e urn 0 la neighbourhood, three months afterwards, the statement made to him was, that property in land was gone ; that even the
a es cou not oe collected without regular summons and judicial sales ; and that the present system must insure, and very shortly,
e o a ruin or every individual of any property in the parish. We cannot wonder, after this, at the statement of an eminent so-
1Cmir % ',0UShborough, that it is now scarcely possible to effect a sale of property in that neighbourhood at any price.”
u 0 answers, taken from a multitude of others of a similar nature, contained in Appendix (B), are to the same effect: 
TniiUoa-nVaKUe °t* u 6 real, iiri°Pert3r’ as assessed April 1815, L.3390; annual value of the real property, ss assessed November
’ -i ?' ‘i i *. . . nnnoubtedly fallen in value since the last valuation, i. e. in the last two years ; and the population has been
n^16 f*ar\ .rlebled •ni ^wty years—1801, 306; 1811, 707 ; 1821, 897 ; 1831, 938 ; and that in spfte of an emigration of considerable
i 0ff1 ’^a ] ,e„par;,S1 exPense’ in 1829. The eighteen-penny children will eat up this parish in ten years more, unless some relief
be afforded us.” (Report, pp. 65, 66.) v r ^ ’
c ff 8tl» evidences of. these influences in the Report, page 78. “ Will it be believed that such is not merely the cruelty, but
•e . ^le yate-payers in many places, that they prohibit this conduct (the anxiety of an independent labourer to make provi-
i,n0nj °rj lS ami y '1IS own exertions)—-that they conspire to deny the man who, in defiance of the examples of all around him,
i are . ° sa' e’ a . attenJPts to *ceeP hi® savings, the permission to work for his bread ? Such a statement appears so monstrous,
that we will substantiate it by some extracts from our evidence.”
^ayrJ Verney, in a communication which will be found in Appendix (C), says, “ In the hundred of Buckingham, in which I act
i'nr ra.e’ 1?lan-v 'nuances occur where labourers are unable to obtain employment, because they have property of their own.
* S-ariCe’ in . Panfs„, °f Steeple Claydon, John Lines, formerly a soldier, a very good workman, is refused employment because
‘' eives a Pension* f he farmers say that they cannot afford to employ those for whom they are not bound by law to provide.’'
310
POO R-L A W S.
Effects of given into the hands of the vicious husband or parent, this
System, excuse was obviously absurd. It appears from the evi-
dence that the great supporters of the beer-shops were the
paupers.
The worst of results, however, are still to be mentioned.
In all ranks of society, the great sources of happiness and
virtue were the domestic affections, and this was particu¬
larly the case amongst those who had so few resources as the
labouring classes. Now pauperism seems to have become
an engine for the purpose of disconnecting each member of
a family from all the others, and of reducing all to the state
of domesticated animals, fed, lodged, and provided for by
the parish, without mutual dependence or mutual interest.1
CHAPTER IV.
REMEDIAL MEASURES PROPOSED AND ADOPTED.
The manifest progress from year to year of all these evils;
their consummation in many places, and the impending
danger of the like consummation in all others ; above all,
the rural outrages, riots, and incendiarism which prevailed
to a most alarming extent from the years 1828 to 1832,
more especially in those districts where pauperism most
prevailed, and the failure of all previous inquiries by parlia¬
mentary committees to devise any effectual remedy what¬
soever for even the least of the mischiefs, led to the expe¬
riment of a royal commission of inquiry, appointed in 1832,
which brought its investigations to a conclusion in 1834 in
the form of a very valuable report, presented to both Houses
of Parliament early in that year, and in the preparation of
the bill which became law, and is the basis of all subsequent
legislation, the Poor-Law Amendment Act (4 and 5 Will.
IV.,c. 76).
The following description will exhibit a mere summary
of the remedies proposed and adopted, with little more than
hints of the reasonings upon which they were founded.
The Commissioners by no means adopted the opinion that
a poor-law could, in a community like ours, be dispensed
with. They found that the most pressing of the evils of the
poor-laws were those connected with the relief of the able-
bodied, and for these they suggested their first remedies.
They assumed as their principle of administration, that the
public is warranted in imposing such conditions on the in¬
dividual relieved, as are conducive to the benefit either of
the individual himself, or of the country at large at whose
expense he is relieved.
Principle They proposed, then, as the first and most essential of all
of admini- conditions of relief, that the situation of the pauper, upon
stenng re- whole, should not be made really or apparently so eli-
lief‘ gible as the situation of the independent labourer of the
lowest class. It was shown throughout the evidence, that Remedial
as the condition of the pauper class was elevated, the con- Measures,
dition of the independent class was depressed, their indus-
try impaired, their employment rendered unsteady, and its
remuneration diminished. Such persons, therefore, were
under the strongest inducements to quit the less eligible class
of labourers, and enter the more eligible class of paupers.
The Commissioners maintained that the converse would be,
and was found to be, the effect of placing the pauper class
in its proper position below the condition of the independent
labourer. They found, on a large examination of the cases
of strict administration of relief on the principle of letting
the labourer find in the parish the hardest taskmaster and
the worst paymaster he can have, that the parish had al¬
ways become his last, and not his first, resource ; and they
found largely exemplified those specific results which inva¬
riably ensue from such an administration.
The first and immediate effect, was the conversion of the Effects of
able-bodied paupers into independent labourers. The se-this.
cond result, indeed a corollary of the first, was the reduc¬
tion of the parochial expenditure, constituting an increase
of the fund for the employment of independent labourers.
The third effect, closely connected with and following the
absorption of able-bodied paupers, and their conversion into
independent labourers, was the rise in wages. The fourth
class of the observed specific effects was the diminution,
not only of pauper-marriages, but of those imprudent mar¬
riages contracted with the knowledge and confidence that
the worst result to be apprehended was an eventual depen¬
dence upon the poor-rate. The fifth and last specific effect
dwelt upon by the Commissioners, and illustrated by their
evidence, was the diminution of crime, and the contentment
of the labourers increasing with their industry.
The Commissioners, in endeavouring to obtain the general
adoption of this principle, cautiously avoided the recommen¬
dation of speculative remedies; they dwelt anxiously and
emphatically upon the necessity and the safety of adopting
a course of legislation which may be considered as wholly
experimental. They propose, therefore, no changes in the
principle of the law, but confine their recommendations to
this, that the means which have been found the most effec¬
tive in practice, should be applied wherever it was found
applicable with the prospect of a beneficial result.
To secure this operation, they recommend the adoption
of a new and more responsible agency to co-operate with
and control that which had been found for the most part
inefficient, or greatly efficient for mischief. Some excres¬
cences in the law they proposed to lop off, but no additions be¬
yond the improvement of the agency were proposed to be
introduced in the principle of the statute of Elizabeth, and
the succeeding legislation. They recommend, therefore,
“ that those modes of administering relief which have been
1 “ The effect of allowance,” says Mr Stuart, “ is to weaken, if not to destroy, all the ties of affection between parent and child.
Whenever a lad comes to earn wages, or to receive parish relief on his own account” (and this we must recollect is at the age of four¬
teen), “ although he may continue to lodge with his parents, he does not throw his money into a common purse, and board with them,
but buys his own loaf and piece of bacon, which he devours alone. The most disgraceful quarrels arise from mutual accusations of
theft; and as the child knows that he has been nurtured at the expense of the parish, he has no filial attachment to his parents. The
circumstances of the pauper stand in an inverted relation to those of every other rank in society. Instead of a family being a source
of care, anxiety, and expense, for which he hopes to be rewarded by the filial return of assistance and support when they grow up,
there is no period in his life in which he tastes less of solicitude, or in which he has the means of obtaining all the necessaries of life
in greater abundance ; but as he is always sure of maintenance, it is in general the practice to enjoy life when he can, and no thought
is taken for the morrow. Those parents who are thoroughly degraded and demoralized by the effects of ‘ allowance,’ not only take
no means to train up their children to habits of industry, but do their utmost to prevent their obtaining employment, lest it should
come to the knowledge of the parish-officers, and be laid hold of for the purpose of taking away the allowance.”
“ At Princes llisborough, we turned over the minute-book of the Select Vestry, and found the following entries :
“ ‘ Samuel Simmons’s wife applied to be allowed something for looking after her mother, who is confined to her bed ; the mother
now receives 3s. 6d. weekly. To be allowed an additional 6d. for a few weeks.’
‘c c David Walker’s wife applied to be allowed something for looking after her father and mother (old Stevens and his wife), now
ill, who receive 6s. weekly. To be allowed Is. weekly.’
“ ‘ Mary Lacy applies for something for waiting on her mother, now ill. Left to the governor.’
“ ‘ Elizabeth Prime applies to have something allowed for her sister looking after her father, now ill. Left to the governor.’ ”
(Report, pp. 96, 97-)
POO R-L A W S.
Remedial
Measures
Work-
house re¬
commend
ations.
tow far
I iopted.
tried and found beneficial, be generally enforced” (Report,
p. 261) ; and “that the practice of giving relief in well-regu¬
lated workhouses, and the abolition of partial relief to the
able-bodied, having been tried and found beneficial, be ex¬
tended to all places.” {Ibid. p. 262.)
The first and chief specific measure recommended by
them was thus described:—“ First, That, except as to me¬
dical attendance, and subject to the exception respecting
apprenticeship hereinafter stated, all relief whatever to able-
bodied persons, or to their families, otherwise than in well-
regulated workhouses (i. e. places where they may be set to
work according to the spirit and intention of the 43d of
Elizabeth), shall be declared unlawful, and shall cease, in
manner and at periods hereafter specified ; and that all re¬
lief afforded in respect of children under the age of sixteen
shall be considered as afforded to their parents.” (Ibid, p.
262.)
This adoption of the workhouse and its restrictions as the
condition upon which relief was to be administered, was ad¬
vised, because it would operate, in the first place, as a self¬
acting test of the claim of the applicant, it being urged
“ That it is demoralizing and ruinous to offer to the able-
bodied of the best characters more than a simple subsistence.
I he person of bad character, if he be allowed anything, could
not be allowed less. By the means which we propose, the
line between those who do, and those who do not, need re¬
lief, is drawn, and drawn perfectly. If the claimant does not
comply with the terms on which relief is given to the desti¬
tute, he gets nothing; and if he does comply, the compliance
proves the truth of the claim, namely, his destitution. If,
then, regulations were established and enforced with the de¬
gree of strictness that has been attained in the dispauper-
ised parishes, the workhouse doors might be thrown open
to all who would enter them, and conform to the regulations.
Not only would no agency for contending against fraudu¬
lent rapacity and perjury, no stages of appeals (vexatious
to the appellants and painful to the magistrates), be requi¬
site to keep the able-bodied from the parish ; but the in¬
tentions of the statute of Elizabeth, in setting the idle to
work, might be accomplished, and vagrants and mendicants
actually forced on the parish, that is, forced into a condi¬
tion of salutary restriction and labour. It would be found
that they might be supported much cheaper under proper
regulations than when living at large by mendicity or de¬
predation.” (Ibid. p. 264.)
In the second place, it was observed by the Commission¬
ers, that “ Little need be said on the next effect of the abo¬
lition of partial relief (even independently of workhouse re¬
gulations), in drawing a broad line of distinction between
the paupers and the independent labourers. Experience
has shown, that it will induce many of those whose wants
arise fiom their idleness, to earn the means of subsistence ;
repress the fraudulent claims of those who have now ade¬
quate means of independent support; and obtain for others
assistance from their friends, who are willing to see their
relations pensioners, but would exert themselves to prevent
their being inmates of a workhouse.” (Ibid. p. 276.)
In the third place, it was relied on to remove much of
the evil arising from the situation of the distributors of re¬
lief, who, having many modes of relief at their disposal,
were rendered liable to odium and revenge when they chose
a more strict mode of administration, and were liable to be
seduced by all the motives which the love of popularity,
fear, or the cajolery, importunity, or menaces of the appli¬
cant presented, to adopt a lax administration.
These reasons appear to have entirely prevailed with the
legislature, who accordingly adopted them in principle, only
modifying them thus far in their form. Combining the ef¬
fect of this recommendation with the one subsequently to
be described, the institution of a central board, the legisla¬
ture—not fixing any determinate period, but bearing in mind
311
the magnitude of the amount of the existing out-door relief Remedial
to able-bodied men and their families, with the possibility ^ea8Ures*
that the means might not suffice at the periods to be sped-
fied, for affording all the workhouse relief that might be re¬
quired upon a sudden cessation of all other relief—adopted
the plan of leaving the determination of the period at which
out-door relief should cease, and relief in the workhouse
become the invariable rule, to the judgment of the central
board; that board having power to adopt a different course in
different districts, to adopt the workhouse relief entirely and
at once where the means existed, and in others to prepare
the way by procuring workhouses, and the gradual substitu¬
tion of relief in kind for relief in money, and by other inter¬
mediate and preparatory operations. (See the Act, sect. 52.)
As a consequence of adopting this course, all restrictions
imposed by previous acts upon officers, with a view of pre¬
venting them from applying the workhouse to able-bodied
men, are repealed (sect. 53); and authority to direct the pur¬
chase, the furnishing, and the management of workhouses
is given to the central board.
The legislature adopted, without change, except by way Parents’
of addition, so much of this recommendation as has the ef-liability,
feet of identifying the relief to an unemancipated child with
the relief to the parent; the intended effect being to render
the parent as responsible for providing for his children as
for himself, and subject to the same consequences of neglect
in either case, so that he cannot seek relief for his child,
without submitting to the condition upon which alone he
could obtain it for himself, or otherwise. The legislature
adopted with this recommendation these expansions and ad¬
ditions : Relief of the wife is made relief to the husband; of
the child, to the parent, to the father if living, or otherwise to
the widow (sect. 56) ; and of the bastard child, to the mother
(sect. 71). Moreover, a man marrying since the act, is made
liable to maintain the children which his wife has at the time
of her marriage, until they attain the age of sixteen, or until
her death (sect. 57); this last provision being made with the
view that the man is liable to all the civil obligations of
his wife existing at the time of her marriage, excepting this
obligation, which must commonly have been of all her ob¬
ligations the most notorious. As the law stood, a woman’s
family, legitimate or illegitimate, was, by her marriage, cast
on the parish for support, and the allowances made to them
constituted an annuity to the married couple, forming an
inducement of extraordinary frequency to marriages in all
other respects the most improvident.
rI he Commissioners’ second specific measure was thus Central
proposed:—“ We recommend, therefore, the appointment control,
of a central board to control the administration of the
poor-laws, with such assistant commissioners as may be
found requisite; and that the commissioners be empower¬
ed and directed to frame and enforce regulations for the
government of workhouses, and as to the nature and amount
of the relief to be given and the labour to be exacted in
them; and that such regulations shall, as far as may be
practicable, be uniform throughout the country.” (Report,
p. 296.)
The reasons for the establishment of this agency are elo¬
quently and instructively stated in the Report; especially
the reasons for relying rather upon a constantly-acting
agency, with the means of judging at every moment of
the extent to which its measures would then apply, in
preference to relying upon a mere legislative enactment,
however valuable the principle involved, or stringent its
provisions might be. Instances of a striking kind are
given, not only of the failure of such enactments, but of
their conversion to purposes directly contrary to their ob¬
ject, where no authority was erected responsible for con¬
ducting their operations. The other grounds for this re¬
commendation were chiefly the impossibility of choosing
a succession of overseers or other annual officers witn ap-
312
POO R-L A W S.
Remedial propriate knowledge, still less with the enlarged expe-
^Aleasures. rjence of the means to be used, or an enlightened appre¬
ciation of the objects to be attained ; next, the short dura¬
tion of the office, which, even where able officers are occa¬
sionally found, prevents the continued application of their
experience, precisely at the time when their efficiency has
become the greatest; next, the division of the districts for
which they served, preventing co-operation or the disper¬
sion of the knowledge obtained on one spot over the others
to which it might be applicable. Scarcely an instance was
found of a parish being dispauperised, the example of which
was followed even by a single adjoining parish. Reference
was also made to the inadequacy of the motives of any officer
to support a sound administration : his responsibility little or
none,—his gain no more than that of every other rate-payer
occupying as largely as himself,—the loss of time and of ener¬
gy,—the danger of misapprehension by those he sought to
serve, and of failure in the whole object, great,—the certainty
of odium from the pauper and from the prejudiced amongst
his fellow-parishioners, and of jealousy from rival officers, be¬
ing inevitable,— on the other hand, the strength of the
interests in abusive administration, by which one man may
make to himself a gain of the losses of many, whilst by
the best administration he can only save himself from the
loss falling to the share of one,—the confederacy of those
who recognise their interest in such corrupt gain,—the
popularity to be acquired by liberality in the disposal of
funds contributed by others,—form some few of the motives
to uphold abusive administration. In these views the
Commissioners adopted the conclusion, that whatever might
be the intentions of the legislature, they would be best
carried out by a permanent authority, accumulating expe¬
rience in itself, independent of local control, uninterested
in favour of local abuse, but responsible for carrying into
effect the law which it was appointed to execute. This
recommendation was adopted by the legislature, according
to the spirit in which it was made. A board of three com¬
missioners was to be appointed by the king (sects. 1 to 11),
that each district should supply itself with an efficient work- Remedial
house, however indispensable that should be as a means of Measures,
protection to its population. It was found, on an examina- ''"'"'v'—^
tion of the largest, of the smallest, and of the intermediate
parishes, in the seven first counties in England, taken in al¬
phabetical order, that the largest districts gave the lowest
cost per head, the smallest gave the greatest cost per head,
and those of intermediate size an intermediate cost. The
results are thus stated in the Report: The sixty-seven lar¬
gest parishes gave 9s. 0|d. per head in population; the
sixty-six intermediate gave 14s. 4d. per head in population ;
the sixty-seven least gave 14s. ll|d. per head in popula¬
tion ; whilst, if we take all England, there are the still more
striking results, viz. the hundred absolutely largest parishes,
containing a population of 3,196,064, gave 6s. 7d. per head;
the hundred intermediate parishes, containing a population
of 19,841, gave 15s. per head; the hundred least parishes
from which poor-rate returns are made, with a population
of 1708, gave L.l. 11s. ll^d. per head.
Such are the results as tested by the cost of administra¬
tion in the larger and in the smaller districts; but the mo¬
ral effects in producing pauperism were as disastrous in the
smaller districts. The Commissioners observe, that they
“ have no recent returns of proportions of paupers in the
parishes referred to in the preceding statement; but on re¬
ferring to the parliamentary returns of the number of pau¬
pers in each parish in the years 1803 and 1813, it appears
that the number of persons relieved in the large and small
parishes bore some proportion to their relative amount of
rates. In the three hundred parishes of which the compa¬
rative amount of the poor’s rates on the population has been
stated, the average number of persons relieved was, in the
hundred largest parishes, in 1803, 1 in 16, or 6£ per cent.;
in 1813, 1 in 13, or 7| per cent.: in the hundred interme¬
diate ditto, in 1803, 1 in 10, or 10 per cent.; in 1813, 1 in
8, or 12£ per cent.; and in the hundred smallest ditto, in
1803, 1 in 6, or 16| per cent.; in 1813, 1 in 4, or 25 per
And the progress of the disaster was shown to be
cent:
themselves appointing assistant commissioners, capable of most rapid in the smallest districts : thus, “ the increase of
receiving the powers of the commission by delegation pauperism on population, from 1803 to 1813, was, in the
(sects. 8 to 13) ; the commission having power to direct hundred largest parishes, 1^ per cent.; in the hundred in-
and control the whole administration of relief throughout termediate ditto, 2£ per cent. ; and in the hundred smallest
England and Wales, and especially the government of work- ditto, 8^ per cent.” The economy of extended management
houses, and it being left to them to determine the extent was thus experimentally proved in every possible direction,
to which the measures to be carried out should be rendered and the moral interests were shown to be the same with the
pecuniary.
The Commissioners entered largely into the examination
of this subject in all its bearings, and ended by recommend¬
ing “ that the central board be empowered to cause any
number of parishes which they may think convenient, to be
incorporated for the purpose of workhouse management,
and for providing new workhouses where necessary; to de¬
uniform.
Union of But the districts for the administration of relief, that is,
parishes. parishes by the statute of Elizabeth, and town-lands by the
13th and Uth Charles II., had been fortuitously created,
sometimes containing but one householder, sometimes con¬
taining a population exceeding 100,000. There were in
1831, in England and Wales, fifty-six parishes containing
less than ten persons, and which may be therefore calcu- clare their workhouses to be the common workhouses of
lated, one with the other, to contain but two adult ^males ; the incorporated district, and to assign to those workhouses
a hundred and forty-eight parishes containing but from ten separate classes of poor, though composed of the poor of
to twenty persons, the largest of these on the average con- distinct parishes, each distinct parish paying to the support
taining five adult males; and five hundred and thirty-three of the permanent workhouse establishment, in proportion to
parishes containing from twenty to fifty persons, the largest the average amount of the expense incurred for the relief
of which would give less than twelve adult males per pa- of its poor for the three previous years, and paying sepa-
rish. Taking into consideration the small number of our rately for the food and clothing of its own paupers.” This
adult male population who can read and write, a concep- recommendation was adopted by the legislature in all points,
tion may be formed of the absurdity of the expectation, The common workhouses are provided for by sections 23,
that every parish can adequately supply a constant succes- 24, 26 ; the maintenance of the workhouse and establish-
sion of annual officers competent to perform the very com- ment charges is fixed in the proportion of the average ex¬
plicate and difficult duties of the levier and collector of penditure of the three previous years by section 28, with
rates, and distributor of relief. power of taking future averages ; the cost of the main-
The evidence shows a large proportion of the overseers tenance of its individual paupers being borne by each parish,
exercising these functions, though unable otherwise to sign under section 26.
their accounts than by their mark, attested by the justice’s The necessity of providing for a clear and uniform sys-Accounts,
clerk. But if it was difficult to find a supply of officers for tern of accounts was shown in an extraordinary manner in
these districts, it would have been preposterous to expect the inquiries of the Commission ; but it is too obvious to re-
POO R-L A W S.
emedial quire further remark, and the previous observations show in
Measures. some measure the difficulty of obtaining efficient parochial
^ officers, and the necessity of resorting to further means to
attain the object.
The Commissioners recommended “ that the central board
be empowered and required to take measures for the gene¬
ral adoption of a complete, clear, and, as far as may be prac¬
ticable, uniform system of accounts.” This recommendation
was also adopted in full by the legislature, the Commission¬
ers’ powers being given by section 15, the audit being pro¬
vided for by sections 46 and 89.
Paid and Upon the subject of officers, the Commissioners recom-
uflicers.ent mencl’ “ that the central board be empowered to incorpo¬
rate, for the purpose of appointing and paying permanent
officers, and for the execution of works of public labour
and “ that the central board be directed to state the gene¬
ral qualifications which shall be necessary to candidates for
paid offices connected with the relief of the poor, to recom¬
mend to parishes and incorporations proper persons to act
as paid officers, and to remove any paid officers whom they
shall think unfit for their situations.”
This also is adopted in the 46th section of the act, ex¬
cept that the Commissioners have no power to recommend
the persons to act as paid officers, but have ample powers
to determine, by regulation, the qualification and remo¬
val of all paid officers. The chief remaining recommenda¬
tion affecting the general administration of the law by the
Commissioners was, “ that the board be required to submit
a report annually to one of your majesty’s principal secre¬
taries of state, containing, 1. an account of their proceed¬
ings ; 2. any further amendments which they may think it
advisable to suggest; 3. the evidence on which the sug¬
gestions are founded; 4. bills carrying those amendments,
if any, into effect, which bills the board shall be empow¬
ered to prepare with professional assistance.”
Ihis is also adopted, as far as the annual report is con¬
cerned, without, however, any definition in the act of the
subjects upon which the Commissioners are to report, that
being left to their discretion and to the condition of affairs
to determine, section 5; they are to make a current record
of their proceedings, section 4; and they are bound to give
313
any information respecting their proceedings which the se- Remedial
cretary of state may at any time call for, section 6 Measures.
1 he remaining recommendations of the Commissioners re-'  
late chiefly to the law of settlement and that of bastardv 1Settlemeilt
These subjects were more important when all who could gainlaW*
a settlement might claim the benefit of that settlement, with-
out any check. I he improved administration, especially
the inducements which now act as restraints upon the ap¬
plications for relief, have diminished the motives to the vo¬
luntary pauper to fix his settlement in a good parish, and
have proportionally diminished the danger to parishes, both
from the attempts of the pauper, and from the exertions of
the officers of other parishes to shift their burthens, by giv¬
ing to their own poor the means to acquire a new settlement
elsewhere. The most important change in the settlement
law recommended and adopted, was that which repealed the
settlement by hiring and service; a settlement which impeded
the free circulation, the effects of which in restraining la¬
bourers to their parishes, and creating a reliance on their
parishes, was shown to constitute the great plague-spot of
the poor-law system as it then existed.1 This law of set¬
tlement was repealed by the 64th and 65th sections, as
were the settlement by occupation of a tenement without
payment of poor-rates by the 66th, and that by apprentice¬
ship to the sea-service by the 67th ; and improvements in
the whole law of removal, by which great wrong had been
mutually done by parishes one to the other, were introduced
by the 79th and following sections.
The bastardy law had made it a more prudent specu- Bastardy
lation for a woman to have a family of bastard children law.
than to have an equal number of legitimate children, by
enabling her to cast off the burthen of the children, which
the widow could not do, and thus to enforce from the pa¬
rish, and through the parish from whomsoever she charged
as the father, such a contribution as would induce her to
keep them. This law, also, by subjecting the person charged
as the father, and who could not give security to pay, to im¬
prisonment, was a means of terror by which a woman was
often enabled to compel a marriage; a means to which re¬
course was had to an extent almost incredible.2
These demoralizing influences the legislature, by the re-
poor-la wa 1 rural the T°Wer’ wh° has Iiad extensive opportunities of observing the operation of the
law of settlement ? I was ren'iipT r 1 aIn,^0U Slve ony instances within your own knowledge, of the operation of the existing
all resuects JSfied rnrhi^t by Colonel Bogson, Kesgrove House, to furnish him with a farming bailiff. I found a man in
cumbered b^a femn/ Ld If WaS 7°,rklI1S ^.nwe shillings a week in the parish where I lived. The man was not en.
con derab e advancl-’ b?, i ^ f situation was, in point of emolument, and comfort, and station, a
conseauence I undelltnnJ f b'^fW r V6 611 doubled: In aboilt a week he altered his mind, and declined the situation, in
d^^ " ^fhlS ° reTVu frJomJwhat was considered a good parish to a bad one, the parish to which it
a poor man whom I T beinS coluiected 'yitb a hundred house, in which there is more strict management. I was requested by
about eurht’shillimr' n uf Cued,Tto find a situation for his son in London. The son was a strong young man, working at that time at
labour would bnvp^boo ^ / eventuall>' succeeded in getting him a good situation of one guinea per week in London, where his
was not for h,mmfn^ TrU less,tbai1was 1" the country ; but when the period arrived at which he was expected in London, he
fusing to irppnf it aPpeared he had altered his mind, and determined not to take the place; as I understood, his reason for re-
nresented to mv ot pF-86 f-™™ a ?'eluctance to endanger his settlement in his parish. Such are the instances which are continually
presented to iiiy observation with respect to the operation of the present system of settlement.’
« tuat h n-1° e-S • con^erri1ig a settlement,” says Mr Russell, in the replies to which we have already adverted,
in pvprv^mnt-fp? in tf-'T'T 18 incomParably the most pernicious ; it tells the poor man that he shall encounter a prohibitory duty
rpsmppinblp -,nd tIC e a teiPPts to dispose of the only commodity he must live by selling ; it shuts the door against the most
con r potion iiptu/ppn^1’a^.e0^S^m^ °'Vment; ^b*cb a servant can engage; by abridging the term, it impairs the strength of the
tervkl hetwppn h'a bp';™ 3Ft ,i1S rnast?r; an^ 11 I10t only drives the servant from his place, but often betrays him, during the in-
155-0 ) 1 e nS lsc larged from one house and hired at another, into bad company, dissipation, and vice. (Report, p.
in t b o' on 11 ntFFFf■ tFi ; Jff ^ inst:arice ^ tb® testimony as to the operation of the act, given in a letter from the overseer of Llanasa,
ohservp tint in ti/ fl’ 1F answer 0 an inquiry from the board, “ Why the bastards in the parish are so few now? I can only
fithpr t„ no’ i 1 T F ace’ we never force the putative father to marry the mother; and we compel the mother, as well as the
miisi nbsprFo'V. ^ 0''m1oS lria,n,;enance of the child. This was our simple mode of treating the business. One thing I
it seldom han’r,311 S("ti °r new P°nr';law actJ that in our parish we have from fifteen to twenty weddings in the year, and
persons’/ t lTene(, , a.a, le ceremony^ the bride did not think it decent and requisite (I am now speaking of the lower order of
exopni n ° concea , tfr.S aPe.under a c oa^' Bnt in the eighteen marriages which we have had since last August, all the ladies,
except one, retained their virgin shape and appeared without the mantle.” (First Annual Report, pp 57, 58.)
to b-vo li™arned girIVuP°n leaving the workhouse after her fourth confinement, said to the master, ‘ Well, if I have the good luck
rip/Z-mv n° •,erfiC ” ’ / ,sb,a^ dra^ a S001* SUI11 ^rom the parish ; and, with what I can earn myself, shall be better off than any mar-
boforp t /F l.ri, it0 iF31^1*!1 ’.i311' itke nia8fer a(l(led, that she had met with the good luck she hoped for, as she told him, a short time
V 8 ' ()ibeach, that she was five months gone with child. I asked him what she had for each child ? He answered, two
VOL. XVIII. 2
1
314
P 0 0 R-L A W S.
Amended commendation of the commissioners, deprived of further
System, effect, first, by rendering the mother of a bastard liable for
its maintenance, in the like manner as a widow for the
maintenance of her legitimate children, section 71; secondly,
by rendering it unlawful to pay to her any sums which the
putative father might be compelled to contribute for the
reimbursement of the parish; and thirdly, by rendering it
necessary that evidence additional to that of the mother
should be required to corroborate her charge against the
person accused of being the father.
Such, in the main, were the recommendations of the com¬
missioners, the views with which they were urged, and those
with which they were adopted by the legislature. Other
provisions were also adopted, necessary, indeed, to give
effect to these more important purposes, but not of sufficient
importance, or sufficiently characteristic of any great prin¬
ciple, to require remark here.
The like remark applies to a considerable bulk of sub¬
sequent legislation, enacted for the purpose mainly of giving
effect in detail to the first principles of the Poor-Law
Amendment Act, and of modifying the old law in many
particulars, to accommodate it to the wants of the present
time. Such incidental legislation must continue in almost
every session, until the proper step is taken of abolishing
wholly the vast mass of obsolete legislation accumulated
during two centuries and a half, and of re-enacting, in one
consistent whole, such portions of it as are now of practical
use. The whole of the legislation subsequent to 1834
will be found described, with the occasions and motives of
the several modifications, in the annual reports of the Poor-
Law Commission and the Poor-Law Board.
CHAPTER V.
EFFECTS OF THE AMENDED SYSTEM.
It has been thought most desirable to set forth thus fully
the history of the mischiefs of the English poor-laws, and
the description of the remedies devised for their removal;
for the danger of like mischiefs still lurks in the system; it
has not been radically extirpated by any general change of
principle, and is only kept at arm’s length by an improve¬
ment in the administration of the law, which is the subject
of constant attack, and in so far as one of its main points is
concerned, the central board, is still only renewed by an¬
nual acts from year to year.
But the history of the operations subsequently to 1834
may be given in less detail, more especially because the
whole is accessible at a very small cost in the annual re¬
ports of the Poor Law Commission.
Progress of The first important step in bringing into operation the im-
organiza- proved system of administration was the combination of the
Uon. parishes, individually too small to supply or provide a good
machinery, into unions of parishes, and to place these under
the management of boards of guardians, elected annually
by the rate-payers of each parish, to provide for the appoint¬
ment of permanent paid officers, to establish workhouses
and to regulate the modes of relief and employment of the
poor relieved, and to regulate the mode of accounting for all
funds received or expended, and an efficient mode of periodi¬
cal audit. When parishes were large and populous enough
to provide separately these essentials of effective administra¬
tion, they were in some cases merely placed under boards
of guardians; and when under previous acts an organization
existed similar to that of unions or boards of guardians under
the Poor-Law Amendment Act, these have been retained.
It appears from the reports of the commissioners that Amended
the local divisions of England and Wales are now such as System,
may be seen in the following table :—
Authority.
Poor - Law Amendment f
Act 1
Local acts (various)...,., j
Gilbert’s Act (22 Geo. (
III., c. 83) \
43 Elizabeth, cap. 2
-{
Description.
585 Unions 
20 Single parishes 
21 Unions 
15 Single parishes 
12 Unions 
2 Single parishes 
89 Parishes (including
the Scilly Islands
as one parish)....
Total.
Number
of
Parishes.
13,964
20
320
15
200
2
89
14,610
Of these unions and parishes, organized and acting in
like manner as in unions, 111 were declared and organized
in the first year, 252 in the second, 205 in the third year,
and 17 in the fourth year. These unions have since be¬
come the districts of administration of the act for the regis¬
tration of births, deaths, and marriages. Each union is
administered by a board of guardians, one guardian at least
being elected for each parish or townland. This board
meets in most cases weekly ; but many instances exist
where, by improved skill in the performance of their func¬
tions, and by diminished pauperism, they are enabled to
perform their duties efficiently by meeting once a fortnight.
Within the four years succeeding 1834 as many as 328
unions had workhouses completed and in operation ; and
141 had workhouses building, or in course of alteration.
In subsequent years the provision has been slowly carried
out in other unions and parishes ; and at length nearly the
whole country is provided with this requisite of good
management. The whole amount expended in providing
new workhouses up to the 31st December 1857 was
L.4,168,759, 5s. Id., and in altering and enlarging old
workhouses, L.792,772,14s.2d.; in all,L.4,961,531,19s.3d.
Besides these amounts expended in workhouses, L. 137,665,
10s. 6d. has been expended in providing separate school-
buildings for pauper children. Each union is provided
with the following officers :—A clerk (usually a professional
man), auditor, chaplain, medical officers, relieving-officers,
master and matron of the workhouse, schoolmaster and
schoolmistress, and porter.
These arrangements involve a large expenditure, but
are indispensable to secure the advantages of an improved
administration, and of the vastly preponderating saving de¬
rivable only from a better system. The first efforts of the
improved administration were great and striking, and many
of the most valuable of the results are still in full opera¬
tion. The greatest and most demoralizing and dangerous
of all abuses, the creation and maintenance of a great mass
of able-bodied pauperism received at once a check which
has remained in full force, and is still reducing the amount
of old pauperism of this kind, and preventing a new growth
which would otherwise have surely succeeded to the old.
The system which demoralized employers as well as la¬
bourers, the payment of wages, in whole or in part, by the
relief of people while in employment, was immediately
stopped by the introduction of the new law. On the other
hand, the converse abuse, which, in proportion as able-
bodied pauperism was encouraged in any parish, caused the
really impotent and destitute to be neglected, is in nearly
as great a degree corrected. The improved conduct of the
shillings; and that women in that neighbourhood could easily earn five shillings a week all the year through. Thus she will have fif¬
teen shillings a week.” (Ibid., p. 172.)
“ At Nuneaton, the solicitor to the parish, Mr Greenaway, stated that his house looked into the churchyard; that he was in the habit
purposely of watching the persons resorting to the church for marriage, and that he could confidently say, that seventeen out of every
twenty of the female poor who went there to be married were far advanced in pregnancy.” (Ibid., 173.)
POO R-L A W S.
Amended labourers was in the first years very striking, and the im-
Systera. proved morality of the women by the alteration of the
bastardy law, was in the same period equally remarkable.
The testimony and the instances are fully displayed in the
earlier reports of the commissioners, especially in their second
report, and in the reports of two committees of the House
of Commons in 1836-37 and 1837-38. The exact opera¬
tion in reducing able-bodied pauperism throughout the
315
country, and in conducting the relief into its more legiti- Amended
mate channels, cannot be stated, the statistics of relief bein«- System,
at first too partial and vague to allow of any satisfactor?
combination ; but of late years the numbers of the poor of
all classes have been regularly ascertained on the 1st of
January and the 1st of July in each year, and the details
published in the annual reports. The general result may
be seen in the following table :— 7
Liti ration.
General
.■Sects.
1849
1850
1851*
1852
1853
1854
1855
1856
1857
Popnlation of
-England and
Wales.
17,534,000
17,765,000
17,927,609
18,265,000
18,402,000
18,617,000
18,840,000
19,043,000
19,207,000
The Average Number of Paupers
of all Classes (including Child¬
ren) at one time in receipt of
Relief in England and Wales.
In-door. Out-door. Total.
133,514
123,004
114,367
111,323
110,148
111,635
121,400
124,879
122,845
955,146
855,696
826,948
804,352
875,214
752,982
776,286
792,205
762,165
1,088,659
1,008,700
941,315
915,675
886,362
864,617
897,686
917,084
885,010
o £ a
etc
6-2
5-7
5-3
5-0
4-8
4-6
4-8
4-8
4-6
The Average Number of Adult
Able-bodied Paupers (exclusive
of vagrants) at one time in
receipt of Relief in England and
Wales.
In-door. Out-door. | Total.
26,558
24,095
20,876
18,455
17,649
18,237
20,669
21,359
19,660
202,265
167,815
142,248
130,705
121,926
116,954
125,962
132,869
120,415
228,823
191,910
163,124
149,160
139,575
135,191
146,631
154,228
140,075
Ratio perCent.
of Adult Able-
bodied Paupers
on the Total
Number of
Paupers of all
Classes
Relieved.
21-0
19-0
17-3
16-3
15-7
15- 6
16- 3
16-8
15-8
* The population for 1851 is that given in the Census; that for the other years is estimated.
Average price
of Wheat per
Quarter.
s. d.
49 1
42 7
39 11
39 4
42 0
61 7
70 0
75 4
65 3
It appears from this table, compared with the account of
expenditure in the same years, that while the cost of re¬
lief has been on the whole considerably increased, the
whole number of paupers has decreased by more than one
quarter, or as 62 to 46; and what is a more satisfactory re¬
sult still, the proportion of the able-bodied paupers has
decreased in a far larger ratio, or as 57 to 35, or nearly from
5 to 3.
A consequence of the extreme subdivision of the country
for such purposes as that of the poor-laws, was seen in
the extent to which contests were begotten between parish
and parish, and between rate-payers and officers. The
effect of the amended system was seen as rapidly as the
system itself was brought into operation. The costs of li¬
tigation, and the expenditure in the removal of paupers
was in 1833-34, L.258,604; in 1834-35, L.202,527 ; in
1835-36, L.172,482; in 1836-37, L. 126,951 ; in 1837-
38, L.93,982 : in the years 1856-57 it is returned as
L.59,163, 14s.
The act of 1834 wras not passed without encountering
a formidable opposition. The carrying of the act into exe¬
cution necessarily involved a most extensive interference
with old habits both in the poor and the rich, with private
interests most widely diffused in the perpetuation of old
abuses. It was never established that any one case of real
hardship was encountered through the operation of the
law ; but necessarily many partial mistakes were made,
and instances were not infrequent of injudicious zeal.
Cases, however, were innumerable in which loud complaints
were made, and those were used successfully to influence
the public mind, which had never been generally well in¬
formed on the subject. About the time when the act had
got into full operation, and when it might have been ex¬
pected that its full effects in the extirpation of dishonest
pauperism and vagrancy, and in confining relief to its pro¬
per purposes would soon be realized, the opposition was suc¬
cessful in checking, and almost entirely arresting, the further
progress of the measure. Still the main provisions of the act
had been brought into action : unions were formed, boards
of guardians and paid officers and auditors appointed, and
all had been abundantly instructed by the great mass of in¬
formation diffused in the dangers to be avoided and the
principles to be kept in view. The result has been thus far
favourable, that what was already secured in good adminis¬
tration has been retained, the dangers of increasing pau¬
perism kept well at bay, and the diminution by natural
causes in the numbers of paupers has not been allowed to
be quite filled up by a new growth. On the whole, it may
be safely concluded that pauperism is on the decrease,
while on occasions of general distress the relief is adequately
increased and adapted to the circumstances, without the
danger of the occasional relaxation becoming the perma¬
nent rule ; and that a very intelligent body of administra¬
tors has been created, of which the community has found
the benefit in the introduction of many measures of gene¬
ral utility.
The following table may be compared with that given
at page 306, and will show the pecuniary effects of the
first operations of the new law in the years 1834-37 in¬
clusive, and the results of the more inert administration of
subsequent years:—
Years end¬
ing at
Lady-Day,
1834
1835
1836
1837
1838
1839
1840
1841
1842
1843
1844
1845
1846
1847
1848
1849
1850
1851
1852
1853
1854
1855
1856
1857
Estimated Popu¬
lation.
The Total expend
ed in Relief to the
Poor.
14,372,000
14,564,000
14,758,000
14,955,000
15,155,000
15,357,000
15,562,000
15,911,757
15,981,000
16,194,000
16,410,000
16,629,000
16,851,000
17,076,000
17.304,000
17,534,000
17,765,000
17,927,609
18,205,000
18,402,000
18,617,000
18,840,000
19,043,000
19,207,000
L.
6,317,255
5,526,418
4,717,630
4,044,741
4,123,604
4,406,907
4,576,965
4,760,929
4,911,498
5,208,027
4,976,093
5,039,703
4,954,204
5,208,787
6,180,764
5,792,963
5,395,022
4,962,704
4,897,685
4,939,064
5,282,853
5,890,041
6,004,244
5,898,756
Rate per Head of
I Amount expended in
Relief to the Poor on
the estimated Popu¬
lation.
7
4f
5
8£
10£
Of
If
0£
0£
10J
24
If
64
1
64
44
44
8
3
3£
If
Average of the 24 years (1834 to 1857), 6s. 2d.
316
POO R-L A W S.
Amended The whole progress of expenditure, so far as there are any authentic records of the facts, may be seen in the fol- Amended!
System, lowing table :— System.
Parochial
Years.
1747- 48*
1748- 49*
1749- 50*
1775-76*
1782- 83*
1783- 84*
1784- 85*
1802-3*
1812- 13*
1813- 14*
1814- 15
1815- 16
1816- 17
1817- 18
1818- 19
1819- 20
1820- 21
1821-22
1822- 23
1823- 24
1824- 25
1825- 26
1826- 27
Amount of
Poor-Rates
levied.
L.
689,971
(average)
1,720,317
1 2,167,750
J (average) (
5,348,205
8,646,841
8,388,974
7,457,676
6,937,425
8,128,418
3.320.440
8,932,185
8,719,655
8,411,893
7.761.441
6,898,153
6,836,505
6,972,323
6,965,051
7,784,352
0) C ©
p P-”-C
O x ©
£®P4
o
Reference to the official Publication
of the Return.
L.
1,556,804
2,004,238
average)
4,077,891
6,656,106
6,294,581
5,418,846
5,724,839
6,910,925
7,870,801
7.516.704
7,330,254
6,959,251
6.358.704
5,772 962
5,736,900
5,786,989
5,928,502
6,441,088
( First Report of Select Commit-
J tee of the House of Com-
) mons on Poor-Laws, ses-
' sion 1752.
{Second Report of Select Com¬
mittee of the House of Com¬
mons on Poor-Laws, ses¬
sion 1777.
' Report from Select Committee
of the House of Commons on
certain Returns relative to
the State of the Poor, ses¬
sion 1787.
{Abstract of Returns relative
to the Poor, House of Com¬
mons, Paper No. 175, ses¬
sion 1804.
{Abstract of Returns relative
to the Poor, House of Com¬
mons, Paper No. 82, ses¬
sion 1818.
\
Report from the Select Com¬
mittee on Poor-Rate Re¬
turns, House of Commons,
Paper No. 556, session
1822.
Report from the Select Com¬
mittee on Poor-Rate Re¬
turns, H. of Commons, Paper
No. 334, session 1825.
) Poor-Rate Returns, House of
l Commons, Paper No. 83,
) session 1830.
Parochial
Years.
1827- 28
1828- 29
1829- 30
1830- 31
1831- 32
1832- 33
1833- 34
1834- 35
1835- 36
1836- 37
1837- 38
1838- 39
1839- 40
1840- 41
1841- 42
1842- 43
1843- 44
1844- 45
1845- 46
1846- 47
1847- 48
1848- 49
1849- 50
1850- 51
1851- 52
1852- 53
1853- 54
1854- 55
1855- 56
1856- 57
Amount of
Poor-Rates
levied.
c; a, o
a P.®t^
O K-}
£
•<
7,715,055
7,642,171
8,111,422
8,279,218
8,622,920
8,606,501
8,338,079
7,373,807
6,354,538
5,294,566
5,186,389
5,613,939
6,014,605
6,351,828
6,552,890
7,085,595
6,847,205
6,791,006
6,800,623
6,964,825
7,817,430
7,674,146
7,270,493
6,778,914
6,552,298
6,522,412
6,973,220
7,864,149
8,201,348
8,139,003
6,298,000
6,332,410
6,829,042
6,798,889
7,036,969
6,790,800
6,317,255
5,526,418
4,717,630
4,044,741
4,123,604
4,406,907
4,576,965
4,760,929
4,911,498
5,208,027
4,976,093
5,039,703
5,954,204
5,298,787
6,180,764
5,792,963
5,395,022
4,962,704
4,897,685
4,939,064
5,282,853
5,890,041
6,004,244
15,898,756
Reference to the official Publication
of the Return.
' Poor-Rate Returns, House of
Commons, Paper No. 83,
session 1830.
Poor-Rate Returns, House of
Commons, Paper No. 444,
session 1835.
2d Annual Report of the Poor-
Law Commissioners, Appen¬
dix E.
3d
4 th
5th
7th
8th
9th
10th
11th
ditto,
ditto,
ditto,
ditto,
ditto,
ditto,
ditto,
ditto,
12 th ditto,
13th ditto,
14th ditto,
Appendix D.
ditto D.
ditto
ditto
ditto
ditto
ditto
ditto
ditto
ditto
ditto
1st Annual Report of the
Poor-Law Board, Appendix.
2d
3d
4th
5th
6th
7th
8th
9th
10th
ditto,
ditto,
ditto,
ditto,
ditto,
ditto,
ditto,
ditto,
ditto,
ditto.
ditto.
ditto.
ditto.
ditto.
ditto.
ditto.
ditto.
ditto.
* The parochial year ended at Easter, up to and inclusive of the year 1813-14; since that time, it has always terminated at
Lady-day.
For the present, public opinion in England appears to
be satisfied with this result, in which the existing mass of
pauperism is tolerated, and a permanent succession of
similar pauperism is permitted ; but in which, at the same
time, the revival of the yet more dangerous forms of the
evil prevailing and extending indefinitely up to the year
1834, appears to be effectually prevented. It is probable
that if the evil does not greatly increase, its continuation
in its present forms and proportions will for some time
to come be regarded with contentment, or indeed with
satisfaction.
Even the attempts that have been made to amend the
Law of Settlement and Removal,—a law which was created
for purposes now long since obsolete, and for the mainte¬
nance of which it is difficult to find any sustainable argu¬
ment of any force,1—have met with no encouragement.2
The consolidation of the various acts of Parliament from
1603, amounting to above 200 in number, in which the
poor-laws are contained, including the most dissonant pro¬
visions, of which the great mass are wholly incapable of any
possible present application, but which are the foundation
of a still greater mass of equally useless judicial authority,
all of which might be easily reduced into the bulk of an
act of Parliament of about 120 succinct and intelligible
clauses, has, although the work is represented to have been
prepared by an able hand, and ready for adoption ever
since 1854, met with no administrative or parliamentary
or popular encouragement.3 (g. C.)
1 See the Report on the Law of Removal, 1851.
2 For instance Mr Baines’ bill of 1853 or Lord Berners’ still better bill of 1854.
3 See “ Proposal for a Digest of the Poor-Laws,” House of Commons Papers, 1852; House of Commons Papers, 244; and House of
Commons Papers, 1855 (472).
POP
Popayan POPAYAN, a town of New Granada, capital of the de¬
ll partment of Cauca, stands near the source of the river Cauca,
Pop6, at an elevation of 5824 feet above the sea, 230 miles S.W.
of Bogota. It is regularly laid out and well built, consisting
for the most part of brick houses one storey high. Of its
many squares, one is very large and handsome. The town
contains a university, a Jesuit college, a cathedral, and
several other churches and convents, besides other public
buildings. Popayan has declined considerably from its for¬
mer condition, both in population and commercial import¬
ance. There was at one time a considerable trade in the
precious metals carried on here ; but since the revolution
these articles have been conveyed by different channels,
and there is now at Popayan only some little traffic in
woollen fabrics, salt, and agricultural produce. This was
the earliest town built by Europeans in this part of
America, having been founded by Benalcazar in 1537.
?op. 20,000.
POPE, a name which comes from the Greek word IlaTra,
and signifies Father. In the East this appellation is given
to all Christian priests, and in the West bishops were called
by it in ancient times ; but since the time of Gregory VII.
it has been appropriated to the Bishop of Rome, whom the
Roman Catholics look upon as the common father of all
Christians.
Within the last two or three centuries much has been
said and written, and many warm disputes have been carried
on, concerning the Pope, and the power belonging to him.
All those in communion with the see of Rome unanimously
hold that our Saviour Jesus Christ constituted St Peter the
apostle chief pastor under himself, to watch over his whole
flock here upon earth, and to preserve the unity of the
church, at the same time giving him the power requisite
for these ends. They also believe that our Saviour or¬
dained that St Peter should have successors with the
like authority and power to the end of time. Now,
as they allege that St Peter resided for many years at
Rome, and there suffered martyrdom, they consider
the bishops of Rome as his successors in the dignity
and office of the universal pastor of the whole Catholic
church.
There have been some varieties in the manner of choos¬
ing the bishop of Rome in different ages, as alterations may
be made in discipline; but still the clergy of Rome have
always had the chief part in the election ; and that clergy
is now represented by, or in some manner consists of the
cardinals, who have for several centuries been the sole elec¬
tors of the Pope.
These cardinals, or principal persons of the Church of
Rome, are seventy in number, when the Sacred College, as it
is called, is complete. Of these, six are cardinal bishops,—
viz., the bishops of Ostia, Porto, Albano, Sabino, Tusculum
or Frascati, and Praeneste or Palestrina, which are the six
suburbicarian churches ; fifty are cardinal priests, who have
all titles from parish churches in Rome ; and fourteen are
cardinal deacons, who have their titles from churches in
Rome of less note, called diaconias or deaconries. These
cardinals are created by the Pope when there happen to be
vacancies. Sometimes he names one or two only at a time ;
but commonly he defers the promotion until there be ten
or twelve vacancies or more; and then at every second
promotion, the emperor, the kings of Spain and France,
and of Great Britain when Catholic, are allowed to present
one each, to be made cardinal, whom the Pope always ad¬
mits if there be not some very great and evident objection.
These cardinals are commonly promoted from amongst such
clergymen as have borne offices in the Roman court; some
are assumed from religious orders; and eminent ecclesiastics
of other countries are likewise often honoured with this dig¬
nity. Sons of sovereign princes have frequently been mem¬
bers of the sacred college. Their distinctive dress is scarlet,
POP 317
to signify that they ought to be ready to shed their blood Pope,
for the faith and the church, when the defence and honour v—^
of either require it. They wear a scarlet cap and hat.
The cap is given to them by the Pope if they are at Rome
and is sent to them if they are absent; but the hat is never
given but by the Pope’s own hand. These cardinals form
the Pope’s standing council or consistory for the manage¬
ment of the public affairs of church and state. They are
divided into different congregations, for the more easy de¬
spatch of business; and some of them hold the principal
offices in the pontifical court,—as that of cardinal-vicar
penitentiary, chancellor, camerlingo or chamberlain, prefect
of the signature of justice, prefect of memorials, and secre¬
tary of state. They have the title of eminence and most
eminent given them. But here we consider them prin¬
cipally as the persons entrusted with the choice of the
Pope.
On the demise of a Pope, his pontifical seal is imme¬
diately broken by the chamberlain, and all public business
is interrupted that can be delayed. Messengers are de¬
spatched to all the Catholic sovereigns to acquaint them of
the event, that they may take what measures they think
proper, and that the cardinals in their dominions, if any
there be, may hasten to the future election if they choose
to attend ; whilst the whole attention of the sacred college
is turned to the preservation of tranquillity in the city and .
state, and to the necessary preparations for the future elec¬
tion. The cardinal chamberlain, during the vacancy of the
Holy See, possesses great authority; he coins money with his
own arms on it, lodges in the Pope’s apartments, and is at¬
tended by bodyguards. He, and the first cardinal bishop,
the first cardinal priest, and the first cardinal deacon, have
during that time the government almost entirely in their
hands. The body of the deceased Pope is carried to St
Peter’s, where funeral service is performed for him with
great pomp during nine days, and the cardinals attend there
every morning. In the meantime, all necessary prepara¬
tions for the election are made; and the place where they
assemble for that purpose, which is called the conclave, is
fitted up in that part of the Vatican palace which is nearest
St Peter’s church, as this has long been thought the most
convenient situation. Here is formed by partitions of wood
a number of cells or chambers equal to the number of car¬
dinals, with a small distance between every two, and a
broad gallery before them. A number is put upon every
cell, and small papers with corresponding numbers are put
into a box. Every cardinal, or some one for him, draws
out one of these papers, which determines in what cell he
is to lodge. The cells are lined with cloth ; and there is a
part of each one separated for the conclavists or attendants,
of whom two are allowed to each cardinal, and three to car¬
dinal princes. They are persons of some rank, and gene¬
rally of great confidence; but they must carry in their
master’s meals, serve him at table, and perform all the
offices of a menial servant. Two physicians, two surgeons,
an apothecary, and some other necessary officers, are chosen
for the conclave by the cardinals.
On the tenth day after the Pope’s death, the cardinals
who are then in Rome, and in a competent state of health,
meet in the chapel of St Peter’s, which is called the Gre¬
gorian Chapel, where a sermon on the choice of a Pope is
preached to them, and mass is said for invoking the grace
of the Holy Ghost. Then the cardinals proceed to the
conclave in procession two by two, and take up their abode.
When all is properly settled, the conclave is shut up, hav¬
ing boxed wheels or places of communication in convenient
quarters ; and there are also strong guards placed all around.
When any foreign cardinal arrives after the inclosure, the
conclave is opened for his admission. In the beginning
every cardinal signs a paper, containing an obligation that
if he shall be raised to the papal chair he will not alienate
IL
318
POPE.
any part of the pontifical dominion ; that he will not be
prodigal to his relations; and such other stipulations as
may have been settled in former times or framed for the oc¬
casion.
We come now to the election itself; and that this may
be effectual, two-thirds of the cardinals present must vote
for the same person. As this is often not easily obtained,
they sometimes remain whole months in the conclave.
They meet in the chapel twice every day for giving their
votes; and the election may be effected by scrutiny, acces¬
sion, or acclamation. Scrutiny is the ordinary method, and
consists in this : every cardinal writes his own name on the
inner part of a piece of paper, and this is folded up and
sealed. On a second fold of the same paper a conclavist
writes the name of the person for whom his master votes.
This, according to the practice observed for some centuries,
must be one of the Sacred College. On the outer side of
the paper is written a sentence at random, which the voter
must well remember. Every cardinal, on entering into
the chapel, goes to the altar and puts his paper into a large
chalice.
When all are convened, two cardinals number the votes;
and if they are more or less than the number of cardinals
present the voting must be repeated. When that is not the
case, the cardinal appointed for the purpose reads the
outer sentence, and the name of the cardinal under it, so
that each voter hearing his own sentence and the name
joined with it, knows that there is no mistake. The names
of all the cardinals that are voted for are taken down in
writing, with the number of votes for each; and when it
appears that any has two-thirds of the number present in
his favour the election is over; but when this does not
happen, the voting papers are all immediately burned with¬
out opening up the inner part. When several trials of
coming to a conclusion by this method of scrutiny have
been made in vain, recourse is sometimes had to what is
called accession. By it, when a cardinal perceives that one
or very few votes are wanting to any one for whom he had
not voted at that time, he may say that he accedes to the
one who has nearly the number of votes requisite; and if
his one vote suffices to make up the two-thirds, or if he is
followed by a sufficient number of new voters for the said
cardinal, the election is accomplished. Lastly, a Pope is
sometimes elected by acclamation ; that is, when a car¬
dinal, being pretty sure that he will be joined by a sufficient
number, cries out in the open chapel that such a one shall
be Pope. If he is supported properly, the election becomes
unanimous,—those who would perhaps oppose it foreseeing
that their opposition would be fruitless, and rather hurtful
to themselves. It is to be observed that the emperor of
Germany and the kings of France and Spain claimed a
right of excluding one cardinal from being Pope at every
election. Hence, when the ambassador at Rome of any
of these sovereigns perceived that any cardinal dis¬
agreeable to his master was likely to be made Pope, he
demanded an audience of the conclave, was admitted,
and there declared his master’s will, which was always
attended to ibr the common good. But each of those
sovereigns was thus allowed to exclude only one at a
time, and they unwillingly and seldom put this right in
execution.
When a Pope is chosen in any of the three above-
mentioned ways, the election is immediately announced
from the balcony in the front of St Peter’s; homage is
paid to the new pontiff; and couriers are sent oft with
the news to all parts of Christendom. The Pope ap¬
points a day for his coronation at St Peter’s, and for
his taking possession of the patriarchal church of St
John Lateran, all which is performed with great solemnity.
He is addressed by the title of Holiness, and Most Holy
Father.
Let us now proceed to state what authority Roman Catho¬
lics attribute to the Pope thus chosen. They believe, then,
that the Bishop of Rome is, under Christ, supreme pastor of
the whole church; and, as such, is not only the first bishop
in order and dignity, but has also a power and jurisdiction
over all Christians, to preserve unity and purity of faith and
moral doctrine, and to maintain order and regularity in all
churches. Wherefore they hold, that when the Pope un¬
derstands that any error has been broached against faith or
manners, or that any considerable difference on such sub¬
jects has arisen in any part of Christendom, it belongs to
him, after due deliberation and consultation, to issue out his
pastoral decree, condemning the error, clearing up the
doubt, and declaring what has been handed down, and
what is to be believed. Some Catholic divines are of
opinion that the^Pope cannot err when he thus addresses
himself to all the faithful on matters of doctrine. They well
know that as a private doctor he may fall into mistakes as
well as any other man ; but they think that when he teaches
the whole church Providence must preserve him from error:
and they apprehend that this may be deduced from the
promises of Christ to St Peter, and from the writings of the
ancient fathers. It is to be observed, however, that this
infallibility of the Pope, even when he pronounces in the
most solemn manner, is only an opinion, and not an article
of Roman Catholic faith. Wherefore, when he sends forth
doctrinal decrees, the other bishops, who are also guardians
of the faith in an inferior degree, may, with due respect,
examine these decrees; and if they find them agree with
what has always been taught, they either formally signify
their acceptance, or they tacitly acquiesce, which, consider¬
ing their duty, is equivalent to a formal approbation.
When the acceptation of the generality of the bishops
has been obtained, either immediately or after some
mutual correspondence and explanation, the decrees of
the Pope thus accepted come to be the sentence of the
whole church, and are believed to be beyond the possibility
of error.
Sometimes it happens that the disputes and differences
may be so great and intricate that, to the end it may be
seen more clearly what has really been delivered down,
and to give all possible satisfaction, it may appear proper
to convene all the bishops who can conveniently attend at
one place, to learn from them more distinctly what has
been taught and held in their respective churches. Roman
Catholics believe that it belongs to the Pope to call such
general councils, and to preside in them in person, or by
his legates. They likewise hold, that when the Pope has
approved the decrees of such councils concerning faith or
manners, such decrees become final, and must be received
as such by all Catholics. In all this they believe that the
particular assistance of the Holy Ghost is with the pastors
of the church, and that therefore “ the gates of hell shall
not prevail against it.”
The see of Rome, according to the Roman Catholics, is
the centre of Catholic unity. All their bishops communi¬
cate with the Pope, and by his means with one another, and
so form one body. However distant their particular churches
may be, they all meet at Rome either in person or by
their delegates, or at least by their letters; and, accord¬
ing to the discipline of the latter ages, though they are
presented to the Pope for their office from their respec¬
tive countries, yet from him they must receive their bulls
of consecration before they can take possession of their
sees.
In matters of ecclesiastical discipline the Pope, as chief
pastor, not only must take care that the canons actually in
force be observed in all churches, but he may also make
new canons and regulations when he sees it necessary or
expedient for the spiritual benefit of the faithful, according
to times and circumstances. But in doing this he must not
i
POPE.
Pope, infringe the established rights or customs to the injury of
—any person ; which if, through mistake or wrong informa¬
tion, he should ever do, the persons who think themselves
aggrieved may remonstrate with respect and sue for redress.
He may establish new episcopal sees where there have been
none before, and he may alter the limits of former dioceses;
but in such alterations he always of course consults the tem¬
poral sovereign, if in communion with him. He sends pas¬
tors to preach the gospel to all countries where the Catholic
religion is not by law established; and to him appeals may
be made from all parts of Christendom in ecclesiastical
causes of importance.
The Pope may dispense with the observation of ecclesi¬
astical canons when there are just reasons for it; he may
—as indeed any man may—also dispense with vows when
they are made with the express or tacit condition that he
really may dispense with them; he may also, on some
occasions, declare that obligations have really ceased
when that is truly the case, from a great alteration of
circumstances. But he can never grant any dispensation
to the injury of any third person, and can never allow any
one to do what is unjust, or to say what he knows to be
false, whatever advantage might be expected to accrue
from it.
The reader who wishes to learn what may be urged for
and against the supremacy of the Pope, and who is fitted
by his knowledge of ecclesiastical history to understand
the nature of the question at issue, may consult, on
the one hand, the works of Bellarmine, with the chapter
on Supremacy in Milner’s Letters to a Prebendary;
and on the other, Barrow’s treatise On the Pope's Supre-
macy, together with Chillingworth’s Religion of Pro¬
testants.
Appended is a general list of the Popes, with the dates
of their election, from the time of Sylvester I., in 314 a.d.,
during whose pontificate Constantine convoked the great
council of Nicaea, where it was decreed that the Bishop
of Rome should be primate over the churches of those pro¬
vinces which, in civil matters, were subject to the juris¬
diction of the “ Vicarius Urbis,” or imperial vicar of
Rome:—
Marcus, native of Rome, succeeded
Sylvester  
Julius I., a Roman  
Liberius, a Roman, banished by Con-
stantius 
Damasus I., a Spaniard  
Siricius, a Roman 
Anastasius I., a Roman  
Innocent I., an Albanian 
Zosimus, a Greek 
Boniface I., a Roman  
Celestinus I., a Roman 
Sixtus III., a Roman  
Leo, called “ the Great,” of Rome...
Hilarius, a Sardinian  
Simplicius, native of Tibur 
Felix III., of Rome 
Gelasius L, of Rome 
Anastasius II., of Rome 
Symmachus, a Sardinian 
Hormisdas, native of Frusino 
John I., a Tuscan 
Felix IV., a native of Beneventum...
Boniface II., of Rome 
John II., of Rome 
Agapetus I., of Rome 
Sylverius, a Campanian  
Vigilius, a Roman  
Pelagius I., a Roman  
John III., a Roman 
Benedict I., a Roman 
Pelagius II., a Roman 
Gregory I., called “the Great,” ofl
Rome  i
Sabinianus, a Tuscan  
Boniface III., a Roman  
Boniface IV., an Abruzzian 
Deusdedit, or Deodatus I., of Rome..
Boniface V., a Neapolitan  
Honorius I., a Capuan 
Severinus, a Roman 
John IV., a Dalmatian 
Theodorus, a Greek 
Martin I., of Tudertum  
Eugenius I., of Rome 
Vitalianis, a native of Signia 
Deusdedit II., of Rome  
Domnus I., of Rome 
Agathon, a Sicilian  
Leo II., a Sicilian  
Benedict II., of Rome 
John V., a Syrian  
Conon, a Thracian  
Sergius I., a native of Palermo 
John VI., of Greece 
John VII., of Greece    
Sisinius, a Syrian 
A.D.
336
337
352
366
384
398
401
417
418
422
432
440
461
467
483
492
496
498
514
523
526
530
532
535
536
540
555
560
574
578
590
604
607
608
615
619
625
638
640
641
649
654
657
672
676
678
682
684
685
686
687
701
705
708
Constantine, a Syrian 
Gregory II., of Rome 
Gregory III., a Syrian 
Zacharias, a Greek  
Stephen II., of Rome  
Stephen III., of Rome 
Paul I., a Roman 
Stephen IV., a Sicilian  
Adrian I., a Roman 
Leo III., a Roman 
Stephen V., a Roman 
Paschal I,, of Rome  
Eugenius II., of Rome 
Valentinus, a Roman   
Gregory IV., a Roman 
Sergius II., of Rome 
Leo IV., of Rome 
Benedict III., of Rome 
Nicholas I., of Rome  
Adrian II., of Rome 
John VIII., of Rome  
Martin II., or Marinus 
Adrian III., of Rome  
Stephen VI., of Rome 
Formosus, Bishop of Porto 
Stephen VII., a Roman  
Romanus, a Tuscan 
Theodorus II., of Rome  
John IX., of Tibur  
Benedict IV., of Rome  
Leo V., an Ardean 
Sergius III., favourite of Marozia...
Anastasius III., of Rome   
Lando, a Sabine  
John X., a Roman, died in prison...
Leo VI., a Roman  
Stephen VIII., of Rome 
John XI., son of Sergius III., and of
Marozia     
Leo VII., a Roman 
Stephen IX., of Rome   
Martin III., or Marinus 
Agapetus II  
John XII   
Leo VIII 
Benedict V., of Rome 
John XIII., of Rome   
Benedict VI  
Domnus II., a Roman   
Benedict VII 
John XIV 
John XV., a Roman  
A.D.
708
715
731
741
753
753
757
763
772
795
816
817
824
827
827
843
847
855
858
867
872
882
884
885
891
896
897
897
897
900
903
904
911
913
914
928
929
931
936
939
943
946
956
963
964
965
972
973
974
983
985
John XVI., a Roman....  986
Gregory V., a German   996
Sylvester II., native of Auvergne... 999
John XVIII., a Roman   1003
Sergius IV., of Rome  1009
Benedict VIII., of Tusculum 
John XIX., of Rome  
Benedict IX., deposed  
Gregory VI., of Rome  
Clement II., of Saxony  
Damasus II 
Leo IX. (final separation of the
Greek Church)  
Victor II 
Stephen IX 
Benedict X., abdicated  
Nicholas II., of Burgundy 
Alexander II., of Milan   
Gregory VII. (Hildebrand)  
Victor III., of Beneventum 
Urban II., of France  
Paschal II., of Tuscany 
Gelasius II., native of Caieta 
Calixtus II., of Burgundy  
Honorius II 
Innocent II., a Roman  
Celestinus II., a Tuscan 
Lucius II., of Bologna 
Eugenius III., of Pisa 
Anastasius IV., of Rome 
Adrian IV. (Nicolas Breakspeare), an
Englishman 
Alexander III 
Lucius III 
Urban III 
Gregory VIII., of Beneventum 
Clement III 
Celestinus III., a Roman 
Innocent III., of Signia 
Honorius III., of Rome  
Gregory IX., of Anagni 
Celestinus IV., of Milan 
Innocent IV., of Genoa  
Alexander IV., of Anagni 
Urban IV., a Frenchman  
Clement IV., a Frenchman 
Gregory X., of Piacenza 
Innocent V., of Tarentaise 
Adrian V., of Genoa     
John XXL, of Lisbon 
Nicholas III., of Rome 
Martin IV., a Frenchman   
Honorius IV., of Rome 
Nicholas IV., of Ascoli .   
Celestinus V.,of Abruzzo (abdicated)
Boniface VIII., of Anagni 
Benedict XL, of Treviso 
Clement V., of Bordeaux (removed 1
the Papal See to Avignon) j
John XXII. of France 
Benedict XIL, of France 
Clement VI., French     
A.D.
. 1012
1024
1033
1044
1047
1048 ’
| 1049
1055
1057
1058
1059
1061
1073
1086
1088
1099
1118
1119
1124
1130
1143
1144
1145
1153
J 1154
1159
1181
1185
1187
1188
1191
1198
1216
1227
1241
1242
1254
1261
1265
1272
1276
1276
1276
1277
1281
1285
1288
1294
1295
1303
1305
1316
1334
1342
it
POP
POP
320
A.D.
Innocent VI., French 
Urban V., French 
Gregory XL, French (restored the
popedom to Rome) 
Urban VI., a Neapolitan 
Boniface IX., of Naples 
Innocent VII., of Salniona  
Gregory XII., of Venice (abdicated)..
Alexander V., of Candia - 
John XXIII. (deposed) 
Martin V., a Roman  
Bugenius IV., of Venice 
Nicholas V., of Sarzana 
Calixtus III., of Spain  
Pius II., of Siena 
Paul II., of Venice  
Sixtus IV., of Genoa 
Innocent VIII., of Genoa 
Alexander VI., of Spain, 
Pius III     
1352
1362
1370
1378
1389
1404
1406
1409
1410
1417
1431
1447
1455
1458
1464
1471
1485
1492
1503
Julius II., of Genoa   
Leo X., son of Lorenzo the Magnificent
Adrian VI., of Utrecht  
Clement VII., nephew of Lorenzo ...
Paul III., of Rome  
Julius III., of Rome  
Marcellus II., of Montepulciano 
Paul IV., of Naples 
Pius IV., of Milan  
Pius V., of Piedmont  
Gregory XIII., of Bologna 
Sixtus V., of Ancona  
Urban VII., of Genoa 
Gregory XIV., of Milan   
Innocent XL, of Bologna 
Clement VIII., of Fano  
Leo XI., of Florence  
Paul V., of Rome 
Gregory XV., of Bologna 
Urban VIII., of Florence 
A.D.
1503
1513
1522
1523
1534
1550
1555
1555
1559
1566
1572
1585
1590
1590
1591
1592
1605
1605
1621
1623
Innocent X., of Rome 
Alexander VII., of Siena....
Clement IX., of Pistoia ....
Clement X., of Rome 
Clement IX., of Como 
Alexander VIIL, of Venice.
Innocent XIL, of Naples....
Clement XL, of Urbino ....
Innocent XIII., of Rome....
Benedict XIII., of Rome....
Clement XIL, of Florence .
Benedict XIV., of Bologna.
Clement XIII., of Venice....
Clement XIV., of Rimini...
Pius VI., of Cesena 
Pius VIL, of Cesena 
Leo XIL, of Romagna 
Pius VIIL, of Cingoli 
Gregory XVI., of Belluno
Pius IX., of Sinigaglia 
A.D.
1644
1655
1667
1670
1676
1689
1691
1700
1721
1724
1730
1740
1758
1769
1775
1800
1823
1829
1831
1846
POPE.1
Pope, Alexander, the most brilliant of all wits who have
at any time applied themselves to the poetic tieatment
of human manners, to the selecting from the play of human
character what is picturesque, or the arresting what is
fugitive, was born in the city of London on the 21st day
of May in the memorable year 1688; about six months,
therefore, before the landing of the Prince of Orange, and
the opening of that great revolution which gave the final
ratification to all previous revolutions of that tempestuous
century. By the “ city” of London the reader is to under¬
stand us as speaking with technical accuracy of that district
which lies within the ancient walls and the jurisdiction of
the lord mayor. The parents of Pope, there is good reason
to think, were of “ gentle blood,” which is the expression
of the poet himself when describing them in verse. His
mother was so undoubtedly; and her illustrious son, in speak¬
ing of her to Lord Hervey at a time when any exaggeration
was open to an easy refutation, and writing in a spirit most
likely to provoke it, does not scruple to say, with a tone
of dignified haughtiness not unbecoming the situation of a
filial 'champion on behalf of an insulted mother, that by
birth and descent she was not below that young lady (one
of the two beautiful Miss Lepels) whom his lordship had
selected from all the choir of court beauties as the future
mother of his children. Of Pope’s extraction and imme¬
diate lineage for a space of two generations we know enough;
beyond that we know little: of this little a part is dubious;
and what we are disposed to receive as not dubious rests
chiefly on his own authority. In the prologue to his Satires,
having occasion to notice the lampooners of the times, who
had represented his father as <la mechanic, a hatter, a farmer,
nay, a bankrupt,” he feels himself called upon to state the
' [This interestinj; memoir of Pope was contributed ^ ^ ^^EngUs^cl^slc!' b/<me’of3tlfe most’acutlfand
,o,,“ke a few ‘ddili0“‘ <i“c‘“ed withi° 1>^acke,’,
the results of some of the recent InvesUgntions into the history of ope.] 22d. To this statement, as opposed
* Dr Johnson, however and Joseph Warton, ^ STd^ Ruffhead and Spence, upon such questions, must always
to that which comes from the persona ^ d fortiori than Bowles But it ought not to be concealed, though hitherto
be of higher authority remains Sber l^of t e biographL 5 right. An anonymous wri4, contem-
unnoticed by any P6^0”’his pers0nal history, declares that he was born on the 8th of June; and he connects it
porary with Pope, and evidently familiar P. . rth ^irth of that prinCe of Wales who was known twenty-seven years
with an event that, having a public and a partisan ive them a collateral voucher. It is true he wrote for
afterwards as the Pretender), would se^ ld h b promoted by falsifying this particular date. What is still more
an ill-natured purpose ; but ^ "egative upo'n all these Itemed In apathetic letter to a friend, when his
noticeable, however, Pope himself puts a most p insisfinR upon a sentiment which will find an echo in many a human
attention could not have been wan g» t usuall ^elebJated as agfestal day, too often is secretly a memorial of disappointment
heart, viz., that a birthday, though f cneaks^of the very day on which he is then writing as his own birthday ; and indeed
and an anniversary of sorrowful meaning, he sp k f ^y d j ^ ^ ^ ^ 173| Surely Pope knew his own birth-
what else could give any P^P^J * ted a random rumour without investigation. [Mr De Quincey’s memory has here misled him ; no
dluTffixtd by Pop. to tto letted Allusion is m.d. in it to tho death of Congreve as . very recent occurrence; and a. Congreve
died on the 19th of January ml,it may he inferred that Pope', birthday wa. near the time of Congreve's decease, in the latter end
, . . nf ppbruarv But in preparing his letters for the press, Pope altered and revised them; sometimes making
of January or beginning of February. B t P^ P ^ no relianoe can be placed on the poet’s dates.)
one printed epistle out of two or more r , ^ reliance n the chronological accuracy
But, whilst we are upon th;s. they are faithless5 Many allusions are left unnoticed, which a very little
of his editors. All are scandalously car > omitted even yet recoverable, which are essential to the just appreciation of Popes
research would have illustrated; ^ny fact ^ Mr Roscoe is the most careful of Pope’s editors; but even he is often wrong,
satirical blows ; and dates are constantly mis . p ,8 humorous report to Lord Burlington of his Oxford journey on horse-
For instance, he has taken the trouble to write a P ..... P Th , t j undated except as to the month; and Mr Roscoe directs
back vib*1 l<intot',aI;|l|i* 'VgL^g.date ^hicl^is'a’gTO^anachronlsin^For'a'lmlhmous anecdote is .here p„« iu.„ Lin,„.'s mou.h
the reader to supply HU as the true date whm g * //om€r with frequent pshaws, as having been propitiated by Mr
representing some angry critic, who ha<i been turn g P ^ effect of cheei% without an eff rt on the publisher s
^ wlmt be bid been readibg were e,ueliy excellent. But in tbc year 1714, ,e
P o
Pope, truth about his parents; and naturally much more so at a
time when the low scurrilities of these obscure libellers had
been adopted, accredited, and diffused by persons so dis¬
tinguished in all points of personal accomplishment and rank
as Lady Mary Wortley Montagu and Lord Hervey : “ hard
as thy heart " was one of their lines in their joint pasquinade,
“ hard as thy heart, and as thy birth obscure” Accordingly
he makes the following formal statement:—“ Mr Pope’s
father was of a gentleman’s family in Oxfordshire, the head of
which was the Earl of Downe. His mother was the daughter
of William Turner, Esq., of York ; she had three brothers,
one of whom was killed; another died in the service of King
Charles [meaning Charles I.]; the eldest, following his
fortunes, and becoming a general officer in Spain, left her
what estate remained after the sequestrations and forfeit¬
ures of her family.” The sequestrations here spoken of
were those inflicted by the commissioners for the Parliament ;
and usually they levied a fifth, or even two-fifths, according
to the apparent delinquency of the parties. But in such cases
two great differences arose in the treatment of the royalists ;
first, that the report was coloured according to the interest
which a man possessed, or other private means for biassing
the commissioners ; secondly, that often, when money could
not be raised on mortgage to meet the sequestration, it be¬
came necessary to sell a family estate suddenly, and there¬
fore in those times at great loss ; so that a nominal fifth might
be depressed by favour to a tenth, or raised by the necessity
P E.
™lirW t0 a half* And hence mi£ht arise the small dowry
of Mrs Pope, notwithstanding the family estate in Yorkshire
had centred in her person. But, by the way, we see from
the fact of the eldest brother having sought service in
Spain, that Mrs Pope was a Papist; not, like her husband
by conversion, but by hereditary faith. This account, as
publicly thrown out in the way of challenge by Pope, was,
however, sneered at by a certain Mr Pottinger of’those
days, who, together with his absurd name, has been safely
transmitted to posterity in connection with this single feat
of having contradicted Alexander Pope. We read in a
diary published by the Microcosm, “ Met a large hat ivith a
man under it'' And so, here, we cannot so properly say
that Mr Pottinger brings down the contradiction to our
times, as that the contradiction brings down Mr Pottino-er.
“ Cousin Pope,” said Pottinger, “had made himself out a
fine pedigree, but he wondered where he got it; ” and he
then goes on to plead in abatement of Pope’s pretensions,
“ that an old maiden aunt, equally related” (that is, stand¬
ing in the same relation to himself and to the poet), “ a
great genealogist, who was always talking of her family,
never mentioned this circumstance.” And again we are
told, from another quarter, that the Earl of Guildford,
after express investigation of this matter, “ was sure that,”
amongst the descendants of the Earls of Downe, “ there
was none of the name of Pope.” How it was that Lord
Guildford came to have any connection with the affair, is
of Pope’s Homer was printed. June 1715 was the month in which even the subscribers first received the four earliest books of the Iliad
and the public generally not until July. This we notice by way of specimen. In itself, or as an error of mere negligence, it would
be of little importance; but it is a case to which Mr Roscoe has expressly applied his own conjectural skill, and solicited the' attention
of his reader. We may judge, therefore, of his accuracy in other cases which he did not think worthy of examination. [The letter
contains a reference to Lord Lansdowne’s committal to the Tower, which serves to fix the date between September 1715 and February
171^-, when he was released.]
There is another instance, presenting itself in every page, of ignorance concurring with laziness on the part of all Pope’s editors
and with the effect not so properly of misleading as of perplexing the general reader. Until Lord Macclesfield’s bill for altering the
style in the very middle of the eighteenth century, six years therefore after the death of Pope, there was a custom, arising from the
collision between the civil and ecclesiastical year, of dating the whole period that lies between December 31st and March 25th (both
days exclusively) as belonging indifferently to the past or the current year. This peculiarity had nothing to do with the old and new
style, but was, we believe, redressed by the same act of Parliament. Now in Pope’s time it was absolutely necessary that a man should
use this double date, because else he was liable to be seriously misunderstood. For instance, it was then always said that Charles I.
had suffered on the 30th of January 161<j"; and why ? Because, had the historian fixed the date to what it really was, 1649, in that
case all those fa very numerous class) who supposed the year 1649 to commence on Ladyday, or March 25, would have understood him
to mean that this event happened in what we now call 1650, for not until 1650 was there any January which they would have acknow¬
ledged as belonging to 1649, since they added to the year 1648 all the days from January 1 to March 24. On the other hand, if he had
said simply that Charles suffered in 1648, he would have been truly understood by the class we have just mentioned; but by another
class, who began the year from the 1st of January, he would have been understood to mean what we now mean by the year 1648. There
would have been a sheer difference, not of one, as the reader might think at first sight, but of two entire years in the chronology of the
two parties; which difference, and all possibility of doubt, is met and remedied by the fractional date 5 for that date says in effect
it was 1648 to you who do not open the new year till Ladyday ; it was 1649 to you who open it from January 1. Thus much to ex¬
plain the real sense of the case; and it follows from this explanation, that no part of the year ever can have the fractional or double
date except the interval from January 1 to March 24 inclusively. And hence arises a practical inference,—viz., that the very same
reason, and no other, which formerly enjoined the use of the compound or fractional date,— viz., the prevention of a capital ambiguity
or dilemma, now enjoins its omission, For in our day, when the double opening of the year is abolished, what sense is there in perplex¬
ing a reader by using a fraction which offers him a choice without directing him how to choose. In fact, it is the denominator of the
fraction, if one may so style the lower figure, which expresses to a modern eye the true year. Yet the editors of Pope, as well as many
other writers, have confused their readers by this double date; and why ? Simply because they were confused themselves. Many
errors in literature of large extent have arisen from this confusion. Thus it was said properly enough in the contemporary accounts—for
instance, in Lord Monmouth s Memoirs—that Queen Elizabeth died on the last day of the year 1602, for she died on the 24th of March ;
and by a careful writer this event would have been dated as March 24, But many writers, misled by the phrase above cited, have
asserted that James I. was proclaimed on the 1st of January 1603. Heber, Bishop of Calcutta, again, has ruined the entire chronology
of the life of Jeremy Taylor, and unconsciously vitiated the facts, by not understanding this fractional date. Mr Roscoe even too often
leaves his readers to collect the true year as they can: thus, e.g., at p. 500 of his Life, he quotes from Pope’s letter to Warburton, in
great vexation for the surreptitious publication of his letters in Ireland, under date of February 4, 174—• But why not have printed it
intelligibly as 1741 ? Incidents there are in most men’s lives which are susceptible of a totally different moral value, according as they
are dated in one year or another. That might be a kind and honourable liberality in 1740 which would be a fraud upon creditors in
1741. Exile to a distance of 10 miles from London in January 1744, might argue that a man was a turbulent citizen and suspected of
treason ; whilst the same exile in January 1745 would simply argue that, as a Papist, he had been included amongst his whole body in a
general measure of precaution to meet the public dangers of that year. This explanation we have thought it right to make, both for its
extensive application to all editions of Pope, and on account of the serious blunders which have arisen from the case when ill under-
stood ; and because, in a work upon education, written jointly by Messrs Lant Carpenter and Shephard, though generally men of ability
and learning, this whole point is erroneously explained.
VOL. XVIII. 2 s
322
P 0
Pope, not stated by the biographers of Pope ; but we have ascer-
tained that, by marriage with a female descendant from the
Earls of Downe, he had come into possession of their Eng¬
lish estates.
Finally, though it is rather for the honour of the Earls of
Downe than of Pope to make out the connection, we must
observe that Lord Guildford’s testimony, if ever given at all,
is simply negative ; he had found no proofs of the connec¬
tion, but he had not found any proofs to destroy it; whilst,
on the other hand, it ought to be mentioned, though un¬
accountably overlooked by all previous biographers, that
one of Pope’s anonymous enemies, who hated him person¬
ally, but was apparently master of his family history, and
too honourable to belie his own convictions, expressly af¬
firms, of his own authority, and without reference to any
claim put forward by Pope, that he was descended from a
junior branch of the Downe family; which testimony has^
a double value—first, as corroborating the probability of
Pope’s statement viewed in the light of a fact; and, se¬
condly, as corroborating that same statement viewed in
the light of a current story, true or false, and not as a
disingenuous fiction put forward by Pope to confute Lord
Hervey.
[Sir Thomas Pope, the founder of the Downe family, was of
humble origin, the son of a yeoman at Deddington in Oxfordshire.
He was enriched by the spoils of the church at the period of the
Reformation, but died without issue. His brother was raised to
the peerage in 1628. If, therefore, the poet’s ancestors were allied
to this family, it must have been long before the creation of the
peerage, through the Deddington yeoman.]
It is probable to us that the Popes, who had been ori¬
ginally transplanted from England to Ireland, had, in the
person of some cadet, been re-transplanted to England ; and
that having in that way been disconnected from all personal
recognition, and all local memorials of the capital house, by
this sort of postliminium, the junior branch had ceased to
cherish the honour of a descent which was now divided
from all direct advantage. At all events, the researches of
Pope’s biographers have not been able to trace him farther
back in the paternal line than to the grandfather; and he
(which is odd enough, considering the Popery of his de¬
scendants), was a clergyman of the Established Church in
Hampshire. This grandfather had two sons : of the eldest
nothing is recorded beyond the three facts, that he went to
Oxford, that he died there, and that he spent the family
estate.1 The younger son, whose name was Alexander,
had been sent when young, in some commercial character,
to Lisbon;2 and there it was, in that centre of bigotry, that
he became a sincere and most disinterested Catholic. He
returned to England; married a Catholic young widow ;
and became the father of a second Alexander Pope, ultra
Sauromatus notus et Antipodes.
[The maternal ancestry of the poet has been minutely traced by
the eminent archaeologist Mr Joseph Hunter, and by Mr Robert
Davies of York. Edith Turner was not a widow when she mar¬
ried Alexander Pope. She was born at Worsborough Dale, It ork-
shire, and baptized June 18, 1642. She would thus seem to have
been of the same age as her husband, both being in their forty-sixth
year at the date of the poet’s birth. The Turners were a family
of long standing and good consideration in the county of York. The
poet’s grandfather, William Turner, inherited from his uncle the
manor of Towthorpe, lands in Ruston, with a rent-charge of L-70
on the manor of Ruston, and houses in the city of \ork. The
rent-charge of L.70 formed part of the dowry of Edith Turner,
the last survivor of the family of fourteen children ; and on the
death of both his parents, it descended to the poet. W illiam Tur¬
ner died at York in 1665, his widow in 1681. “When upon the
death of Mrs Turner,” says Mr Davies, “ the daughters who had
P E.
remained under the maternal roof at York had to seek a home with
married sisters in other parts of the kingdom, in was Edith’s lot to
remove to London, where she became the wife of Alexander Pope,
and the mother of the poet.” One of the sisters was married to
Samuel Cooper, the celebrated miniature portrait-painter. Mrs
Cooper was the poet’s godmother, and by her will she left her god¬
son, then only five years of age, her “ painted china dish with a
silver foot and a dish to set it inand after her sister Elizabeth
Turner’s decease, all her books, pictures, and medals. Of the “ se¬
questration and forfeitures of the family,” mentioned by Pope, no
trace has been found ; and of three brothers, one, William, was the
sole survivor in 1665. The antiquaries have not been so success¬
ful with the poet’s paternal ancestry. It has been found, how¬
ever, that at the proper period, from 1631 to 1645, there was a
Hampshire clergyman of the name of Alexander Pope. He had
the rectory of Thruxton, and two other livings; but as there is no
memorial of him in the church, and’ no entry in the register of his
having had children, it is still doubtful whether this rector of
Thruxton was the poet’s grandfather. The name was by no means
an uncommon one.]
By his own account to Spence, Pope learned “ very early
to read and writing he taught himself “ by copying from
printed booksall which seems to argue that, as an only
child, with an indolent father and a most indulgent mother,
he was not molested with much schooling in his infancy.
Only one adventure is recorded of his childhood,—viz., that
he was attacked by a cow, thrown down, and wounded in
the throat.
Pope escaped this disagreeable kind of vaccination with¬
out serious injury, and was not farther tormented by cows
or schoolmasters until he was about eight years old, when
the family priest,—that is, we presume, the confessor of his
parents,—taught him, agreeably to the Jesuit system, the
rudiments of Greek and Latin concurrently. This priest
was named Banister; and his name is frequently employed,
together with other fictitious names, by way of signature
to the notes in the Dunciad, an artifice w'hich was adopted
for the sake of giving a characteristic variety to the notes,
according to the tone required for the illustration of the
text. From his tuition Pope was at length dismissed to a
Catholic school at Twyford, near Winchester. The selec¬
tion of a school in this neighbourhood, though certainly the
choice of a Catholic family was much limited, points appa¬
rently to the old Hampshire connection of his father. Here
an incident occurred which most powerfully illustrates the
original and constitutional determination to satire of this
irritable poet. He knew himself so accurately that, in after
times, half by way of boast, half of confession, he says,—
“ But touch me, and no Minister so sore:
Whoe’er offends, at some unlucky time
Slides into verse, and hitches in a rhyme,
Sacred to ridicule his whole life long,
And the sad burthen of some merry song.”
Already, it seems, in childhood he had the same irresist¬
ible instinct, victorious over the strongest sense of personal
danger. He wrote a bitter satire upon the presiding peda¬
gogue, was brutally punished for this youthful indiscretion,
and indignantly removed by his parents from the schodi.
Mr Roscoe speaks of Pope’s personal experience as neces¬
sarily unfavourable to public schools; but in reality he
knew nothing of public schools. All the establishments for
Papists were narrow, and suited to their political depression ;
and his parents were too sincerely anxious for their son’s
religious principles to risk the contagion of Protestant as¬
sociation by sending him elsewhere.
From the scene3 of his disgrace and illiberal punish¬
ment, he passed, according to the received accounts,
1 It is apparently with allusion to this part of his history, which he would often have heard from the lips of his own father, that Pope
glances at his uncle’s memory somewhat disrespectfully in his prose letter to Lord Hervey.
2 Some accounts, however, say to Flanders, in which case, perhaps, Antwerp or Brussels would have the honour of his conversion.
3 This however was not Twyford, according to an anonymous pamphleteer of the times, but a Catholic seminary in Devonshire Street,
POPE.
Pope, under the tuition of several other masters in rapid succes-
sion. But it is the less necessary to trouble the reader with
their names, as Pope himself assures us that he learned no¬
thing from any of them. To Banister he had been indebted
for such trivial elements of a schoolboy’s learning as he
possessed at all, excepting those which he had taught him¬
self. And upon himself it was, and his own admirable fa¬
culties, that he was now finally thrown for the rest of his
education, at his age so immature that many boys are then
first entering their academic career. Pope is supposed to
have been scarcely twelve years old when he assumed the
office of self-tuition, and bade farewell for ever to schools
and tutors.
Such a phenomenon is at any rate striking ; it is the more
so under the circumstances which attended the plan, and
under the results which justified its execution. Jt seems,
as regards the plan, hardly less strange that prudent parents
should have acquiesced in a scheme of so much peril to his
intellectual interests, than that the son, as regards the exe¬
cution, should have justified their confidence by his final
success. More especially this confidence surprises us in
the father. A doating mother might shut her eyes to all
remote evils in the present gratification to her affections;
but Pope’s father was a man of sense and principle; he
must have weighed the risks besetting a boy left to his own
intellectual guidance; and to these risks he would allow
the more weight from his own conscious defect of scholar¬
ship and inability to guide or even to accompany his son’s
studies. He could neither direct the proper choice of
studies, nor in any one study taken separately could he
suggest the proper choice of books.
The case we apprehend to have been this: Alexander
Pope the elder was a man of philosophical desires and un¬
ambitious character. Quiet and seclusion and innocence
of life,—these were what he affected for himself; and that
which had been found available for his own happiness, he
might reasonably wish for his son. The two hinges upon
which his plans may be supposed to have turned were,
first, the political degradation of his sect; and, secondly, the
fact that his son was an only child. Had he been a Pro¬
testant, or had he, though a Papist, been burdened with a
large family of children, he would doubtless have pursued
a different course. But to him, and, as he sincerely hoped,
to his son, the strife after civil honours was sternly barred
Apostacy only could lay it open. And, as tl,e sentimenti
of honour and duty in this point fell in with the vices of his
temperament, high principle concurring with his constitu¬
tional love of ease, we need not wonder that he should early
retire from commerce with a very moderate competence or
that he should suppose the same fortune sufficient for one
who was to stand in the same position. The son was from
his birth deformed. That made it probable that he might
not marry. If he should, and happened to have children
a small family would find an adequate provision in the pa¬
trimonial funds; and a large one at the worst could only
throw him upon the same commercial exertions to which he
had been obliged himself. The Roman Catholics, indeed,
weie just then situated as our modern Quakers are: law to
the one, as conscience to the other, closed all modes of
active employment except that of commercial industry.
Either his son, therefore, would be a rustic recluse, or, like
himself, he would be a merchant.
With such prospects, what need of an elaborate educa¬
tion . And where was such an education to be sought ?
At the petty establishments of the suffering Catholics,0 the
instruction, as he had found experimentally, was poor. At
the great national establishments his son would be a de¬
graded person ; one who was permanently repelled from
eveiy arena of honour, and sometimes, as in cases of pub¬
lic danger, was banished from the capital, deprived of his
house, left defenceless against common ruffians, and ren-
deied liable to the control of every village magistrate.
.To one in these circumstances solitude was the wisest
position ; and the best qualification for that was an educa¬
tion that would furnish aids to solitary thought. No need
for brilliant accomplishments to him who must never
display them ; forensic arts, pulpit erudition, senatorial
eloquence, academical accomplishments,—these would be
lost to one against whom the courts, the pulpit, the senate,
the universities, were closed. Nay, by possibility worse
than lost; they might prove so many snares or positive
bribes to apostacy. Plain English, therefore, and the high
thinking of his compatriot authors, might prove the best
provision for the mind of an English Papist destined to
seclusion.
Such are the considerations under which we read and
t is, in the Bloomsbury district of London ; and the same author asserts that the scene of his disgrace, as indeed seems probable be¬
forehand, was not the first but the last of his arenas as a schoolboy. Which indeed was first, and which last, is very unimportant • but
with a view to another point, which is not without interest, namely, as to the motive of Pope for so bitter a lampoon as we must’sup-
pose ! o ave been, as well as with regard to the topics which he used to season it, this anonymous letter throws the only light which
as been offered; and strange it is that no biographer of Pope should have hunted upon the traces indicated by him. Any solution of
ope s virulence, and ot the master’s bitter retaliation, even as a solution, is so far entitled to attention ; apart from which the mere
t ovwardness of this man’s story, and its minute circumstantiality, weigh greatly in its favour. To our thinking he unfolds the
w o e a air m the simple explanation, nowhere else to be found, that the master of the school, the mean avenger of a childish insult by
a estia punishment, was a Mr Bromley, one of James II.’s Pdpish apostates; whilst the particular statements which he makes with re-
spec o imsel and the young Duke of Norfolk of 1700, as two schoolfellows of Pope at that time and place, together with his volun-
tary promise to come forward in person and verify his account if it should happen to be challenged ;—are all, we repeat, so many pre¬
sumptions in of his veracity.. “Mr Alexander Pope,” says he, “before he had been four months at this school, or was able to
construe u y s Offices., employed his muse in satirizing his master. It was a libel of at least one hundred verses, which (a fellow-
stu ent aving given information of it) was found in his pocket; and the young satirist was soundly whipped, and kept a prisoner to
ns room or seven da) s, whereupon his father fetched him away, and I have been told he never went to school more.” This Bromley,
1. as eeD ascer aine , was the son of a country gentleman in Worcestershire, and must have had considerable prospects at one time,
since i appears at been a gentleman-commoner at Christ’s Church, Oxford. There is an error in the punctuation of the letter
ve aye jus quoted w ich affects the sense in a way very important to the question before us. Bromley is described as “one of King
ames s converts in Oxford, some years after that prince’s abdicationbut if this were really so, he must have been a conscientious
conver . e atter c ause should be connected with what follows :—“ Some years after that prince’s abdication he kept a little seminary
at is, when his mercenary views in quitting his religion were effectually defeated, when the Boyne had sealed his despair, he humbled
. 1”lse“ into a petty schoolmaster. These facts are interesting, because they suggest at once the motive for the merciless punishment
in icted upon Pope. His own father was a Papist like Bromley, but a sincere and honest Papist, who had borne double taxes, legal
stigmas, and public hatred for conscience sake. His contempt was habitually pointed at those who tampered with religion for interested
purposes. His son inherited these upright feelings. And we may easily guess what would be the bitter sting of any satire he would
write on Bromley. Such a topic was too true to be forgiven, and too keenly barbed by Bromley’s conscience. By the way, this writer,
i e ourselves, reads in this juvenile adventure a prefiguration of Pojie’s satirical destiny. [The statement referred to (signed “E. P.,”
an published by Curll) is likely to have been one of Pope’s stratagems to mislead Curll, and keep up the public interest in his own
personal history.]
324
POPE.
Pope, interpret the conduct of Pope’s parents; and they lead us
to regard as wise and conscientious a scheme which, under
ordinary circumstances, would have been pitiably foolish.
And be it remembered, that to these considerations, de¬
rived exclusively from the civil circumstances of the family,
were superadded others derived from the astonishing pre¬
maturity of the individual. That boy who could write at
twelve years of age the beautiful and touching stanzas on
Solitude, might well be trusted with the superintendence
of his own studies. And the stripling of sixteen, who
could so far transcend in good sense the accomplished
statesmen or men of the world with whom he afterwards
corresponded, might challenge confidence for such a choice
of books as would best promote the development of his
own faculties.
In reality, one so finely endowed as Alexander Pope
could not easily lose his way in the most extensive or ill-
digested library. And though he tells Atterbury that at
one time he abused his opportunities by reading contro¬
versial divinity, we may be sure that his own native activi¬
ties, and the elasticity of his mind, would speedily recoil
into a just equilibrium of study, under wider and happier
opportunities. Reading, indeed, for a person like Pope,
is rather valuable as a means of exciting his own energies,
and of feeding his own sensibilities, than for any direct
acquisitions of knowledge, or for any trains of systematic
research. All men are destined to devour much rubbish
between the cradle and the grave; and doubtless the man
who is wisest in the choice of his books will have read
many a page before he dies, that a thoughtful review would
pronounce worthless. This is the fate of all men. But the
reading of Pope, as a general result or measure of his ju¬
dicious choice, is best justified in his writings. They show
him well furnished with whatsoever he wanted for matter
or for embellishment, or argument or illustration, for exam¬
ple and model, or for direct and explicit imitation.
Possibly, as we have already suggested, within the range
of English literature Pope might have found all that he
wanted. But variety the widest has its uses; and, for the
extension of his influence with the polished classes amongst
whom he lived, he did wisely to add other languages; and
a question has thus arisen with regard to the extent of
Pope’s attainments as a self-taught linguist. A man, or even
a boy, of great originality, may iiappen to succeed best in
working his own native mines of thought, by his unassisted
energies; here it is granted that a tutor, a guide, or even
a companion, may be dispensed with, and even beneficially.
But in the case of foreign languages, in attaining this
machinery of literature, though anomalies even here do
arise, and men there are, like Joseph Scaliger, who form
their own dictionaries and grammars in the mere process of
reading an unknown language, by far the major part of
students will lose their time by rejecting the aid of tutors.
As there has been much difference of opinion with regard
to Pope’s skill in languages, we shall briefly collate and
bring into one focus the stray notices.
As to the French, Voltaire, who knew Pope personally,
declared that he “ could hardly read it, and spoke not one
syllable of the language.” But perhaps Voltaire might dis¬
like Pope? On the contrary, he was acquainted with his
works, and admired them to the very level of their merits.
Speaking of him after death to Frederick of Prussia, he
prefers him to Horace and Boileau, asserting that, by com¬
parison with them,
“ Pope approfondis ce qu’ils ont effleurt.
D’un esprit plus hardi, d’un pas plus assure,
II porta le flambeau dans 1’abime de 1’etre ;
Et 1’homme avec lui seul apprit a se connoitre.
L’art quelquefois, frivole, et quelquefois divine,
L’art des vers est dans Pope utile au genre humain.”
This is not a wise account of Pope, for it does not ab¬
stract the characteristic feature of his power ; but it is a very
kind one. And of course Voltaire could not have meant
any unkindness in denying his knowledge of French. But
he was certainly wrong. Pope, in his presence, would
decline to speak or to read a language of which the pro¬
nunciation was confessedly beyond him. Or, if he did, the
impression left would be still worse. In fact, no man ever
will pronounce or talk a language which he does not use,
for some part of every day, in the real intercourse of life.
But that Pope read French of an ordinary cast with fluency
enough, is evident from the extensive use which he made
of Madame Dacier’s labours on the Iliad, and still more
of La Valterie’s prose translation of the Iliad. Already
in the year 1718, and long before his personal knowledge
of Voltaire, Pope had shown his accurate acquaintance
with some voluminous French authors in a way which,
we suspect, was equally surprising and offensive to his noble
correspondent. The Duke of Buckingham1 had addressed
to Pope a letter containing some account of the controversy
about Homer which had then been recently carried on in
France between La Mode and Madame Dacier. This ac¬
count was delivered with an air of teaching which was
very little in harmony with its excessive shallowness. Pope,
who sustained the part of pupil in this interlude, replied in
a manner that exhibited a knowledge of the parties con¬
cerned in the controversy much superior to that of the
duke. In particular, he characterized the excellent notes
upon Horace of M. Dacier the husband in very just terms,
as distinguished from those of his conceited and half-learned
wife; and the whole reply of Pope seems very much as
though he had been playing off a mystification on his grace.
Undoubtedly the pompous duke felt that he had caught a
Tartar. Now, M. Dacier’s Horace, which, with the text,
fills nine volumes, Pope could not have read except in
French ; for they are not even yet translated into English.
Besides, Pope read critically the French translation of his
own Essay on Man, Essay on Criticism, Rape of the Lock,
&c. He spoke of them as a critic; and it was at no time
a fault of Pope’s to make false pretensions. All readers of
Pope’s Satires must also recollect numerous proofs that
he had read Boileau with so much feeling of his peculiar
merit that he has appropriated and naturalized in English
some of his best passages. Voltaire was therefore cer¬
tainly wrong.
Of Italian literature, meantime, Pope knew little or no¬
thing ; and simply because he knew nothing of the lan¬
guage. Tasso, indeed, he admired; and, which is singular,
more than Ariosto. But we believe that he had read him
only in English ; and it is certain that he could not take
up an Italian author, either in prose or verse, for the un¬
affected amusement of his leisure.
Greek, we all know, has been denied to Pope, ever since
he translated Homer, and chiefly in consequence of that
translation. This seems at first sight unfair, because criti¬
cism has not succeeded in fixing upon Pope any errors of
ignorance. His deviations from Homer were uniformly
the result of imperfect sympathy with the naked simplicity
1 That is, Sheffield, and legally speaking, of Buckingham-sMre. For he would not take the title of Buckingham, under a fear that
there was lurking somewhere or other a claim to that title amongst the connections of the Villiers family. He was a pompous grandee,
who lived in uneasy splendour, and, as a writer, most extravagantly overrated ; accordingly he is now forgotten. Such was his vanity,
and his ridiculous mania for allying himself with royalty, that he first of all had the presumption to court the Princess (afterwards
Queen) Anne. Being rejected, he then offered himself to the illegitimate daughter of James II. by the daughter of Sir Charles Sedley.
She was as ostentatious as himself, and accepted him.
—~ 1
P 0
Pope, of the antique, and therefore wilful deviations, not (like
those of his more pretending competitors, Addison and
Tickell) pure blunders of misapprehension. But yet it is
not inconsistent with this concession to Pope’s merits, that
we must avow our belief in his thorough ignorance of
Greek when he first commenced his task. And to us it
seems astonishing that nobody should have adverted to that
fact as a sufficient solution, and in fact the only plausible
solution, of Pope’s excessive depression of spirits in the
earliest stage of his labours. This depression, after he had
once pledged himself to his subscribers for the fulfilment
of his task, arose from, and could have arisen from nothing
else, than his conscious ignorance of Greek in connection
with the solemn responsibilities he had assumed in the face
of a great nation. Nay, even countries as presumptuously
disdainful of tramontane literature as Italy took an interest
in this memorable undertaking. Bishop Berkeley found
Salvini reading it at Florence ; and Madame Dacier even,
who read little but Greek, and certainly no English until
then, condescended to study it. Pope’s dejection, there¬
fore, or rather agitation (for it impressed by sympathy a
tumultuous character upon his dreams which lasted for
years after the cause had ceased to operate) was perfectly
natural under the explanation we have given, but not
otherwise. And how did he surmount this unhappy self¬
distrust? Paradoxical as it may sound, we will venture to
say that, with the innumerable aids for interpreting Homer
which even then existed, a man sufficiently acquainted with
Latin might make a translation even critically exact. This
Pope was not long in discovering. Other alleviations of
his labour concurred, and in a ratio daily increasing.
The same formulae were continually recurring, such as,
“But him answering, thus addressed the swift-footed Achilles;”
Or,
“ But him sternly beholding, thus spoke Agamemnon the king of men.”
Then, again, universally the Homeric Greek, from many
causes, is easy; and especially from these two: 1st, The
simplicity of the thought, which never gathers into those
perplexed knots of rhetorical condensation which we find
in the dramatic poets of a higher civilization; 2dly, From
the constant bounds set to the expansion of the thought
by the form of the metre; an advantage of verse which
makes the poets so much easier to a beginner in the Ger¬
man language than the illimitable weavers of prose. The
line or the stanza reins up the poet tightly to his theme,
and will not suffer him to expatiate. Gradually, therefore,
Pope came to read the Homeric Greek, but never accu-
rately; nor did he ever read Eustathius without aid from
Latin. As to any knowledge of the Attic Greek, of the
Greek of the dramatists, the Greek of Plato, the Greek of
Demosthenes, Pope neither had it nor affected to have it.
Indeed it was no foible of Pope’s, as we will repeat, to
make claims which he had not, or even to dwell ostenta¬
tiously upon those which he had. And with respect to
Greek in particular, there is a manuscript letter in exist¬
ence from Pope to a Mr Bridges at Falham which,
speaking of the original Homer, distinctly records the
P E.
knowledge which he had of his own “ imperfectness in
die language. Chapman, a most spirited translator of
Homer, probably had no very critical skill in Greek • and
Hobbes was, beyond all question, as poor a Grecian as he
was a doggerel translator; yet in this letter Pope professes
his willing submission to the “authority” of Chapman and
Hobbes as superior to his own.
Finally, in Latin Pope was a “considerable proficient”
even by the cautious testimony of Dr Johnson ; and in
tins.language only the doctor was an accomplished critic.
If Pope had really the proficiency here ascribed to him, he
must have had it already in his boyish years; for the
translation from Statius, which is the principal monument
of his skill, was executed before he was fourteen. We
have taken the trouble to throw a hasty glance over it;
and whilst we readily admit the extraordinary talent which
it shows, as do all the juvenile essays of Pope, we cannot
allow that it argues any accurate skill in Latin. The
word Malea, as we have seen noticed by some editor, he
makes Malea; which in itself, as the name was not of
common occurrence, would not have been an error worth
noticing; but, taken in connection with the certainty that
Pope had the original line before him—
“ Arripit ex templo Maleae de valle resurgens,”
when not merely the scanning theoretically, but the whole
rhythmus practically, to the most obtuse ear, would be
annihilated by Pope’s false quantity, is a blunder which
serves to show his utter ignorance of prosody. But, even
as a version of the sense, with every allowance for a poet’s
license of compression and expansion, Pope’s translation is
defective, and argues an occasional inability to construe
the text. For instance, at the council summoned by
Jupiter, it is said that he at his first entrance seats himself
upon his starry throne, but not so the inferior gods;
“ Nec protinus ausi
Ccelicolae, veniam donee pater ipse sedendi
Tranquilla jubet esse manu.”
In which passage there is a slight obscurity, from the ellip¬
sis of the word sedere, or sese locate; but the meaning is
evidently that the other gods did not presume to sit down
protinus, that is, in immediate succession to Jupiter, and
interpreting his example as a tacit license to do so, until,
by a gentle wave of his hand, the supreme father signifies
his express permission to take their seats. But Pope,
manifestly unable to extract any sense from the passage,
translates thus:
“ At Jove’s assent the deities around,
In solemn state, the consistory crown’d;”
where at once the whole picturesque solemnity of the
celestial ritual melts into the vaguest generalities. Again,
at v. 178, rupteeque vices is translated “ and all the ties of
nature broke f but by vices is indicated the alternate
reign of the two brothers, as ratified by mutual oaths, and
subsequently violated by Eteocles. Other mistakes might
be cited, which seem to prove that Pope, like most self-
taught linguists, was a very imperfect one.1 Pope, in
1 Meantime, the felicities of this translation are at times perfectly astonishing; and it would be scarcely possible to express more
nervously or amply the words,
“ Jurisque secundi
Ambitus impatiens, et summo dulcius unum
Stare loco,”
than this child of fourteen has done in the following couplet, which, most iudiciously, by reversing the two clauses, gains the power of
fusing them into connection: > J J & v
“ And impotent desire to reign alone,
That scorns the dull reversion of a throne”
But the passage for which, beyond all others, we must make room, is a series of eight lines, corresponding to six in the original, and
this for two reasons : first, because Dr Joseph Warton has deliberately asserted, that in our whole literature “ we have scarcely eight
more beautiful lines than these and though few readers will subscribe to so sweeping a judgment, yet certainly these must be won¬
derful lines for a boy which could challenge such commendation from an experienced polyhistor of infinite reading. Secondly, because
POPE.
short, never rose to such a point in classical literature as
to read either Greek or Latin authors without effort, and
for his private amusement.
The result, therefore, of Pope’s self-tuition appears to
us, considered in the light of an attempt to acquire certain
accomplishments of knowledge, a most complete failure.
As a linguist, he read no language with ease; none with
pleasure to himself; and none with so much accuracy as
could have carried him through the most popular author
with a general independence on interpreters. But, con¬
sidered with a view to his particular faculties and slumber¬
ing originality of power, which required perhaps the
stimulation of accident to arouse them effectually, we are
very much disposed to think that the very failure of his
education as an artificial training was a great advantage
finally for inclining his mind to throw itself, by way of in¬
demnification, upon its native powers. Had he attained,
as with better tuition he would have attained, distinguished
excellence as a scholar, or as a student of science, the
chances are many that he would have settled down into
such studies as thousands could pursue not less successfully
than he ; whilst as it was, the very dissatisfaction which he
could not but feel with his slender attainments must have
given him a strong motive for cultivating those impulses
of original power which he felt continually stirring within
him, and which were vivified into trials of competition as
often as any distinguished excellence was introduced to
his knowledge.
Pope’s father, at the time of his birth, lived in Lombard
Street j1 a street still familiar to the public eye, from its
adjacency to some of the chief metropolitan establishments,
and to the English ear possessing a degree of historical
importance; first, as the residence of those Lombards, or
Milanese, who affiliated our infant commerce to the matron
splendours of the Adriatic and the Mediterranean ; next,
as the central resort of those jewellers, or “ goldsmiths,”
as they were styled, who performed all the functions of
modern bankers from the period of the parliamentary war
to the rise of the Bank of England, that is, for six years
after the birth of Pope ; and, lastly, as the seat, until
lately, of that vast post-office through which, for so long
a period, has passed the correspondence of all nations and
languages, upon a scale unknown to any other country.
In this street Alexander Pope the elder had a house, and a
warehouse, we presume, annexed, in which he conducted
the wholesale business of a linen merchant. As soon as
he had made a moderate fortune he retired from business,
first to Kensington, and afterwards to Binfield, in Windsor
Forest. The period of this migration is not assigned by
any writer. It is probable that a prudent man would not
adopt it with any prospect of having more children. But
this chance might be considered as already extinguished at
the birth of Pope ; for though his father had then only
attained his forty-fourth year, Mrs Pope had completed her
forty-eighth. It is probable, from the interval of seven
days which is said to have elapsed between Pope’s punish¬
ment and his removal from the school, that his parents
were then living at such a distance from him as to prevent
his ready communication with them, else we may be sure
that Mrs Pope would have flown on the wings of love and
wrath to the rescue of her darling. Supposing, therefore,
as we do suppose, that Mr Bromley’s school in London
was the scene of his disgrace, it would appear on this
argument that his parents were then living in Windsor
Forest. And this hypothesis falls in with another anecdote
in Pope’s life, which we know partly upon his own autho¬
rity. He tells Wycherly that he had seen Dryden, and
barelv seen him. Virgilium vidi tantum. This is pre¬
sumed to have been in Will’s coffee-house, whither any
person in search of Dryden would of course resort; and
it must have been before Pope was twelve years old, for
Dryden died in 1700. Now there is a letter of Sir
Charles Wogan’s, stating that he first took Pope to Will’s,
and his words are, “ from our forest.” Consequently, at
that period, when he had not completed his twelfth year,
Pope was already living in the forest.
[Sir Charles Wogan says he had the honour of bringing Mr Pope
from his retreat in the forest, to “ dress d, la mode, and introduce
at Will’s coffee-house.” This cannot apply to a boy under twelve
years of age, but must refer to a subsequent period.]
From this period, and so long as the genial spirits of
youth lasted, Pope’s life must have been one dream of plea¬
sure. He tells Lord Hervey chat his mother did not spoil
him; but that was no doubt because there was no room for
wilfulness or waywardness on either side, when all was one
placid scene of parental obedience and gentle filial autho¬
rity. We feel persuaded that, if not in words, in spirit and
inclination they would, in any note they might have oc¬
casion to write, subscribe themselves “ your dutiful pa¬
rents.” And of what consequence in whose hands were the
reins which were never needed ? Every reader must be
pleased to know that these idolizing parents lived to see
their son at the very summit of his public elevation ; even
his father lived two years and a half after the publication
of his Homer had commenced, and when his fortune was
made; and his mother lived for nearly eighteen years
more. What a felicity for her, how rare and how perfect,
to find that he, who to her maternal eyes was naturally the
most perfect of human beings, and the idol of her heart,
had already been the idol of the nation before he had com¬
pleted his youth. She had also another blessing not always
commanded by the most devoted love; many sons there
are who think it essential to manliness that they should
treat their mother’s doating anxiety with levity, or even
the lines contain a night-scene. Now it must be well known to many readers, that the famous night-scene in the Iliad, so familiar to
every school-boy, has been made the subject, for the last thirty years, of severe, and in many respects, of just criticism. This descrip¬
tion will therefore have a double interest by comparison; whilst, whatever may be thought of either taken separately for itself, con¬
sidered as a translation, this which we now quote is as true to Statius as the other is undoubtedly faithless to Homer
“ Jamque per emeriti surgens confinia Phcebi
Titanis, late mundo subvecta silenti
Rorifera gelidum tenuaverat cera biga.
Jam pecudes volucresque lucent: jam somnus avaris
Inserpit curis, pronusque per (era nutat,
Grata laboratce referens oblivia vitce.”
Theb. i. 336-341.
’Twas now the time when Phoebus yields to night,
And rising Cynthia sheds her silver light;
Wide o’er the world in solemn pomp she drew
Her airy chariot hung with pearly dew.
All birds and beasts lie hushed. Sleep steals away
The wild desires of men and toils of day ;
And brings, descending through the silent air,
A sweet forgetfulness of human care.”
1 One writer of that age says, in Cheapside; but probably this difference arose from contemplating Lombard Street as a prolongation
of Cheapside. [He is first found residing in Broad Street. Mr Hotten, bookseller, Piccadilly, has published an extract from a London
Directory of 1677, showing that in the list of merchants for that year was “ Alexand. Pope, Broad-street.” The Athenceum followed
this up by a citation from the register of St Bennet-Fink, in which part of Broad Street is situated : “ 1679, 12 Aug. Buried, Mag¬
dalen, the wife of Alexander Pope.” There can be no doubt that this Magdalen Pope was the wife of the poet’s father, who had, pre¬
vious to his removal to Lombard Street, resided in Broad Street during the period 1677-1679. The Athenaium further published an
extract from the inedited correspondence of Pope with Mr Caryll, in which the poet writes—“ My sister liackett was my own father s
daughter by a former wife.” Of this first wife no information has been found.]
J
POPE.
Pope, ridicule. But Pope, who was the model of a good son,
never swerved in words, manners, or conduct, from the
most respectful tenderness, or intermitted the piety of his
attentions. And so far did he carry this regard for his
mother’s comfort, that, well knowing how she lived upon
his oresence or by his image, he denied himself for many
years all excursions which could not be fully accomplished
within the revolution of a week. And to this cause, com¬
bined with the excessive length of his mother’s life, must
be ascribed the tact that Pope never went abroad ; not to
Italy with Thomson or with Berkeley, or any of his diplo¬
matic friends; not to Ireland, where his presence would
have been hailed as a national honour; not even to France,
on a visit to his admiring and admired friend Lord Boling-
broke. For as to the fear of sea-sickness that did not arise
until a late period of his life ; and at any period would not
have operated to prevent his crossing from Dover to Calais.
It is possible that, in his earlier and more sanguine years,
all the perfection of his filial love may not have availed to
prevent him from now and then breathing a secret mur¬
mur at confinement so constant. But it is certain that,
long before he passed the meridian of his life, Pope had
come to view this confinement with far other thoughts.
Experience had then taught him that to no man is the pri¬
vilege granted of possessing more than one or two friends
who are such in extremity. By that time he had come to
view his mother’s death with fear and anguish. She, he
knew by many a sign, would have been happy to lay down
her life for his sake; but for others, even those who were
the most friendly and the most constant in their attentions,
he felt but too certainly that his death, or his heavy afflic¬
tion, might cost them a few sighs, but would not materially
disturb their peace of mind. “ It is but in a very narrow
circle,” says he, in a confidential letter, “ that friendship
walks in this world, and I care not to tread out of it more
than I needs must; knowing well it is but to two or three
(if quite so many) that any man’s welfare or memory can
be of consequence.” After such acknowledgments, we are
not surprised to find him waiting thus of his mother, and
his fearful struggles to fight off the shock of his mother’s
death, at a time when it was rapidly approaching. After
haying said of a friend’s death, “the subject is beyond
writing upon, beyond cure or ease by reason or reflection,
beyond all but one thought that it is the will of God,” he
goes on thus, “ So will the death of my mother be, which
now I tremble at, now' resign to, now bring close to me,
now set farther off; every day alters, turns me about, con¬
fuses my whole frame of mind.” There is no pleasure, he
adds, which the world can give, “ equivalent to counter¬
vail either the death of one I have so long lived with, or of
one I have so long lived for.” How will he comfort him¬
self after her death ? “I have nothing left but to turn my
thoughts to one comfort, the last we usually think of,
though the only one we should in wisdom depend upon. I
sit in her room, and she is always present before me but
when I sleep. I wonder I am so well. I have shed many
tears ; but now I weep at nothing.”
A man, therefore, happier than Pope in his domestic re¬
lations cannot easily have lived. It is true these relations
were circumscribed; had they been wider they could not
have been so happy. But Pope was equally fortunate in
his social relations. What, indeed, most of all surprises us
!s the courteous, flattering, and even brilliant reception
which Pope found from his earliest boyhood amono-si the
most accomplished men of the world. Wits courtiers
statesmen, grandees the most dignified, and men of fashion
the most brilliant, all alike treated him not only with
pointed kindness, but with a respect that seemed to ac¬
knowledge him as their intellectual superior. Without
rank, high birth, fortune, without even a literary name, and
m defiance of a deformed person. Pope, whilst yet only
sixteen years of age, was caressed, and even honoured ; and
all this with no one recommendation but simply the know¬
ledge of his dedication to letters, and the premature expec¬
tations which he raised of future excellence. Sir William
1 rumbull, a veteran statesman, who had held the highest
stations, both diplomatic and ministerial, made him his
daily companion. Wycherley, the old roue of the town a
second-rate wit, but not the less jealous on that account,
showed the utmost deference to one whom, as a man of
fashion, he must have regarded with contempt, and be¬
tween whom and himself there were nearly “ fifty good
years of fair and foul weather.” Cromwell,1 a fox-huntin°-
country gentleman, but uniting with that character the
pretensions of a wit, and affecting also the reputation of a
rake, cultivated his regard with zeal and conscious infe¬
riority. Nay, which never in any other instance happened
to the most fortunate poet, his very inaugural essays in
verse weie treated, not as prelusive efforts of auspicious
promise, but as finished works of art, entitled to take their
station amongst the literature of the land ; and in the most
worthless of all his poems, Walsh, an established authority,
and whom Dryden pronounced the ablest critic of the a^e,’
found proofs of equality with Virgil.
The literary correspondence with these gentlemen is in¬
teresting, as a model of what once passed for fine letter-
writing. Every nerve was strained to outdo each other in
carving all thoughts into a filigree work of rhetoric; and
the amobean contest was like that between two villao-e-
cocks from neighbouring farms endeavouring to overcrow
each other. To us, in this age of purer and more mascu¬
line taste, the whole scene takes the ludicrous air of old
and young fops dancing a minuet with each other, prac¬
tising the most elaborate grimaces, sinkings and risino-s the
most awful, bows the most overshadowing, until°plain
walking, running, or the motions of natural dancing, are
thought too insipid for endurance. In this instance the
taste had perhaps really been borrowed from France though
often enough we impute to France what is the native
growth of all minds placed in similar circumstances. Ma¬
dame de Sevigne’s Letters were really models of grace.
But Balzac, whose letters, however, are not without interest,
had in some measure formed himself upon the truly magni¬
ficent rhetoric of Pliny and Seneca. Pope and his corre¬
spondents, meantime, degraded the dignity of rhetoric by
applying it to trivial commonplaces of compliment; whereas
Seneca applied it to the grandest themes which life or con¬
templation can supply. Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, on
first coming amongst the wits of the day, naturally adopted
their style. She found this sort of euphuism established ;
1 Johnson said’ that a11 he could discover about Mr Cromwell was the fact of his going a hunting in a tie-wig ; but Gay has added
anot er fact to Dr Johnson s, by calling him honest hatless Cromwell with red breeches.” This epithet has puzzled the commentators,
ut its import is obvious enough. Cromwell, as we learn from more than one person, was anxious to be considered a fine gentleman,
an devoted to women. Now it was long the custom in that age for such persons, when walking with ladies, to carry their hats in their
and. Louis XV. used to ride by the side of Madame de Pompadour hat in hand. [Henry Cromwell was the son of a person of the
same name resident in Ramsay, Huntingdonshire. He was related to the family of the Protector, the common ancestor of both being
lr enry Cromwell of Ilinchingbrook, the “ Golden Knight” in Queen Elizabeth’s days. The poet’s friend had a small estate, Beesby
in .ncolnshire. He died in London in 1728, aged 69. By his will he left his estate of Beesby to a second cousin, the Rev Henry
Ureene, and L.40 a year to his “ancient and faithful servant” Isabel Perez, the “ Lady Isabella” of Pope’s letters. He directed also
that his body should be decently interred, suitable to his birth, in the church of St Clement Danes, “ which church,” he adds “ I have
most frequented.”]
and it was not for a very young woman to oppose it. But
her masculine understanding and powerful good sense,
shaken free, besides, from all local follies by travels and
extensive commerce with the world, first threw off these
glittering chains of affectation. Dean Swift, by the very
constitution of his mind, plain, sinewy, nervous, and court¬
ing only the strength that allies itself with homeliness, was
always indisposed to this mode of correspondence. And,
finally, Pope himself, as his earlier friends died off, and his
own understanding acquired strength, laid it aside alto¬
gether. One reason doubtless was, that he found it too
fatiguing ; since in this way of letter-writing he was put to
as much expense of wit in amusing an individual corre¬
spondent as would for an equal extent have sufficed to delight
the whole world. A funambulist may harass his muscles
and risk his neck on the tight-rope, but hardly to entertain
his own family. Pope, however, had another reason for
declining this showy system of fencing; and strange it is
that he had not discovered this reason from the very first.
As life advanced, it happened unavoidably that real busi¬
ness advanced; the careless condition of youth prompted
no topics, or at least prescribed none, but such as were
agreeable to the taste, and allowed of an ornamental colour¬
ing. But when downright business occurred, exchequer
bills to be sold, meetings to be arranged, negotiations con¬
fided, difficulties to be explained, here and there by possi¬
bility a jest or two might be scattered, a witty allusion
thrown in, or a sentiment interwoven ; but for the main
body of the case, it neither could receive any ornamental
treatment, nor if, by any effort of ingenuity, it had, could
it look otherwise than silly and unreasonable:—
“ Ornari res ipsa negat, contenta doceri.”
Pope’s idleness, therefore, on the one hand, concurring
with good sense and the necessities of business on the
other, drove him to quit his gay rhetoric in letter-writing.
But there are passages surviving in his correspondence
which indicate that, after all, had leisure and the coarse
perplexities of life permitted it, he still looked with partia¬
lity upon his youthful style, and cherished it as a first love.
But in this harsh world, as the course of true love, so
that of rhetoric, never did run smooth ; and thus it hap¬
pened that, with a lingering farewell, he felt himself forced
to bid it adieu. Strange that any man should think his own
sincere and confidential overflowings of thought, and feel¬
ing upon books, men, and public affairs, less valuable in a
literary view than the legerdemain of throwing up bubbles
into the air for the sake of watching their prismatic hues,
like an Indian juggler with his cups and balls. We of this
age, who have formed our notions of epistolary excellence
from the chastity of Gray’s, the brilliancy of Lady Mary
Wortley Montagu’s during her later life, and the mingled
good sense and fine feeling of Cowper’s, value only those
letters of Pope which he himself thought of inferior value.
And even with regard to these, we may say that there is a
great mistake made ; the best of those later letters between
Pope and Swift, &c., are not in themselves at all superior
to the letters of sensible and accomplished women, such as
leave every town in the island by every post. Their chief
interest is a derivative one; we are pleased with any letter,
good or bad, which relates to men of such eminent talent;
and sometimes the subjects discussed have a separate in¬
terest for themselves. But as to the quality of the discus¬
sion, apart from the person discussing and the thing dis¬
cussed, so trivial is the value of these letters in a large pro- ^
portion, that we cannot but wonder at the preposterous
value which was set upon them by the writers.1 Pope es¬
pecially ought not to have his ethereal works loaded by the
mass of trivial prose which is usually attached to them.
This correspondence, meantime, with the wits of the
time, though one mode by which, in the absence of re¬
views, the reputation of an author was spread, did not per¬
haps serve the interests of Pope so effectually as the
poems which in this way he circulated in those classes of
English society whose favour he chiefly courted. One of
his friends, the truly kind and accomplished Sir William
Trumbull, served him in that way, and perhaps in another
eventually even more important. The library of Pope’s
father was composed exclusively of polemical divinity; a
proof, by the way, that he was not a blind convert to the
Roman Catholic faith, or, if he was so originally, had re¬
viewed the grounds of it, and adhered to it after strenuous
study. In this dearth of books at his own home, and until
he was able to influence his father in buying more exten¬
sively, Pope had benefited by the loans of his friends;
amongst whom it is probable that Sir William, as one of
the best scholars of the whole, might assist him most. He
certainly offered him the most touching compliment, as it
was also the wisest and most paternal counsel, when he
besought him, as one goddess-born, to quit the convivial
society of deep-drinkers:
“ Heu, fuge nate dea, teque his, ait, eripe mails.”
With these aids from friends of rank, and his way thus
laid open to public favour, in the year 1709 Pope first came
forward upon the stage of literature. The same year which
terminated his legal minority introduced him to the public.
Miscellanies in those days were almost periodical reposito¬
ries of fugitive verse. Tonson happened at this time to be
publishing one of some extent, the sixth volume of which
offered a sort of ambush to the young aspirant of Windsor
Forest, from which he might watch the public feeling. The
volume was opened by Mr Ambrose Philips, in the cha¬
racter of pastoral poet; and in the same character, but
stationed at the end of the volume, and thus covered by
his bucolic leader, as a soldier to the rear by the file in
advance, appeared Pope ; so that he might win a little
public notice, without too much seeming to challenge it.
This half-clandestine emersion upon the stage of author¬
ship, and his furtive position, are both mentioned by Pope
as accidents, but as accidents in which he rejoiced, and not
improbably accidents which Tonson had arranged with a
view to his satisfaction. It must appear strange that Pope
at twenty-one should choose to come forward for the first
time with a work composed at sixteen. A difference of
five years at that stage of life is of more effect than of
twenty at a later; and his own expanding judgment could
hardly fail to inform him that his Pastorals were by far
the worst of his works. In reality, let us not deny, that
had Pope never written anything else, his name would not
have been known as a name even of promise, but would
probably have been redeemed from oblivion by some satir¬
ist or writer of a Dunciad. Were a man to meet with
such a nondescript monster as the following, viz.—“ Love
out of Mount /Etna by a Whirlwind,” he would suppose
himself reading the “Racing Calendar.” Yet this hybrid
1 It is strange indeed to find, not only that Pope had so frequently kept rough copies of his own letters, and that he thought so well
of them as to repeat the same letter to different persons, as in the case of the two lovers killed by lightning, or even to two sisters,
Martha and Therese Blount (who were sure to communicate their letters), hut that even Swift had retained copies of his. [There is no
instance of Pope repeating the same letter to the two sisters, Teresa (so she and all her friends wrote the name) and Martha Blount.
For many years he wrote indifferently to either, but latterly he became estranged from Teresa (whom he accused of being too gay and
fond of society), and his affection was concentrated on Martha, to whom he left the bulk of his fortune. She was of the same age as the
poet, but survived till 1763. The connection was, as Mr De Quincey subsequently argues, of a purely innocent nature, although the
poet’s letters to the young ladies are occasionally stained by the grossness and pruriency of that licentious age.]
P o
Pope, creature is one of the many zoological monsters to whom
the Pastorals introduce us:—
“ I know thee, love! on foreign mountains born,
Wolves gave thee suck, and savage tigers fed.
Thou wert from ^Etna’s burning entrails torn,
Got bv fierce whirlwinds, and in thunder born.”
But the very names “Damon” and “ Strephon,” “Phillis”
and “ Delia,” are rank with childishness. Arcadian life is
at the best a feeble conception, and rests upon the false
principle of crowding together all the Inscious sweets of
rural life, undignified by the danger which attends pastoral
life in our climate, and unrelieved by shades, either moral
or physical. And the Arcadia of Pope’s age was the
spurious Arcadia of the opera theatre, and, what is worse,
of the French opera.
The hostilities which followed between these rival wooers
of the pastoral muse are well known. Pope, irritated at
what he conceived the partiality shown to Philips in the
Guardian, pursued the review ironically ; and, whilst affect¬
ing to load his antagonist with praises, draws into pointed
relief some of his most flagrant faults. The result, how¬
ever, we cannot believe. That all the wits, except Addi¬
son, were duped by the irony, is quite impossible. Could
any man of sense mistake for praise the remark that
Philips had imitated “ every \me of Stradathat he had
introduced wolves into England, and proved himself the
first of gardeners by making his flowers “ blow all in the
same season ?” Or, suppose those passages unnoticed,
could the broad sneer escape him where Pope taxes the
other writer (viz., himself) with having deviated “into
downright poetry ;” or the outrageous ridicule of Philips’
style, as setting up for the ideal type of the pastoral style
the quotation from Gay, beginning,
“ Eager, go vetch tha kee, or else tha zun
Will quite bego before ch’ ’avs half a don !”
Philips is said to have resented this treatment by threats of
personal chastisement to Pope, and even hanging up a rod
at Button’s coffee-house. We may be certain that Philips
never disgraced himself by such ignoble conduct.
[There is, however, good contemporary evidence for the fact. It
is mentioned in a pamphlet, Pope Alexander's Supremacy, 1728;
and in Cibber’s Letter to Pope, 1742 ; and it is confirmed, Mr
Peter Cunningham says, by an unpublished letter from Broome
to Fenton, of 3d May 1729.]
If the public, indeed, were universally duped by the paper,
what motive had Philips for resentment ? Or, in any case,
what plea had he for attacking Pope, who had not come
forward as the author of the Essay? But, from Pope’s
confidential account of the matter, we know that Philips
saw him daily, and never offered him “any indecorum
though, for some cause or other, Pope pursued Philips
with virulence through life.
In the year 1711 Pope published his Essay on Criticism,
which some people have very unreasonably fancied his best
performance ; and in the same year his Rape of the Lock,
the most exquisite monument of playful fancy that univer¬
sal literature offers. It wanted, however, as yet, the
principle of its vitality, in wanting the machinery of sylphs
and gnomes, with which addition it was first published
in 1714.
In the year 1/12 (1/15) Pope appeared again before
the public as the author of the Temple of Fame, and the
Elegy to the Memory of an Unfortunate Lady. Much
speculation has arisen on the question concerning the name
of this lady, and the more interesting question concernin«-
the nature of the persecutions and misfortunes which she
suffered. Pope appears purposely to decline answering
the questions of his friends upon that point; at least the
questions have reached us, and the answers have not.
Joseph Warton supposed himself to have ascertained four
facts about her: that her name was Wainsbury; that she
VOL. xvm.
P E.
was deformed in person ; that she retired into a convent
from some circumstances connected with an attachment to
a young man of inferior rank ; and that she killed herself,
not by a sword, as the poet insinuates, but by a halter. As
to the latter statement, it may very possibly be true; such
a change would be a very slight exercise of the poet’s pri¬
vileges. As to the rest, there are scarcely grounds enouo-h
for an opinion. Pope certainly speaks of her under the
name of Mrs (i.e., Miss) W— , which at least argues a
poetical exaggeration in describing her as a beino- “that
once had titles, honour, wealth, and fame and he°may as
much have exaggerated her pretensions to beauty. It is
indeed noticeable that he speaks simply of her decent
limbs, which, in any English use of the wmrd, does not
imply much enthusiasm of praise. She appears to have
been the niece of a Lady A ; and Mr Craggs, after¬
wards secretary of state [in reality Mr Caryll, not Craggs],
wrote to Lady A on her behalf, and otherwise took an
interest in her fate. As to her being a relative of the
Duke of Buckingham’s, that rests upon a mere conjectural
interpretation applied to a letter of that nobleman’s. But
all things about this unhappy lady are as yet enveloped in
mystery.
[The obscurity and confusion connected with Pope’s Elegy had its
origin primarily in a deceptive note in Warburton’s edition of the
poet’s works, 1751. Appended to the Elegy we read :—“ See the
Duke of Buckingham’s verses to a lady designing to retire into a
monastery, compared with Mr Pope’s ‘ Letters to several Ladies,’
page 206. She seems to he the same person whose unfortunate death is
the subject of the poem.—P.” Turning to the “ Letters to several
Ladies” referred to, we find one of Pope’s letters to Lady Mary Wort-
ley Montagu. “ We never meet,” writes the poet, “ but we lament
over you. The Duke of B m is sometimes the high priest of
your praises.” The name of Lady Mary was suppressed, and the
reference to the Duke of B——m had misled Warburton, or was
made by Pope for the purpose of mystification, in which he so
much delighted. The duke’s verses to a lady designing to retire
into a monastery were first published in Tonson’s Miscellany for
1709, when he was in his sixtieth year. They were most likely a
much earlier production, and this renders it in the highest degree
improbable that the same lady should have been commemorated
by Pope, who was thirty-seven years younger than his friend. We
are still without any positive information as to the name and
history of the lady forming the subject of the Elegy. Walpole
had learned it from Lady Hervey, but refused to communicate it;
but from the intimacy that subsisted between Walpole and Warton,
it has been conjectured that the latter had at length obtained from
his friend the name AV ainsbury, and the circumstances related
above. Of this, however, we have no proof. The Elegy was first
published, not in 1712, but in 1717. The “Mrs W.” of the poet’s
printed correspondence was a Mrs Weston of Sutton, county of
Surrey, niece of Lord Aston. She had separated from her husband,
and Pope took a warm interest in her affairs. She survived till
1724, and died, not by the “ visionary sword,” or in a foreign land,
but at her husband’s residence of Sutton Place. See A thenaeum for
1854, and Carruthers’s Life of Pope, Bohn’s “ Illustrated Library.”]
And not the least part of the mystery is a letter of
Pope’s to a Mr C , bearing date 1732, that is, jnst
twenty years after the publication of the poem, in which
Pope, in a manly tone, justifies himself for his estrange¬
ment, and presses against his unknown correspondent the
very blame which he had applied generally to the kinsman
of the poor victim in 1712. Now, unless there is some
mistake in the date, how are we to explain this gentleman’s
long; lethargy, and his sudden sensibility to Pope’s ana¬
thema, with which the world had resounded for twenty
years ?
[This refers to a totally different affair—to the case of a Mrs
Cope, a distressed lady to whom Pope allowed L.20 a year. She
was a relation of “ Mr C.,” or Caryll (who suggested the poem of
the Rape of the Lock) ; and Pope, though generous to the lady,
was unjust towards her relative Mr Caryll, by the manner in
which he garbled the correspondence in his printed letters.]
329
Pope had now established his reputation with the public
as the legitimate successor and heir to the poetical supre¬
macy of Dryden. His Rape of the Lock was unrivalled
2 T
Li
330 P 0
Pope, in ancient or modern literature, and the time had now
's—v-*' arrived when, instead of seeking to extend his fame, he
might count upon a pretty general support in applying
what he had already established to the promotion of his
own interest. Accordingly, in the autumn of 1713, he
formed a final resolution of undertaking a new translation
of the Iliad. It must be observed that already in 1709,
concurrently with his Pastorals, he had published speci¬
mens of such a translation ; and these had been communi¬
cated to his friends some time before. In particular, Sir
William Trumbull, on the 9th of April 1708, urged upon
Pope a complete translation of both Iliad and Odyssey.
Defective skill in the Greek language, exaggeration of the
difficulties, and the timidity of a writer as yet unknown,
and not quite twenty years old, restrained Pope for five
years and more. What he had practised as a sort of
bravura, for a single effort of display, he recoiled from as
a daily task to be pursued through much toil, and a con¬
siderable section of his life. However, he dallied with the
purpose, starting difficulties in the temper of one who
' wishes to hear them undervalued ; until at length Sir
Richard Steele determined him to the undertaking, a fact
overlooked by the biographers, but which is ascertained by
Ayre’s account of that interview between Pope and Addi¬
son, probably in 1716, which sealed the rupture between
them. [This supposed interview is now believed to be
apocryphal.] In the autumn of 1713, he made his design
known amongst his friends. Accordingly, on the 21st of
October, we have Lord Landsdowne’s letter, expressing his
great pleasure at the communication; on the 26th, we
have Addison’s letter encouraging him to the task; and in
November of the same year occurs the amusing scene so
graphically described by Bishop Kennet, when Dean Swift
presided in the conversation, and, amongst other indications
of his conscious authority, “ instructed a young nobleman
that the best poet in England was Mr Pope, who had begun
a translation of Homer into English verse, for which he
must have them all subscribe; for,” says he, “ the author
shall not begin to print until I have a thousand guineas
for him.”
If this were the extent of what Swift anticipated from
the work, he fell miserably below the result. But, per¬
haps, he spoke only of a cautionary arrha or earnest. As
this was unquestionably the greatest literary labour, as to
profit, ever executed, not excepting the most lucrative of
Sir Walter Scott’s, if due allowance be made for the
altered value of money, and if we consider the Odyssey as
forming part of the labour, it may be right to state the
particulars of Pope’s contract with Lintot.
The number of subscribers to the Iliad was 575, and
the number of copies subscribed for was 654. The work
was to be printed in six quarto volumes, and the subscrip¬
tion was a guinea a volume. Consequently by the sub¬
scription Pope obtained six times 654 guineas, or L.4218,
6s. (for the guinea then passed for 21s. 6d.) ; and for the
copyright of each volume Lintot offered L.200, conse¬
quently L.1200 for the whole six; so that from the Iliad
the profit exactly amounted to L.5310, 16s. Of the
Odyssey, 574 copies were subscribed for. It was to be
printed in five quarto volumes, and the subscription was a
guinea a volume. Consequently by file subscription Pope
obtained five times 574 guineas, or L.3085, 5s.; and for
the copyright Lintot offered L.600. The total sum re¬
ceived therefore by Pope, on account of the Odyssey, was
L.3685, 5s. But in this instance he had two coadjutors,
Broome and Fenton ; between them they translated twelve
books, leaving twelve to Pope. The notes also were com¬
piled by Broome; but the postscript to the notes was
written by Pope. Fenton received L.300, Broome L.500.
Such, at least, is Warton’s account, and more probable
than that of Ruffhead, who not only varies the proportions,
P E.
but increases the whole sum given to the assistants by Pope.
L.100. Thus far we had followed the guidance of mere v«»
probabilities, as they lie upon the face of the transaction.
But we have since detected a written statement of Pope’s,
unaccountably overlooked by the biographers, and serving
of itself to show how negligently they have read the works
of their illustrious subject. The statement is entitled to
the fullest attention and confidence, not being a hasty or
casual notice of the transaction, but pointedly shaped to
meet a calumnious rumour against Pope in his character of
paymaster ; as if he who had found so much liberality from
publishers in his own person, were niggardly or unjust as
soon as he assumed those relations to others. Broome, it
was alleged, had expressed himself dissatisfied with Pope’s
remuneration. Perhaps he had ; for he would be likely to
frame his estimate for his own services from the scale of
Pope’s reputed gains ; and those gains would, at any rate,
be enormously exaggerated, as uniformly happens where
there is a basis of the marvellous to begin with. And,
secondly, it would be natural enough to assume the pre¬
vious result from the Iliad as a fair standard for computa¬
tion ; but in this, as we know, all parties found themselves
disappointed, and Broome had the less right to murmur at
this, since the arrangement with himself as chief journey¬
man in the job was one main cause of the disappointment.
There was also another reason why Broome should be less
satisfied than Fenton. Verse for verse, any one thousand
lines of a translation so purely mechanical might stand
against any other thousand; and so far the equation of
claims was easy. A book-keeper, with a pen behind his
ear, and Cocker’s Golden Rule open before him, could do
full justice to Mr Broome as a poet every Saturday night.
But Broome had a separate account-current for pure
prose against Pope. One he had in conjunction with
Fenton for verses delivered on the premises at so much
per hundred, on which there could be no demur, except as
to the allowance for tare and tret as a discount in favour of
Pope. But the prose account, the account for notes, re¬
quiring very various degrees of reading and research,
allowed of no such easy equation. There it was, we con¬
ceive, that Broome’s discontent arose. Pope, however,
declares that he had given him L.500, thus confirming the
proportions of Warton against Ruffhead (that is, in effect,
Warburton), and some other advantages which were not in
money, nor deductions at all from his own money profits,
but which may have been worth so much money to Broome
as to give some colourable truth to Ruffhead’s allegation
of an additional L.100. In direct money, it remains cer¬
tain that Fenton had three and Broome five hundred
pounds.
[Spence says Fenton received L.240. Broome, in an inedited
letter quoted by Mr P. Cunningham in his edition of Johnson’s
Lives, writes to Pope, Oct. 29, 1735 :—“ You paid me L.500; that
is, L.100 for the notes and L.400 for eight books of the prose
translation, and Mr Fenton in proportion for his four books.”
Broome was probably also dissatisfied with the manner in which
Pope referred to his coadjutors at the conclusion of the notes to
the Odyssey. Five books only are mentioned as the work of Broome
and Fenton, while in reality they translated twelve books. War-
burton told Johnson, “ in his warm language,” that “he thought the
relation given in the note a lieand such it appears to have been.]
It follows, therefore, that for the Iliad and Odyssey
jointly he received a sum of L.8996, Is., and paid for
assistance L.800, which leaves to himselt a clear sum of
L.8196, Is. And, in fact, his profits ought to be calculated
without deduction, since it was his own choice, from indo¬
lence, to purchase assistance.
The Iliad was commenced about October 1713. In
the summer of the following year he was so far advanced
as to begin making arrangements with Lintot for the
printing ; and the first two books, in manuscript, were put
into the hands of Lord Halifax. In June 1715, between
POPE.
Pope, the 10th and 28th, the subscribers received their copies of
—the first volume ; and in July Lintot began to publish that
volume generally. Some readers will inquire, who paid
for the printing and paper, &c. ? All this expense fell
upon Lintot, for whom Pope was superfluously anxious.
The sagacious bookseller understood what he was about;
and, when a pirated edition was published in Holland, he
counteracted the injury by printing a cheap edition, of
which 7500 copies were sold in a few weeks ; an extra¬
ordinary proof of the extended interest in literature. The
second, third, and fourth volumes of the Iliad, each con¬
taining, like the first, four books, were published succes¬
sively in 1716, 1717, 1718 ; and in 1720 Pope completed
the work by publishing the fifth volume, containing five
books, and the sixth, containing the last three, with the
requisite supplementary apparatus.
The Odyssey was commenced in 1723 (not 1722, as Mr
Roscoe virtually asserts at p. 259), and the publication of
it was finished in 1725. The sale, however, was much
inferior to that or the Iliad, for which more reasons than
one might be assigned. But there can be no doubt that
Pope himself depreciated the work, by his undignified
arrangements for working by subordinate hands. Such a
process may answer in sculpture, because there a quantity
of rough-hewing occurs, which can no more be improved
by committing it to a Phidias, than a common shop-bill
could be improved in its arithmetic by Sir Isaac Newton.
But in literature such arrangements are degrading; and,
above all, in a work which was but too much exposed
already to the presumption of being a mere effort of
mechanic skill, or (as Curll said to the House of Lords)
a knackit was deliberately helping forward that idea
to let off parts of the labour. Only think of Milton let¬
ting off by contract to the lowest offer, and to be delivered
by such a day (for which good security to be found), six
books of Paradise Lost. It is true, the great dramatic
authors were often collaborateurs, but their case was es¬
sentially different. The loss, however, fell not upon Pope,
but upon Lintot, who, on this occasion, was out of temper,
and talked rather broadly of prosecution. But that was
out of the question. Pope had acted indiscreetly, but
nothing could be alleged against his honour; for he had
expressly warned the public that he did not, as in the other
case, profess to translate, but to undertake^ a translation of
the Odyssey. Lintot, however, was no loser absolutely,
though he might be so in relation to his expectations; on
the contrary, he grew rich, bought land, and became
sheriff of the county in which his estates lay.
We have pursued the Homeric labours uninterruptedly
from their commencement in 1713 till their final termina¬
tion in 1725, a period of twelve years or nearly; because
this was the task to which Pope owed the dignity, if not
the comforts, of his life, since it was this which enabled
mm to decline a pension from all administrations, and even
w h‘sTfr‘end Craggs, the secretary, to decline the express
offer of L.300 per annum. Indeed, Pope is always proud
to own his obligations to Homer. In the interval, how¬
ever, between the Iliad and the Odyssey, Pope listened to
proposals made by Jacob Tonson that he should revise an
edition of Shakspeare. For this, which was in fact the first
attempt at establishing the text of the mighty poet, Pope
obtained but little money, and still less reputation. He
received, according to tradition, only L.217, 12s. for his
trouble of collation, which must have been considerable,
and some other trifling editorial labour. And the opinion
of all judges, from the first so unfavourable as to have
depreciated the money value of the book enormously, per¬
haps from a prepossession of the public mind against the fit¬
ness of Pope for executing the dull labours of revision has
evei since pronounced this work the very worst edition in
existence. For the edition we have little to plead; but for
tlie editor it is but just to make three apologies. In the
first place, he wrote a brilliant preface, which, although
(hke other works of the same class) too much occupied In
displaying his own ability, and too often, for the sake of
an effective antithesis, doing deep injustice to Shakspeare
yet undoubtedly, as a whole, extended his fame, by giving
the sanction and countersign of a great wit to the national
admiration. Secondly, as Dr Johnson admits, Pope’s failure
pointed out the right road to his successors. Thirdly, even
in this failure it is but fair to say, that in a graduated scale
of merit, as distributed amongst the long succession of
editors through that century, Pope holds a rank proportion-
abletofus age. For the year 1720, he is no otherwise
below J heobald, Hanmer, Capell, Warburton, or even
Johnson, than as they are successively below each other,
and all of them as to accuracy below Steevens, as he again
was below Malone and Read.
The gains from Shakspeare would hardly counterbalance
the loss which Pope sustained this year from the South Sea
bubble. One thing, by the way, is still unaccountably
neglected by writers on this question : how it was that the
gieat Mississippi bubble, during the Orleans regency in
Paris, should have happened to coincide with that of Lon¬
don. If this were accident, how marvellous that the same
insanity should possess the two great capitals of Christen¬
dom in the same year ? If, again, it were not accident, but
due to some common cause, why is not that cause ex-
plained ? Pope to his nearest friends never stated the
amount of his loss. The biographers report that at one
time his stock was worth from twenty to thirty thousand
pounds. But that is quite impossible. It is true that, as
the stock rose at one time a thousand per cent., this would
not imply on Pope’s part an original purchase beyond
twenty-five hundred pounds or thereabouts. But Pope
has furnished an argument against that, which we shall
improve. He quotes more than once, as applicable to his
own case, the old proverbial riddle of Hesiod, ttXcov rjfXLtrv
Travros {the half is more than the whole). What did he
mean by that ? We understand it thus : that between the
selling and buying, the variations had been such as to
sink his shares to one-half of the price they had once
reached, but, even at that depreciation, to leave him richer
on selling out than he had been at first. But the half of
L.25,000 would be a far larger sum than Pope could have
ventured to risk upon a fund confessedly liable to daily
fluctuation. L.3000 would be the utmost he could risk ;
in which case the half of L.25,000 would have left him so
very much richer that he would have proclaimed his good
fortune as an evidence of his skill and prudence. Yet, on
the contrary, he wished his friends to understand at times
that he had lost. But his friends forgot to ask one im¬
portant question: Was the word loss to be understood in
relation to the imaginary and nominal wealth which he
once possessed, or in relation to the absolute sum invested
in the South Sea fund ? The truth is, Pope practised on
this, as on other occasions, a little finessing, which is the
chief foible in his character. His object was that, accord¬
ing to circumstances, he might vindicate his own freedom
from the common mania, in case his enemies should take
that handle for attacking him ; or might have it in his power
to plead poverty, and to account for it, in case he should
ever accept that pension which had been so often tendered,
but never sternly rejected.
1 abour b^n^ riot J.6* lost the meaning of Shakspeare’s age, in which it was understood to describe those cases where, the
labour. The modern 1"d’. f0™6 P®rson ,n chief offered to overlook and conduct the whole, whether with or without personal
rtaker, limited to the care of funerals, was then hut one of numerous cases to which the term was applied.
332
POPE.
In 1723 Pope lost one of his dearest friends, Bishop
Atterbury, by banishment; a sentence most justly in¬
curred, and mercifully mitigated by the hostile Whig
government. On the bishop’s trial, a circumstance occurred
to Pope which flagrantly corroborated his own belief in his
natural disqualification for public life. He was summoned
as an evidence on his friend’s behalf. He had but a dozen
words to say, simply explaining the general tenor of his
lordship’s behaviour at Bromley ; and yet, under this trivial
task, though supported by the enthusiasm of his friendship,
he broke down. Lord Bolingbroke, returning from exile,
met the bishop at the sea-side; upon which it was wittily
remarked that they were “ exchanged.” Lord Bolingbroke
supplied to Pope the place, or perhaps more than supplied
the place, of the friend he had lost; for Bolingbroke was a
freethinker, and so far more entertaining to Pope, even
whilst partially dissenting, than Atterbury, whose clerical
profession laid him under restraints of decorum, and latterly,
there is reason to think, of conscience.
In 1725, on closing the Odyssey, Pope announces his
intention to Swift of quitting the labours of a translator,
and thenceforwards applying himself to original composi¬
tion. This resolution led to the Essay on Man, which
appeared soon afterwards; and, with the exception of two
labours, which occupied Pope in the interval between 1726
and 1729, the rest of his life may properiy be described as
dedicated to the further extension of that Essay. The two
works which he interposed were a collection of the fugitive
papers, whether prose or verse, which he and Dean Swift
had scattered amongst their friends at different periods of
life. The avowed motive for this publication, and in fact
the secret motive, as disclosed in Pope’s confidential letters,
was to make it impossible thenceforwards for piratical pub¬
lishers like Curll. Both Pope and Swift dreaded the
malice of Curll in case they should die before him. It
was one of Curb’s regular artifices to publish a heap of
trash on the death of any eminent man, under the title of
his Remains; and in allusion to that practice it was that
Arbuthnot most wittily called Curll “ one of the new
terrors of death.” By publishing all, Pope would have
disarmed Curb beforehand; and that was in fact the pur¬
pose ; and that plea only could be offered by two grave
authors, one forty, the other sixty years old, for reprinting
jeux cCesprit that never had any other apology than the
youth of their authors. Yet, strange to say, after all, some
were omitted; and the omission of one opened the door
to Curb as well as that of a score. Let Curll have once
inserted the narrow end of the wedge, he would soon have
driven it home.
This Miscellany, however, in three volumes (published
in 1727, but afterwards increased by a fourth in 1732),
though in itself a trifling work, had one vast consequence.
It drew after it swarms of libels and lampoons, levelled
almost exclusively at Pope, although the cipher of the joint
authors stood entwined upon the title-page. These libels
in their turn produced a second re-action ; and, by stimu¬
lating Pope to effectual anger, eventually drew forth, for
the everlasting admiration of posterity, the very greatest
of Pope’s works,—a monument of satirical power the great¬
est which man has produced, not excepting the MacFleckno
of Dryden, namely, the immortal Dunciad.
In October of‘the year 1727 this poem, in its original
form, was completed. Many editions, not spurious alto¬
gether, nor surreptitious, but with some connivance, not
yet explained, from Pope, were printed in Dublin and in
London. But the first quarto and acknowledged edition
was published in London early in “ 1728-9,” as the edi¬
tors choose to write it, that is (without perplexing the
reader), in 1729; on March 12 of which year it was pre¬
sented by the prime minister, Sir Robert Walpole, to the
king and queen at St James’s.
[The “ War of the Dunces” was one of the grand topics of the
day. It commenced with the publication of the Miscellanies, in
which Gay and Arbuthnot, as well as Pope and Swift, were joint
authors. The two first volumes of the Miscellanies were published
in June 1727, the third volume in March 1728. In this last volume
appeared Pope’s treatise on the Bathos, in which a host of minor
poets (including Broome, Aaron Hill, Dennis, Gildon, James Moore
Smythe, Welsted, &c.) were satirized. Some of the parties assailed
made a feeble attempt at retaliation ; but Pope was ready and
eager for the strife. Within three months (May 1728) he issued
the first edition of the Dunciad; and in other ten days appeared
A Key to the Dunciad, ludicrously fathered upon Sir Richard Black-
more, but evidently the production of the poet. He wrote, also
anonymously, various letters in the newspapers, keeping up the
public attention to his work. In the preface to the first imperfect
Dunciad, Pope had hinted at a complete copy of the poem ; and
accordingly, in April 1729, the enlarged edition, with Notes Vari¬
orum, Prolegomena, &c., was published. He wrote a humorous
account of the reception of his satire, to which the name of Savage
was affixed, and also a clever sarcastic production entitled An
Author to Let, which also appeared with the name of Savage as
author. About the same time Pope contributed a series of epi¬
grams, letters, and criticisms to the Grub Street Journal, though
he strenuously denied all connection with the paper. It is pro¬
bable we are only yet half informed of the poet’s underground
labours, but it is certain that, if one of the most irritable of the
tribe of authors, he was no less one of the most indefatigable and
unscrupulous.]
Like a hornet, who is said to leave his sting in the wound,
and afterwards to languish away, Pope felt so greatly ex¬
hausted by the efforts connected with the Dunciad (which
are far greater, in fact, than all his Homeric labours put to¬
gether), that he prepared his friends to expect for the future
only an indolent companion and a hermit. Events rapidly
succeeded which tended to strengthen the impression he
had conceived of his own decay, and certainly to increase his
disgust with the world. In 1732 died his friend Atterbury ;
and on December the 7th of the same year Gay, the most
unpretending of all the wits whom he knew, and the one
with whom he had at one time been domesticated, expired,
after an illness of three days, which Dr Arbuthnot declares
to have been “ the most precipitate ” he ever knew. But
in fact Gay had long been decaying from the ignoble vice
of too much and too luxurious eating. Six months after
this loss, which greatly affected Pope, came the last deadly
wound which this life could inflict, in the death of his
mother. She had for some time been in her dotage, and
recognised no face but that of her son, so that her death
was not unexpected ; but that circumstance did not soften
the blow of separation to Pope. She died on the 7th of
June 1733, being then ninety-three years old [more pro¬
bably ninety-one]. Three days after, writing to Richard¬
son the painter, for the purpose of urging him to come down
and take her portrait before the coffin was closed, he says,
“ I thank God her death was as easy as her life was inno¬
cent ; and as it cost her not a groan nor even a sigh, there
is yet upon her countenance such an expression of tran¬
quillity ” that “ it would afford the finest image of a saint
expired that ever painting drew. Adieu, may you die
as happily.” The funeral took place on the 11th; Pope
then quitted the house, unable to support the silence of her
chamber, and did not return for months, nor in fact ever
reconciled himself to the sight of her vacant apartment.^
Swift also he had virtually lost for ever. In April 1 /27
this unhappy man had visited Pope for the last time. Dui-
ing this visit occurred the death of George I. Great ex¬
pectations arose from that event amongst the Lories, in
which, of course, Swift shared. It was reckoned upon as a
thing of course that Walpole would be dismissed. But this
bright gleam of hope proved as treacherous as all before ;
anti the anguish of this final disappointment perhaps it was
which brought on a violent attack of Swift’s constitutional
malady. On the last of August he quitted Pope’s house
abruptly ; concealed himself in London ; and finally quitted
it, as stealthily as he had before quitted Twickenham, lor
POPE.
Pope. Ireland, never more to return. He left a most affectionate
—v/—letter for Pope ; but his affliction, and his gloomy anticipa¬
tions of insanity, were too oppressive to allow of his seeking
a personal interview.
Pope might now describe himself pretty nearly as ultimus
suorum ; and if he would have friends in future, he must
seek them, as he complains bitterly, almost amongst stran¬
gers and another generation. This sense of desolation may
account for the acrimony which too much disfigures his
writings henceforward. Between 1732 and 1740 he was
chiefly engaged in satires, which uniformly speak a high
moral tone in the midst of personal invective ; or in poems
directly philosophical, which almost as uniformly speak the
bitter tone of satire in the midst of dispassionate ethics.
His Essay on Man was but one link in a general course
which he had projected of moral philosophy, here and there
pursuing his themes into the fields of metaphysics, but no
farther in either field of morals or metaphysics than he could
make compatible with a poetical treatment. These works,
however, naturally entangled him in feuds of various com¬
plexions with people of very various pretensions ; and to
admirers of Pope so fervent as we profess ourselves, it is
painful to acknowledge that the dignity of his latter years,
and the becoming tranquillity of increasing age, are sadly
disturbed by the petulance and the tone of irritation which,
alike to those in the wrong and in the right, inevitably be¬
siege all personal disputes. He was agitated besides by a
piratical publication of his correspondence. This emanated
of course from the den of Curll, the universal robber and
“ blatant beast ” of those days; and besides the injury
offered to his feelings by exposing some youthful sallies
which he wished to have suppressed, it drew upon him a far
more disgraceful imputation, most assuredly unfounded, but
accredited by Dr Johnson, and consequently in full cur¬
rency to this day, of having acted collusively with Curll, or
at least through Curll, for the publication of what he wished
the world to see, but could not else have devised any decent
pretext for exhibiting.
[This opinion, clearly and emphatically stated by Johnson, has
now obtained almost universal assent. AVe must refer to Johnson’s
Life of Pope for an account of the dramatic incidents connected with
the sale and delivery of the printed correspondence to Curll. Pope
denounced the letters so published as surreptitious, incorrect, and
interpolated; and he felt himself under the necessity, he said, of
issuing a genuine edition. This genuine edition, however, is sub¬
stantially the same as the so-called surreptitious copy, and both
differ widely from the original letters as existing in manuscript.
Names and dates were omitted, or imperfectly and confusedly indi¬
cated. Mr Cary 11 is in one place “ The Hon. J. C., Esq.,” in another
“ The Hon. ,” and in a third “ Mr C .” Events are placed
under wrong dates, and incidents are transposed, added, or left out,
at the caprice or pleasure of the editor. The language is in most
of them revised and re-touched. Now this is the case equally in
Curll’s and in Pope’s own edition ; and the conclusion is irresistible,
that both were prepared by Pope. Amanuenses, he said, were em¬
ployed in making copies of his letters for Lord Oxford’s library,
and he hinted at stolen copies, but no amanuensis was brought for¬
ward, and no evidence adduced in support of the improbable
charge. It has lately (Athenaum, 1854) been proved that Pope
carried the manufacture of correspondence much farther than John¬
son supposed. He printed letters as addressed to Addison, Ar-
buthnot, and Trumbull, which had previously been written and sent
to his friend Caryll; thus dressing up the copies of his early
epistles as a mere literary manufacture. He evidently regarded
the whole as part of his literature ; part of his works; the same as
his poetry, with which he could deal at pleasure. To some letters
he affixed great names, that he might render the correspondence
attractive, and elevate his own social importance; while others were
framed to suit some personal object, to carry out enmities or com¬
memorate friendships. In all of them the poet himself was seen
to advantage. This double dealing, as it must be termed, and the
unreal character of the correspondence, render it almost impossible
to judge between Pope and Addison in the quarrel or misunder¬
standing that divided them (of which we know nothing but from
Pope), and from the same cause many circumstances in the poet’s
early career are doubtful. As literary productions, we should be
inclined to value Pope’s letters more highly than Mr De Quincey
estimates them. They have exquisite passages of description
humour, and sentiment. The genuine correspondence of Swift and
Bolingbroke came afterwards (it was fortunate that Swift did not
deliver up to Pope the letters in his possession), and thus the col¬
lection was made an important and delightful—indeed inimitable 
addition to our literature,]
The disturbance of his mind on this occasion led to a cir¬
cular request, dispersed amongst his friends, that they would
return his letters. All complied except Swift. He only
delayed, and in fact shuffled. But it is easy to read in his
evasions, and Pope, in spite of his vexation, read the same
tale, viz., that in consequence of his recurring attacks and
increasing misery, he was himself the victim of artifices
amongst those who surrounded him. What Pope appre¬
hended happened. The letters were all published in Dublin
and in London, the originals being then only returned when
they had done their work of exposure.
Such a tenor of life, so constantly fretted by petty wrongs
or by leaden insults, to which only the celebrity of their
object lent force or wings, allowed little opportunity to Pope
for recalling his powers from angry themes, and converging
them upon others of more catholic philosophy. To the
last he continued to conceal vipers beneath his flowers; or
rather, speaking proportionately to the case, he continued
to sheath amongst the gleaming but innocuous lightnings
of his departing splendours the thunderbolts which blasted
forever. His last appearance was his greatest. In 1742
he published the fourth book of the Dunciad ; to which it
has with much reason been objected, that it stands in no
obvious relation to the other three, but which, taken as a
separate whole, is by far the most brilliant and the weightiest
of his works. Pope was aware of the hiatus between this
last book and the rest, on which account he sometimes
called it the greater Dunciadt and it would have been easy
for him, with a shallow Warburtonian ingenuity, to invent
links that might have satisfied a mere verbal sense of con¬
nection. But he disdained this puerile expedient. The fact
was, and could not be disguised from any penetrating eye,
that the poem was not a pursuit of the former subjects ; it
had arisen spontaneously at various times, by looking at the
same general theme of dulness (which, in Pope’s sense, in¬
cludes all aberrations of the intellect, nay, even any defec¬
tive equilibrium amongst the faculties) under a different
angle of observation, and from a different centre. In this
closing book, not only bad authors, as in the other three,
but all abuses of science or antiquarian knowledge, or con-
noisseurship in the arts, are attacked: virtuosi, medalists,
butterfly-hunters, florists, erring metaphysicians, &c., are all
pierced through and through as with the shafts of Apollo.
But the imperfect plan of the work as to its internal eco¬
nomy, no less than its exterior relations, is evident in many
places; and in particular the whole catastrophe of the poem,
if it can be so called, is linked to the rest by a most insuf¬
ficient incident. To give a closing grandeur to his work,
Pope had conceived the idea of representing the earth as
lying universally under the incubation of one mighty spirit
of dulness; a sort of millenium, as we may call it, for ig¬
norance, error, and stupidity. This would take leave of the
reader with effect; but how was it to be introduced ? at
what era? under what exciting cause? As to the eras,
Pope could not settle that; unless it were a future era, the
description of it could not be delivered as a prophecy ; and
not being prophetic, it would want much of its grandeur.
Yet, as a part of futurity, how is it connected with our pre¬
sent times ? Do they and their pursuits lead to it as a pos¬
sibility, or as a contingency upon certain habits which we
have it in our power to eradicate (in which case this vision
of dulness has a practical warning), or is it a mere neces
sity, one amongst the many changes attached to the cycles
of human destiny, or which chance brings round with the
revolutions of its wheel ? All this Pope could not deter¬
mine ; but the exciting cause he has detemrined, and it is
333
Pope.
1
334
POPE.
Pope, preposterously below the effect. The goddess of dulness
yawns; and her yawn, which, after all, should rather ex¬
press the fact and state of universal dulness than its cause,
produces a change over all nations tantamount to a long
eclipse. Meantime, with all its defects of plan, the poem,
as to execution, is superior to all which Pope has done ; the
composition is much superior to that of the Essay on Man,
and more profoundly poetic: the parodies drawn from Mil-
ton, as also in the former books, have a beauty and effect
which cannot be expressed; and if a young lady wished to
cull for her album a passage from all Pope’s writings,
which, without a trace of irritation or acrimony, should yet
present an exquisite gem of independent beauty, she could
not find another passage equal to the little story of the
florist and the butterfly-hunter. They plead their cause
separately before the throne of dulness, the florist telling
how he had reared a superb carnation, which, in honour of
the queen, he called Caroline, when his enemy, pursuing a
butterfly which settled on the carnation, in securing his
own object, had destroyed that of the plaintiff. The de¬
fendant replies with equal beauty; and it may certainly be
affirmed, that for brilliancy of colouring and the art of
poetical narration, the tale is not surpassed by any in the
language.
This was the last effort of Pope worthy of separate
notice. He was now decaying rapidly, and sensible of his
own decay. His complaint was a dropsy of the chest, and
he knew it to be incurable. Under these circumstances,
his behaviour was admirably philosophical. He employed
himself in revising and burnishing all his later works, as
those upon which he wisely relied for his reputation with
future generations. In this task he was assisted by Dr
Warburton, a new literary friend, who had introduced him¬
self to the favourable notice of Pope about four years before,
by a defence of the Essay on Man which Crousaz had
attacked, but in general indirectly and ineffectually, by
attacking it through the blunders of a very faulty transla¬
tion. This poem, however, still labours, to religious readers,
under two capital defects. If man, according to Pope, is
now so admirably placed in the universal system of things,
that evil only could result from any change, then it seems
to follow either that a fall of man is inadmissible, or at least
that, by placing him in his true centre, it had been a bless¬
ing universally. The other objection lies in this, that if
all is right already, and in this earthly station, then one ar¬
gument for a future state, as the scene in which evil is to
be redressed, seems weakened or undermined.
As the weakness of Pope increased, his nearest friends,
Lord Bolingbroke and a few others, gathered around him.
The last scenes were passed almost with ease and tran¬
quillity. He dined in company two days before he died;
and on the very day preceding his death he took an airing
on Blackheath. A few mornings before he died, he was
found very early in his library writing on the immortality of
the soul. This was an effort of delirium ; and he suffered
otherwise from this affection of the brain, and from inability
to think in his closing hours. But his humanity and good¬
ness, it was remarked, had survived his intellectual faculties.
He died on the 30th of May 1744, and so quietly, that the
attendants could not distinguish the exact moment of his
dissolution.
We had prepared an account of Pope’s quarrels, in which
we had shown that, generally, he was not the aggressor;
and often was atrociously ill-used before he retorted. This
service to Pope’s memory we had judged important, because
it is upon these quarrels chiefly that the erroneous opinion
has built itself of Pope’s fretfulness and irritability. And
this unamiable feature of his nature, together with a prone¬
ness to petty manoeuvring, are the main foibles that malice
has been able to charge upon Pope’s moral character. Yet,
with no better foundation for their malignity than these
doubtful propensities, of which the first perhaps was a con¬
stitutional defect, a defect of his temperament rather than
his will—and the second has been much exaggerated—
many writers have taken upon themselves to treat Pope as
a man if not absolutely unprincipled, and without moral
sensibility, yet as mean, little-minded, indirect, splenetic,
vindictive, and morose. Now the difference between our¬
selves and these writers is fundamental. They fancy that
in Pope’s character a basis of ignoble qualities was here and
there slightly relieved by a few shining spots; we, on the
contrary, believe that in Pope lay a disposition radically
noble and generous, clouded and overshadowed by super¬
ficial foibles, or, to adopt the distinction of Shakspeare,
they see nothing but “ dust a little gilt,” and we “ gold a
little dusted.” A very rapid glance we will throw over the
general outline of his character.
As a friend, it is noticed emphatically by Martha Blount
and other contemporaries, who must have had the best
means of judging, that no man was so warm-hearted, or so
much sacrificed himself for others, as Pope; and in fact
many of his quarrels grew out of this trait in his character.
For once that he levelled his spear in his own quarrel, at
least twice he did so on behalf of his insulted parents or
his friends. Pope was also noticeable for the duration of
his friendships j1 some dropped him, but he never any
throughout his life. And let it be remembered that
amongst Pope’s friends were the men of most eminent
talents in those days; so that envy at least, or jealousy of
rival power, was assuredly no foible of his. In that respect
how different from Addison, whose petty manteuvring
against Pope proceeded entirely from malignant jealousy.
That Addison was more in the wrong even than has gene¬
rally been supposed, and Pope more thoroughly innocent
as well as more generous, we have the means, at a proper
opportunity, of showing decisively. As a son, we need not
insist on Pope’s pre-eminent goodness. Dean Swift, who
had lived for months together at Twickenham, declares
that he had not only never witnessed, but had never heard
of anything like it. As a Christian, Pope appears in a
truly estimable light. He found himself a Roman Catholic
by accident of birth; so was his mother; but his father
was so upon personal conviction and conversion, yet not
without extensive study of the questions at issue. It would
have laid open the road to preferment, and preferment was
otherwise abundantly before him, if Pope would have gone
over to the Protestant faith. And in his conscience he
found no obstacle to that change; he was a philosophical
Christian, intolerant of nothing but intolerance, a bigot
only against bigots. But he remained true to his baptismal
profession, partly on a general principle of honour in ad¬
hering to a distressed and dishonoured party, but chiefly
out of reverence and affection to his mother. In his rela¬
tion to women, Pope was amiable and gentlemanly; and,
accordingly was the object of affectionate regard and ad¬
miration to many of the most accomplished in that sex.
1 We may illustrate this feature in the behaviour of Pope to Savage. When all else forsook him, when all beside pleaded the in¬
sults of Savage for withdrawing their subscriptions, Pope sent his in advance. And when Savage had insulted him also, arrogantly
commanding him never “ to presume to interfere or meddle in his affairs,” dignity and self-respect made Pope obedient to these orders,
except when there was an occasion of serving Savage. On his second visit to Bristol (when he returned from Glamorganshire), Savage
had been thrown into the jail of the city. One person only interested himself for this hopeless profligate, and was causing an inquiry
to be made about his debts at the time Savage died. So much Dr Johnson admits; but he forgets to mention the name of this long-
suffering friend. It was Pope. Meantime, let us not be supposed to believe the lying legend of Savage ; he was doubtless no son of
Lady Macclesfield’s, but an impostor, who would now he sent to the tread-mill.
POPE.
Pope. This we mention especially, because we would wish to ex-
press our full assent to the manly scorn with which Mr
Roscoe repels the libellous insinuations against Pope and
Miss Martha Blount. A more innocent connection we do
not believe ever existed. As an author, Warburton has
recorded that no man ever displayed more candour or more
docility to criticisms offered in a friendly spirit. Finally,
we sum up all in saying that Pope retained to the last a
true and diffusive benignity; that this was the quality which
survived all others, notwithstanding the bitter trial which
his benignity must have stood through life, and the excite¬
ment to a spiteful re-action of feeling which was continually
pressed upon him by the scorn and insult which his defor¬
mity drew upon him from the unworthy.
But the moral character of Pope is of secondary interest:
we are concerned with it only as connected with his great
intellectual power. There are three errors which seem
current upon this subject: First, that Pope drew his im¬
pulses from French literature; secondly, that he was a poet
of inferior rank; thirdly, that his merit lies in superior
“correctness.” With respect to the first notion, it has
prevailed by turns in every literature. One stage of society,
in every nation, brings men of impassioned minds to the
contemplation of manners, and of the social affections of
man as exhibited in manners. With this propensity co¬
operates no doubt some degree of despondency when look¬
ing at the great models of the literature who have usually
pre-occupied the grander passions, and displayed their move¬
ments in the earlier periods of literature. Now it happens
that the French, from an extraordinary defect in the higher
qualities of passion, have attracted the notice of foreign
nations chiefly to that field of their literature in which the
taste and the unimpassioned understanding preside. But
in all nations such literature is a natural growth of the
mind, and would arise equally if the French literature had
never existed. The wits of Queen Anne’s reign, or even
of Charles II.’s, were not French by their taste or their
imitation. Butler and Dryden were surely not French ;
and of Milton we need not speak; as little was Pope
French, either by his institution or by his models. Boileau
he certainly admired too much ; and, for the sake of a poor
parallelism with a passage about Greece in Horace, he has
falsified history in the most ludicrous manner, without a
shadow of countenance from facts, in order to make out
that we, like the Romans, received laws of taste from those
whom we had conquered. But these are insulated cases
and accidents, not to insist on his known and most profound
admiration, often expressed, for both Chaucer and Shak-
speare and Milton. Secondly, that Pope is to be classed
as an inferior poet, has arisen purely from a confusion be¬
tween the departments of poetry which he cultivated and
the merit of his culture. The first place must undoubtedly
be given for ever,—it cannot be refused,—to the impas¬
sioned movements of the tragic, and to the majestic move¬
ments of the epic muse. We cannot alter the relations of
things out of favour to an individual. But in his own de¬
partment, whether higher or lower, that man is supreme
who has not yet been surpassed; and such a man is Pope.
As to the final notion, first started by Walsh, and propa¬
gated by Warton, it is the most absurd of all the three; it
is not from superior correctness that Pope is esteemed more
correct, but because the compass and sweep of his perform¬
ances lies more within the range of ordinary judgments.
Many questions that have been raised upon Milton or Shak-
speare, questions relating to so subtle a subject as the flux
and reflux of human passion, lie far above the region of
ordinary capacities; and the indeterminateness or even
carelessness of the judgment is transferred by a common
confusion to its objects. But waiving this, let us ask what
is meant by “correctness?” Correctness in what? In
developing the thought? In connecting it, or effecting
the transitions ? In the use of words ? In the grammar ?
In the metre ? Under every one of these limitations of the
idea, we maintain that Pope is ^distinguished by correct¬
ness ; nay, that, as compared with Shakspeare, he is emi¬
nently incorrect. Produce us from any drama of Shak¬
speare one of those leading passages that all men have by
heart, and show us any eminent defect in the very sinews
of the thought. It is impossible; defects there may be,
but they will always be found irrelevant to the main central
thought, or to its expression. Now turn to Pope; the first
striking passage which offers itself to our memory is the
famous character of Addison, ending thus :—
Who would not laugh, if such a man there be,
Who but must weep if Atticus were he ?
Why must we laugh ? Because we find a grotesque as¬
sembly of noble and ignoble qualities. Very well; but why,
then, must we weep ? Because this assemblage is found
actually existing in an eminent man of genius. Well, that
is a good reason for weeping; we weep for the degradation
of human nature. But then revolves the question, why
must we laugh ? Because, if the belonging to a man ol
genius were a sufficient reason for weeping, so much we
know from the very first. The very first line says, “ Peace
to all such. But were there one whose fires true genius
kindles and fair fame inspires.” Thus falls to the ground
the whole antithesis of this famous character. We are to
change our mood from laughter to tears upon a sudden
discovery that the character belonged to a man of genius;
and this we had already known from the beginning. Match
us this prodigious oversight in Shakspeare. Again, take
the Essay on Criticism: it is a collection of independent
maxims, tied together into a fasciculus by the printer, but
having no natural order or logical dependency; generally
so vague as to mean nothing: like the general rules of
justice, &c., in ethics, to which every man assents; but
when the question comes about any practical case, is it
just? The opinions fly asunder far as the poles. And,
what is remarkable, many of the rules are violated by no
man so often as by Pope, and by Pope nowhere so often
as in this very poem. As a single instance, he proscribes
monosyllabic lines; and in no English poem of any preten¬
sions are there so many lines of that class as in this. We
have counted above a score, and the last line of all is mo¬
nosyllabic.
Not, therefore, for superior correctness, but for qualities
the very same as belong to his most distinguished brethren,
is Pope to be considered a great poet; for impassioned
thinking, powerful description, pathetic reflection, brilliant
narration. His characteristic difference is simply that he
carried these powers into a different field, and moved chiefly
amongst the social paths of men, and viewed their characters
as operating through their manners. And our obligations
to him arise chiefly on this ground, that having already, in
the persons of earlier poets, carried off the palm in all the
grander trials of intellectual strength, for the majesty of the
epopee and the impassioned vehemence of the tragic drama,
to Pope we owe it that we can now claim an equal pre¬
eminence in the sportive and aerial graces of the mock he¬
roic and satiric muse; that in the Dunciad we possess a
peculiar form of satire, in which (according to a plan unat¬
tempted by any other nation) we see alternatively her festive
smile and her gloomiest scowl; that the grave good sense of
the nation has here found its brightest mirror; and, finally,
that through Pope the cycle of our poetry is perfected and
made orbicular, that from that day we might claim the laurel
equally, whether for dignity or grace.
336
POP
POP
Popery.
Poperinghe POPERING HE, a town of Belgium, in the province of
W. Flanders, on the Shipvaer Canal, near the French fron¬
tier, 26 miles S. by W. of Ostend. It is pretty well built,
and surrounded by walls; and contains several churches
and convents, a fine town-hall, a college, hospital, orphan
asylum, and several schools. There are here woollen fac¬
tories, tanneries, soap-works, potteries, oil-mills, dye-works,
and other manufacturing establishments. Hops are ex-
tensivelv raised in the vicinity; and these, together with corn
and cattle, form the chief articles of trade. Pop. 10,649.
POPERY, in ecclesiastical history is regarded by Roman
Catholics as a term of reproach, but having been generally
received amongst Protestants, now comprehends the reli¬
gious doctrines and practices adopted and maintained by
the Church of Rome. The following summary, extracted
chiefly from the decrees of the Council of Trent, continued
under Paul III, Julius III, and Pius IV, by successive
sessions, from the year 1545 to 1563, and the creed of Pope
Pius IV. subjoined to it, and bearing date November lo64,
may not be unacceptable to the reader. One of the fun¬
damental tenets strenuously maintained by Catholic writers
is the infallibility of the Church of Rome ; and though they
are not agreed whether this privilege belongs to the Pope
or a general council, or to both united, yet they pretend
that an infallible living judge is absolutely necessary to de¬
termine controversies, and to secure peace, in the Christian
Church. Protestants, however, allege that the claim ol in¬
fallibility in any church is not justified by the authority of
Scripture, much less does it appertain to the Church of
Rome ; that it is inconsistent with the nature of religion,
and the personal obligations of its professors; and that it
has proved ineffectual to the end for which it is supposed
to have been granted, since popes and councils have dis¬
agreed in matters of importance, and, with the adiantage of
this pretended infallibility, have been incapable of maintain¬
ing union and peace. Another essential article of the Ca¬
tholic creed is the supremacy of the Pope, or his sovereign
power over the universal church.
Further, the doctrine of the seven sacraments is a pecu¬
liar and distinguishing doctrine of the Church of Rome.
These are baptism, confirmation, the eucharist, penance,
extreme unction, holy orders, and matrimony The Council
of Trent (sess. vii, can. 1) pronounces an anathema upon
those who say that the sacraments are more or fewer than
seven, or that any one of the above number is not truly and
properly a sacrament. And yet it does not appear that they
amounted to this number before the twelfth century, when
Hugo de St Victor and Peter Lombard, about the year
1144, taught that there were seven sacraments. The coun¬
cil of Florence, held in the year 1438, was the first council
which determined this number. These sacraments confer
grace, according to the decree of the Council of Trent (sess.
vii., can. 8) ex opere operate, that is, by the mere adminis¬
tration of them ; three of them, viz., baptism, confirmation,
and holy orders, are said (can. 9) to impress an indelible cha¬
racter, so that they cannot be repeated without sacrilege;
and the efficacy of every sacrament depends upon the in¬
tention of the priest by whom it is administered (can. 11).
Pope Pius expressly enjoins that all these sacraments should
be administered according to the received and approved
rites of the Catholic Church. With regard to the eucharist
in particular, we may here observe, that the Church of
Rome holds the doctrine of transubstantiation; the neces-
sity of paying divine worship to Christ under the form of
the consecrated bread or host; and the propitiatory sacri¬
fice of the mass, according to the Catholic ideas of which
Christ is truly and properly offered as a sacrifice of propi¬
tiation as often as the priest says mass. It likewise prac¬
tises solitary mass, in which the priest alone consecrates,
communicates, and allows communion only in one kind,
namely, the bread, to the laity. (Sess. xiv.)
The doctrine of merits is another distinguishing tenet of
Popery, with regard to which the Council of Trent has v*.
expressly decreed (sess. vi., can. 32) that the good works of
justified persons are truly meritorious, deserving not only
an increase of grace, but eternal life, and an increase of
glorv; and it has anathematized all who deny this doc¬
trine. Of the same kind is the doctrine of satisfaction,
which supposes that penitents may truly satisfy by the
afflictions they endure under the dispensations of Provi¬
dence, or by voluntary penances to which they submit
for the temporary penalties of sin, to which they are sub¬
ject even after the remission of their eternal punish¬
ment. (Sess. vi., can. 30; and sess. xiv., can. 8 and 9.)
In this connection we may mention the distinction of ve¬
nial and mortal sins. The greatest evils arising from the
former are the temporary pains of purgatory ; but no man,
it is said, can obtain the pardon of the latter without
confessing to a priest, and performing the penances which
he imposes.
The Council of Trent (sess. xiv., can. 1) has expressly
decreed that every one is accursed who shall affirm that
penance is not truly and properly a sacrament instituted
by Christ in the universal church, for reconciling those
Christians to the divine majesty who have fallen into sin
after baptism. And this sacrament, it is declared, consists
of two parts, the matter and the form ; the matter being
the act of the penitent, including contrition, confession, and
satisfaction ; the form, the act of absolution on the part of
the priest. Accordingly it is enjoined, that it is the duty
of every man who has fallen after baptism to confess his
sins, once a year at least, to a priest; that this confession is
to be secret, for public confession is neither commanded
nor expedient; and that it must be exact and particular,
including every kind and act of sin, with all the circum¬
stances attending it. When the penitent has so done, the
priest pronounces an absolution, which is not conditional or
declarative only, but absolute and judicial. This secret or
auricular confession was first decreed and established in the
fourth council of Lateran, under Pope Innocent III., in 1215
(cap. 21); and the decree of this council was afterwards
confirmed and enlarged in the Council of Florence and in
that of Trent, which ordains that confession was instituted
by Christ, that by the law of God it is necessary to salva¬
tion, and that it has always been practised in the Christian
Church. As for the penances imposed on the penitent by
way of satisfaction, they have been commonly the repetition
of certain forms of devotion, as paternosters or ave-marias,
the payment of stipulated sums, pilgrimages, fasts, or va¬
rious species of corporal discipline. But the most formidable
penance, in the estimation of those who belong to the com¬
munion of the Church of Rome, is the temporary pains of
purgatorv. Yet under all the penalties which are inflicted
or threatened in that church, it has provided relief by its
indulgences, and by its prayers or masses for the dead, per¬
formed professedly for relieving and rescuing the souls that
are detained in purgatory.
Another article which has long been authoritatively en¬
joined and observed in the Church of Rome is the celibacy
of her clergy. This was first enjoined at Rome by Gregory
VII. about the year 1074, and established in England J)y
Anselm, Archbishop of Canterbury, about the year 1115 ;
though his predecessor Lanfranc had imposed it upon the
prebendaries and clergy who lived in towns. And thoug i
the Council of Trent was repeatedly petitioned by several
princes and states to abolish this restraint, yet the obliga¬
tion of celibacy was rather established than relaxed by t ns
council; for they decreed that marriage contracted after a
vow of continence is neither lawful nor valid, and thus
deprived the church of the possibility of ever restoring
marriage to the clergy. If marriage, after a vow, be in itse
unlawful, the greatest authority upon earth cannot dispense
Popery.
POP
with it, nor permit marriage to the clergy, who have already
vowed continence.
To the doctrines and practices above recited may further
he added the worship of images, of which Protestants ac¬
cuse the Papists. The Papist replies, that he is taught to
use them so as to cast his eyes upon the pictures or images,
and thence to raise his heart to the things represented,
and there to employ it in meditation, love, thanksgiving,
and desire of imitation, as the object requires. Hence he
finds a convenience in saying his prayers with some devout
pictures before him, the sight of which recalls his wander¬
ing thoughts to the right object, and as certainly brings
something good into his mind, as an immodest picture dis¬
turbs his heart.
The Council of Trent likewise decreed that all bishops
and pastors who have the cure of souls, do diligently in¬
struct their flocks that it is good and profitable to desire the
intercession of saints reigning with Christ in heaven. The
Papists confess that we have but one Mediator of re¬
demption, but affirm that it is acceptable to God that we
should have many mediators of intercession. Moses, say
they, was such a mediator for the Israelites; Job for his
three friends ; Stephen for his persecutors. The Romans
were thus desired by St Paul to be his mediators; so wrere
the Corinthians and the Ephesians, so almost every sick man
desires the congregation to be his mediators, by remember¬
ing him in their prayers. And so, too, the Papist desires
the blessed in heaven to be his mediators, that is, that they
would pray to God for him. But between these living and
dead mediators there is no similarity. Besides, as omni¬
presence in a creature is contrary to one of the first prin¬
ciples of natural religion, so it receives no countenance from
Scripture, or any Christian writer of the first three centuries.
Other practices peculiar to the Papists are the religious
honour and respect that they pay to sacred relics, by which
they understand not only the bodies and parts of the bodies
of the saints, but any of those things that appertained to
them, and which they had touched; and the celebration of
divine service in an unknown tongue, in regard to which the
Council of 1 rent has denounced an anathema on any one
who shall say that mass ought to be celebrated only in the
vulgar tongue (sess. xxv. and sess. xxii., can. 9). Though
the Council of Lateran, under Innocent III. in 1215, had
(can. 9) expressly decreed, that as in several parts within
the same city and diocese there are many people of differ¬
ent manners and rites mixed together, but of one faith, so
the bishops of such cities or dioceses should provide fit men
for celebrating divine offices, according to the diversity of
tongues and rites, and for administering the sacrament.
We shall only add further, that the Church of Rome
maintains that unwritten traditions ought to be added to the
holy Scriptures, in order to supply their defect, and should
be regarded as of equal authority ; that the books of the
A poet \ pha are canonical Scripture ; that the vulgate edition
of the Bible is to be deemed authentic; and that the
Sciiptures are to be received and interpreted accordin° to
that sense which the holy mother church, to whom it be¬
longs to judge of the true sense, has held, and does hold,
and according to the unanimous consent of the Fathers.
Such are the principal and distinguishing doctrines of
Catholicism ot Popery, most of which have received the
sanction of the Council of Trent, and that of the creed of
Pope Pius IV., which is received, professed, and sworn to
by every one who enters into holy orders in the Church of
Rome, as well as by all proselytes or converts. At the
close of this creed we are told that the faith contained in it
is so absolutely and indispensably necessary that no man
can be saved without it.
POPHAM, Sir John, chief justice of the King’s Bench
was born of gentle blood in 1531 at Wellington, in the
county of Somerset. While still a child he was stolen bv
VOL. xviii. J
POP
a band of gipsies, w ho kept him some months, branded his
arm with a cabalistic mark, and so invigorated a constitu¬
tion that had been previously sickly, that from that period
he grew up to be a man of extraordinary stature and ac¬
tivity. He was sent to Baliol College, Oxford in 15-17
where he amassed a good stock of classical learning and of
dogmatic divinity. On becoming a Middle Templar in
loolhegot into bad company, and utterly neglected his
juridical studies. He preferred theatres and gamin°--
houses; he was given to drinking, and took to the roads.
IN or did he leave off when he was called to the bar. “ In
his youthful days,” says Fuller ( Worthies, vol. ii. 284), “ he
was as stout and skilful a man at sword and buckler as any
in that age, and wild enough in his recreations.” An un-
happy wife, and the birth of a child for whom he felt at¬
tachment, put a check upon his extraordinary life. He
accordingly, at the age of thirty, prepared “ a very good
entei tainment for his camerades,” took a final leave of
them, and took to study. “ He was a strong, stout man,”
says Aubrey (iii. 492), “and could endure to sit at it day
and night.” He became a consummate lawyer, according
to Coke, and, despite the stories which were circulated re¬
garding his previous career, he was made Serjeant Popham
in 1571. Fie was chosen solicitor-general at her Majesty’s
Queen Elizabeths) express wish in 1579, and speaker
of the House of Commons in 1581. He succeeded Sir
Gilbert Gerrard as attorney-general in 1585 ; and was pre¬
sent at the court of Fotheringay during the trial of the
Queen of Scots. On the 8th of June 1592 he received his
writ as chief justice of England, was knighted by the
Queen at Greenwich, and was sworn of the Privy Council.
He was supposed to conduct himself in it very creditably,
but was charged with extreme severity. In ordinary lar¬
cenies, and, strange to say, in highway robberies, there was
little chance of an acquittal. In short, he was notorious as
a “ hanging judge.” When the young Earl of Essex planned
an insurrection in the city in 1641, Popham conducted
himself with very great courage. On the death of his
royal mistress he did not allow the sword of justice to rust
in its scabbard. Sir Walter Raleigh was tried before him
for being concerned in the plot to place the Lady Arabella
Stuart on the throne, and found guilty ; Guy Fawkes and
his associates were tried and found guilty ; Garnet, superior
of the Jesuits, was tried and found guilty, when Popham
was struck with a mortal disease, of which he died on the
1st of June 1607, in the seventy-second year of his age.
This “huge, heavy, ugly man” left behind him the great¬
est estate ever amassed by lawyer; some say as much as
L. 10,000 a year, which was in due measure squandered bv
his son John. Littlecote House, the family residence, and
about which hangs a tale, is said to have become the pro¬
perty of Sir John Popham as the price of legal corruption.
He compiled a volume of wretchedly ill-done Reports of
his Decisions while he was chief justice of the King’s
Bench. (See Lord Campbell’s Lives of the Chief Justices
of England.')
POPLAR, a parish of England in the county of Middle¬
sex, forming a suburb of London, and washed on the E.,
S., and W. by the Thames, 4 miles E.S.E. of St Paul’s.
It contains numerous churches belonging to various denomi¬
nations, some of them handsome buildings, a town-hall, East
India Hospital, several schools, and a literary a*nd scientific
institution. The manufacture of plate-glass, machinery,
iron and brass castings, &c., is carried on here. In this
parish are situated the West India Docks. (See London.)
Area of the parish 2918 acres. Pop. (1851) 47,162.
POPO, Great and Little, twTo towns of Africa in the
kingdom of Dahomey, on the Guinea coast, the former 15
miles W. of Whydah, and the latter about as far farther W.
The inhabitants are employed in raising indigo and cotton,
making cotton cloth, working metals, manufacturing salt
2 u
338 POP
Popoca- by evaporation and lime from oyster-shells, and trading in
tepetl slaves. Pop. of each town about 5000.
11 POPOCATEPETL, or the Smoking Mountain, as its
Popula- narne imports in Mexican, an active volcano of Mexico, in
v ti0n'| j the state of La Puebla, 35 miles S.W. of the town of that
^ name. It is cone-shaped, and rises to the height of 17,793
feet above the sea. From its base up to the height of
12,700 feet, it is covered with forests; but above that the
mountain is quite bare, its sides being strewn with pumice,
sand, and ashes, from the crater, and generally covered with
snow. The crater is about a mile in diameter, and 1000
feet deep. Good sulphur may be obtained from it.
' POPPLE A, Sabina, a Roman matron, daughter of Titus
Ollius, and grand-daughter of Poppaeus Sabinus, who had
been consul in a.d. 9. She was married and had a son to
Rufius Crispinus, a Roman knight. Her beauty captivated
Otho, one of Nero’s favourites, who carried her off and
FOP
married her ; but he was not long permitted to retain her, p0ppj
for Nero, having heard her extolled for her accomplish- ||
ments, sent Otho out of Italy under pretence of presiding Popula-
over one of the Roman provinces, shortly after which Nero v tlQn-
murdered his mother, and subsequently his wife Octavia,
and married Poppaea; but she did not long enjoy the im¬
perial dignity, for Nero soon began to despise her, and treat
her with great barbarity. She bore him a son ; and when
she was again far advanced in pregnancy, he is said to have
kicked her, of which she died, about 65 a.d. It is said she
was so anxious to preserve her beauty that 500 she-asses
were milked, in which she used daily to bathe.
POPPI, a town of Tuscany, in the province of Florence,
on the right bank of the Arno, 26 miles E. of Florence. It
contains a palace, court-house, several churches, convents,
and schools, a public library, theatre, and hospital. Vines
are cultivated in the vicinity. Pop. 5654.
POPULATION.1
Object of The population of the principal states, of which an account
the article. ]ias been given in the course of this work, will be found
under heir proper heads. The object of this article is to
explain the general laws which regulate the increase or
decrease of population, and the manner in which they
affect the state and condition of human society.
Tendency In taking a view of animated nature, we cannot fail to
of all plantsbe struck with a prodigious power of increase in plants and
and animals an;mai5> Their capacity in this respect is indeed almost
to increase infinjteiy various, according with the endless variety of the
trica? pro-"works of nature, and the different purposes which they
gression. ' seem appointed to fulfil. But whether they increase slowly
or rapidly, if they increase by seed or generation, their
natural tendency must be to increase in a geometrical ratio,
that is, by multiplication ; and at whatever rate they are
increasing during any one period, if no further obstacles
be opposed to them, they must proceed in a geometrical
progression.
In the growth of wheat a vast quantity of seed is un¬
avoidably lost. When it is dibbled instead of being sown
in the common way, two pecks of seed wheat will yield as
large a crop as two bushels, and thus quadruple the pro¬
portion of the return to the quantity of seed put into the
ground. In the Philosophical Transactions for 1768 an
account is given of an experiment in which, by separating
the roots obtained from a single grain of wheat, and trans¬
planting them in a favourable soil, a return was obtained
of above 500,000 grains. But without referring to pecu¬
liar instances or peculiar modes of cultivation, it is known
that calculations have often been made, founded on positive
experience, of the produce of wheat in different soils and
countries, cultivated in an ordinary way, and making allow¬
ance for all ordinary destruction of seed.
Humboldt has collected some estimates of this kind, from
which it appears that France, the north of Germany, Po¬
land, and Sweden, taken generally, produce from five to
six grains for one; some fertile lands in France produce
fifteen for one ; and the good lands in Picardy and the Isle
•of France from eight to ten grains for one. Hungary,
Croatia, and Sclavonia yield from eight to ten grains for
one. In the Regno de la Plata, twelve grains for one are
produced ; near the city of Buenos Ayres, sixteen for one ;
in the northern part of Mexico, seventeen ; and in the
equinoctial regions of Mexico, twenty-four for one.2
Now, supposing that in any one country during a certain
period, and under the ordinary cultivation, the return of
wheat was six grains for one, it would be strictly correct to
say that wheat had the capacity of increasing in a geome¬
trical ratio, of such a nature as to sextuple itself every year.
And it might safely be calculated hypothetically, that if,
setting out from the produce of one acre, land of the same
quality could be prepared with sufficient rapidity, and no
wheat were consumed, the rate of increase would be such
as completely to cover the whole earthy surface of our globe
in fourteen years.
In the same manner, if it be found by experience that
on land of a certain quality, and making allowance for the
ordinary mortality and accidents, sheep will increase on an
average so as to double their numbers every two years, it
would be strictly correct to say that sheep have the natural
capacity of increasing in a geometrical progression, of which
the common multiple is two, and the term two years; and
it might safely be said, that if land of the same quality
could be provided with sufficient rapidity, and no sheep
were consumed, the rate of increase would be such, that it
we were to begin with the full number which could be
supported on an acre of land, the whole earthy part of the
globe might be completely covered with sheep in less than
seventy-six years.
If, out of this prodigious increase of food, the full support
of mankind were deducted, supposing them to increase as
fast as they have ever yet increased in any country, the
deduction would be comparatively inconsiderable; and the
rate of increase would still be enormous, till it was checked,
either by the natural want of will on the part of mankind
to make efforts for the increase of food beyond what they
could possibly consume, or, after a certain period, by their
absolute w7ant of power to prepare land of the same quality,
so as to allow of the same rate of progress.
Owing to these two causes combined, we see that, not-
1 The present article on Population, written for the last edition of this work by the late Mr Malthas, has been permitted to stand
In its entirety in the present edition. The Editor has been persuaded to adopt this course, more perhaps from the acknowledged excel-
enceof the article itself, than from a strict regard to the perfect justness of all its sentiments. JSo one will doubt the writer s^fun-
damental principle—that the amount of the human race must be in a proportion to the amount of food procurable for their suppor .
But instead of drawing from this an injunction to mankind to throw their energies into productiveness, hm argument seems to le
the necessity of preventing increase, from a dread that it might outdo the production of food. Malthus omitted the influence of free
trade, which puts all the world at the command of an increasing and producing people.
2 Nouvelle Espagne, liv. iv., c. ix., p. 98.
POPULATION.
339
Popula- withstanding this prodigious power of increase in vegetables
tion. ant{ animals, their actual increase is extremely slow ; and it
—^ is obvious, that, owing to the latter cause alone, and long
before a final stop was put to all further progress, their ac¬
tual rate of increase must of necessity be very greatly re¬
tarded ; as it would be impossible for the most enlightened
human efforts to make all the soil of the earth equal in fer¬
tility to the average quality of land now in use ; while the
practicable approaches towards it would require so much
time as to occasion, at a very early period, a constant and
great check upon what their increase would be if they could
exert their natural powers.
Elevated as man is above all other animals by his intel¬
lectual faculties, it is not to be supposed that the physical
laws to which he is subjected should be essentially differ¬
ent from those which are observed to prevail in other parts
of animated nature. He may increase slower than most
other animals, but food is equally necessary to his support;
and if his natural capacity of increase be greater than can
be permanently supplied with food from a limited territory,
his increase must be constantly retarded by the difficulty
of procuring the means of subsistence.
The power The main peculiarity which distinguishes man from other
of produ- animals, in the means of his support, is the power which he
limftedbv Possesses vei7 greatly increasing these means. But this
the'quanii-Power is obviously limited by the scarcity of land, by the
tv ami na- great natural barrenness of a very large part of the surface
hire of the of the earth, and by the decreasing proportion of produce
soil. which must necessarily be obtained from the continual ad¬
ditions of labour and capital applied to land already in cul¬
tivation.
It is, however, specifically with this diminishing and li¬
mited power of increasing the produce of the soil, that we
must compare the natural power of mankind to increase, in
order to ascertain whether, in the progress to the full cul¬
tivation and peopling of the globe, the natural power of man¬
kind to increase must not of absolute necessity be constant¬
ly retarded by the difficulty of procuring the means of sub¬
sistence, and if so, what are likely to be the effects of such
a state of things.
ral rat^of an en^eavour to determine the natural powder of man-
increase to increase, as well as their power of increasing the
: applicable produce of the soil, we can have no other guide than past
to man- experience.
| The great check to the increase of plants and animals,
we know from experience, is the want of room and nou¬
rishment ; and this experience would direct us to look for
the greatest actual increase of them in those situations where
room and nourishment were the most abundant.
On the same principle, we should expect to find the
greatest actual increase of population in those situations
where, from the abundance of good land, and the manner
in which its produce is distributed, the largest portion of
the necessaries of life is actually awarded to the mass of the
society.
Of the countries with which we are acquainted, the
United States of America, formerly the North American
colonies of Great Britain, answer most nearly to this de¬
scription. In the United States not only is there an abun¬
dance of good land, but, from the manner in which it has
been distributed, and the market wdrich has been opened
for its produce, there has been a greater and more constant
demand for labour, and a larger portion of necessaries has
been awarded to the labourer, than in any of those other
countries which possess an equal or greater abundance of
land and fertility of soil.
Here, then, we should expect to find that the natural
power of mankind to increase, whatever it may be would
be most distinctly marked ; and here, in consequence it ap¬
pears that the actual rate of the increase of population has
been more rapid than in any known country, although in
dependently of the abundance of good land, and the great
demand for labour, it is distinguished by no other circum¬
stances which appear to be peculiarly favourable to the in¬
crease of numbers.
Popula¬
tion.
It has been stated that all animals, according to the
known laws by which they are produced, must have a ca¬
pacity of increasing in a geometrical progression. And the
question with regard to man is, what is the rate of this geo¬
metrical progression ?
Fortunately, in the country to which we should naturally
turn our eyes tor an exemplification of the most rapid rate
of increase, there have been four enumerations of the people,
each at the distance of ten years ; and though the estimates
of the increase of population in the North American colo¬
nies at earlier periods were of sufficient authority, in the
absence of more certain documents, to warrant most im¬
pel tant inferences, yet as wTe now possess such documents,
and as the period they involve is of sufficient length to es¬
tablish the point in question, it is no longer necessary to re¬
fer to earlier times.
According to a regular census made by order of Con-Increase of
gress in 1790, which there is every reason to think is essen- population
tially correct, the white population of the United States *n d16 C™*
was found to be 3,164,148. By a similar census in 1800,te.1*
it was found to have increased to 4,312,841. It had in- America*
creased, then, during the ten years from 1790 to 1800, at a
rate equal to 36-3 per cent., a rate which, if continued,
would double the population in twenty-two years and about
four months and a half.
According to a third census, in 1810, the white popula¬
tion was found to be 5,862,092,! which, compared with the
population of 1800, gives an increase in the second ten
years at the rate of nearly thirty-six per cent., which, if
continued, would double the population in about twenty-
two years and a half.
According to the fourth census, in 1820, the white popu¬
lation was found to be 7,861,710,2 which, compared with
the population of 1810, gives an increase in the third ten
years at a rate per cent, of 34-1, which, if continued,
would double the population in twenty-three years and
seven months.
If we compare the period of doubling according to the
rate of increase in the most unfavourable ten years of this
series, with twenty-five years, we shall find the difference
such as fully to cover all the increase of population which
would have taken place from emigration.
It appears from a reference to the most authentic docu- Amount of
ments which can be collected on both sides of the Allan-eIniS^atlon,
tic, that the emigration to the United States, during the
last twenty-five years, falls decidedly short of an average of
10,000 a year. Dr Seybert, the best authority on the other
side of the water, states that, from 1790 to 1810, it could
not have been so much as 6000 a year. Our official ac¬
counts of the number of emigrants to the United States
from England, Ireland, and Scotland, during the ten years
from 1812 to 1821 inclusive, give an average of less than
7000, although the period includes the extraordinary years
1817 and 1818, in which the emigrations to the United
States were much greater than they were ever known to be
before or since. The official American accounts, as far as
they go, which is only for two years from the 30th Sep-
* These numbers are taken from Dr Seybert’s Statistical Annals, p. 23.
publLheVCSS LUtn/rrJtoto/cSgreM.11””1 C“len,kr l0r 1822’ and h“ Slnce been “,I,pared 'Vlth lhe 0rigi““1 census 33
340
POPULATION.
Popula- tember 1819, tend to confirm this average;1 and, allowing
ti°n. fully for the emigrants from other European countries, the
^ general average will still be under the ten thousand.
A new mode was, however, some time ago suggested of
estimating the amount of increase in any country derived
from emigration.2 It has been justly stated, that when a
census is taken every ten years, and the population is dis¬
tinguished into those above and those below ten years of
age, all above ten years of age, exclusive of emigrants,
must have existed in the census immediately preceding,
and, consequently, after having made a proper allowance
for the mortality during these ten years, the excess above
the remaining number must be attributed to emigration. If
we had the means of estimating with accuracy the loss
which would be sustained in America in ten years by a po-
pulation not increased by additional births, this mode of es¬
timating the amount of emigration would be unobjection¬
able, and often very useful.
But unfortunately the means are deficient. Even the
annual mortality in the United States is not known. It
was supposed by Dr Price (vol. ii. p. 50, 7th edit.) to be
one in fifty; by Mr Barton, in the Transactions of the
Society at Philadelphia (vol. iii. No. 7), one in forty-five ;
and it is stated by Mr Bristed, in his work on America
and her Resources (p. 20), that the annual deaths average
throughout the United States one in forty, in the healthiest
districts one in fifty-six, and in the most unhealthy one in
thirty-five.
If, however, we could ascertain accurately the average
annual mortality, we should still be unable to ascertain the
amount of the loss in question ; as, under any given law of
mortality, it would depend so very much upon the rate at
which the population wras increasing. The truth of this
observation will be placed in a striking light by the follow¬
ing short table, with which we have been favoured by a
very able calculator, Mr Milne, author of a well-known
Treatise on Annuities and Assurances. It is constructed
on the supposition that the population, in each case, is al¬
ways subject to the same law of mortality as that which
prevailed in all Sweden and Finland during the five years
ended with 1805, and that the number of births in the pre¬
sent year living in each case is 10,000.
The Po¬
pulation
constantly
the same.
i ue j upuiaiiuu j
creasing in geom
trical progressi
for more than
hundred years,
as to double its
every
Total population ten |
years since  f
Total above ten years I
of age now j
Died during the term
of ten years, out of I
those living at its
commencement..
Being one of.
393,848
320,495
»73,353
Fifty
Years.
Twenty-
five
Years.
230,005 144,358
195,566 126,176
34,439 ! 18,182
5-3692 6-6786 7-9396
We see from this table, that under the same law of mor- Popula-
tality, the difference of loss sustained in ten years, by a tion.
people not increased by fresh births, would in the three
cases supposed, of a stationary population, a population
doubling in fifty years, and a population doubling in twen¬
ty-five years, be as one in 5-3692, one in 6-6786, and one
in 7-9396; and that when the population is doubling itself
in twenty-five years, the loss would be very little more than
one eighth.
But the censuses must be allowed to form a. prim a facie
evidence that the population of the United States has, for
a considerable time, been going on doubling itself in twen¬
ty-five years ; and assuming this evidence to be true, which
we are warranted in doing till better evidence is produced
on the other side, it will appear that the amount of immi¬
gration, deduced from the rule here referred to, is less than
10,000 a year.
Thus the white population of the United States in 1800
was 4,312,841.3 This population, without further acces¬
sion of births, would in 1810 be diminished one eighth, or
reduced to 3,773,736. In 1810 the population above ten
years of age was 3,845,389 ; and, subtracting the former
number from the latter, the difference, or amount of emi¬
gration, will be 71,653, or 7165 a year.
Again, the white population of 1810 was 5,862,092,
which, diminished by one eighth in ten years, would be
5,129,331. The population above ten years of age in 1820
was 5,235,940.4 Subtracting the former from the latter,
the difference, or amount of emigration, is 106,608, or
10,660 a year; showing, as we should expect, a greater
amount of emigration from 1810 to 1820 than from 1800
to 1810, but, even in the latter ten years, and including
emigrations from Canada, as well as all other countries, lit¬
tle exceeding 10,000.
Altogether, then, we can hardly err in defect, if we al¬
low 10,000 a year for the average increase from emigration
during the twenty-five years from 1795 to 1820; and ap¬
plying this number to the slowest period of increase, when
the rate was such as to double the population in twenty-
three years and seven months, it may be easily calculated,
that in the additional year and five months a population of
5,862,000 would have increased to an amount much more
than sufficient to cover an annual emigration of 10,000 per¬
sons, with the increase from them at the same rate.
Such an increase from them, however, would not take
place. It appears from an account in the National Calen¬
dar of the United States for the year 1821, that of the 7001
persons who had arrived in America from the 30th of Sep¬
tember 1819 to the 30th of September 1820, 1959 only
were females, and the rest, 5042, were males ; a proportion
which, if it approaches towards representing the average,
must very greatly reduce the number from which any in¬
crease ought to be calculated.
If, however, we omit these considerations ; if we suppose
a yearly emigration from Europe to America of 10,000 per¬
sons for the twenty-five years from 1795 to 1820, the greatest
part of which time Europe was involved in a most exten¬
sive scene of warfare, requiring all its population ; and fur¬
ther, if we allow for an increase of all the emigrants during
the whole period, at the fullest rate; the remaining numbers
will still be sufficient to show a doubling of the population
in less than twenty-five years.
The white population of 1790 w-as 3,164,148. This
population, according to the rate at which it was increas¬
ing, would have amounted to about 3,694,100 in 1795;
and supposing it to have just doubled itself in the twenty-
1 American National Calendar for 1821, p. 237; and North American Review for October 1822, p. 304.
3 This mode was suggested by Mr Booth, in Mr Godwin’s Answer to Mr Malthus.
1 Seybert’s Statistical Annalg/p. 23. 4 American National Calendar for 1822, p. 246.
POPULATION.
Popula¬
tion.
five years from 1795 to 1820, the population in 1820
would have been 7,388,200. But the actual white popu¬
lation of 1820 appears, by the census then taken, to be
7,861,710, showing an excess of 473,510 ; whereas an emi¬
gration of 10,000 persons annually, with the increase from
them at three per cent., a rate which would double a po¬
pulation in less than twenty-four years, would only amount
to 364,592.
But the most striking confirmation of the censuses of
the United States, and the most remarkable proof of the
rate of increase being occasioned almost exclusively by pro¬
creation, have been furnished to us by Mr Milne. In his
work on Annuities and Assurances, which contains much
valuable and interesting information on the subject of po¬
pulation, he had noticed the effects of the frequent pres¬
sure of want on the labouring classes of Sweden, which, by
increasing the proportion of deaths, rendered the law of
mortality so accurately observed in that country by Pro¬
fessors Wargentin and Nicander inapplicable to other
countries more favourably circumstanced. But the law of
mortality was observed to be gradually improving from
the time that Dr Price constructed his Swedish table ;
and the period from 1800 to the end of 1805 was so free
from scarcities and epidemics, and the healthiness of the
country had been further so much improved by the intro¬
duction of vaccination, that he justly thought the law of
mortality, as observed during these five years, might suit
countries where the condition of the people was known to
be much better than it had generally been in Sweden. On
these grounds he applied the Swedish law of mortality,
during the term mentioned, to the hypothesis of a popula¬
tion which had been increasing by procreation, in geome¬
trical progression, for more than a hundred years, so as to
double every twenty-five years. Assuming this population
to be one million, he distributed it, by a process well
known to persons conversant with these subjects, into the
different ages referred to in the American censuses, and
then compared them with the same number of persons dis¬
tributed according to the actual returns of the ages in the
American censusesfor the three periods of 1800, 1810, and
1820. The results are as follows :
Distribution of a Population of 1,000,000 Persons in the
under-mentioned intervals of Age.
341
Between the
Ages of
0 and 10
10 and 16
16 and 26
26 and 45
45 and 100
0 and 100
Under 16
Above 16
According to
The Hypo¬
thesis.
337,592
145,583
186,222
213,013
117,590
1,000,000
483,175
516,825
United States.
Census of Census of Census of
1800. 1810. 1820.
334,556
154,898
185,046
205,289
120,211
344,024
156,345
189,227
190,461
119,943
1,000,000 1,000,000
489,454! 500,369
510,5461 499,631
333,995
154,913
198,114
191,139
121,839
1,000,000
4.88,908
511,092
The general resemblance in the distribution of the ages
in the three different censuses to each other, and to the
hypothesis, clearly proves,
1st, That the distribution of the ages in the different
enumerations must be made with some care, and may,
therefore, be relied on as in the main correct.
2dlg, That the law of mortality assumed in the hypothe¬
sis cannot deviate essentially from the law of mortalitv Popula-
which prevails in the United States ; and, ' tion.
3dt?/, That the actual structure of the American popula-
tion differs very little from what it would be if it were in¬
creasing regularly from procreation only, in geometrical
progression, so as to double itself every twenty-five years ;
and that we may, therefore, safely infer that it has" been
very little disturbed by immigration.
If to these proofs of the rapid increase of population
which has actually taken place, we add the consideration
that this rate of increase is an average applying to a most
extensive territory, some parts of which are known to be
unhealthy; that some of the towns of the United States
are now large ; that many of the inhabitants must be en¬
gaged in unwholesome occupations, and exposed to many of
those checks to increase which prevail in other countries;
and further, that in the western territories, where these
checks do not occur, the rate of increase is beyond compa¬
rison more rapid than the general average, after making
the fullest allowance for immigration ; it must appear cer¬
tain, that the rate at which the population of the whole of
the United States has actually increased for the last thirty
years must fall very decidedly short of the actual capaci¬
ty of mankind to increase under the most favourable cir¬
cumstances.
Ihe best proof that can be obtained of the capacity of The rate
mankind to increase at a certain rate, is their having really of increase
increased at that rate. At the same time, if any peculiarlyin tl’e lJni*
rapid increase which had appeared to take place in a parti-
cular country were quite unsupported by other evidence, by^hatof
we might be disposed to attribute it to error or accident, other coun-
and might scarcely be justified in founding important con-^in¬
clusions upon it. But this is far from being the case in the
present instance. The rate of increase which has at times
taken place in other countries, under the operation of great
and obvious checks to the progress of population, sufficient¬
ly shows what might be expected if these checks were re¬
moved.
The countries most resembling the United States of Increase of
America are those territories of the new world which late-P0Pl,^at*011
ly belonged to Spain. In abundance and fertility of soil1g1^e'v
they are indeed superior ; but almost all the vices in the Spam‘
government of the mother country were introduced into
her colonial possessions, and particularly that very unequal
distribution of landed property which takes place under
the feudal system. These evils, and the circumstance of
a very large part of the population being Indians in a de¬
pressed state, and inferior in industry and energy to Euro¬
peans, necessarily prevent that rapid increase of numbers
which the abundance and fertility of the land would admit
of. But it appears, from the instructive and interesting ac¬
count of New Spain which M. Humboldt has not long
since given to the public, that for the last half of the eigh¬
teenth century the excess of the births above the deaths,
and the progress of the population, have been very great.
The following are the proportions of burials to baptisms in
the registers of eleven villages, the details of which were
communicated to M. Humboldt by the curates.
Burials. Baptisms.
At Dolores 100 253
Singuilucan 100 234
Calymaya 100 202
Guanaxuato 100 201
St Anne 100 195
Marsil 100 194
Queretaro 100 188
Axapuzco 100 157
Yguala 100 140
Malacatepec 100 130
Panuco 100 123
The mean proportion is 100 to 183
342 P O P U L
Popula- But the proportion which M. Humboldt considers as best
v tl°n‘ l , suited to the whole of the population is 100 to 170.
In some of the villages above mentioned, the proportion
of the births to the population is extraordinarily great, and
the proportion of deaths very considerable ; showing, in a
striking point of view, the early marriages and early deaths
of a tropical climate, and the more rapid passing away of
each generation.1
At Queretaro, it appears that the baptisms were to the
population as one to fourteen, and the burials as one to
twenty-six.
At Guanaxuato, including the neighbouring mines of St
Anne and of Marsil, the baptisms were to the population as
one to fifteen, and the burials as one to twenty-nine.
The general result from all the information which could
be collected was, that the proportion of births to the popu¬
lation, for the whole of the kingdom of New Spain, was
as one to seventeen, and of the deaths as one to thirty.
These proportions of births to deaths, if they were con¬
tinued, would double the population in twenty-seven and a
half years.
M. Humboldt further observes, that the information
which he had collected respecting the proportions of the
births to the deaths, and of these to the whole popula¬
tion, proves, that if the order of nature were not inter¬
rupted by some extraordinary and disturbing causes, the
population of New Spain ought to double itself every nine¬
teen years.2
It is known, however, that these causes do occur in the
actual state of things ; consequently we cannot consider the
actual rate of the increase of population in New Spain as
greater than according to the former calculation. But a
rate of increase such as to double the population in twenty-
seven and a half years, in spite of all the obstacles enumerat¬
ed by M. Humboldt, is very extraordinary. It is next to the
increase of the United States, and greatly superior to any
that can be found in Europe.
Yet in Europe, the tendency to increase is always very
strongly marked, and the actual increase for periods of
some length is sometimes much greater than could be ex¬
pected beforehand, considering the obstacles to be over¬
come.
It appears from Sussmilch,3 that the population of Prus¬
sia and Lithuania, after the great plague in 1709 and 1710,
doubled itself in about forty-four years, from the excess of
the births above the deaths enumerated in the registers.
In Russia, the whole population in 1763 was estimated,
by enumeration and calculation, at twenty millions, and in
1796 at thirty-six millions.4 This is a rate of increase
which would occasion a doubling in less than forty-two
years.
In 1695, the population of Ireland was estimated at
1,034,000. According to the returns in 1821, it had in¬
creased to the prodigious amount of 6,846,949 ;5 and it is
thought that when the deficiencies have been supplied by
the final returns of the enumerators, it will be upwards of
seven millions. This is an example of an actual increase
for 125 years together, at a rate which would double the
population in about forty-five years; and this has taken
place under the frequent pressure of great distress among
the labouring classes of society, and the practice of frequent
and considerable emigration.
But for the proof of the power of population to increase
A TI o N.
under great obstacles of the preventive, as well as of the Popula.
positive kind, w’e need not go out of Great Britain. The bon.
rate of increase since our enumerations have commenced
has been very remarkable for a country which was consi¬
dered as well peopled before, and some of the details ac¬
companying the returns tend strikingly to illustrate the prin¬
ciple of population.
The population of Great Britain, according to the enu-Please oil
merations of 1821 and 1811, was, respectively, 10,942,646 P°Pu|atioa
and 12,596,803.° This is a rate of increase, during the teng^J^ 1
years, of rather above fifteen per cent., a rate which, if con-from Hio
tinned, would double the population in between forty-nine to 18^,.
and fifty years.
By the enumeration of 1821, it appears that the popula¬
tion was 14,391,631,7 which, compared with the population
of 1811, gives a rate of increase during the ten years of 14’25
per cent., a rate which would double the population in about
fifty-two years.
According to these numbers, the rate of increase during
the last ten years was slower than that of the first; but it
appears, from the excess of the number of males above fe¬
males in the enumeration of 1811, so opposite to the state
of the population in 1801 and 1821, when the females ex¬
ceeded the males, particularly at the latter period, that of
the large number added to the population for the army,
navy, and registered merchant ships in 1811, a considerable
proportion must have been foreigners. On this account,
and on account of the further difficulty of knowing what
part of this number might properly belong to Ireland, it
has been proposed to estimate the rate per cent, at which
the population has increased in each of the ten years by
the females only ; and, according to this mode of compu¬
tation, the population increased during the first period at
the rate of 14,02 per cent., and during the second at the
rate of 15,82. (Preliminary Observations, p. 8.) This last
rate of increase would double the population in less than
forty-eight years.
The only objection to this mode of computation is, that
it does not take into consideration the greater destruction
of the males during the war. In 1801, the females exceed¬
ed the half of the population by 21,031, and in 1821 by
63,890, while, at the intermediate period, owing to the
causes above mentioned, the females fell short of the half
of the males by 35,685.
When, however, a proper distribution has been made of
the army and navy among the resident population, and taking
England and Wales alone, it appears that from 1801 to 1811
the population increased at the rate of fourteen and a half
per cent, and from 1811 to 1821, at the rate of sixteen and
one third per cent. (Preliminary Observations, p. 32.) At
the former of these rates, the period of doubling would be
rather above fifty years ; at the latter, under forty-six years;
and, taking the whole period, the time of doubling would be
about forty-eight years. Yet in Great Britain there is a
much larger proportion of the population living in towns,
and engaged in occupations considered as unhealthy, than
in any other known country of the same extent. There are
also the best reasons for believing that in no other country
of the same extent is there to be found so great a propor¬
tion of late marriages, or so great a proportion of persons
remaining unmarried, as in Great Britain. It is further
known that the number of emigrants from Great Britain
greatly exceed those who come into the country. And if,
1 The details wdiich M. Humboldt has given of the population of New Spain are highly interesting, as they are the first of any conse¬
quence which the public has yet received of a tropical climate. The peculiarities which mark them are exactly of the kind which might
have been expected, though the proportion of births is still greater than we could have ventured to suppose.
2 Essai Politique sur le Royaume de la Nouvelle Espagne, liv. ii. chap. iv. pp. 330 et seq. vol. i. Oct.
3 Gottliche Ordnnng, vol. i. table xxi. 4 Malthas on Population, vol. i. p 439, 5th edit,
5 Report of the Preliminary Proceedings under Population Act, 58th Geo. III. p. 28.
* Population Abstract, 1821 j Preliminary Observations, p. 8. 7 Ibid.
POPULATION.
343
Popula- under these circumstances, a demand for labour and an in-
tion. crease of the funds for its maintenance could for twenty
' years together occasion such a rate of increase as, if con¬
tinued, would double the population in forty-eight years, and
quadruple it in ninety-six years, it is in the highest degree
probable, that if the encouragements to marriage and the
means of supporting a family were as great as in America,
the period of doubling in Great Britain would not be more
than twenty-five years, even in spite of her great towns and
manufactories; and would be decidedly less if these ob¬
stacles were removed.
The lowest Taking therefore into consideration the actual rate of
j rate of in- increase which appears from the best documents to have
crease that taken p]ace over a very large extent of country in the
sumed for United States of America, very variously circumstanced as
the natural t° healthiness and rapidity of progress ; considering, further,
progress of the rate of increase which has taken place in New Spain,
population. and also in many countries of Europe, where the means of
supporting a family, and other circumstances favourable to
increase, bear no comparison with those of the United
States; and adverting particularly to the great increase of
population which has taken place in this country during
the last twenty years, under the formidable obstacles to its
progress which must press themselves upon the attention
of the most careless observer ; it must appear, that the as¬
sumption of a rate of increase such as would double the po¬
pulation in twenty-five years, as representing the natural
progress of population, when not checked by the difficulty
of procuring the means of subsistence, or other peculiar
causes of premature mortality, must be very decidedly
within the truth.
It may be safely asserted, therefore, that population, when
unchecked, increases in a geometrical progression of such a
nature as to double itself every twenty-five years.
Different It would be unquestionably desirable to have the means
character of comparing the natural rate of the increase of population
of the rate when unchecked, with the possible rate of the increase of
in t'hefood ^°0C*’ *n a territory, such as that in which man is
of a limited actually P^ace(^ ’ but ^ latter estimate is much more dif-
territorv. Hcult antl uncertain than the former. If the rate of the in¬
crease of population at a particular period of some little ex¬
tent can be ascertained with tolerable exactness, we have
only to suppose the continuance of the same encourage¬
ments to marriage, the same facility of supporting a family,
the same moral habits, with the same rate of mortality ; and
the increase of the population at the same rate, after it had
reached a thousand millions, would be just as probable as
at any intermediate and earlier period; but it is quite ob¬
vious that the increase of food in a limited space must pro¬
ceed upon a principle totally different. It has been already
stated, that while land of good quality is in great abun¬
dance, the rate at which food might be made to increase
would far exceed what is necessary to keep pace with the
most rapid increase of population which the laws of nature
in relation to human kind permit. But if society were so
constituted as to give the fullest scope possible to the pro¬
gress of cultivation and population, all such lands, and all
lands of moderate quality, would soon be occupied; and
when the future increase of the supply of food came to de¬
pend upon the taking of very poor land into cultivation,
and the gradual and laborious improvement of the land al¬
ready cultivated, the rate of the increase of food would cer¬
tainly have a greater resemblance to a decreasing geome¬
trical ratio than an increasing one. The yearly increment
of food would, at any rate, have a constant tendency to
diminish, and the amount of the increase of each succes¬
sive ten years would probably be less than that of the pre¬
ceding.
Practically, however, great uncertainty must take place.
An unfavourable distribution of produce, by prematurely
diminishing the demand for labour, might retard the increase Popula-
ot rood at an early period, in the same manner as if cultiva- tion.
tion and population had been further advanced ; while im-
proyements in agriculture, accompanied by a great demand
for labour and produce, might for some time occasion a ra¬
pid increase of food and population at a later period, in the
same manner as if cultivation and population had been in
an earlier stage of their progress. These variations, how¬
ever, obviously arise from causes which do not impeach the
general tendency of a continued increase of produce in a
limited territory to diminish the power of its increase in
future.
Under this certainty with regard to the general tenden- Supposi-
cy, and uncertainty in reference to particular periods, it tion re-
must be allowable, il it throws light on the subject, to makesPectjng
a supposition respecting the increase of food in a limited th5 U>wer
territory, which, without pretending to accuracy, is clearly increas-
more favourable to the power of the soil to produce theinst0°d‘
means of subsistence for an increasing population, than any
experience which we have of its qualities will warrant.
If, setting out from a tolerably well-peopled country, such
as England, France, Italy, or Germany, we were to suppose
that, by great attention to agriculture, its produce could be
permanently increased every twenty-five years by a quan¬
tity equal to that which it at present produces, it would be
allowing a rate of increase decidedly beyond any probabi¬
lity of realization. The most sanguine cultivators could
hardly expect that, in the course of the next two hundred
years, each farm in this country on an average would pro¬
duce eight times as much food as it produces at present,
and still less that this rate of increase could continue, so
that each farm would produce twenty times as much as at
present in five hundred years, and forty times as much in
a thousand years. Yet this would be but an arithmetical
progression, and M ould fall short, beyond all comparison, of
the natural increase of population in a geometrical pro¬
gression, according to which the inhabitants of any coun¬
try, in five hundred years, instead of increasing to twenty
times, would increase to above a million times their pre¬
sent numbers.
It M ill be said, perhaps, that many parts of the earth are
as yet very thinly peopled, and, under proper management,
would allow of a much more rapid increase of food than
would be possible in the more fully inhabited states of Eu¬
rope. This is unquestionably true. Some parts of the
earth would no doubt be capable of producing food at such
a rate as to keep pace for a few periods with an unrestrict¬
ed increase of population. But to put this capacity fully
into action, is of all things the most difficult. If it is to be
accomplished by the improvement of the actual inhabitants
of the different parts of the earth in knowledge, in govern¬
ment, in industry, in arts, and in morals, it is scarcely pos¬
sible to say how it ought to be commenced urith the best
prospect of success, or to form a conjecture as to the time
in which it could be effected.
If it is to be accomplished by emigration from the more Insufficien-
improved parts of the world, it is obvious that it must in- cy of emi-
volve much war and extermination ; besides all the difficul-Sratlon‘
ties usually attendant upon new settlements in uncivilized
countries; and these alone are so formidable, and for a long
time so destructive, that, combined with the unwillingness
which people must always naturally feel to quit their own
country, much distress would be suffered at home before
relief would be sought for in emigration.
But, supposing for a moment that the object could be
fully accomplished, that is, supposing that the capacity of
the earth to produce the necessaries of life could be put
fully into action, and that they were distributed in the pro¬
portions most favourable for the growth of capital and the
effective demand for labour, the increase of population,
whether arising from the increase of the inhabitants of each
344
POPULATION.
Popula¬
tion.
country, or from emigrants issuing from all those countries
which were more advanced in cultivation, would be so rapid,
that, in a period comparatively quite short, all the good
lands would be occupied, and the rate of the possible in¬
crease of food would be reduced much below the arithme¬
tical ratio above supposed.
If, merely during the short period which has elapsed since
our Revolution of 1688, the population of the earth had in¬
creased at its natural rate when unchecked, supposing the
number of people at that time to have been only eight hun¬
dred millions, all the land of the globe, without making al¬
lowance for deserts, forests, rocks, and lakes, would on an
average be equally populous with England and Wales at
present. This would be accomplished in five doublings, or
a hundred and twenty-five years; and one or two doublings
more, or a period less than that which has elapsed since
the beginning of the reign of James I., would produce the
same ettect from the overflowings of the inhabitants of those
countries where, owing to the further progress of cultiva¬
tion, the soil had not the capacity of producing food so
as to keep pace with the increase of an unrestricted popu¬
lation.
Whatever temporary and partial relief, therefore, may be
derived from emigration by particular countries in the ac¬
tual state of things, it is quite obvious, that, considering the
subject generally and largely, emigration may be fairly said
not in any degree to touch the difficulty. And, whether we
exclude or include emigration, whether we refer to parti¬
cular countries, or to the whole earth, the supposition of a
future capacity in the soil to increase the necessaries of
life every twenty-five years by a quantity equal to that
which is at. present produced, must be decidedly beyond the
truth.
Effect of But if the natural increase of population, when uncheck-
thetwodif-ed by the difficulty of procuring the means of subsistence,
ferent rates or 0{]ier peculiar causes, be such as to continue doubling
of increase its numbers in twenty-five years; and the greatest increase
brought to- of f°ot^ which, for a continuance, could possibly take place
gether. on a limited territory like our earth in its present state, be
at the most only such as would add every twenty-five years
an amount equal to its present produce ; it is quite clear that
a powerful check on the increase of population must be al¬
most constantly in action.
By the laws of nature man cannot live without food.
Whatever may be the rate at which population would in¬
crease if unchecked, it never can actually increase in any
country beyond the food necessary to support it. But, by
the laws of nature in respect to the powers of a limited ter¬
ritory, the additions which can be made in equal periods to
the food which it produces must, after a short time, either
be constantly decreasing, which is what would really take
place; or, at the very most, must remain stationary, so as
to increase the means of subsistence only in an arithmeti¬
cal progression. Consequently, it follows necessarily that
the average rate of the actual increase of population over
the greatest part of the globe, obeying the same laws as
the increase of food, must be totally of a diffeient character
from the rate at which it would increase if unchecked.
The great question, then, which remains to be considered,
is the manner in which this constant and necessary check
upon population practically operates.
General
character
of the
checks to
If the soil of any extensive well-peopled country were
equally divided amongst its inhabitants, the check would
assume its most obvious and simple form. Perhaps each
farm in the well-peopled countries of Europe might allow
jjopu ation. one^ or even £WO doublings, without much distress, but
the absolute impossibility of going on at the same rate is
too glaring to escape the most careless thinker. When, by
extraordinary efforts, provision had been made for four times
the number of persons which the land can support at pre¬
sent, what possible hope could there be of doubling the
provision in the next twenty-five years ?
Yet there is no reason whatever to suppose that any thing
besides the difficulty of procuring in adequate plenty the
necessaries of life, should either indispose this greater num¬
ber of pei'sons to marry early, or disable them from rearing
in health the largest families. But this difficulty would of
necessity occur, and its effect would be either to discourage
early marriages, which would check the rate of increase by
preventing the same proportion of births ; or to render the
children unhealthy from bad and insufficient nourishment,
which would check the rate of increase by occasioning a
greater proportion of deaths; or, what is most likely to
happen, the rate of increase would be checked, partly by
the diminution of births, and partly by the increase of mor¬
tality.
The first of these checks may, with propriety, be called
the preventive check to population ; the second, the positive
check', and the absolute necessity of their operation in the
case supposed is as certain and obvious as that man cannot
live without food.
Taking a single farm only into consideration, no man
would have the hardihood to assert that its produce could be
made permanently to keep pace with a population increasing
at such a rate as it is observed to do for twenty or thirty years
together at particular times and in particular countries. He
would, indeed, be compelled to acknowledge, that if, with
a view to allow for the most sanguine speculations, it has
been supposed that the additions made to the necessaries
produced by the soil in given times might remain constant,
yet that this rate of the increase of produce could not pos¬
sibly be realized; and that, if the capacity of the soil were
at all times put properly into action, the additions to the
produce would, after a short time, and independently of
new inventions, be constantly decreasing, till, in no very
long period, the exertions of an additional labourer would
not produce his own subsistence.
But what is true in this respect in reference to a single
farm, must necessarily be true of the whole earth, from
which the necessaries of life for the actual population are
derived. And what would be true in respect to the checks
to population if the soil of the earth were equally divided
among the different families which inhabit it, must be true
under the present unequal division of property and variety
of occupations. Nothing but the confusion and indistinct¬
ness arising from the largeness of the subject, and the vague
and false notions which prevail respecting the efficacy of
emigration, could make persons deny in the case of an ex¬
tensive territory or the whole earth, what they could not
fail to acknowledge in the case of a single farm, which may
be said fairly to represent it.
It may be expected, indeed, that in civilized and improv¬
ed countries the accumulation of capital, the division of
labour, and the invention of machinery, will extend the
bounds of production; but we know from experience that
the effects of these causes, which are quite astonishing in
reference to some of the conveniences and luxuries of life,
are very much less efficient in producing an increase of
food; and although the saving of labour and an improved
system of husbandry maybe the means of pushing cultiva¬
tion upon much poorer lands than could otherwise be
worked, yet the increased quantity of the necessaries of
life so obtained can never be such as to supersede, for any
length of time, the operation of the preventive and positive
checks to population. And not only are tfiese checks as
absolutely necessary in civilized and improved countries, as
they would be if each family had a certain portion of land
allotted to it, but they operate almost exactly in the same
way. The distress which would obviously arise in the most
simple state of society, from the natural tendency of popu¬
lation to increase faster than the means of subsistence in a
Popula.
tion.
POPUL
Popula- limited territory, is brought home to the higher classes
tion. 0f an improved and populous country, in the difficulty
which they find in supporting their families in the same
rank of life with themselves; and to the labouring clas¬
ses, which form the great mass of society, in the insuffi¬
ciency of the real wages of common labour to bring up a
large^family.
If in any country the yearly earnings of the commonest
labourers, determined, as they always will be, by the state
of the demand and the supply of necessaries compared with
labour, be not sufficient to bring up in health the largest
families, one of the three things before stated must happen ;
either the prospect of this difficulty will prevent some and
delay other marriages; or the diseases arising from bad
nourishment will be introduced, and the mortality be in¬
creased ; or the progress of population will be retarded,
partly by one cause and partly by the other.
Of the cf- According to all past experience, and the best observa-
fect of pri- tions which can be made on the motives which operate upon
vate pro- t]-,e hUrnan mind, there can be no well-founded hope of ob-
the pro- lining a large produce from the soil, but under a system of
press of po-private property. It seems perfectly visionary to suppose
pulation. that any stimulus short of that which is excited in man by
the desire of providing for himself and family, and of bet¬
tering his condition in life, should operate on the mass of
society with sufficient force and constancy to overcome the
natural indolence of mankind. All the attempts which have
been made since the commencement of authentic history
to proceed upon a principle of common property, have either
been so insignificant that no inference can be drawn from
them, or have been marked by the most signal failures;
and the changes which have been effected in modern times
by education do not seem to advance a single step towards
making such a state of things more probable in future. We
may therefore safely conclude, that while man retains the
same physical and moral constitution which he is observed
to possess at present, no other than a system of private pro¬
perty stands the least chance of providing for such a large
and increasing population as that which is to be found in
many countries at present.
But though there is scarcely any conclusion which seems
more completely established by experience than this, yet
it is unquestionably true that the laws of private property,
which are the grand stimulants to production, do themselves
so limit it, as always to make the actual produce of the earth
fall very considerably short of the power of production. On
a system of private property no adequate motive to the ex¬
tension of cultivation can exist, unless the returns are suf¬
ficient, not only to pay the wages necessary to keep up the
population, which, at the least, must include the support of
a wife and two or three children, but also afford a profit on
the capital which has been employed. This necessarily ex¬
cludes from cultivation a considerable portion of land, which
might be made to bear corn. If it were possible to suppose
that man might be adequately stimulated to labour under a
system of common property, such land might be cultivated,
and the production of food and the increase of population
might go on, till the soil absolutely refused to grow a single
additional quarter, and the whole of the society was exclu¬
sively engaged in procuring the necessaries of life. But it
is quite obvious that such a state of things would inevitably
lead to the greatest degree of distress and degradation.
And if a system of private property secures mankind from
such evils, which it certainly does in a great degree, by se¬
curing to a portion of the society the leisure necessary for the
progress of the arts and sciences, it must be allowed that
such a check to the increase of cultivation confers on so¬
ciety a most signal benefit.
But it must perhaps also be allowed, that, under a system
of private property, cultivation is sometimes checked in a
degree and at a period not required by the interest of so-
VOL. XYIII.
A T I O N.
345
ciety. And this is particularly likely to happen when the
original divisions of land have been extremely unequal, and
the laws have not given sufficient facility to a better distri¬
bution of them. Under a system of private property, the
only effectual demand for produce must come from the
owners of property ; and though it be true that the effec¬
tual demand of the society, whatever it may be, is best sup¬
plied under the most perfect system of liberty, yet it is not
true that the tastes and wants of the effective demanders
are always, and necessarily, the most favourable to the pro¬
gress of national wealth. A taste for hunting and the pre¬
servation of game among the owners of the soil will, with¬
out fail, be supplied, if things be allowed to take their na¬
tural course; but such a supply, from the manner in which
it must be effected, would inevitably be most unfavourable
to the increase of produce and population. In the same
manner, the want of an adequate taste for the consumption
of manufactured commodities among the possessors of sur¬
plus produce, if not fully compensated by a great desire
for personal attendance, which it never is, would infallibly
occasion a premature slackness in the demand for labour
and produce, a premature fall of profits, and a check to cul¬
tivation.
It makes little difference in the actual rate of the increase
of population, or the necessary existence of checks to it,
whether that state of demand and supply which occasions
an insufficiency of wages to the whole' of the labouring
classes be produced prematurely by a bad structure of so¬
ciety and an unfavourable distribution of wealth, or neces¬
sarily by the comparative exhaustion of the soil. The la¬
bourer feels the difficulty nearly in the same degree, and it
must have nearly the same results, from whatever cause it
arises ; consequently, in every country with which we are
acquainted, where the yearly earnings of the labouring
classes are not sufficient to bring up in health the largest
families, it may be safely said that population is actually
checked by the difficulty of procuring the means of sub¬
sistence. And, as we well know that ample wages, com¬
bined with full employment for all who choose to work, are
extremely rare, and scarcely ever occur, except for a cer¬
tain time, when the knowledge and industry of an old coun¬
try is applied, under favourable circumstances, to a new one;
it follows that the pressure arising from the difficulty of pro¬
curing subsistence is not to be considered as a remote one,
which will be felt only when the earth refuses to produce
any more, but as one which not only actually exists at pre¬
sent over the greatest part of the globe, but, with few ex¬
ceptions, has been almost constantly acting upon all the
countries of which we have any account.
It is unquestionably true, that, in no country of the globe
have the government, the distribution of property, and the
habits of the people, been such as to call forth, in the most
effective manner, the resources of the soil. Consequently,
if the most advantageous possible change in all these re¬
spects could be supposed at once to take place, it is certain
that the demand for labour and the encouragement to pro¬
duction might be such as for a short time in some coun¬
tries, and for rather a longer in others, to lessen the opera¬
tion of the checks to population which have been described.
It is specifically this truth constantly obtruding itself upon
our attention which is the great source of delusion on this
subject, and creates the belief that man could always pro¬
duce from the soil much more than sufficient to support
himself and family. In the actual state of things this power
has perhaps always been possessed. But for it we are in¬
debted wholly to the ignorance and bad government of our
ancestors. If they had properly called forth the resources
of the soil, it is quite certain that we should now have but
scanty means left of further increasing our food. If merely
since the time of William the Conqueror all the nations of
the earth had been well governed, and if the distribution of
2 x
Popula¬
tion.
POPULATION.
346
Popula- property, and the habits both of the rich and the poor, had
v tlon' ^been the most favourable to the demand for produce and
^ v labour, though the amount of food and population would
have been prodigiously greater than at present, the means
of diminishing the checks to population would unquestion¬
ably be less. That difficulty in procuring the necessaries
of life which is now felt in the comparatively low wages of
labour almost all over the world, and is occasioned partly
by the necessary state of the soil, and partly by a pre¬
mature check to the demand for produce and labour,
would tlien be felt in a greater degree, and would less ad¬
mit of any relaxation in the checks to population, because
it would be occasioned wholly and necessarily by the state
of the soil.
The laws It appears, then, that what may be called the propor-
of nature tionate amount of the necessary checks to population de-
responsible pen(js very Up0n the efforts of man in the cultivation
cessity of" tlie soi1, ^ tliese eff°rts hat^ been directed from the first
checks to in the most enlightened and efficient manner, the checks
population, necessary to keep the population on a level with the means
of subsistence, so far from being lightened, would in all pro¬
bability be operating with greater force; and the condition
of the labouring classes, so far as it depends on the facility
of procuring the means of subsistence, instead of being im¬
proved, would in all probability be deteriorated.
It is to the laws of nature, therefore, and not to the con¬
duct and institutions of man, that we are to attribute the
necessity of a strong check on the natural increase of po¬
pulation.
Man re- But though the laws of nature which determine the rate
sponsible at which population would increase if unchecked, and the
for the very different rate at which the food required to support
character’ P0Pulati°n could be made to increase in a limited territory,
of these are undoubtedly the causes which render necessary the ex-
checks. istence of some great and constant check to population, yet
a vast mass of responsibility remains behind on man and the
institutions of society.
In the first place, they are certainly responsible for the
present scanty population of the earth. There are few large
countries, however advanced in improvement, the popula¬
tion of which might not have been doubled or tripled, and
there are many which might be ten, or even a hundred
times as populous, and yet all the inhabitants be as well
provided for as they are now, if the institutions of society
and the moral habits of the people had been for some hun¬
dred years the most favourable to the increase of capital,
and the demand for produce and labour.
Secondly, though man has but a trifling and temporary
influence in altering the proportionate amount of the checks
to population, or the degree in which they press upon the
actual numbers, yet he has a great and most extensive in¬
fluence on their character and mode of operation.
It is not in superseding the necessity of checks to popu¬
lation, in the progress of mankind to the full peopling of
the earth (which may with truth be said to be a physical
impossibility), but in directing these checks in such a way
as to be the least prejudicial to the virtue and happiness of
society, that government and human institutions produce
their great effect. Here we know, from constant experi¬
ence, that they have great power. Yet even here it must
be allowed that the power of government is rather indirect
than direct, as the object to be attained depends mainly
upon such a conduct on the part of individuals as can sel¬
dom be directly enforced by laws, though it may be power¬
fully influenced by them.
This will appear if we consider more particularly the na¬
ture of those checks which have been classed under the ge¬
neral heads of Preventive and Positive.
It will be found that they are all resolvable into moral
restraint, vice, and misery. And if, from the laws of na¬
ture, some check to the increase of population be absolute¬
ly inevitable, and human institutions have any influence Popula*
upon the extent to which each of these checks operates, a bon.
heavy responsibility will be incurred, if all that influence,
whether direct or indirect, be not exerted to diminish the ,V„efe
amount of vice and misery. solvable
Moral restraint, in application to the present subject,into m01-ai
may be defined to be, abstinence from marriage, either for restraint,
a time or permanently, from prudential considerations, with V1fe> an<l
a strictly moral conduct towards the sex in the interval.misei^*
And this is the only mode of keeping population on a level
with the means of subsistence, which is perfectly consistent
with virtue and happiness. All other checks, whether of
the preventive or the positive kind, though they may great¬
ly vary in degree, resolve themselves into some form of vice
or misery.
The remaining checks of the preventive kind, are the
sort of intercourse which renders some of the women of
large towns unprolific ; a general corruption of morals with
regard to the sex, which has a similar effect; unnatural
passions, and improper arts to prevent the consequences of
irregular connections. These evidently come under the
head of vice.
The positive checks to population include all the causes
which tend in any way prematurely to shorten the duration
of human life; such as unwholesome occupations, severe
labour and exposure to the seasons, bad and insufficient
food and clothing, arising from poverty, bad nursing of
children, excesses of all kinds, great towns and manu¬
factories, the whole train of common diseases and epide¬
mics, wars, infanticide, plague, and famine. Of these
positive checks, those which appear to arise from the laws
of nature may be called exclusively misery; and those
which we bring upon ourselves, such as wars, excesses of
all kinds, and many others, which it would be in our power
to avoid, are of a mixed nature. They are brought upon
us by vice, and their consequences are misery.
Some of these checks, in various combinations, and ope¬
rating with various force, are constantly in action in all the
countries with which we are acquainted, and form the im¬
mediate causes which keep the population on a level with
the means of subsistence.
Mr Malthus, in his work on this subject, has taken a
view of the checks of population in most of the countries
of which we have the best accounts. His object was evi¬
dently to trace in each country those checks which appear¬
ed to be most effective in repressing population; and to
endeavour to answer the question generally which had
been applied particularly to New Holland by Captain
Cook, namely, By what means is the population of this
country kept down to the number which it can subsist ?
It was hardly to be expected, however, that the general Prudential
accounts of countries which are to be met with should con-restraint
tain a sufficient number of details of the kind required toon niar‘
enable us to ascertain what portion of the natural increasena^e‘
of population each individual check which could be traced
had the power to overcome. In particular, it was not to
be expected, that any accounts could inform us of the de¬
gree in which moral restraint prevails when taken in its
strictest sense. It is necessary, therefore, to attend chiefly
to the greater or smaller number of persons who remain
unmarried, or marry late ; and the delay of marriage, owing
to the difficulty of providing for a family, when the degree
of irregularity to which it may lead cannot be ascertained,
may be usefully called the prudential restraint on marriage
and population. And this will be found to be the chief
mode in which the preventive check practically operates.
But if the preventive check to population, that check
which can alone supersede great misery and mortality, ope¬
rates chiefly by a prudential restraint on marriage, it will
be obvious, as was before stated, that direct legislation can¬
not do much. Prudence cannot be enforced by laws, with-
POPULATION.
Popula¬
tion.
I Causes
which prin
cipally af¬
fect the ha
bits of the
labouring
, classes.
out a great violation of natural liberty, and a great risk of
producing more evil than good. But still the very great
influence of a just and enlightened government, and the
perfect security of property in creating habits of prudence,
cannot for a moment be questioned. The principal causes
and effects of these habits are thus stated in Mr Malthus’s
last work.1
“ From high wages, or the power of commanding a large
portion of the necessaries of life, two very different results
may follow; one, that of a rapid increase of population, in
which case the high wages are chiefly spent in the main¬
tenance of large and frequent families ; and the other, that
of a decided improvement in the modes of subsistence, and
the conveniences and comforts enjoyed, without a propor¬
tionate acceleration in the rate of increase.
“ In looking to these different results, the causes of them
will evidently appear to be the different habits existing
among the people of different countries, and at different
times. In an inquiry into the causes of these different ha¬
bits, we shall generally be able to trace those which pro¬
duce the first result to all the circumstances which contri¬
bute to depress the lower classes of the people, which make
them unable or unwilling to reason from the past to the fu¬
ture, and ready to acquiesce, for the sake of present gratifi¬
cation, in a very low standard of comfort and respectabi¬
lity ; and those which produce the second result, to all the
circumstances which tend to elevate the character of the
lower classes of society, which make them approach the
nearest to beings who “ look before and after,” and who,
consequently, cannot acquiesce patiently in the thought of
depriving themselves and their children of the means of
being respectable, virtuous, and happy.
“ Among the circumstances which contribute to the cha¬
racter first described, the most efficient will be found to be
despotism, oppression, and ignorance ; among those which
contribute to the latter character, civil and political liberty,
and education.
“ Of all the causes which tend to encourage prudential
habits among the lower classes of society, the most essen¬
tial is unquestionably civil liberty. No people can be much
accustomed to form plans for the future, who do not feel
assured that their industrious exertions, while fair and ho¬
nourable, wall be allowed to have free scope; and that the
property which they either possess or may acquire will be
secured to them by a known code of just laws impartially
administered. But it has been found by experience, that
civil liberty cannot be permanently secured without politi¬
cal liberty; consequently political liberty becomes almost
equally essential, and, in addition to its being necessary in
this point of view, its obvious tendency to teach the lower
classes of society to respect themselves, by obliging the
higher classes to respect them, must contribute greatly to
all the good effects of civil liberty.”
“ W ith regard to education, it might certainly be made
general under a bad form of government, and might be
very deficient under one in other respects good ; but it must
be allowed that the chances, both with regard to its quality
and its prevalence, are greatly in favour of the latter. Edu¬
cation alone could do little against insecurity of property;
but it would powerfully assist all the favourable consequen¬
ces to be expected from civil and political liberty, which
could not indeed be considered as complete without it.”
The varying prevalence of these habits, owing to the
causes above referred to, combined with the smaller or
greater mortality occasioned by other customs, and the vary¬
ing effects of soil and climate, must necessarily produce great
differences in different countries', and at different periods,
in the character of the predominant checks to population^
347
and the force of each. And this inference, which inevit- Popula.
ably follows from theory, is fully confirmed by experience. tion.
It appears, for instance, from the accounts we have re-
ceived of ancient nations, and of the less civilized parts ofThe posi‘
the world, that war and violent diseases were the predo tive che,cks
minant checks to their population. The frequency of wars, tioETe
and the dreadful devastations of mankind occasioned by dominated
them, united with the plagues, famines, and mortal epide-111 ancient
mics of which there are records, must have caused such atimes'
consumption of the human species, that the exertion of the
utmost power of increase must, in many cases, have been
insufficient to supply it; and we see at once the source of
those encouragements to marriage, and efforts to increase
population, which, with inconsiderable exceptions, distin¬
guished the legislation and general policy of ancient times.
Yet there were some few men of more extended views, who,
when they were looking to the settlement of a society in a
more improved state, wTere fully aware, that under the most
beautiful form of government which their imagination could
conceive, the greatest poverty and distress might be felt
from a too rapid increase of population. And the remedies
which they proposed were strong and violent in proportion
to the greatness of the evil wFich they apprehended. Even
the practical legislators who encouraged marriage, seemed
to think that the supplies of children might sometimes fol
low too rapidly for the means of supporting them ; and it
appears to have been with a view to provide against this
difficulty, and of preventing it from discouraging marriage,
that they frequently sanctioned the inhuman practice of in¬
fanticide.
Under these circumstances, it is not to be supposed that
the prudential restraint on marriage should have operated
to any considerable extent. Except in a few cases w'here
a general corruption of morals prevailed, which might act
as a preventive check of the most vicious kind, a large
portion of the procreative power was called into action, the
occasional redundancy from which was checked by violent
causes. These causes will be found resolvable almost whol¬
ly into vice and misery; the first of which, and a large
portion of the second, it is always in the power of man to
avoid.
In a review of the checks to population in the different pni(jent.al
states of modern Europe, it appears that the positive checks restraint
to population have prevailed less, and the preventive checks the predo-
more, than in ancient times, and in the more uncultivated niinant
parts of the world. The destruction occasioned by war hascPec^
unquestionably abated, both on account of its occurring, on fn modern
the whole, less frequently, and its ravages not being so fa- times,
tal, either to man or the means of his support, as they were
formerly. And although, in the earlier periods of the his¬
tory of modern Europe, plagues, famines, and mortal epi¬
demics were not unfrequent, yet, as civilization and im¬
provement have advanced, both their frequency and their
mortality have been greatly reduced, and in some countries
they are now almost unknown. This diminution of the
positive checks to population, as it has been certainly much
greater in proportion than the actual increase of food and
population, must necessarily have been accompanied by an
increasing operation of the preventive checks ; and proba¬
bly it may be said with truth, that in almost all the more
improved countries of modern Europe, the principal check
which at present keeps the population down to the level of
the actual means of subsistence, is the prudential restraint
on marriage.
Yet in comparing together the accounts and registers of
the different countries of modern times, we shall still find
a vast difference in the character and force of the checks
which are mainly in action ; and it is precisely in this point
1 Principles of Political Economy, c. iv. sect. 2,
348 P 0 P U L
Popula- of view that these accounts afford the most important in-
tion. struction. Some parts of Europe are yet in an unimproved
Y state, and are still subject to frequent plagues and mortal
in the cha^ epidemics. In these countries, as might be expected, few
racter and traces are to be found of the prudential restraint on mar-
force of the riage. But even in improved countries, the circumstances
checks in may be such as to occasion a great mortality. Large towns
different are known to be unfavourable to health, particularly to the
countries, health 0f young children ; and the unwholesomeness of
marshy situations may be such as in some cases to balance
the principle of increase, even when nearly the whole of the
procreative power is called into action, which is seldom the
case in large towns.
Thus, in the registers of twenty-two Dutch villages given
by Sussmilch,1 and quoted by Mr Malthus, the mortality
(occasioned, as may be supposed, chiefly by the natural un-
healthiness of the country) was as high as one in twenty-
two or twenty-three, instead of the more common propor¬
tion of one in thirty-five or forty; and the consequence was,
that the marriages, instead of being in the usual proportion
of one in about 108 of the population, were in the extraor¬
dinary high proportion of one in sixty-four ;2 showing a
most unusual frequency of marriage, while, on account of
the great mortality, the number of inhabitants was nearly
stationary, and the births and deaths about equal.
On the other hand, in Norway, where the climate and
modes of living seem to be extremely favourable to health,
and the mortality was only one in forty-eight, the pruden¬
tial restraint on marriage was called more than usually into
action, and the marriages were only one in 130 of the po¬
pulation.
Gradualdi- These may be considered as extreme cases, but the same
minution result in different degrees is observable in the registers of
in the pro- an countries ; and it is particularly to be remarked, that in
portion of ^ose countries where registers of births, deaths, and mar-
xnaiyiages. rjageg }iave been kept for a considerable time, the progres¬
sive diminution or mortality occasioned by the introduction
of habits more favourable to health, and the consequent di¬
minution of plagues and mortal epidemics, have been ac¬
companied invariably by a smaller proportion of marriages
and births. Sussmilch has given some striking instances of
the gradual diminution in the proportion of the number of
marriages during a part of the last century.3
In the towm of Leipsic, in the year 1620, the annual mar¬
riages were to the population as 1 to 82 ; from the year
1741 to 1756, they were as 1 to 120.
In Augsburg, in 1510, the proportion of marriages to
the population was 1 in 86 ; in 1750 as 1 to 123.
In Dantzic, in the year 1705, the proportion was as 1 to
89 ; in 1745, as 1 to 118.
In the dukedom of Magdeburg, in 1700, the propor¬
tion was as 1 to 87; from 1752 to 1755, as 1 to 125.
In the principality of Halberstadt, in 1690, the propor-
[ tion was as 1 to 88; in 1756, as 1 to 112.
In the dukedom of Cleves, in 1705, the proportion was
as 1 to 83; in 1755, as 1 to 100.
In the churmark of Brandenburg, in 1700, the propor¬
tion was as 1 to 76 ; and in 1755, as 1 to 108.
Instances of this kind are numerous, and they tend to
show the dependence of the marriages on the deaths in all
old countries. A greater mortality almost invariably pro¬
duces a greater number of marriages; and it must be equally
certain, that except where the means of subsistence can be
adequately increased, a greater proportion of marriages must
occasion a greater mortality.
A T I O N.
The proportion of yearly births to the whole population Popula.
must evidently depend principally on the proportion of mar- bon.
riages; and it appears, consequently, from registers, that in ^
countries which will not admit of any considerable increase ^Per7‘
of population, the births, as well as the marriages, are mainly births and
influenced by the deaths. When an actual decrease of po- marriages
pulation is not taking place, the births will always supply on the
the vacancies made by death, and exactly so much more as^eaths*
the increasing wealth of the country and the demand for
labour will admit. Everywhere in the intervals of plagues,
epidemics, and destructive wars, the births considerably ex¬
ceed the deaths ; but while from these and other causes the
mortality in different countries is extremely various, it ap¬
pears from registers that, with the exception above stated,
the births vary in the same proportion.4
Thus, in 39 villages of Holland, where the deaths, at the
time to which the registers refer, were about 1 in 23, the
births were also 1 in 23. In 15 villages round Paris, the
births bore the same or even a greater proportion to the
whole population, on account of a still greater mortality, the
births being 1 in 22T^jths, and the deaths the same. In the
small towns of Brandenburg, which were in an increasing
state, the mortality was 1 in 29, and the births 1 in 24y7nths.
In Sweden, where the mortality was about 1 in 34|, the
births were 1 in 28. In 1056 villages of Brandenburg, in
which the mortality was about 1 in 39 or 40, the births
were about 1 in 30. In Norway, where the mortality was
1 in 48, the births were 1 in 34.
In all these instances the births are evidently measured
by the deaths, after making a proper allowance for the ex¬
cess of births which the state of each country will admit.
In such a country as Russia, this allowance must be great;
as, although the mortality might perhaps be taken as low as
1 in 48 or 50, the births were as high as 1 in 26, owing to
the increasing resources of the country, which admit of a
rapid increase of the population.
Of all the countries which Mr Malthus has reviewed, Depend,
there is none which so strikingly illustrates the most im- ence of the
portant fact of the dependence of the proportions of mar- on^
riages and births on the deaths, and the general principles qjust^te(|
of population, as Switzerland. It appears, that between in gwitzer.
1760 and 1770, an alarm prevailed respecting the continued land,
depopulation of the country ; and, to ascertain the point, M.
Muret, minister of Vevay, made a very laborious and care¬
ful search into the registers of different parishes from the
time of their first establishment. He compared the num¬
ber of births which had taken place during three different
periods of seventy years each, the first ending in 1620, the
second in 1690, and the third in 1760. And finding by this
comparison, that the number of births was less in the se¬
cond period than in the first, and less in the third pe¬
riod than in the second, he considered the evidence of a
continued depopulation of the country from the year 1550
as incontrovertible.5 But the accounts which he himself
produces clearly show, that, in the earlier periods to which
he refers, the mortality was very much greater than in the
latter; and that the greater number of births found in the
registers formerly, was not owing to a greater population,
but to the greater proportion of births which always ac¬
companies a greater mortality.
It appears from accounts which are entirely to be de¬
pended on, that during the last period the mortality was
extraordinarily small, and the proportion of children reared
from infancy to puberty extraordinarily great. At the time
when M. Muret wrote his paper, in 1766, the proportion of
1 Gottliche Ordnung, vol. i. c. iv. s. 57, p. 128. Malthus’ Essay on Population, b. ii. c. iv. p. 444 of vol. i. fifth edition.
2 This very large proportion of marriages could not all have been supplied from the births in the country, but must have been oc¬
casioned in part by the influx of strangers. 3 Gottliche Ordnungy vol. i. p. 134 et seq.
4 Sussmilch, Gottliche Ordnungy vol. i. p. 225. > Essay on Population, vol. i. p. 456, fifth edition. _ .
5 Memoiresy £c, j>ar la Socitte Ecommique de Berne, 17GG, pp. 15 et seq. Essay on Population, vol. i. pp. 4G4 ct seq. faith edition.
POPULATION.
Popula¬
tion.
deaths to the population in the Pays de Vaud was 1 in 45,
of births 1 in 36, and of marriages 1 in 140. These are all
very small proportions of births, deaths, and marriages, com¬
pared with other countries; but the state of things must
have been totally different in the sixteenth and seventeenth
centuries. M. Muret gives a list of all the plagues which
had prevailed in Switzerland from 1520, from which it ap¬
pears that this dreadful scourge desolated the country at
short intervals during the whole of the first period, and ex¬
tended its occasional ravages to within twenty-two years of
the termination of the second. We may safely conclude,
that, in these times, the average mortality was very much
greater than at present. But what puts the question beyond a
doubt, is the great mortality which prevailed in the neigh¬
bouring town of Geneva in the sixteenth century, and its
gradual diminution in the seventeenth and eighteenth. It
appears from calculations, published in the Bibliotheque Bri-
tannique (tom. iv. p. 328), that in the sixteenth century the
probability of life, or the age to which half of the born lived,
was only 4*883, or under four years and eleven months ; and
the mean life, or the average number of years due to each
person, 18*511, or about eighteen years and a half. In the
seventeenth century, the probability of life in Geneva was
11*607, about eleven years and seven months; the mean
life 23*358, or twenty three years and four months. In the
eighteenth century, the probability of life had increased to
27*183, twenty-seven years and two months ; and the mean
life to thirty-two years and two months.
There can be no doubt, from the prevalence of the plague,
and its gradual extinction, as noticed by M. Muret, that a
diminution of mortality of the same kind, though not per¬
haps to the same extent, must have taken place in Switzer¬
land ; but if, with a mortality which could not have been
less than one in thirty or thirty-two, the proportion of births
had been what it was when M. Muret wrote, it is quite evi¬
dent that the country would have been rapidly depopulated.
But as it is known, from the actual amount of births found
in the registers, that this was not the case, it follows as a
necessary consequence, that the greater mortality of former
times was accompanied by a greater proportion of births.
And this at once shows the error of attempting to deter¬
mine the actual population, either of different countries, or
of different periods in the same country, by the amount of
the births; and the strong tendency of population to fill up
all vacancies, and very rarely to be limited by any other
cause than the difficulty of supporting a family.
Swizerland and the Pays de Vaud afford other most strik¬
ing instances of the dependence of the births on the deaths ;
and the accounts of them are perhaps more to be depended
upon, as they appear to contradict the preconceived opinions
of the person who collected them.
Speaking of the want of fruitfulness in the Swiss women,
M. Muret says, that Prussia, Brandenburg, Sweden, France,
and indeed every country the registers of which he had
seen, give a greater proportion of baptisms to the number
of inhabitants than the Pays de Vaud, where this proportion
is as 1 to 36. He adds, that from calculations lately
made in the Lyonnois, it appeared that in Lyons itself the
proportion of baptisms was 1 in 28, in the small towns 1 in
25, and in the villages 1 in 23 or 24. What a prodigious
difference, he exclaims, between the Lyonnois and the Pays
de Vaud, where the most favourable proportion, and that
only in two small parishes of extraordinary fecundity, is not
above 1 in 26, and in many parishes it is considerably less than
1 in 40 The same difference, he remarks, takes place in the
mean life. In the Lyonnois it is little above 25 years ; while
in the Pays de Vaud, the lowest mean life, and that only
349
in a single marshy and unhealthy parish, is 291 years, and Popula.
in many places it is above 45 years. tion.
“ But whence comes it,” he says, “ that the country'    
where children escape the best from the dangers of infancy
and where the mean life, in whatever way the calculation is
made, is higher than in any other, should be precisely that in
which the fecundity is the smallest ? How comes it, again
that, of all our parishes, the one which gives the mean life
the highest should also be the one where the tendency to
increase is the smallest P”1
To resolve this question, M. Muret says, “ I will hazard
a conjecture, which, however, I give only as such. Is it
not that, in order to maintain in all places a proper equili¬
brium of population, God has wisely ordered things in such
a manner as that the force of life in each country should be
in the inverse latio of its fecundity ? In fact, experience
verifies my conjecture. Leyzin, a village in the Alps, with
a population of 400 persons, produces but a little above
eight children a year. Hie Pays de \aud, in general, in
proportion to the same number of inhabitants, produces
eleven, and the Lyonnois sixteen. But if it happen, that at
the age of twenty years, the eight, the eleven, and the six¬
teen are reduced to the same number, it will appear that
the force of life gives in one place what fecundity does in
another. And thus the most healthy countries, having less
fecundity, will not over-people themselves, and the un¬
healthy countries, by their extraordinary fecundity, will be
able to sustain their population.”
These facts and observations are full of the most import¬
ant instruction, and strikingly illustrate the principle of po¬
pulation. The three gradations in the proportions of births
which are here so distinctly presented to our view, may be
considered as representing that variety in the proportion of
births which is known to take place in different countries
and at different periods ; and the practical question is, whe¬
ther, when this variety prevails without a proportionate dif¬
ference in the rate of increase, which is almost universally
the case, we are to suppose, with M. Muret, that a special
providence is called into action to render women less pro¬
lific in healthy countries, and where improved habits of
cleanliness have banished plagues and mortal epidemics;
or to suppose, as experience warrants, that the smaller mor¬
tality of healthy and improved countries is balanced by the
greater prevalence of the prudential restraint on marriage
and population.
The subject is seen with particular clearness in Switzer¬
land, on account of the population of some of the districts
being stationary. The number of inhabitants on the Alps
was supposed to have diminished. This was probably an
error; but it is not improbable that they should have re¬
mained stationary, or nearly so. There is no land so little
capable of providing for an increasing population as moun¬
tainous pastures. When they have been once fully stocked
with cattle, little more can be done; and if there be nei¬
ther emigration to take off the superabundant numbers, nor
manufactures wherewith to purchase an additional quantity
of food, the deaths must equal the births.
This was the case with the Alpine parish of Leyzin be¬
fore referred to, where, for a period of thirty years, the
mortality and the proportion of births almost accurately
kept pace with each other; and where, in consequence, if
the positive checks to population had been unusually small,
the preventive checks must have been unusually great. In
the parish of Leyzin, according to M. Muret, the probabi¬
lity of life was as high as sixty-one years ;2 but it is obvious
that this extraordinary degree of healthiness could not pos-
sibly have taken place under the actual circumstances of
1 Minwires^ Qc. par la Societi Economique de Berne, 1766, pp. 48 et sea,
* Ihid. table v. p. 65 of the tables,
350 P 0 P U L
Popula- the parish with respect to the means of subsistence, if it
tion. }ia(j not ],ieen accompanied by a proportionate action of the
- j- prudential restraint on marriage ; and accordingly the sub¬
sisting marriages, being late and unprolific, yielded only
one birth to every twelve; the births were only one in
forty-nine, and the number of persons below sixteen was
only one fourth of the population.
There can be little doubt that in the present case the ex¬
treme healthiness of the people, arising from their situation
and employments, had more effect in producing the pru¬
dential check to population than the prudential check in
producing the extreme healthiness ; yet it is quite certain
that they must constantly act and re-act upon each other,
and that if, when the circumstances are such as to furnish
no adequate means for the support of an increased popula¬
tion, and no relief in emigration, the prudential check does
not prevail, no degree of natural healthiness could prevent
an excessive mortality. Yet to occasion such a mortality,
a much greater degree of poverty and misery must have
taken place than in districts less favourably circumstanced
with regard to health ; and we see at once the reason why,
in countries of mountainous pasture, if there be no vent in
emigration, the necessity of the prudential check should be
more strongly forced on the attention of the inhabitants,
and should in consequence prevail to a greater degree.
Differ. Taking countries in general, there will necessarily be
ences in differences as to natural healthiness in all the gradations,
[heregis- from the most marshy habitable situations to the most pure
different an^ salukrious air- These differences will be further in¬
countries. creased by the nature of the employments of the people,
their habits of cleanliness, and their care in preventing the
spread of epidemics. If in no country wras there any diffi¬
culty in obtaining the means of subsistence, these different
degrees of healthiness would make a great difference in the
progress of population ; and as there are many countries
naturally more healthy than the United States of America,
we should have instances of a more rapid increase than that
which has there taken place. But as the actual progress
of population is, with very few exceptions, determined by
the relative difficulty of procuring the means of subsistence,
and not by the relative natural powers of increase, it is
found by experience that, except in extreme cases, the ac¬
tual progress of population is little affected by unhealthiness
or healthiness; but that these circumstances show them¬
selves most powerfully in the character of the checks which
keep the population down to the level of the means of sub¬
sistence, and occasion that sort of variety in the registers
of different countries which wras noticed in the instances
mentioned by M. Muret.
Thus the population of two or three countries may be
increasing at nearly the same rate, but one may be increas¬
ing chiefly from a great proportion of births, another from
a small proportion of deaths, and a third from a more com¬
mon proportion of both, in w'hich three different cases the
structure of the population, and the registers of births, deaths,
and marriages, will be essentially different.
The rate at which the population of Sweden and Norway
was increasing, at the time referred to by Mr Malthus, was
not far from the same; but their registers differed in al¬
most all points. While the births in Sweden were 1 in 28
of the population, the births in Norway were only 1 in 34;
while the marriages in Sweden were 1 in 112, in Norway
they were only 1 in 130; and while the mortality in Swe¬
den was 1 in 34^, in Norway it was only 1 in 48.1 These
different proportions of births, deaths, and marriages, must
essentially alter the whole structure of the population. The
A T I O N.
proportion of persons living at different ages would be es- Popula..
sentially different; the generations in one country would tion'
pass away sooner than the generations in the other ; and^,^v™,“
Sweden might be said to increase principally from the large
proportion of its births, and Norway from the small propor¬
tion of its deaths, or its small mortality.
A large proportion of births, when they have room to ex¬
pand themselves, is the most powerful element of increase,
and is absolutely necessary in order to effect the shortest
period of doubling with which we are acquainted ; but two
countries may have nearly the same proportion of births,
and yet the population of one be quite stationary, while the
population of the other is increasing with the greatest known
rapidity. The proportion of births in the Dutch villages
first noticed approaches towards that of the United States
of America ; yet in the one case the population did not in¬
crease at all, and in the other it has increased so fast as to
be taken as a specimen of the natural progress of popula¬
tion when interrupted by the fewest checks to which hu¬
man society is subject. In this case, though the propor¬
tions of births and marriages to the whole population might
not be very unlike, and possibly no very great difference
might appear in the proportion of marriages to births, the
other points in the registers would be in the opposite ex¬
tremes. While the mortality in the Dutch villages was as
high as 1 in 22, it would probably be 1 in 41, or less, in
the United States. While the births and deaths in the
Dutch villages were in the ratio of equality, in the United
States they would be nearly in the proportion of 41 to 19.
In the same manner, twro countries might have nearly
the same mortality, and yet, in other points, be very dif¬
ferent ; and while one was increasing most rapidly, the
other might be increasing very slowly. The proportion of
deaths to the population in the Pays de Vaud is not very
essentially different from that of the United States, but the
proportion of births and the structure of the population
present the most striking contrasts. The proportion of *
births for the whole of the Pays de Yaud was, according
to M. Muret, 1 in 36, in many parishes it was considerably
less than 1 in 40, and in one parish as low as 1 in 49;
while, in the United States, it must be somew here between
1 in 19 and 1 in 20. The structure of the population was
different accordingly. In the whole of the Pays de Vaud,
the proportion of the population under sixteen was one
third; in many parts, and in the whole of the Canton of
Berne, one fourth ; while in the United States, it is as high
as one half.
We have seen, that, according to M. Muret, the proba- Variations
bil .ty of life, or the age to which half the born live, was, in in the age
the extraordinary parish of Leyzin, as high as 61 years.to v!Ilicl1
On the same authority, it appears that in nine other pa-j^*^^
rishes of the Alps it was as high as 47 ; in 41 parishes of^^t'
the Pays de Yaud and Jura 42; in 12 corn parishes 40; countries,
in 18 parishes among the great vineyards 37, in one marshy
parish 24.2 From other authorities we learn, that in coun¬
try villages and parishes, the age to which half of the born
live is such, that the major part will probably live to marry.3
In the parish of Ackworth, in Yorkshire, it appears from an
exact account kept by Dr Lee, of the ages at which all died
there for twenty years from 1747 to 1767, that half the in¬
habitants live to the age of 46 (Price, vol. ii. p. 35, 7th
edit.); and if the same account had been kept in many of
the other healthy parishes in England, where the yearly
mortality, instead of being 1 in 47 as in Ackworth, was 1
in 60, 1 in 66, and even 1 in 75 (vol. ii. p. 224), half of the
born would be found to have lived to above 50 or 55. In
1 See Malthas on Population, chapters i. and ii. of book ii.
* Mcmoifcs, i-c. par la Sociele Economique de Berne, 1766, table viii. p. 92 of the tables. As these calculations seem all to have been
mane from mortuary registers, they are all too low, except where the population was absolutely stationary.
Graunt’s and Short’s Observations, &c. referred to by Dr Price, vol. ii. pp, 41, 42, &c, 7th edition.
POPULATION
Popula¬
tion.
the whole of Sweden, where the annual mortality, at the
time referred to by Dr Price, was greater than 1 in 35, it
appears from his tables, that half of the born must have
lived to above 33 (vol. ii. p. 413, 7th edit.) ; and in Great
Britain generally, where the mortality at present, after
making due allowance for the omissions in the deaths, ap¬
pears to be less than 1 in 51, it cannot be doubted that
there is scarcely a village in the country tolerably well si¬
tuated, where half of the born do not live till above 40.
In towns the case is very different. According to the data
collected by Dr Price, one half of the born died in London
under three years of age, in Vienna and Stockholm under
two, in Manchester under five, in Northampton under
ten (vol. ii. p. 33); and although in most of these towns,
particularly those in England, a great improvement has
taken place in their healthiness of late years, yet still they -
will always fall far short of the healthiness of country si¬
tuations.
The age to which half the born live appears, therefore,
to vary in different countries and places, and under differ¬
ent circumstances, in the very extraordinary desrree of from
3 to 60.1
Variations The mean age of death, or the expectation of life, must
a the ex- necessarily be more steady; yet it appears to vary from
about 16 or 17 to 50.
In Stockholm, according to a table calculated by Dr
Price, from the medium of three different enumerations in
1757, 1760, and 1763, the expectation of life for males at
birth was 14-25, and for females 18-10.2 Taken together,
the expectation of life was a little above 16. In Vienna,
as appears from another table, it was 16^.3 While, ac¬
cording to M. Muret, at Leyzin, the expectation of life at
birth was, about the same period, 50 years.4
rariations The annual mortality, which is different, both from the
i the an- age to which half of the born live, and the mean age of
• ■! r, TV-, 1 v-wl T -CC   —   A.  _ _ _ 1 4 •
351
Popula¬
tion.
lectation
if life in
lifferent
ountries.
ual mor-
ility.
i the po-
| nation.
death, is found to vary in different places and countries,
from about 1 in 19 to about 1 in 70. In Stockholm, the
annual mortality was but 1 in 19 (Price’s Observations,
vol. ii. p. 136) ; and in some of the villages in England,
even at the time that Dr Price wrote, it was as low as 1 in
70 and 1 in 75.
roportion The proportion of births to the population appears to
)ir 8 vary in different countries and under different circum¬
stances, from about 1 in 17 to 1 in 49. In New Spain,
according to Humboldt, it was 1 in 17. In New Jersey,
according to the rate of inci*ease determined by the cen¬
sus taken in 1738 and seven years afterwards, the pro¬
portion of births must have been about 1 in 18. (Price,
vol. ii. p. 50.) At present, as far as can be collected from
scattered facts and inferences, the proportion of birth-3 in
the whole of the United States is about 1 to 19. In the
table for Prussia and Lithuania given by Sussmilch, it ap¬
pears, that after the great plague of 1709 and 1710, and
omitting the extraordinary year immediately subsequent,
the proportion of births in the five years ending with 1716
was 1 in less than 17 ;5 while, according to M. Muret, in
the parish of Leyzin, the proportion of births was only 1 in
49 of the population.
The number of subsisting marriages which yields one
annual birth appears to vary from 12" to 4, and the twoex-
bSnf treme CaS6S °CCUr in what tllay be callecl the same country,
images and are both noticed bY M- Mui'et; the one in the parish
one an. of Leyzin, which presents all the symptoms of the pruden-
al birth, tial check to population in the greatest excess, and where
iri&tions
the
twelve subsisting marriages yield only one annual birth; and
the other in the parish of St Cergue, in the Jura, where mar¬
riage is encouraged by the habit of emigration, and four
subsisting marriages are sufficient to yield one annual birth.
The proportion of the population under 16 years of age Different
to that above 16 seems to vary in different countries andpropor-
places, and under different circumstances, from one half totions of the
one fourth. In the United States, it appears by the ]ateP°Pulation
census that it is one half; while in the canton of Berne it;ullL*er
is not much more than one fourth, and in the parish of
Leyzin not more than one fourth.6
The mortality under the age of 15 varies in different Variations
places and circumstances, from above two thirds to one in the nior*
fifth. It appears from a table of Dr Price, that in Stock- talit>r uu-
holm above two thirds died under 15 (vol. ii. p. 418) 15,
while, according to M. Muret, the proportion of the deaths
under the age of 15 was, in the whole of the Pays de Vaud,
one third, in many parishes of the Alps one fourth, and in
the extraordinary parish of Leyzin only one fifth.?
Under these very great variations in the registers of dif¬
ferent countries and places, and in the structure of their
population, it is obvious that we might fall into the grossest
possible errors, by applying the registers of one country to
the population of another. Even if we could find a coun¬
try which was near to a just mean between these opposite
extremes, and the registers of which were kept with the
greatest accuracy, we could not apply such registers to any
other country with a view to any important inferences,
unless we knew that the two countries nearly resembled
each other, not only in one or two particulars, but in all
the main points relating to the structure of their popula¬
tion and the character of the prevailing checks to it.
When attention was first directed to tables of mortality Firsttables
with a view to assurances on lives and survivorships, these of morta-
tables were almost universally formed from the registers oDhy formed
towns, and of the neighbouring villages influenced by them.*rom tbe
Buffon, calculating the probability of life from the regis-^1*^18 of
ters of three parishes in Paris, and twelve country parishes
in the neighbourhood, collected by M. Dupre de St Maur,
makes it appear that half of the born died under eight
years of age. The parishes in Paris seemed to be heal¬
thier than the villages in the neighbourhood, which was
occasioned by the custom of sending the children from the
city to be nursed in the country. Other calculations from
the registers of Breslau by Dr Halley, of London by Mr
Simpson, and subsequently of Northampton, Warrington,
Chester, Norwich, &c. by Dr Price and other writers, all
concurred to convey the impression that more than half of
the born die under the age of puberty; and though Dr
Price, in his two volumes of Observations on Reversionary
Payments, takes frequent opportunities of dwelling upon
the prodigious difference in the mortality of towns and of
country situations, and produces abundance of evidence to
show that, taken together, in the actual state of things, half
of the born live much beyond the age of puberty; yet,
among some persons who have not attended to the subject,
the former impression seems still to have remained; and,
what is more strange, it has been lately asserted that this
must happen from the constitution and course of human na¬
ture (Godwin’s Answer to Malthus) ; which is going very
much further than to say that it happens under the pover¬
ty, distress, and unhealthy occupations which are known to
affect the mortality of a considerable body of people in all
the nations with which we are acquainted.
1 This last number, stated by M. Muret for the parish of Leyzin, on the Alps, is so verv extraordinary, that possibly it may not be
correct. 1
2 Observations on Reversionary Payments, vol. ii. p. 421, 7th edition. 3 Jbid. vol. ii. p. 128.
* Mtmoircs, cjr. par la Societe Economique de Berne, 1766, table v. p. 65.
8 Gottliche Ordnang, vol. i. table xxi. p. 83 of the tables. Malthus, voh ii. p. 168, oth edition.
Memoires, <^c. par la So/ulc Economique de Berne, 1766, pp. 11 and 12. 7 table xiii. p. 12.
352 POPULATION.
Popula. The constitution and course of human nature can only
v tlon‘ determined by experience, and the analogies derived
The con ^rom ^ 5 and the kind of experience necessary to determine
stitution t^ie Pomt in question is to be obtained only by a reference
and course to registers which inform us of the ages at which the born
of human have died. Now, from the evidence of registers of this kind
nature de- which have been carefully kept in country parishes, it ap-
termmable pears that the age to which half of the born live is much
perience. "nearer to forty than to the age of puberty. Even in Swe¬
den, where the general mortality is unquestionably very
great, owing to the poverty of the labouring classes, and
the diseases brought upon them by bad and insufficient
food during seasons of scarcity, the age to which half of
the born live is, as before stated, above thirty-three j1 in
the whole of the Pays de Vaud it is forty-one ; in many
particular parishes forty-seven ; in a parish in England not
so healthy as many others, forty-seven ; and as the expec¬
tation of life appears, by the late returns from the parish
registers of Great Britain, to be as high as in Switzerland,
there is little reason to doubt, from the evidence of regis¬
ters, that the age to which half of the born live in this
country can fall but little short of what it is in the Pays
de Vaud, that is, it must be somewhere near forty. But
it will hardly be contended that there is no premature mor¬
tality in Great Britain occasioned by the pressure of po¬
verty, and the effect of large towns and unwholesome oc¬
cupations. Consequently, unless we are prepared to say
that agricultural employments, airy and moderately-sized
towns, cleanliness, healthy occupations, and prudence, are
against the constitution and course of nature, as applied to
reasonable beings, we must acknowledge, that if the con¬
stitution and course of nature were carefully observed, and
the admonitions which they give properly attended to,
half of the born would, in healthy climates, live on an ave¬
rage to forty-five. Taking things, however, as they are,
it is obvious that, according to the testimony of the best
registers, more than half of the born might live to marry in
most countries, even if the average age of marriage was so
late as thirty.
Immediate The immediate cause of the increase of population is the
causes of excess 0f the births above the deaths ; and the rate of in-
crease'of crease> or the period of doubling, depends upon the pro-
population. Porti°n which the excess of the births above the deaths
bears to the population.
The excess of births is occasioned by, and proportioned
to, three causes : 1^, the prolificness of the marriages ;
2c%, the proportion of the born which lives to marry ;
and, Mly, the earliness of these marriages compared with
the expectation of life, or the shortness of a generation by
marriage and birth, compared with the passing away of a
generation by death.
In order that the full power of increase should be call¬
ed into action, all these circumstances must be favourable.
The marriages must be prolific, owing to their being con¬
tracted early ; the proportion of the born living to marry
must be great, owing both to the tendency to marriage,
and the great proportion of births rising to the age of pu¬
berty ; and the interval between the average age of mar¬
riage and the average age of death must be considerable,
owing to the great healthiness of the country, and the ex¬
pectation of life being high. Probably these three causes,
each operating with the greatest known force, have never
yet been found combined. Even in the United States,
though the two first causes operate very powerfully, the
expectation of life, and consequently the distance between
the age of marriage and the average age of death, is not so
favourable as it might be. In general, however, the excess Popula.
of births which each country can admit being very far short tion.
of the full power of increase, the causes above mentioned“v-^
contribute to the required supply in very various propor¬
tions, according to the different circumstances and habits of
each state.
It would be very desirable to know something of these Inferences
proportions, with a view to their influence on the happi-drawn from
ness of society. Our main sources of information onre^sters-
this subject are registers of births, deaths, and marriages;
but in order to draw just inferences from them, we must
consider well what they imply. The following observa¬
tions and rules, modified from Mr Malthus’s chapter on the
fruitfulness of marriages, may be useful for this purpose.
If we suppose a country where the population is station- Proportion
ary, where there are no emigrations, immigrations, or ille-of births to
gitimate children, and where the registers are accurate,a niarriage,
then the proportion of the annual births to the annual mar¬
riages will accurately express both the number of children
born to each marriage, including second and third mar¬
riages, and also the proportion of the born which lives to
marry once or oftener, while the annual mortality will ac¬
curately express the expectation of life.
But if the population be either increasing or decreas¬
ing, and the births, deaths, and marriages increasing or de¬
creasing in the same ratio, such a movement will necessa¬
rily disturb all the proportions, because the events which
are contemporary in the registers are not contemporary in
the order of nature.
In the first place, the births of any year cannot, in the
order of nature, have come from the contemporary mar¬
riages, but must have been derived principally from the
marriages of preceding years.
If we were to cut off a period of thirty years in the re¬
gisters of any country some time ago, and inquire what
was the number of births which had been produced by all
the marriages included in the period cut off, it is evident,
that with the marriages at the beginning of the period will
be arranged a number of births proceeding from marriages
anterior to it; and at the end a number of births produced
by the marriages included in the period will be found ar¬
ranged with the marriages of a succeeding period. Now,
if we could subtract the former number, and add the lat¬
ter, we should obtain exactly all the births produced by the •
marriages of the period, and thus ascertain the real proli-
fieness of marriages. If the population had been station¬
ary, the number of births to be added wrould exactly equal
the number to be subtracted, and the proportion of births
to marriages, as found in the registers, would exactly re¬
present the real prolificness of marriages. But if the po¬
pulation be increasing, the number to be added would be
greater than the number to be subtracted, and of course
the proportion of births to marriages, as found in the regis¬
ters, would always be too small to represent the true proli¬
ficness of marriages. A contrary eftect would take place
in a decreasing population. The question therefore is, what
we are to add, and what to subtract, when the births and
deaths are not equal.
The average proportion of births to marriages in Europe,
as taken from registers, is about four to one. Let us sup¬
pose, for the sake of illustration, that each marriage yields
four children, one every other year. In this case, wherever
the period in the registers is begun, the marriages of the
preceding eight years will only have produced half their
births, and the other half will be arranged with the mar¬
riages within the period, and ought to be subtracted from
them. In the same manner the marriages of the last eight
1 We allude to the registers and tables referred to by Dr Price. Since his time the health of the country has increased, like that of
most of the countries in Europe, and the proportions of both the births and deaths have decidedly diminished.
POPULATION.
Popula- years of the period will only have produced half their births,
tlQ'1'_ , and the other half ought to be added. But half the births
of any eight years may be considered as nearly equal to all
the births of the succeeding three years and three quarters.
In instances of the most rapid increase it will rather exceed
the births of the next three years and a half, and in cases
of slow increase approach towards the births of the next
four years. The mean, therefore, may be taken at three
years and three quarters. Consequently, if we subtract the
births of the first three years and three quarters, and add
the births of the three years and three quarters subsequent
to the period, we shall have a number of births nearly
equal to the number of births produced by all the marriages
included in the period, and, of course, the prolificness of
marriages. But if the population of a country be increas¬
ing regularly, and the births, deaths, and marriages con¬
tinue always to bear the same proportion to each other and
to the whole population, it is evident that all the births of
any period will bear the same proportion to all the births
of any other period of the same extent taken a certain
number of years later, as the births of any single year to
the births of a single year taken the same number of years
later. And, consequently, to estimate the prolificness of
marriages, we have only to compare the marriages of the pre¬
sent, or any other year, or the mean of five years, with the
births of a subsequent year, or the mean of five years ta¬
ken three years and three quarters later.
It has been supposed, in the present instance, that each
marriage yields four births; but the proportion of births
to marriages apparent in the registers of most of the coun¬
tries of Europe is four to one, and as the population of
most of the countries of Europe is known to be increasing,
the prolificness of marriages must be greater than four. If,
allowing for this circumstance, we take the distance of four
years instead of three years and three quarters, we shall still
be sure of not erring in excess. And though undoubted¬
ly the period which we take, whatever it may be, will not
answer exactly in different countries, yet its application
generally will not be so incorrect as we might at first ima¬
gine, because, in countries where the marriages are more
prolific, the births generally follow at shorter intervals, and
where they are less prolific, at longer intervals; and, with
different degrees of prolificness, the length of the period
might still remain the same.
Probably, however, the period here assumed, which is
the one taken by Mr Malthus, is too short. If, as he says,
there is reason to think, that, in almost all registers, the
omissions in the births and deaths are greater than in the
marriages, there ought to be a greater number of births to
each marriage, in which case it would take a longer time
to have them in ; and if, further, it is probable that a birth
eveiy other year is too rapid a succession for those coun¬
tries where the marriages are frequently late, it may be
thought that the births at the distance of five years will
moie nearly represent the prolificness of marriages than at
the distance of four years. But this matter must be left
to the judgment of the reader.
At all events, it will follow, from what has been said,
that the more rapid is the increase of population, the more
will the real prolificness of marriages exceed the proportion
of births to marriages in the registers.
Ihe rule which has here been laid down attempts to es¬
timate the prolificness of marriages, taken as they occur;
but this prolificness should be carefully distinguished from
the prolificness of first marriages, and of married women,
and still more from the natural prolificness of women in
general, taken at the most favourable age. It is probable
353
Popula¬
tion
that the natural prolificness of women is nearly the same in
most parts of the world ; but the prolificness of marriages
is liable to be affected by a variety of circumstances pecu- - Y —
liar to each country, and particularly by the number of se¬
cond, and third, and late marriages. In all countries the
second and third marriages alone form a most important
consideration, and materially influence the average pro
portions. According to Sussmilch, in all Pomerania
from 1748 to 1756 both included, the number of persons
who married were 56,956, and of these 10,586 were wi¬
dows and widowers.1 According to Busching, in Prussia
and Silesia, for the year 1781, out of 29,308 persons who
married, 4841 were widows and widowers;2 and, conse¬
quently, the proportion of marriages will be given fully one
sixth too much. In estimating the prolificness of mar¬
ried women, the number of illegitimate births would tend,
though in a slight degree, to counterbalance the over¬
plus of marriages; and as it is found that the number of
widowers who marry again is greater than the number of
widows, the whole of the correction should not, on this ac¬
count, be applied; but in estimating the proportion of the
born which lives to marry, which is what we are now about
to proceed to, the whole of this correction is always neces¬
sary.
To find the proportion of the born which lives to mar- Proportion
ry, from registers, we must consider that the marriages of of the born
any year can never be contemporary with the births from wtliclllives
which they have resulted, but must always be at such a dis-to niari>
tance fiom them as is equal to the average age of marriage.
It the population be increasing, the marriages of the
present year have resulted from a smaller number of births
than the births of the present year t and, of course, the
marriages, compared with the contemporary births, will al¬
ways be too few to represent the proportion of the born
which lives to marry, and the contrary will take place if the
population be decreasing ; and to find this proportion, after
having first made the proper correction for second and third
marriages, we must compare the marriages of any year with
the births of a previous year at the distance of the average
age of marriage.3
The third principal object which it is desirable to attain, Expecta-
and of which some estimate may be formed from registers, tion of life,
is the expectation of life. It has before been stated, that,
in a country where the births and deaths are equal, the rate
of the annual mortality will express the expectation of life,
or the average age of death. But if the population be in¬
creasing, the actual population of any one year will be
greater than would belong to the contemporary deaths, sup¬
posing the births equal to the deaths, and less than would
belong to the contemporary births, supposing the deaths
equal to the births. Consequently, if we divide the actual
population by the number of contemporary deaths in an in¬
creasing country, the result will be too high to express the
average age of death belonging to any given number of
births. If we divide the actual population by the number
of births, the result will be too low to express this average,
or, in other words, to express the expectation of life. And,
in order to approximate to the true proportion, we are di¬
rected by Dr Price (vol. ii. p. 39, seventh edition), in the
absence of better data, to divide the actual population
by a mean between the proportions of deaths and births.
Consequently, when we know the proportion of births to
deaths in any country, and the proportions which they
usually bear to the whole population, we may form some
estimate of the expectation of life, or the average age of
death.
If we attend to these observations in drawing our infer-
1 f oMMe Ordnung vol. i. tables, p. 98. * Malthus, vol. ii. p. 140.
deaths'as Mr'vfalthus'ha^d0^'0118 ^r°CCSS to comPare ^‘e marriages at once with the births of the earlier period, than with the
VOL. XVIII.
2 Y
354 ? O P U L
Popula- ences from registers, we shall generally be able to form an
tion. approximating estimate of the prolificness of marriages, the
v proportion of the born living to marry, and the expectation
of life, in different countries and places, and under different
circumstances; or if we cannot do this satisfactorily, owing
to the varying rate of increase, and the inaccuracy of the
registers, we shall at least guard ourselves against drawing
incorrect inferences from them in their present state, and
reconcile many of the difficulties with which they appear to
be accompanied.
Prolific- Thus, to estimate the prolificness of marriages in Eng-
ness of land, the proportion of the marriages to rhe births, ac-
marriages cording to the parochial returns ending with 1820, was
jnEng- 100 to 369; adding one sixth for the omissions in the
births, or on the present occasion only one seventh, in or¬
der to make full allowance for illegitimate births, the pro¬
portion of marriages to births will be as 100 to 4-22. These
births, at the rate at which the population was increasing
in England and Wales from 1810 to 1820, would, in about
four years and a half, increase -07, which, added to 4*22,
makes 4-51. Consequently, the prolificness of marriages,
taken as they occur, and including second and third mar¬
riages, would be 4'51. If we wish to estimate the proli¬
ficness of married women, we must subtract from the
marriages those which consist of widows who have mar¬
ried again. According to some tables of Sussmilch, this
would be little less than one sixth, according to others
one eighth. If we take one seventh, and deduct it from
the marriages, the proportion will be 1 to 5,26, that is,
each married woman will have 5‘26 births. But of these
married women, some have married at above forty-five
years of age, and many more above thirty-five, so that there
can be little doubt that, if the births could be collected
from all the marriages in which the age of the woman did
not exceed thirty-five, nor the age of the man forty-five,
the births would appear to be nearly six; and this number
would be still further increased if the average age of mar¬
riage for males was twenty-two, and for females twenty.
These conclusions are fully confirmed by some accurate
observations of M. Muret. At Vevay, where the propor¬
tion of marriages to births, in the registers, was as ten to
thirty-nine, he found that 375 mothers had had 2093 chil¬
dren born alive, by which it appears that each mother had
produced 5-55 births. But these, M. Muret observes, were
all mothers, which is not the case of all married women.
Allowing, however, for the usual proportion of barren wives
at Vevay, which was about twenty out of 478, it appears
that the married women, one with another, must have had
above 5’3 births. Yet this was in a town where he inti¬
mates that the inhabitants do not enter into the marriage
state at the time when nature calls them, nor, when mar¬
ried, always have as many children as they might have. It
is evident, therefore, that the proportions of marriages to
births, to be found in registers, require considerable and
important corrections, in order to deduce from them just
estimates of the prolificness of marriages, the prolificness of
married women, and the prolificness of women marrying at
the most favourable age. The instance here given is sufficient
to illustrate the mode in which the rule should be applied.
Proportion If we wish to apply the rule for estimating the proportion
of the born of the born living to marry in England, we must first take
living to tiie proportion of marriages to births in the registers. This
England proportion, as before stated, was, during the ten years end-
h ' ing with 1820, as 100 to 369; which, increased by one
sixth, the supposed omissions in the registers of births will
be as 100 to 430. But the marriages of the present year
must have resulted, not from the births of the present year,
but from the births at such an earlier period in the regis¬
ters as is equal to the average age of marriage. Suppose
this age to be twenty-eight, then, at the rate at which the
population was increasing, the present marriages must have
A T I O N.
resulted from a number of births equal to about two thirds Popula-
of the present number, so as to be to the present marriages tion-
in the proportion of 286 instead of 430 to 100. But of the v_*_
200 persons forming the 100 marriages, more than one sixth
have been married before. Deducting, therefore, one sixth
from the marriages, the proportion of the marriages to the
births from which they have resulted will be as 100 to 343 ;
or, out of 343 births, 200 have lived to be married once or
oftener ; from which it would appear, that on account of the
late increase in the healthiness of the country, a greater
proportion had lived to marry than when Mr Malthus last
estimated it; which, together with a slight increase in the
prolificness of marriages apparent in the latter registers,
may account for the more rap-id increase of the population
from 1810 to 1820. It should be recollected, however, that
as the rate of increase which prevailed from 1810 to 1820
had by no means prevailed during the whole twenty-eight
years, the births, from which 200 person had lived to marry
in 1820, were decidedly more than 343.
It will be observed how very important the correction
for second and third marriages is. Supposing each mar¬
riage to yield four births, and the births and deaths to be
equal, it might at first be thought necessary, that in order
to keep up the population, half of the born should live to
marry; but if, on account of the second and third marriages,
we subtract one sixth from the marriages, and then com¬
pare them with the births, the proportion will be as five to
twenty-four ; and it will appear, that instead of one half, it
will only be necessary, that out of twenty-four births, ten
should live to marry. Upon the same principle, if the births
were to the marriages as four to one, and exactly half of the
born lived to marry, it might be supposed at first that the
population would be stationary ; but if we subtract one
sixth from the marriages, and then compare them with the
births, it will be obvious that, on the supposition of half the
born living to marry, the births at the earlier period in the
registers, at the distance of the age of marriage, must be to
the present births as five to six, which would imply a mo¬
derate rate of increase.
To estimate the proportion of male births living to marry,
we must subtract full one fifth from the marriages; and,
according to this correction, if each marriage yielded four
births, it would only be necessary that two male children
out of five should live to marry, in order to keep up the
population. It is necessary, also, in estimating the propor¬
tion of male births living to marry, to make allowance for
the greater number of males born.
The ioregoing illustrations and remarks show the error of
supposing that a country must be in a precarious state when
the proportion of births to marriages in the registers is less
than four to one. If, indeed, this observation were just,
the population of many countries in Europe would be in a
precarious state, as in many countries the proportion is less
than this. But it has been shown in what manner this pro¬
portion in the registers should be corrected, in order to
make it a just representation of the prolificness of mar¬
riages ; and if a large part of the born live to marry, and
the age of marriage be considerably earlier than the expec¬
tation of life, such a proportion in the registers is by no
means inconsistent with a rapid increase of population.
In Russia, the proportion of births to marriages is less
than four to one ; yet, on account of the large proportion
of the born living to marry, the early age of marriage, and
the high expectation of life, it is one of the countries in
Europe which increases the fastest. In England, the popu¬
lation increases much more rapidly than in France ; yet in
England the proportion of births to marriages in the regis¬
ters, when allowance has been made for omissions, was, from
1800 to 1810, four to one, while in France it was four and
four fifths to one. (Malthus, vol. ii. p. 161. 5th edit.)
In England, indeed, for the ten years from 1810 to 1821,
P O P U L
Pojmla- the proportion of births to marriages seems slightly to have
exceeded the former proportion, being about 4-22 to 1; but
this excess has been accompanied by such a rapidity of in¬
crease as would double the population in less than forty-
six years; and comparing this rapid rate of increase with
the slow increase of France, where the births were to the
marriages as four and four fifths to one, and in Sweden,
where these proportions were as four and one fourth to one,
it follows that the two other causes of the excess of births
above the deaths, besides the prolificness of marriages, must
have very great power, and that the proportion of births
to marriages, as found in registers, when taken alone, is a
most uncertain criterion of increase.
Expecta- To apply the rule for estimating the average age of death,
tion of life or the expectation of life, in England, we must first ascer-
in f-Hg* tain from the registers the proportions which the births and
'an"’ deaths bear to the whole population. The annual average
of the births for the ten years from 1810 to 1821 was
325,506, of the deaths 200,999. Adding one sixth to the
births, and one twelfth to the deaths, for the omission in
the registers, the births will be 379,757, and the deaths
217,749. The population of England and Wales, ac¬
cording to the census taken in 1810, was 10,502,500,
in 1821, 12,218,500,1 the mean of which is 11,360,500.
The average births and deaths, compared with the mean
population, give ^ g as the proportion of the births, and
—as the proportion of the deaths; and, according to Dr
Price, the mean between them, which in this case is forty-
one, will give the expectation of life. This rule, however,
is only a rough approximation, and, in the few cases where
sufficient data have been obtained in progressive countries
for calculating the expectation of life more accurately, it
has turned out to be much nearer to the annual mortality
than to the mean here referred to; while, according to
the more correct estimates before adverted to, the annual
mortality might, with the same expectation of life, be
in different countries 1 in 39*38, 1 in 4T97, or 1 in 41*09,
according as the population was stationary, or progressive
at various rates.
This appears in the table which Dr Price himself calcu¬
lated for Sweden (vol. ii. p. 410, 7th edit.), founded on data
which he considered as quite satisfactory. It also appears
in the table for Sweden and Finland, subsequently calcu¬
lated by Mr Milne from similar data, in his Treatise on An¬
nuities and Assurances, vol. ii. p. 569; and, further, in a
table for Sweden and Finland, published in this work,
under the head Mortality. We have also seen a cal¬
culation by Mr Milne, by which it appears that the differ¬
ence between the annual mortality and the expectation of
life goes on increasing with the rate of the increase of the
population to a certain point, but afterwards, owing to the
increasing proportion of young children included in the po¬
pulation, diminishes; and is less when the population doubles
in twenty-five years, than when it doubles in fifty years.
Thus, on the three different suppositions of a stationary po¬
pulation, a population doubling in fifty years, and a popu¬
lation doubling in twenty-five years (all subjected to the
same law of mortality as that which prevailed in Sweden
and Finland during the five years ended with 1805), in the
first case, both the expectation of life and the annual mor¬
tality would be 39*388, and, of course, the expectation of
life would be the same in all the cases; but in the second
case, the annual mortality would be 1 in 41*971 ; and, in
the third, 1 in 41*096. It would be difficult, however, or
at least premature, without further data, to lay down a ge-
A T I O N.
neral rule, with a view to determine correctly the expec¬
tation of life at birth, in countries progressive at various
rates. But, from what has been stated, it may safely be'
concluded, that the expectation of life lies very much nearer
the annual mortality, particularly in cases of very rapid in¬
crease, than to the mean proposed by Dr Price ; and that
both the expectation of life, and the age to which half of
the born live, are, in most countries, and especially in Eng¬
land, at the present time, considerably higher than they
have generally been estimated.
It may be remarked here, in reference to England dur¬
ing the ten years from 1810 to 1821, that the omissions
assumed in the births and deaths do not give such propor¬
tions as to make the increase of population, from the excess
of births above the deaths, answer to the increase deter¬
mined by the two censuses ; an agreement which must ne¬
cessarily take place if both the enumerations and the regis¬
ters are accurate, and no external causes disturb the result.
An addition of one sixth to the births, and one twelfth to
the deaths, seemed to answer correctly for the interval from
1800 to 1810; but to produce the same coincidence under
the more rapid increase of the subsequent ten years, either
a greater allowance must be made for omissions in the
births, or a less allowance for the omissions in the deaths.
If we add one fifth instead of one sixth to the births, re¬
taining one twelfth for the deaths, the excess of births above
deaths in the ten years will be 1,728,587, the excess ac¬
cording to the censuses being 1,716,000; if we add only
one thirtieth to the deaths, retaining one sixth for the
births, the excess will be 1,720,502, within 4502 of the ex¬
cess, as shown by the censuses; whereas, under the ac¬
tual allowances which have been made for omissions, the
excess will be only 1,620,800, leaving a difference of95,200,
and on the wrong side. On account of the almost incredi¬
ble healthiness, considering our great towns and manufac¬
tories, which would be implied by supposing the deaths to
be only deficient one thirtieth, an increased omission in the
births might be thought more probable; but it is believed,
that since 1812 the omissions in the births have been dimi¬
nished rather than increased ; and under this uncertainty it
has been thought better to leave the question as it stands
at present, rather than attempt to determine it on insuffi¬
cient data. It should always be remembered, however, that
if the increase of population by the enumerations is differ¬
ent from the increase of population by the registers, one or
the other must be incorrect.
On the supposition that the omissions in the deaths were Expecta-
only one thirtieth, the average mortality, compared with the tion of life
average population, would be l in 54*7; and the proportion at birth,
of births, with the addition of one sixth, being, as beforeani* aanua
stated, 1 in 29*9, the expectation of life, according to Dr™1^^’
Price’s rule, would be 42*3. On the other supposition, ofsame w)ien
an omission of one fifth of the births and one twelfth of the the popu-
deaths, the births would be 1 in 29, and the deaths 1 in lation is
52*17, and the expectation of life would be 40*58. progres-
It appears, then, that when the population of a countrySlve*
is progressive, it would be erroneous to estimate its healthi¬
ness by the proportion which the annual mortality bears to
the whole population. Healthiness must be measured by
the expectation of life ; and if, with the same expectation of
life, the annual mortality is affected by the rate of increase,
it is obvious that the healthiness of different countries may
be different, with the same rate of annual mortality.
But whilst it is evidently necessary that we should be Mortuary
cautious in inferring that a country is healthy just in pro- registers
portion to the smallness of its annual mortality, we shouldfallacious'
be still more cautious in inferring that it is unhealthy at all
the ages under puberty, on account of the number which
355
Popula¬
tion.
1 Preliminary Observations to Population Abstracts, p. 32.
356 POPULATION.
Popula- appear to die in mortuary registers under that age. Here,
, as in the preceding case, but in a much greater degree, the
excess of the births above the deaths has a powerful ef¬
fect, but exactly in the opposite direction. When we com¬
pare the annual mortality of an increasing country with its
actual population, we compare with it a number of deaths
which may be said, properly speaking, to belong to an ear¬
lier and smaller number of births, and must necessarily re¬
present the country as more healthy than it really is. On
the other hand, when, in a mortuary register, we compare
the deaths under puberty with those above, if the popula¬
tion be increasing, we evidently compare the deaths belong¬
ing to a much greater number of births than those which
have furnished the deaths above the age of puberty ; and,
consequently, these proportions must represent the country
as much less healthy than it really is.1 According to the
mortuary registers of Sweden for twenty-one years from
1755 to 1776, more than half of the deaths were under fif¬
teen, but it was by no means true that half of the born died
under fifteen.2 In the tables of mortality for Sweden dur¬
ing the same period, constructed by Dr Price, it appears
that half of the born lived to above thirty-three years.3
In the same manner, in drawing inferences from an ab¬
stract of the mortuary registers of the principal cities in
America, Baltimore, Boston, New York, and Philadelphia,
given by Dr Seybert,4 we must take care not to conclude
that the proportions of the deaths which take place under
twenty years of age represent the proportions of any given
number of births in these cities which die under twenty.
As, on account of the excess of the births above the deaths,
all the early ages of the population are more numerous in
proportion than the other, there will necessarily be a greater
proportion of the deaths at these ages than would naturally
belong to a given number of births, if each infant born
were traced to the age of its death.
In the present case, the abstract is only for a year, and
no safe conclusions therefore can be drawn from it; but, so
far as it goes, as even, notwithstanding the increase of po¬
pulation, these mortuary registers show that considerably
less than half of the deaths take place under twenty (on an
average only about 45^ per cent.), it would appear, that in
the early ages of life, even the towns of America are more
healthy than the whole of Sweden from 1755 to 1776. It
should, however, be considered, that though the towns in
America may be increasing fast by procreation, they are
increasing still faster by the influx of inhabitants from the
country; and as these inhabitants generally come to the
towns after the age of sixteen, this accession diminishes the
proportion of persons in the earlier ages of life so much,
that there is probably a larger proportion of mortality at
these ages in the country than in the towns.
Criterion One of the most interesting and useful points of view in
of tiie pre- which registers can be considered, is in the proofs which
valence of they afford of the varying prevalence of the prudential
restraint^ c^ec^ marriage and population in different countries and
places. It has been not an uncommon opinion, and has
even been strongly expressed of late years, although the
subject has been much better understood than formerly,
that the labouring classes of people, under the circumstances
in which they are placed, cannot reasonably be expected
to attend to prudential considerations in entering upon the
marriage state. But that this opinion does them great in¬
justice, is not only obvious to common observation, by
which we can scarcely fail to see that numbers delay mar- Popula.
riage beyond the period when the passions most strongly bon.
prompt to it, but is proved by the registers of different
countries, which clearly show, either that a considerable
number of persons of a marriageable age never marry, or
that they marry comparatively late, and that their marriages
are consequently less prolific than if they had married ear¬
lier. As the prudential restraint on marriage may show
itself in either of these ways, it may prevail nearly in the
same degree with a different proportion of the whole popu¬
lation. But on the supposition of the same natural proli¬
ficness in the women of most countries, the smallness of
the proportion of births will generally indicate, with toler¬
able correctness, the degree in which the prudential check
to population prevails, whether arising principally from late,
and consequently unprolific marriages, or from a large pro¬
portion of the population dying unmarried.
Referring, then, to the different proportions of births in
different countries as the best criterion of the different de¬
grees in which the prudential restraint on marriage operates,
it will be recollected that these proportions vary from about
one in thirty-six to about one in nineteen or even seventeen,
in different countries, and in a much greater degree in dif¬
ferent parishes or districts.
A particular parish in the Alps has already been men¬
tioned, where the births were only a forty-ninth part of the
population; and it appears by the late returns of the parish
registers of England and Wales, that the births in the coun¬
ty of Monmouth are only one in forty-seven, and in Brecon
one in fifty-three ;5 which, after making ample allowance
for omissions, would show the prevalence of the prudential
restraint on marriage in a high degree.
If in any country all were to marry at twenty or twenty- Effect 0f
one, the proportion of the births would probably be more the absence
than one in nineteen ; and this result would be still more of pruden-
certain if the resources of the country could not support an ti£d re¬
accelerated rate of increase, than if the means of subsistence straint.
were in the greatest abundance, and the demand for labour
as effectual as it has ever been in the United States. Of
the latter supposition, taking the births at one nineteenth,
and the expectation of life the same as it is in England, the
effect would be to occasion a most rapid increase of popu¬
lation ; and the period of doubling, instead of being about
forty-six or forty-eight years, would be less than in America.
On the other hand, if the resources of the country could not
support a more rapid increase than that which has taken
place in England and Wales during the ten years previous
to the census of 1821, the effect would be a great diminu¬
tion in the expectation of life. If the births were one in
nineteen instead of one in nearly thirty, the same rate of
increase would take place as at present if the annual mor¬
tality were increased to about one in twenty-six and a half;
and in that case the expectation of life would be reduced
in the proportion of from forty-one, or, as is more probable,
from above forty-five, to less than twenty-six.6 This is the
kind of effect which must inevitably follow the absence of
the prudential check to marriage and population ; and it
cannot be doubted, that a considerable part of the prema¬
ture mortality which is found to take place in all parts of
the world is occasioned by it. The laws of nature, in ap¬
plication to man as a reasonable being, show no tendency to
destroy half of the human race under the age of puberty.
This is only done in very particular situations, or when the
1 In the first case, the effect is, in a considerable degree, counteracted by the large proportion of children under four years old,
which a rapid increase occasions. In the second case, the effect has no such drawback.
2 Price’s Observations, vol. ii. p. 405, 7th edit. 4 Statistical Annals, p. 48.
3 Ibid, table xlv. vol. ii. p. 413. 5 Preliminary Observations, p. 27-
6 If, as it has appeared, the expectation of life, though by no means the same, does not differ very much from the annual mor¬
tality, and the annual mortality in this country during the ten years from 1810 to 1820, after every abatement, appears to be not
more than one in fifty-one, the expectation of life cannot be less than forty-five, and is probably greater.
-—Cl
T
POPULATION.
Popula- constant admonitions which these laws give to mankind are
tion. obstinately neglected.
357
Objection
to the prin
ciple of
population
arising
from the
mortality
it must oc¬
casion
Objection
-hat mere
tendencies
ire not to
>e consi-
I lered.
It has been said that a tendency in mankind to increase
■at such a rate as would double the population in twenty-five
years, and, if it had full scope, would fill the habitable globe
with people in a comparatively short period, cannot be the
law of nature, as the very different rate of increase which
is actually found to take place must imply such an exces¬
sive degree of mortality and destruction of life as to be
quite irreconcileable with actual facts and appearances. But
the peculiar advantage of a law of increase in a geometri¬
cal progression is, that though its power be absolutely im¬
mense if it be left unchecked, yet, when this becomes im¬
possible, it may be restrained by a comparatively moderate
force. It can never of course happen that any considerable
part of that prodigious increase which might be produced
by an uninterrupted geometrical progression, should exist,
and then be destroyed. The laws of nature, which make
food necessary to the life of man, as well as of plants and
animals, prevent the continued existence of an excess which
cannot be supported, and thus either discourage the pro¬
duction of such an excess, or destroy it in the bud, in such
a way as to make it scarcely perceptible to a careless ob-
sei ver. It has been seen, that in some countries of Europe
where the actual progress of the population is slower than
in many others, as in Switzerland and Norway, for in¬
stance, the mortality is considerably less. Here, then, the
necessity of a greater check to the natural progress of po¬
pulation produces no increase of mortality. And it appears
farther, that even the degree of mortality which in each
year would be sufficient to destroy that excess of births
which would naturally be produced if all married young,
and all could be supported, might take place, and often does
take place in particular situations, and yet is very little no¬
ticed. About the middle of last century, the mortality in
Stockholm and London was about one in nineteen and one
in twenty. This is a degree of mortality which would pro¬
bably keep the births on a level with the deaths, even
though all married at twenty. And yet numbers resorted
both to Stockholm and London from choice, the greater
part probably not aware that, by so doing, they would
shorten their own lives and those of their children ; and
the rest thinking that the difference was not worth attend-
ing to, or was at least balanced by the advantages of socie¬
ty and employment which the town presented. There is
nothing, therefore, in the actual state of the mortality ob¬
served to take place in different countries and situations,
which, in the slightest degree, contradicts the supposition
of a natural tendency to increase quite as great as that
which has been stated.
It has been further remarked, that as, in point of fact, it
\ ery rarely happens that mankind continue to increase in a
geometrical progression of any kind, and only in a single
instance in such a one as to double the population in twen-
ty - ive years, it is useless and absurd to lay any stress upon
tendencies which never for any length of time together
produce their natural effects. But it might really as well
be said, that we are not to estimate the natural rate of in¬
crease in wheat or sheep, as it is quite certain that their
natural tendency to increase has never practically continued
to develope itself for so long a time together as that of
mankind. Both as a physical and even economical ques¬
tion, it is curious and desirable to know the natural law of
increase which prevails among the most important plants
and animals. In the same view, it must be still more in¬
teresting to know the natural law of increase with respect
to man. It may be said, indeed, with truth, that the actual
appearances all around us,—the varying rate of increase in
different countries, its very slow progress or stationary state
m some, and its very rapid progress in others,—must be a
rttereTofllS.TH ‘,U,ite C0Ttry t0 t,’e a"a,ogies of Popula.
all the rest of animated nature ; if the natural tendency of tion.
mankind to increase be not at the least as great as That'—
which is developed under the most favourable circum-
stances while m all others it is kept down by the varyTe
difficulties which the state of the soil and other obstacles
oppose to it. But the question, as it applies to man, as!
sumes at once a tenfold importance, in reference to the
moral and political effects which must result from those
checks to increase, the existence and operation of which in
some form or other, no human exertions can by possibili¬
ty prevent. A field is here opened for the most interest¬
ing inquiries which can engage the friends of human han-
piness. ^
But, as a preliminary to these inquiries, it is obvious that
we must know the degree offeree to be overcome, and the
varying character of the checks which, in the different
countries of the world, are practically found to overcome
it; and, for this purpose, the first step must be an endea-
vour to ascertain the natural law of population, or the rate
at which mankind would increase under the fewest known
obstacles. Nor can this tendency to increase ever safely
be lost sight of in the subsequent inquiries, which have for
their object the improvement of the moral condition of man
in society.
The existence of a tendency in mankind to increase, ifRl>ht of
unchecked, beyond the possibility of an adequate supply ofthe poor to
oo in a limited territory, must at once determine thefohsuP
question as to the natural right of the poor to full support l,ort consi
in a sfatn nf crw-.Iof.. *1— i  _c . . ^ dered.
in a state of society where the law of property is recog¬
nised. The question, therefore, resolves itself chiefly into
a question relating to the necessity of those laws which
establish and protect private property. It has been usual
to consider the right of the strongest as the law of nature
among mankind as well as among brutes ; yet, in so doing,
we at once give up the peculiar and distinctive superiority
of man as a reasonable being, and class him with the beasts
of the field. In the same language, it may be said that the
cultivation of the earth is not natural to man. It certainly
is not to man, considered merely as an animal without rea¬
son. But to a reasonable being, able to look forward to
consequences, the laws of nature dictate the cultivation of
the earth, both as the means of affording better support to
the individual, and of increasing the supplies required for
increasing numbers; the dictates of those laws of nature
being thus evidently calculated to promote the general
good, and increase the mass of human happiness. It is
precisely in the same way, and in order to attain the same
object, that the laws of nature dictate to man the estab¬
lishment of property and the absolute necessity of some
power in the society capable of protecting it. So strongly
have the laws of nature spoken this language to mankind,
and so fully has the force of it been felt, that nothing seems
to be thought so absolutely intolerable to reasonable be¬
ings as the prevalence in the same society of the right of
the strongest; and the history of all ages shows, that if men
see no other way of putting an end to it, than by estab¬
lishing arbitrary power in an individual, there is scarcely
any degree of tyranny, oppression, and cruelty, which they
will not submit to from some single person and his satel¬
lites, rather than be at the mercy of the first stronger man
who may wish to possess himself of the fruit of their labour.
The consequence of this universal and deeply-seated feeling,
inevitably produced by the laws of nature, as applied to
reasonable beings, is, that the almost certain consequence of
anarchy is despotism.
Allowing, then, distinctly, that the right of property is
the creature of positive law, yet this law is so early and so
imperiously forced on the attention of mankind, that if it
cannot be called a natural law, it must be considered as
the most natural as well as the mosi necessary of all posi-
358 POPULATION.
Popula- tive laws; and the foundation of this pre-eminence is its It has been thought that a tendency in mankind to in- Popula.
obvious tendency to promote the general good, and the ob- crease beyond the greatest possible increase of food which v t*on‘
^ v 1<u vious tendency of the absence of it to degrade mankind to could be produced in a limited space, impeaches the good- ^ej. .
the rank of brutes. ness of the Deity, and is inconsistent with the letter and^g1^3
As property is the result of positive law, and the ground spirit of the Scriptures. If this objection were well found- COnsidere(j
on which the law which establishes it rests is the promo- ed, it would certainly be the most serious one which has
tion of the public good and the increase of human happi- been brought forward ; but the answer to it appears to be
ness, it follows, that it may be moditied by the same autho- quite satisfactory, and it may be compressed into a very
rity by which it was enacted, with a view to the more com- small compass.
plete attainment of the objects which it has in view. It First, It appears that the evils arising from the principle
may be said, indeed, that every tax for the use of the go- of population are exactly of the same kind as the evils
vernment, and every country or parish rate, is a modifica- arising from the excessive or irregular gratification of the
tion of this kind. But there is no modification of the law human passions in general, and may equally be avoided by
of property having still for its object the increase of human moral restraint. Consequently, there can be no more rea-
happiness, which must not be defeated by the concession son to conclude, from the existence of these evils, that the
of a right of full support to all that might be born. It may principle of increase is too strong, than to conclude, from
be safely said, therefore, that the concession of such a right, the existence^of the vices arising from the human passions,
and a right of property, are absolutely incompatible, and that these passions are all too strong, and require diminu-
cannot exist together. tion or extinction, instead of regulation and direction.
To what extent assistance may be given even by law to Secondly, It is almost universally acknowledged, that
the poorer classes of society when in distress, without de- both the letter and spirit of revelation represent this world
feating the great object of the law of property, is essentially as a state of moral discipline and probation. But a state of
a different question. It depends mainly upon the feelings moral discipline and probation cannot be a state of un-
and habits of the labouring classes of society, and can only mixed happiness, as it necessarily implies difficulties to be
be determined by experience. If it be generally consider- overcome, and temptations to be resisted. Now, in the whole
ed as so discreditable to receive parochial relief, that great range of the laws of nature, not one can be pointed out
exertions are made to avoid it, and few or none marry with which so especially accords with this scriptural view of the
a certain prospect of being obliged to have recourse to it, state of man on earth ; as it gives rise to a greater variety
there is no doubt that those who were really in distress of situations and exertions than any other, and marks, in a
might be adequately assisted, with little danger of a con- more general and stronger manner, and nationally as well
stantly increasing proportion of paupers ; and in that case as individually, the different effects of virtue and vice, of the
a great good would be attained, without any proportionate proper government of the passions, and the culpable indul-
evil to counterbalance it. But if, from the numbers of the gence of them. It follows, then, that the principle of popu-
dependent poor, the discredit of receiving relief is so di- lation, instead of being inconsistent with Revelation, must be
minished as to be practically disregarded, so that many considered as affording strong additional proofs of its truth,
marry with the almost certain prospect of becoming pau- Lastly, It will be acknowledged, that in a state of pro¬
pers, and the proportion of their numbers to the whole po- bation, those laws seem best to accord with the views of a
pulation is in consequence continually increasing, it is cer- benevolent Creator, which, while they furnish the difficul-
tain that the partial good attained must be much more than ties and temptations which form the essence of such a state,
counterbalanced by the general deterioration in the condi- are of such a nature as to reward those who overcome them
tion of the great mass of the society, and the prospect of with happiness in this life as well as in the next. But the
its daily growing worse; so that, though, from the inade- law of population answers particularly to this description,
quate relief which is in many cases granted, the manner in Each individual has the power of avoiding the evil conse-
which it is conceded, and other counteracting causes, the quences to himself and society resulting from it, by the
operation of poor-laws such as they exist in England might practice of a virtue dictated to him by the light of nature,
be very different from the effects of a full concession of the and sanctioned by revealed religion. And as there can be
right, and a complete fulfilment of the duties resulting from no question that this virtue tends greatly to improve the
it, yet such a state of things ought to give the most se- condition and increase the comforts both of the individuals
rious alarm to every friend to the happiness of society, and who practise it, and through them of the whole society, the
every effort consistent with justice and humanity ought to ways of God to man with regard to this great law are com¬
be made to remedy it. But whatever steps may be taken pletely vindicated,
on this subject, it will be allowed, that with any prospect of
legislating for the poor with success, it is necessary to be Subjoined are two tables, which may assist the reader in
fully aware of the natural tendency of the labouring classes calculating the rate of increase in different countries, under
of society to increase beyond the demand for their labour, different circumstances, and from different data. The first
or the means of their adequate support, and of the effect of is the table calculated by Euler, and printed in Mr Mal-
this tendency to throw the greatest difficulties in the way thus’s work, at the end of his chapter on the Fruitfulness
of permanently improving their condition. of Marriage ; and the second has been calculated by Mr
It would lead far beyond the limits which must be pre- Bridge of Cambridge, well known as an able mathematician,
scribed to this article, to notice all the various objections and most useful elementary writer.
which have been made by different writers to the princi- The first is to be used when it is wished to estimate the
pies which have been here explained. Those which con- rate of increase by the proportions of the births to the
tain in them the slightest degree of plausibility have been deaths, and of these to the whole population. The yearly
answered by Mr Malthus in various parts of the late edi- increase of people, independently of immigration, is the
tions of his work, and particularly in the appendix to the yearly excess of the births above the deaths ; and the yearly
fifth edition, to which we refer the reader. We will only, rate of increase is measured by the proportion which this
therefore, further notice the objection which has been made excess bears to the whole population. The fraction ex-
by some persons on religious grounds; for, as it is certainly pressing the deaths must therefore be subtracted from the
of great importance that the answer which has been given fraction expressing the births, and the remainder will be
to it should be kept in mind, we cannot refuse a place to a the fraction expressing the yearly rate of increase; oppo-
condensed statement of it at the end of this article. site to which will be found the number of years in which
POPULATION.
359
popula- the population will double itself, supposing the yearly rate of
ti°n. increase to continue the same for a sufficient length of time.
The second table is to be used when it is wished to
know the period of doubling, resulting from a given per
centage increase in ten years, determined by enumeration.
An estimate of population from births and deaths is always
liable to much uncertainty, on account of the varying pro¬
portions which they bear to the population. The only re¬
medy for this uncertainty is a census; and as the useful
custom of taking a census of the population every ten years Popula-
has latterly prevailed in some countries, the second table is tion-
constructed to show the period of doubling, or general rate ' v—■
of increase, which results from any given per centage in¬
crease in ten years. The first column represents the per
centage increase in ten years determined by two enumera¬
tions ; and the second column the number of years in which
the population will double itself, supposing it to proceed at
the same rate.
TABLE I.
The Propor¬
tion of the
Excess of
Births above
the Deaths
to the whole
of the Living.
Periods of
Doubling in
Years and
Ten Thou¬
sandth Parts.
10
11
12
13
14
\ 15
16
17
18
19
L20
1: ^
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
r 32
34
36
38
1 : <!
! 40
42
44
46
48
150
f 55
60
65
70
75
80
85
90
95
Uoo
7*2722
7*9659
8*6595
9*3530
10*0465
10*7400
11*4333
12*1266
12*8200
13*5133
14*2066
14*9000
15*5932
16*2864
16*9797
17*6729
18*3662
19*0594
19*7527
20*4458
21*1391
22*5255
23*9119
25*2983
26*6847
28*0711
29*4574
30*8438
32*2302
33*6161
35*0029
38*4687
41*9345
45*4003
48*8661
52*3318
55*7977
59*2634
62*7292
66*1950
69*6607
The Propor¬
tion of the
Excess of
Births above
the Deaths
to the whole
of the Living.
mo
120
130
140
150
160
170
180
190
200
f210
220
230
240
250
, 260
270
280
290
1300
1: <!
f 310
320
330
340
350
360
370
380
390
400
1:
410
420
430
440
450
460
470
480
490
1500
1: 1000
Periods of
Doubling in
Years and
Ten Thou¬
sandth Parts
76*5923
83*5230
90*4554
97*3868
104*3183
111*2598
118*1813
125*1128
132*0443
138*9757
145*9072
152*8387
159*7702
166*7017
173*6332
180*5647
187*4961
194*4275
201*3590
208*2905
215*2220
222*1535
229*0850
236*0164
242*9479
249*8794
256*8109
263*7425
270*6740
277*6055
284*5370
291*4685
298*4000
305*3314
312*2629
319*1943
326*1258
333*0573
339*9888
346*9202
693*49
TABLE II.
Per Cent¬
age In¬
crease in
Ten Years.
Period of
Doubling.
1*
1*5
2*
2*5
3*
3*5
4*
4*5
5*
5*5
6*
6*5
7*
7*5
8*
8*5
9*
9*5
10*
10*5
11-
11*5
12-
12*5
13*
13*5
14*
14*5
15*
15*5
16*
16*5
17-
17*5
18*
18*5
19*
19*5
20*
20*5
21-
21*5
22*
22*5
23-
Years.
696*60
465*55
350*02
280*70
234*49
201*48
176*73
157*47
142*06
129*46
118*95
110*06
102*44
95*84
90*06
84*96
80*43
76*37
72*72
69*42
66*41
63*67
61*12
58*06
56*71
54*73
52*90
51*19
49*59
48*10
46*70
45*38
44*14
42*98
41*87
40*83
39*84
38*91
38*01
37*17
36*36
35*59
34*85
34*15
33*48
Per Cent¬
age In¬
crease in
Ten Years,
23*5
24*
24*5
25*
25*5
26*
26*5
27*
27*5
28*
28*5
29*
29*5
30*
30*5
31*
31*5
32*
32*5
33*
33*5
34*
34*5
35*
35*5
36*
36*5
37*
37*5
38*
38*5
39*
39*5
40*
41*
42*
43*
44*
45*
46*
47*
48*
49-
50-
Period of
Doubling.
Years.
32*83
32*22
31*63
31*06
30*51
29*99
29*48
28*99
28*53
28*07
27*65
27*22
26*81
26*41
26*03
25*67
25*31
24*96
24*63
24*30
23*99
23*68
23*38
2309
22*81
22*54
22*27
22*01
21*76
21*52
21*28
21*04
20*82
20*61
20*17
19*76
19*37
19*00
18*65
18*31
17*99
17*68
17*38
17*06
For the population of the British Islands, see the articles England, Scotland, and Ireland.
(t. r. m.)
360 FOR
Pjramushir PORAMUSHIR, an island in the Pacific, belonging
II to Russia, the largest of the Kurile.group, extending from
Pordenone. n.E. to S.W., 35 miles S. of Cape Lopatka-irr Kamtschatka.
/^L It is about 60 miles in length, by,20 in breadth ; and the
surface is for the most part hilly and bare. Bears, foxes,
otters, and wolves are found on it; and seals and fish are
got in the surrounding seas. The inhabitants, who do not
exceed 400 in number, derive their subsistence from these
animals; and the skins of the fox, otter, and wolf are ex¬
ported from the island.
PORCELAIN. See Pottery.
PORCH, in Greek <rrod, a public portico in Athens,
adorned with the pictures of Polygnotus and other eminent
painters. It was in this portico that Zeno the philosopher
taught; and hence his followers were called Stoics.
PORCQNA, a town of Spain, Andalucia, in the pro¬
vince of Jaen, and 21 miles W.N.W. of the town of that
name. It has clean, well-paved streets, and several squares,
one of which contains the parish church and the public
granary. There are also a town-hall, hospital, several
schools, prisons, &c. Woollen cloth, serge, and soap are
manufactured here. Pop. 5272.
PORDENONE, or Portenau, a town of Austrian
Italy, in the government of Venice, stands on the Non¬
cello, 40 miles N.N.E. of Venice. It is well built, and
surrounded with an old wall; and it contains -several
churches, a convent, hospital, workhouse, and theatre.
Manufactures, especially that of paper, are actively carried
on here; and there is some trade in corn and wine. As
early as the twelfth century, Pordenone belonged to Aus¬
tria, but afterwards passed, with the rest of the province of
Friuli, under the dominion of Venice. Pop. 6300.
PORDENONE, the surname which Giovanni Antonio
Licinio Regillo, an able Italian painter, received from his
birth-place, Pordenone, a small town in Friuli. He was
born in 1483, and acquired a knowledge of art by studying
the works of Pellegrino and Giorgione. In spite, however,
of this inadequate training, a strong and vigorous intellect
soon made him a bold and effective artist. He adorned
many villas and castles in his native district, designing with
an active and ingenious fancy, and executing with a skilful
and rapid hand. He painted many altar-pieces at Udine,
Piacenza, and other cities, cleverly resolving all the diffi¬
culties of his art, and employing the most novel foreshorten¬
ing, the most laboured perspective, and a power of relief
which made his pictures appear as if actually starting from
the canvass. There was no artistic feat indeed, which
could daunt his towering ambition. Happening to take up
his abode in Venice, he was smitten with a desire to rival
the great Titian. This desire in course of time became in¬
flamed into a mania, and actuated his entire conduct. He
toiled night and day at his easel. He tried every conciliat¬
ing art to secure the suffrages of the great and the influen¬
tial. He placed his works on every possible occasion in
juxtaposition to those of his rival. He even carried about
weapons, in order that he might be ready, if every other
method should fail, to decide the contest by physical force.
Nor were these aspirations of Pordenone altogether without
success. Some people really placed him above Titian ;
Charles V. presented him with the title of cavalier; and
Duke Ercole invited him to the court of Ferrara. Other
honours were in store for him, when he was suddenly cut
off in 1539, not without suspicion of having been poisoned.
The best known paintings of Pordenone are the pictures of
FOR
“ St Christopher,” in one of the churches of his native town ; Porism
• “ The Marriage of St Catherine,” in the church of Santa v
Maria della Campagna at Piacenza; and the picture of “ San
Lorenzo Giustiniani,” in the church of Santa Maria delf
Orto at Venice.
PORISM, in Geometry, is a name given by the ancient
geometers to two classes of mathematical propositions.
Euclid applies this name to propositions which are in¬
volved in others which he is professedly investigating,
and which, although they do not form his principal ob¬
ject, are obtained along with it, as is expressed by their
name, porismata, or acquisitions. Such propositions are
now called corollaries. But he gives the same name,
by way of eminence, to a particular class of propositions
which he collected in the course of his researches, and se¬
lected from amongst many others, on account of their great
subserviency to the business of geometrical investigation in
general. These propositions were so named by him, either
from the way in which he discovered them, that is to say,
whilst he was investigating something else, so that they
might be considered as gains or acquisitions, or from their
utility as steps in the investigation. In this sense they are
porismata ; for Tropt^co (from which, according to Proclus,
the term is derived) signifies both to investigate and to ac¬
quire by investigation. These propositions formed a col¬
lection in three books, which was familiarly known to the
ancient geometers by the name of Euclid’s porisms ; and
Pappus of Alexandria says that it was a most ingenious collec¬
tion of many things conducive to the analysis or solution of
the most difficult problems, and which afforded great delight
to those who were able to understand and investigate them.
Unfortunately for mathematical science, this valuable
collection is now lost, and it still remains a doubtful ques¬
tion in what manner the ancients conducted their researches
upon this curious subject. We have, however, reason to
believe that their method was both comprehensive and
excellent; for their analysis led them to many profound
discoveries, and was restricted by the severest logic. The
only account we have of this class of geometrical proposi¬
tions is in a fragment of Pappus, in which he attempts a
general description of them, as a set of mathematical pro¬
positions distinguishable in kind from all others; but of
this description nothing remains, except a criticism on a
definition of the term given by some geometers, namely,
“ A porism is that which is deficient in hypothesis from a
local theorem,” and which he finds fault with, as defining
the porisms only by an accidental circumstance. Pappus
also gives an account of Euclid’s porisms ; but the enuncia¬
tions are so extremely defective, at the same time that they
refer to a figure now lost, that Dr Halley confesses the
fragment in question to be beyond his comprehension.
The high encomiums pronounced by Pappus on these
propositions have excited the curiosity of the greatest geo¬
meters of modern times, who have attempted to discover
their nature and the manner of investigating them. Fer¬
mat gave a few propositions, which have been published in
his Opera (Tolosse, 1679), and Bullialdus, in a tract en¬
titled Exercitationes Geometricce Tres (Paris, 1657), at¬
tempted the same thing, but with less success. Albert
Girard, at a still earlier period, announced that he had re¬
stored the whole of the three books of Euclid, but it does
not appear that this part of his works was ever published.1
At length Dr Simson, professor of mathematics in the
university of Glasgow, was so fortunate as to succeed in
1 In his Trigonometry, published at the Hague in 1629, after enumerating the forms of certain rectilinear figures, Girard adds, “ Le
tout, quand il n’y a que deux lignes qui passant par un point, comme jadis estoyent les Porismes d’Euclid, qui sont perdus, lesquelles
J’espere de mettre bientot en lumiere, les ayant restituez, il y a quelques annees en fa.” A similar announcement is also made by him
in his edition of the works of Stevinus (Lugdum. Batav. 1634, p. 459). Having mentioned that Euclid rarely employs a compound ratio,
he adds, “ Mais il est a estimer qu’il en a plus escrit en ses trois livres de Porismes qui sont perdus, lesquelles, Dieu aidant, J’espere de
mettre en lumiere, les ayant inventez de nouveau.” (See the Preface to Simson’s Tractatus de Porismatibus, in his Opera Iteliqua.)
»
P O R I S M.
Porism. restoring the porisms of Euclid. In the preface to his trea-
'^V-^,'tise De Porismatibus, he gives the following account of his
progress and of the obstacles he encountered : “;Fo,stq,ustm
vero apud Pappum legeram Porismata Euclidis C6Uect'ianem
fuisse artificiosissimam multarum rerum, quae spectant ad
analysin difficiliorum et generalium problematum, magno
desiderio tenebar, aliquid de iis cognoscendi; quare saepius
et multis variisque viis turn Pappi propositionem generalem,
mancam et imperfectum, turn primum lib. 1. Porisma, quod,
ut dictum fuit, solum ex omnibus in tribus libris integrum
adhuc manet, intelligere et restituere conabar ; frustra ta-
men, nihil enim proficiebam. Cumque cogitationes de hac
re multum mihi temporis consumpserint, atque tandem mo-
lestse admodumevaserint, firmiter animum induxi haec nun-
quam in posterum investigare; praesertim cumoptimusGeo-
metra Halleius spem omnem de iis intelligendis abjecisset.
Unde quoties menti occurrebant,toties eas arcebam. Postea
tamen acciditut improvidum et propositi immemorem inva-
serint, meque detinuerint donee tandem lux quaedam efful-
serit quae spem mihi faciebat inveniendi saltern Pappi pro¬
positionem generalem, quam quidem multa investigatione
tandem restitui.”
Dr. Simson’s Restoration has every appearance of being
just. All the lemmas which Pappus has given for the bet¬
ter understanding of Euclid’s propositions are equally appli¬
cable to those of Dr. Simson, which are found to differ from
local theorems precisely as Pappus affirms those of Euclid
to have done. They require a particular mode of ana¬
lysis, and are of immense service in geometrical investiga
tion.
Whilst Dr. Simson was employed in this inquiry, he car¬
ried on a correspondence upon the subject with the late Dr.
Matthew Stewart, Professor of Mathematics in the Univer¬
sity of Edinburgh ; who, besides entering into Dr. Simson’s
views, and communicating to him many curious porisms,
pursued the same subject in a new and very different di¬
rection. He published the result of his inquiries in 1746,
under the title of General Theorems, not wishing to give
them any other name, lest he might appear to anticipate the
labours of his friend and former preceptor. The greater part
of the propositions contained in that work are porisms, but
without demonstration ; and those who wish to investigate
one of the most curious subjects in geometry, will there
find abundance of materials, and an ample field for discus¬
sion.
Dr. Simson defines a porism to be “ a proposition, in
which it is proposed to demonstrate, that one or more things
are given, between which, and every one of innumerable
other things not given, but assumed according to a given
law, a certain relation, described in the proposition, is to be
shewn to take place.”
I his definition is somewhat obscure, but will be plainer if
expressed thus: “ A porism is a proposition affirming the
possibility of finding such conditions as will render a cer-
tain problem indeterminate, or capable of innumerable solu¬
tions. I his definition agrees with Pappus’s idea of these
propositions, as far at least as they can be understood from
the fragment already mentioned ; for the propositions here
defined, like those which he describes, are, strictly speaking,
neither theorems nor problems, but of an intermediate
nature between both. I hey neither simply enunciate a
truth to be demonstrated, nor propose a question to be re¬
solved, but are affirmations of a truth in which the deter¬
mination of an unknown quantity is involved. In as far,
therefore, as they assert that a certain problem may become
indeterminate, they are of the nature of theorems ; and, in
as far as they seek to discover the condition by which that
is brought about, they are of the nature of problems.
In order to give our readers a clear idea of the subject
of porisms, we shall consider them in the way in which it
is probable they occurred to the ancient geometers in the
VOL. XVIII.
361
course of their researches. This will at the same time shew
the nature of tho analysisipeculiar to them, and their great'
use irj ‘the^splufiqq of. problems. °
' P appears-to be ce rtain,' that it has been the solution of
problems which, in all states of the mathematical sciences,
has led to the discovery of geometrical truths. The first
mathematical inquiries, in particular, must have occurred
in the foim of questions, where something was given, and
something required to be done ; and by the reasoning ne¬
cessary to answer these questions, or to discover the rela¬
tion between the things given and those to be found, many
truths were suggested, which came afterwards to be the
subject of separate demonstrations. The number of these
was the greater, because the ancient geometers always un¬
dertook the solution of problems, with a scrupulous and mi¬
nute attention, insomuch that they would scarcely suffer any
of the collateral truths to escape their observation.
Now, as this cautious manner of proceeding was not bet¬
ter calculated to avoid error than to lay hold of every col¬
lateral truth connected with the main object of inquiry, these
geometers soon perceived, that there were many problems
which in certain cases would admit of no solution whatever,
in consequence of a particular relation existing amongst
the quantities which were given. Such problems were said
to become impossible ; and it was soon perceived, that this
always happened when one of the conditions of the problem
was inconsistent with the rest. Thus, when it was required
to divide a line, so that the rectangle contained by its seg¬
ments might be equal to a given space, it was found that
this was possible only when the given space was less than the
square of half the line ; for when it was otherwise, the two
conditions defining, the one the magnitude of the line, and
the other the rectangle of its segments, were inconsistent
with each other. Such cases would occur in the solution
of the most simple problems ; but if they were more com¬
plicated, it must have been remarked, that the constructions
wrould sometimes fail, for a reason directly contrary to that
just now assigned. Cases would occur, where the lines,
which by their intersection were to determine the thing
sought, instead of intersecting each other as they did com¬
monly, or of not meeting at all, as in the above mentioned
case of impossibility, would coincide with one another en¬
tirely, and of course leave the problem unresolved. It would
appear to geometers upon a little reflection, that since, in
the case of determinate problems, the thing required was
determined by the intersection of the two lines already
mentioned, that is, by the points common to both ; so in
the case of their coincidence, as all their parts were in com¬
mon, every one of these points must give a solution, or, in
other words, the solutions must be indefinite in number.
Upon inquiry, it would be found that this proceeded from
some condition of the problem having been involved in an¬
other, so that, in fact, the two formed but one, and thus there
was not a sufficient number of independent conditions to li¬
mit the problem to a single or to any determinate number of
solutions. It would soon be perceived, that these cases
formed very curious propositions of an intermediate nature
between problems and theorems; and that they admitted
of being enunciated in a manner peculiarly elegant and con¬
cise. It was to such propositions that the ancients gave the
name oi'porisms.
This deduction requires to be illustrated by an example.
Suppose, therefrre, that it were required to resolve the fol¬
lowing problem. A circle ABC, (fig. 1), a straight line DE,
and a point F, being given in position, to find a point G in
the straight line DE such, that GF, the line drawn from it
to the given point, shall be equal to GB, the line drawn from
it touching the given circle.
Suppose G to be found, and GB to be drawn touching
the given circle ABC in B, let H be its centre, join HB,
and let HD be perpendicular to DE. From D draw DL,
2 z
Porism.
P O R I S M,
362
Porism.
touching the circle ABC in L, and join HL ; also from the
centre G, with the distance GB or GF, describe the circle
BKF, meeting HD in the points K and K7. It is evident
that HD and DL are given in position and magnitude : also
because GB touches the circle ABC, HBG is a right angle ;
and since G is the centre of the circle BKF, HB touches
that circle, and consequently HB2 or HL2 = KH x HK';
but because KK' is bisected in D, KH x HK'-j-DK2—
DH2, therefore HL2-f DK-=DH2. But HL2 + LD2=
DH2, therefore DK2=DL2 and DK=DL. But DL is
given in magnitude, and consequently K is a given point.
For the same reason K' is a given point, therefore the
point F being given in position, the circle KFK'is given in
position. The point G, which is its centre, is therefore given
in position, which was to be found. Hence this construction:
Having drawn HD perpendicular to DE, and DL touch¬
ing the circle ABC, make DK and DK' each equal to DL,
and find G the centre of the circle described through the
points KTK; that is, let FK' be joined and bisected at
right angles by MN, which meets DE in G, G wall be the
point required; or it will be such a point, that if GB be
drawn touching the circle ABC, and GF to the given point,
GB is equal to GF.
The synthetical demonstration is easily derived from the
preceding analysis ; but it must be remarked, that in some
cases this construction fails. For, first, if F fall anywhere
in DH, as at F', the line MN becomes parallel to DE, and
the point G is nowhere to be found; or, in other words, it
is at an infinite distance from D. This is true in general;
but if the given point F coincide with K, then MN evidently
coincides with DE ; so that, agreeable to a remark already
made, every point of the line DE may be taken for G, and
will satisfy the conditions of the problem; that is to say,
GB will be equal to GK, wherever the point G is taken in
the line DE : the same is true if F coincide with K'. Thus
we have an instance of a problem, and that too a very sim¬
ple one, which, in general, admits but of one solution ; but
which, in one particular case, when a certain relation takes
place among the things given, becomes indefinite, and ad¬
mits of innumerable solutions. The proposition which re¬
sults from this case of the problem is a porism, and may be
thus enunciated:
“A circle ABC being given byposition, and also a straight
line DE, which does not cut the circle, a point K may be
found, such, that if G be any point whatever in DE, the
straight line drawn from G to the point K shall be equal to
^straight line drawn from G touching the given circle
The problem which follows, appears to have led to the
discovery of many porisms.
A circle ABC (fig. 2), and two points D, E, in a diameter
Fig. 1
Fig. 2.
Porism.
of it being given, to find a point F in the circumference of
the given circle, from which, if straight lines be drawn to
the given points E, D, these straight lines shall have to one
another the given ratio of a to /3, which is supposed to be
that of a greater to a less. Suppose the problem resolved,
and that F is found, so that FE has to FD the given ratio
of a to /3; produce EF towards G, bisect the angle EFD
by FL, and DFG by FM : therefore EL : LD :: EF : FD,
that is in a given ratio, and since ED is given, each of the
segments EL, LD, is given, and the pcint L is also given ;
again, because DFG is bisected by FM, EM : MD : : EF :
FD, that is, in a given ratio, and therefore M is given.
Since DFL is half of DFE, and DFM half of DFG, there¬
fore LFM is half of (DFE + DFB), that is, the half of two
right angles, therefore LFM is a right angle ; and since the
points L, M, are given, the point F is in the circumference
of a circle described upon LM as a diameter, and therefore
given in position. Now the point F is also in the circum¬
ference of the given circle ABC, therefore it is in the in¬
tersection of the two given circumferences, and therefore
is found. Hence this construction : Divide ED in L, so
that EL may be to LD in the given ratio of a to 0, and
produce ED also to M, so that EM may be to MD in the
same given ratio of a to 0; bisect LM in N, and from the
centre N with the distance NL, describe the semicircle
LFM ; and the point F, in w’hich it intersects the circle
ABC, is the point required.
The synthetical demonstration is easily derived from the
preceding analysis. It must, however, be remarked, that the
construction fails when the circle LFM falls either wholly
within or wholly without the circle ABC, so that the cir¬
cumferences do not intersect; and in these cases the pro¬
blem cannot be solved. It is also obvious that the con¬
struction will fail in another case, viz. when the two circum¬
ferences LFM, ABC, entirely coincide. In this case, it is
farther evident, that every point in the circumference ABC
will answer the conditions of the problem, which is there¬
fore capable of numberless solutions, and may, as in the for¬
mer instance, be converted into a porism. We are now
to inquire, therefore, in what circumstances the point L will
coincide with A, and also the point M with C, and of con¬
sequence the circumference LFM with ABC. If we sup¬
pose that they coincide, EA : AD : : a : 0:: EC : CD, and
EA : EC : : AD • CD, or by conversion, EA : AC:: AD :
CD—AD : : AD : 2DO, O being the centre of the circle
ABC ; therefore, also, EA : AO :: AD : DO, and by com-
positition, EO : AO : : AO : DO, therefore EO x OD==
AO2. Hence, if the given points E and D (fig. 3), be so si¬
tuated that EO x 0D=A02, and at the same time a : 0 : :
EA : AD : : EC : CD, the problem admits of numberless
solutions ; and if either of the points D or E be given, the
other point, and also the ratio which will render the prob¬
lem indeterminate, may be found. Hence we have this
porism:
“ A circle ABC, and also a point D being given, another
point E may be found, such that the two lines inflected
from these points to any point in the circumference ABC,
P O R I S M.
Porism.
Fig. 3.
shall have to each other a given ratio, which ratio is also to be
found,” Hence also we have an example of the derivation
of porisms from one another, for the circle ABC, and the
points D and E remaining as before, if, through D we draw
any line whatever HDB, meeting the circle in B and H ;
and if the lines EB, EH, be also drawn, these lines will cut
off equal circumferences BE, HG. Let FC be drawn, and
it is plain from the foregoing analysis, that the angles DEC,
CFB, are equal; therefore if OG, OB, be drawn, the an¬
gles BOC, COG, are also equal; and consequently the an¬
gles DOB, DOG. In the same manner, by joining AB,
the angle DBE being bisected by BA, it is evident that the
angle AOF is equal to AOH, and therefore the angle FOB
to HOG ; hence the arch FB is equal to the arch HG. It
is evident that if the circle ABC, and either of the points
DE were given, the other point might be found. There¬
fore we have this porism, which appears to have been the
last but one of the third book of Euclid’s Porisms. “ A
point being given, either within or without a circle given
by position, if there be drawn, anyhow through that point,
a line cutting the circle in two points ; another point may
be found, such, that if two lines be drawn from it to the
points in which the line already drawn cuts the circle, these
two lines will cut off from the circle equal circumferences.”
The proposition from which we have deduced these two
porisms, also affords an illustration of the remark, that the
conditions of a problem are involved in one another in the
porismatic or indefinite case ; for here several independent
conditions are laid down, by the help of which the problem
is to be resolved. Two points D and E are given, from
which two lines are to be inflected, and a circumference
ABC, in which these lines are to meet, as also a ratio which
these lines are to have to each other. Now these condi¬
tions are all independent of one another, so that any one may
be changed without any change whatever in the rest. This
is true in general; but yet in one case, viz. when the points
are so related to another, that the rectangle under their dis¬
tances from the centre is equal to the square of the radius
of the circle, it follows, from the preceding analysis, that the
ratio of the inflected lines is no longer a matter of choice,
but a necessary consequence of this disposition of the points.
From what has been already said, we may trace the im¬
perfect definition of a porism which Pappus ascribes to the
later geometers, viz. that it differs from a local theorem, by
wanting the hypothesis assumed in that theorem. Now, to
understand this, it must be observed, that if we take one of
the propositions called loci, and make the construction of
the figure a part of the hypothesis, we get what was called
by the ancient geometers, a local theorem. If, again, in the
enunciation of the theorem, that part of the hypothesis
which contains the construction be suppressed, the propo¬
sition thence arising will be a porism, for it will enunciate a
truth, and will require to the full understanding and investi¬
gation of that truth, that something should be found, viz. the
circumstances in the construction supposed to be omitted.
Thus, when we say, if from two given points, E, D, two
straight lines EF, FD, are inflected to a third point F, so
as to be to one another in a given ratio, the point F is in
the circumference of a given circle, we have a locus. But
when conversely, it is said, if a circle ABC, of which the
centre is O, be given by position, as also a point E ; and if'
D be taken in the line EO, so that EO x OD-AO^ nnrl
if from E and D the lines EF, DF be inflected to’ any
point of the circumference ABC, the ratio of EF to DF will
be given, viz. the same with that of EA to AD, we have a
local theorem.
Lastly, when it is said, if a circle ABC be given by po¬
sition^ and also a point E, a point D may be found, such
that if EF, FD be inflected from E and D to any point F
in the circumference ABC, these lines shall have a given
ratio to one another, the proposition becomes a porism, and
is the same that has just now been investigated.
Hence it is evident, that the local theorem is changed
into a porism, by leaving out what relates to the determi¬
nation of D, and of the given ratio. But though all propo¬
sitions formed in this way from the conversion of loci, are
porisms, yet all porisms are not formed from the conver¬
sion of loci; the first, for instance, of the preceding, can¬
not, by conversion, be changed into a locus ; therefore Fer¬
mat’s idea of porisms, founded upon this circumstance, could
not fail to be imperfect.
If the idea which wre have given of these propositions be
just, it follows, that they are to be discovered by consider¬
ing those cases in which the construction of a problem fails,
in consequence of the lines which by their intersection, or
the points which by their position, were to determine the
problem required, happening to coincide with one another.
A porism may therefore be deduced from the problem to
which it belongs, just as propositions concerning the maxi¬
ma and minima of quantities are deduced from the pro¬
blems of which they form limitations ; and such is the most
natural and obvious analysis of which this class of proposi¬
tions admits. ,
Another general remark which may be made on the an¬
alysis of porisms is, that it often happens that the magni¬
tudes required may all, or a part of them, be found by con¬
sidering the extreme cases ; but for the discovery of the
relation between them, and the indefinite magnitudes, we
must have recourse to the hypothesis of the porism in its
most general or indefinite form ; and must endeavour so to
conduct the reasoning, that the indefinite magnitudes may
at length totally disappear, and leave a proposition assert¬
ing the relation between determinate magnitudes only.
For this purpose accordingly Dr. Simson frequently employs
two statements of the general hypothesis, which he compares
together. This double statement, however, cannot be made
without rendering the in-
363
Porism.
Fig. 4.
vestigation long and com
plicated; nor is it even ne¬
cessary, for it may be avoid¬
ed by having recourse to
simpler jooWsiws, or to loci,
or to propositions of the
data. The porism which
follow's, is given as an ex¬
ample where thic is done
with some difficulty, but
with considerable advan¬
tage, both with regard to
the simplicity and shortness
of the demonstration. It
will be proper to premise
the following lemma.
Let AB (fig. 4.) be a straight line, and D, L any two
points in it, one of which D is between A and B ; also let
CL be any straight line. Then shall
“•AD« + -£l'ALS + ^ -BL* + 4?DIA
CL
CL
For place CL perpendicular to AB;i and through the points
364
PO R
Porism.
A, C, B describe a circle, and let CL meet the circle a^ain
'in E, and join AE, BE. Also draw DG parallel to CE,
meeting AL and BE in H and G, and draw EK parallel to
AB. 1 hen, from the elements of geometry,
CL : LB :: (LA : LE :: ) LA2 : LA x LE,
and hence LA x LE=-^?--LA2.
L/ Li
Also CL : LA :: (LB : LE ::) LB2 : LB x LE,
LA
and hence LB X LE=-^--LB2.
Li
Now CL : LB :: LA : LE :: EK or LD : KH,
and CL : LA :: LA : LE :: EK or LD : KG,
therefore, CL : AB :: (LD : GH ::) LD2 : EKx GH,
AB
and hence EK X GH=-^—-LD2.
Li
From the three equations now deduced, there results
L?.LA*+^.LB2+~.LD2=ABxLE+EKxGH,
LiO .LC/ GIj
Again, because
CL : LA :: (LB : LE :: DB : DG ::) DB2 : DB xDG,
T.A
therefore DB x DG^-^p-DB2. And because
CLi
CL : LB :: (LA : LE :: DA : DH ::) DA2 : DA x DH,
therefore DA x DH— -'-—.DA2. From the result of these
Li
two last propositions we have
i^-D A* +-~DB2=D A x DH + DB x DG;
But DA x DH=ftc?ce trian. ADH. and DB x T)G—twice
trian. BDG, and therefore DA x DH + DB x DG=2
{trian. trian. BDG)=2 {trian. AEB-J-^r/an.
HEG)=AB x LE-{-EKx HG. Now it has been proved,
that DA x DH+DB x DG^-^r-‘DA2 +-^T-Br)2» and
that ABxLE + EKxHG=LIL-LA2+LL-LB2 +
-^-•LD 2, therefore-^-- AD 2 + ^BD 2=-^-AL2+
LA AB
-^•BL2*—-DL2, as was to be demonstrated.
CLi CL
Pouism. Let there be three straight lines AB, AC,
CB given in po¬
sition ; (fig. 5)
and from any
point whatever in
one of them, as D,
let perpendicu¬
lars be drawn to
the other two, as
DF, DE, a point
G may be found,
such, that if GD
be drawn from it
to the point D,
the square of that
line shall have a
given ratio to the
sum of thesquares
of the perpendi¬
culars DF and
DE, which ratio
is to be found.
Draw AH, I 5K perpendicular to BC and AC; and in
Fig. 5.
c
ISM.
AB take L, so that AL : LB :: AH2 : BK2 :: AC2 : CB2. Porism.
The point L is therefore given ; and if a line N be taken,
so as to have to AL the same ratio that AB2 has to AH2,
N will be given in magnitude. Also, since AH2 : BK2 ::
AL : LB, and AH2 : AB2 :: AL : N, ex equo, BK2 : AB2
:: LB : N. Draw LO, LM perpendicular to AC, CB ;
LO, LM are therefore given in magnitude. Now, because
AB2 : BK2 :: AD2 : DF2, N : LB :: AD2 : DF2, and DF2
—-(^--AD2. For the same reason DE2=:47--PD2.
N N
L09^=^-AL2, and LM2=^-BL2.
- N N
But, by the preceding lemma, -L^-*AD2-}--:^L.BD2-_:
T B AT AB
—^rr—'AL2 H—*BL2 4- ——-‘DL2; that is, DE2+DF2
N N 1 N 1
AB
= L02d-LM2-}——-'DL2. Join LG, then by hypo¬
thesis L02 + LM2 has to LG2, the same ratio as DF2
-^DE2 has to DG2 ; let it be that of II to N, then LO2
+ LM2r=-^.LG2; and therefore DE2+ DF2=^.LG2-i-
—.DL2; but DE24-DF2=^.DG2; therefore,-^.LG2
N 1 N N
+ irDL-tt00' and T?-DL-T^DG2-LGa)i
therefore DG2—LG2 has to DL2 a constant ratio, viz.
that of AB to R. The angle DLG is therefore a right
angle, and the ratio of AB to R that of equality, otherwise
LD would be given in magnitude, contrary to the supposi¬
tion. LG is therefore given in position : and since R : N ::
AB : N :: L02-f-LM2 : LG2 ; therefore the square of
LG, and consequently LG, is given in magnitude. The
point G is therefore given, and also the ratio of DE2rrDF2
to DG2, which is the same with that of AB to N.
The construction easily follows from the analysis, but it
may be rendered more simple; for since AH2 : AB2 : :
AL : N, and BK2: AB2:: BL : N; therefore AH2-}- BK2:
AB- :: AB : N. Likewise, if AG, BG, be joined, AB :
N :: AH2 : AG2, and AB : N :: BK2 : BG2 ; wherefore,
AB : N :: AH2-j-BK2 : AG2-f-BG2, but it was proved
that AB : N :: AH2-j-BK2 : AB2, therefore AG2-|-BG2
=AB2 ; therefore the angle AGB is a right angle, and
AL : LG :: LG : LB. If therefore AB be divided in L,
so that AL : LB :: AH2 : BK2 ; and if LG, a mean pro¬
portional between AL and LB, be placed perpendicular to
AB, G will be the point required.
The step in the analysis, by which a second introduction
of the general hypothesis is avoided, is that in which the
angle GLD is concluded to be a right angle ; which fol¬
lows from DG2—GL2 having a given ratio to LD2,atthe
same time that LD is of no determinate magnitude. For, if
possible, let GLD be obtuse, (fig.
6,) and let the perpendicular from Fig. 6.
G to AB meet in V, therefore
V is given : and since GD2—LG2
=LD2 x 2DL x LV ; therefore,
by the supposition, LD2-}-2 DL
X LV must have a given ratio to
LD2 ; therefore the ratio of LD2
to DLx VL, that is, of LD to
VL, is given, so that VL being
given in magnitude, LD is also
given. But this is contrary to
the supposition ; for LD is inde¬
finite by hypothesis, and therefore GLD cannot be obtuse,
P O R I S M.
365
Porism. nor any other than a right angle. The conclusion that is
i^»Y here drawn immediately from the indetermination of LD
would be deduced, according to Dr. Simson’s method, by
assuming another point D7 any how, and fiom the supposi¬
tion that GD'2—GL2 : LD/2:: GD2—GL2 : LD2, it would
easily appear that GLD must be a right angle, and the
ratio that of equality.
These porisms facilitate the solution of the general prob¬
lems from which they are derived. For example, let three
straight lines AB, AC, BC, (fig. 5), be given in position,
and also a point R, to find a point D in one of the given
lines, so that DE and DF being drawn perpendicular to
BC, AC, and DR, joined ; DE2+DF2 may have to DR2
a given ratio. It is plain, that having found G, the pro¬
blem would be nothing more than to find D, such that the
ratio of GD2 to DR2, and therefore that of GD to DR,
might be given, from which it would follow, that the point
D is in the circumference of a given circle, as is well known
to geometers.
The same porism also assists in the solution of another
problem. For if it were required to find D such that DE2
-j-DF2 might be a given space; having found G, DG2
would have to DE2-f-DF2 a given ratio, and DG would
therefore be given ; whence the solution is obvious.
The connection of this porism with the impossible case
of the problem is evident; the point L being that from
which, if perpendiculars be drawn to AC and CB, the sum
of their squares is the least possible. For since DF2 +
DE2 : DG2 :: L02-f LM2 : LG2 ; and since LG is less
than DG, L02 + LM2 must be less than DF24-DE2.
It is evident from what has now appeared, that in some
instances at. least there is a close connection between these
propositions and the maxima or minima, and of conse¬
quence the impossible cases of problems. The nature of
this connection requires to be farther investigated, and is
the more interesting because the transition from the inde¬
finite to the impossible case seems to be made with won¬
derful rapidity. Thus in the first proposition, though there
be not properly speaking an impossible case, but only one
where the point to be found goes off in infinitum, it may
be remarked, that if the given point F (fig. 1), be anywhere
out of the line HD, the problem of drawing GB equal to GF
is always possible, and admits of just one solution ; but if F
be in DH, the problem admits of no solution at all, the
point being then at an infinite distance, and therefore im¬
possible to be assigned. There is, however, this exception,
that if the given point be at K in this same line, DH is de¬
termined by making DK equal to DL. Then every point
in the line DE gives a solution, and may be taken for the
point G. Here therefore the case of numberless solutions,
and of no solution at all, are as it were conterminal, and so
close to one another, that if the given point be at K the
problem is indefinite; but if it remove ever so little from
K, remaining at the same time in the line DH, the problem
cannot be resolved. This affinity might have been deter¬
mined a priori; for, as we have seen, it is a general prin¬
ciple, that a problem is converted into a porism when one
or when two of the conditions of it necessarily involve in
them some one of the rest. Suppose, then, that two of the
conditions are exactly in that state which determines the
third ; then whilst they remain fixed or given, should that
third one vary or differ ever so little from the state requir¬
ed by the other two, a contradiction will ensue. Therefore
if, in the hypothesis of a problem, the conditions be so re¬
lated to one another as to render it indeterminate, a porism
is produced ; but if, of the conditions thus related to one
another, some one be supposed to vary, whilst the others
continue the same, an absurdity follows, and the problem
becomes impossible. Wherever, therefore, any problem ad¬
mits both of an indeterminate and an impossible case, it is
certain, that these cases are nearly related to one another,
and that some of the conditions by which they are produced Porism.
are common to both.
It is supposed above, that two of the conditions of a
problem involve in them a third ; and wherever that hap¬
pens, the conclusion which has been deduced will invari¬
ably take place. But a porism may in some cases be so
simple as to arise from the mere coincidence of one condi¬
tion with another, though in no case whatever can any in¬
consistency take place between them. There are, how¬
ever, comparatively few porisms so simple in their origin,
or that arise from problems where the conditions are but
little complicated; for it usually happens that a problem
which can become indefinite may also become impossible ;
and if so, the connection already explained never fails to
take place.
Another species of impossibility may frequently arise
from the porismatic case of a problem which will affect in
some measure the application of geometry to astronomy, or
any of the sciences depending upon experiment or observa¬
tion. For when a problem is to be resolved by means of
data furnished by experiment or observation, the first thing
to be considered is, whether the data so obtained be suffi¬
cient for determining the thing sought ; and in this a very
erroneous judgment maybe formed, if we rest satisfied with
a general view of the subject. For though the problem may
in general be resolved from the data with which we are
provided, yet these data may be so related to one another
in the case under consideration, that the problem will be¬
come indeterminate, and instead of one solution w’ill admit
of an indefinite number. This we have already found to
be the case in the foregoing propositions. Such cases may
not indeed occur in any of the practical applications of ge¬
ometry ; but there is one of the same kind which has actu¬
ally occurred in astronomy. Sir Isaac Newton, in his Prin-
cipia, has considered a small part of the orbit of a comet as
a straight line described with an uniform motion. From
this hypothesis, by means of four observations made at pro¬
per intervals of time, the determination of the path of the
comet is reduced to this geometrical problem. Four straight
lines being in position, it is required to draw a fifth line
across them, so as to be cut by them into three parts, hav¬
ing given ratios to one another. Now this problem had
been constructed by Dr. Wallis and Sir Christopher Wren,
and also in three different ways by Sir Isaac himself in dif¬
ferent parts of his works ; yet none of these geometers ob¬
served that there was a particular situation of the lines
in which the problem admitted of innumerable solutions ;
and this happens to be the very case in which the problem
is applicable to the determination of the comet’s path, as
was first discovered by Boscovich, who was led to it by
finding, that in this way he could never determine the path
of a comet with any degree of certainty.
The preceding account of this interesting branch of the
ancient geometry, is taken from a very elegant and elabor¬
ate paper, On the Origin and Investigation of Porisms,
by the late Professor Playfair, published in the third volume
of the Transactions of the Royal Society of Edinburgh, and
also in his collected Works, (vol. iii. p. 178.) For further
particulars on the subject, the reader may consult the ori¬
ginal paper of Professor Playfair; Dr. Simson’s treatise,
De Porismatibus, contained in his Opera Peliqua ; a paper
in the fourth volume of the Edinburgh Transactions, by
Professor Wallace, entitled, Some Geometrical Porisms,
with examples of their application to the Solution of Pro¬
blems ; Dr. Traill’s Account of the Life and Writings of
Robert Simson, M.D.; and Professor Leslie’s Geometrical
Analysis. At the end of Dr. Stewart’s General Theorems,
above mentioned, five very remarkable porisms are enunci¬
ated, the demonstration of the first of which is given in
Leybourn’s Mathematical Repository, (vol.i.) and of the re¬
maining four in the fifth volume of the same work published
366
P O R
FOR
Porlock in 1830. The algebraic analysis may frequently be applied
^ II with great advantage in the investigation of porisms, but
'vorP this manner of treating the subject does not come within
^ v the scope of the present article.
POROS (anciently Sphcerio), an island of Greece, at
the S.E. entrance of the Gulf of iEgina, separated from the
mainland by a narrow channel. It is hilly and of volcanic
origin. A town of the same name occupies a singular po¬
sition among the dark-coloured rocks on the south coast.
Poros is the national arsenal of Greece, and has a small
naval yard and a harbour between the island and the main¬
land. Pop. 7000, chiefly Albanians.
PORPHYREON (Ilop^vpeW; Eth. Ilop^vpecuvio?,
IIop(j!>i;peMvtr>js), a city of Phoenicia, referred to by Scylax,
situated between Berytus and Sidon, and marked in the
Jerusalem Itinerary (where it is written Parphirion), as 8
Roman miles north of Berytus. Procopius speaks of it as
a village built upon the coast. {Hist. Arc., c. 30, p. 164.)
Polybius mentions it, and relates that it was situated in the
neighbourhood of Platanus. It would seem accordingly to
be correctly placed at the Kh&n Neby Yiinas, where Po-
cocke records that he witnessed numerous broken pillars, a
Corinthian capital, and various ruins on each side of a
mountain torrent. In the side of this mountain there are
tombs, extensively excavated, at the back of the Khan,
which must once have belonged to an ancient city. Por-
phyreon was made a bishopric under the metropolitan of
Tyre ; and Justinian is said to have erected a church to the
Virgin at that place. (Robinson’s Researches, vo\. iii.)
PORPHYRY (Ilop^aptos), a celebrated Neo-Platonist,
and an antagonist of Christianity, was born at Tyre, of a
distinguished family, in a.d. 233. His original name was
Malchus, a word signifying king; but he received his usual
designation, in allusion to the colour of his robes, from
his master Longinus. When very young he was placed
under the instruction of Origen, most probably at Caesarea.
On removing to Athens, he took lessons from Apollonius
and Longinus. At the age of twenty he went to Rome
to visit Plotinus, but finding that the latter had closed his
instructions there, he returned to the East. For the next
ten years of his life nothing is known regarding him.
Plotinus having returned to Rome, Porphyry, then in his
thirtieth year, joined Antonins of Rhodes, and went in
quest of the great Neo-Platonist. Among his earliest
works in the city of Rome was to assail a dogma of Plo¬
tinus in a written treatise. Amelius, the pupil and friend
of Plotinus, drew up a reply, which was met by Porphyry,
and a rejoinder was called for from Amelius. This re¬
joinder satisfied the inquirer, and he wrote a recantation.
Porphyry gained so thoroughly the confidence and appro¬
bation of Plotinus that he was regarded by the latter as
the ornament of his school. The Tyrian had assigned to
him the task of correcting and arranging the writings of his
master. After a six years’ acquaintanceship, Porphyry,
at the advice of Plotinus, retired to Sicily. Here he oc¬
cupied himself, according to Eusebius, in writing his treatise
against the Christian religion, in 15 books. He subse¬
quently visited Carthage, and ultimately settled at Rome,
where his instructions were held in great esteem by the
Senate and the people. He married Marcella, a widow
with seven children, when far advanced in life, to enjoy, as
he expressed it, the pleasure of superintending their educa¬
tion. Ten months after his marriage he had occasion to
leave home, and wrote to his wife a consolatory epistle,
which is still extant. Porphyry probably died about a.d.
305 or 306.
The philosophical doctrines of Porphyry were in all re¬
spects identical with those of Plotinus. He was a man of
great abilities and very extensive learning. Yet he is
charged with inconsistencies and contradictions. As a
writer he is tolerably clear; and not unfrequently exhibits
strokes of vigorous imagination. Though much less con¬
fused than his master, he was likewise much less profound.
Of the very numerous writings of Porphyry nineteen are
still extant in whole or in part, including his works on
portions of Aristotle ; while no less than thirty-seven are
said to be lost. (Fabric. Bibl. Grccc., vol. v. ; Ritter,
Geschichte der Philosophic, vol. iv.; and Smith’s Diction¬
ary of Greek and Roman Biog. and Myth.)
PORSENA, or Porsenna, Lars, king of the Etruscan
town of Clusium, plays an important part in one of the
Roman wars as narrated by Livy. Espousing the cause
of the expelled Roman monarch Tarquin the Proud, he
advanced southward towards the banks of the Tiber at the
head of a formidable army. The terrified rustics fled be¬
fore him, carrying the news of his approach to the Roman
forces on the Janiculum; the Roman forces at his first ap¬
pearance retreated in panic across the Pons Sublicius; and
the capture of the city seemed to be already within his reach.
Yet at this juncture he began to find that although he could
overwhelm the collected strength of Rome, he was no match
for the indomitable spirit that animated each individual
of the race. Horatius Codes, bringing up the rear of the
fugitives, stopped up the entrance to the bridges with his
body ; kept back the pressing pursuers with the prowess of
his single arm; and not until his countrymen had all crossed,
and the bridge had been broken down behind him, did he
throw himself into the Tiber and swim to the other side
amidst a continuous shower of arrows. The enemy was thus
compelled to sit down on the further side of the river, and
turn the attack into a blockade. But even in that safe
position, and in the character of a conqueror and besieger,
the king was again destined to be foiled by a simple citizen
of Rome. One day, as he was sitting in his tent surrounded
by attendants, his secretary was struck down by his side.
The assassin was seized, and was discovered to be a Roman
in disguise. On being arraigned, he fearlessly confessed
that his name was Caius Mucius; that he had come with
the intent of slaying the king, but had mistaken his victim ;
and that there were many other youths in Rome who had
sworn to repeat, if necessary, the same attempt. On being
threatened with torture, he thrust his hand in among the
live coals on the altar, held up his flaming fingers before
them, and told them to try torture if they thought it could
have any effect. The king, despairing of conquering a state
which contained such citizens as Caius Mucius and Hora¬
tius Codes, immediately came to terms with the besieged.
The Romans agreed to restore the land which they had
taken from the Veientines, and Porsena receiving hos¬
tages, raised the blockade, and returned to Clusium.
This story of Porsena, however, receives from other
authors a colouring considerably different from that which
Livy gives it. Tacitus relates that the city was actually cap¬
tured. Pliny gives us to understand that the citizens were
so thoroughly crushed, that they durst not use iron for any
other purpose than agriculture. From Dionysius of Hali¬
carnassus we infer that the Romans sent to the Etruscan
king, as an acknowledgment of their vassalage, an ivory
throne, and other insignia of royalty. Taking the com¬
bined evidence of those writers, as well as additional
grounds, Niebuhr and other modern historians conclude, that
Porsena really subdued the Romans, and instead of receiv¬
ing the territory of the Veientines by negotiation, actually
wrested it with the strong hand of a conqueror.
PORSON, Richard, the greatest verbal critic and
classical scholar of modern times, born on the 25th of
December 1759, was the son of Huggin Person, parish
clerk of East Ruston, near North Walsham, in Norfolk.
His father taught him, in his childhood, to practise all
the common rules of arithmetic by memory only; and,
before he was nine years old, he had learned to extract the
cube root in this manner. At the same time, for teaching
Porsen
II
Porson
FOR
Person, him to read and write, he employed the method which has
since been generally introduced into the schools of mutual
instruction, making him draw the letters with chalk or on
sand ; and the neatness and accuracy of his hand-writing,
for which he was distinguished through life, may be con¬
sidered as bearing ample testimony to his father’s ingenuity
and success.
At the age of nine he was sent to a village school, kept
by a Mr Summers; but his father still made him repeat by
heart in the evening the whole of the lessons of the day;
and there seems to be sufficient evidence for considering
this practice of exercising the memory continually, in very
early life, as the best, if not the only method of cultivating,
if not of producing great talent. Mr Hewitt, the vicar of
the parish of East Ruston, hearing of young Person’s un¬
common capacity, undertook to instruct both him and his
brother Thomas in classical literature; and when he was
about fifteen, Mr Norris, a wealthy and respectable gentle¬
man of the neighbourhood, having ascertained the truth of
the reports that he heard of him, resolved to be at the
expense of sending him to Eton.
At Eton his talents procured him the friendship and ad¬
miration of the seniors amongst his school-fellows, and upon
the unfortunate death of his first patron, Mr Norris, he
found a number of liberal contributors, who slept forward
to supply the deficiency ; but by far the most active of them
was Sir George Baker, then president of the Royal Col¬
lege of Physicians, a man as much distinguished by his
own classical taste and acquirements, as by his laudable dis¬
position to cherish learning in others. He received the boy
into his house for a vacation, and undertook, at the request
of a relation of Mr Norris, the disagreeable task of receiv¬
ing, in small sums, as much as was sufficient to purchase an
income of L.80 a year, for a few years, in the short annui¬
ties, which served, with great economy, to enable him to
remain at Eton. This favour appears to have been too
great to be properly acknowledged, or perhaps even duly
appreciated, by its object, who only after many years paid
Sir George the tardy compliment of a dedication, not, how¬
ever, of an edition, but of a handsome copy of a single play
of Euripides. In his own opinion, Person learned little at
Eton besides the quantity of syllables, being able to repeat
by heart before he went there the principal part of the
authors that he had to read,—that is, almost the whole of
Horace and Virgil, the Iliad, and many parts of Cicero,
Livy, and the Odyssey. A story is accordingly told of his
book having been changed by one of his schoolfellows in
joke, when he was going up to a lesson in Horace, and of
his having read and translated what was required of him,
without at all betraying the change to his master. At the
same time, the emulation of a public school must have been
a great advantage to him, as affording him a motive for
exertion in his exercises, whether they w'ere to be called
his own, or to be written for other boys. It wras a copy of
Toup’s Longinus, presented to him as a reward for a good
exercise, that first gave him a decided inclination for the
pursuit of critical researches; but he always considered
Bentley and Dawes as his great masters in criticism.
In 1777 he was sent to Irinity College, Cambridge, and
at first he began to apply more particularly to the mathe¬
matics, which had been the favourite study of his boyhood,
and in which, as he himself remarked, his proficiency first
brought him into a certain degree of public notice. He
was, however, soon diverted from this pursuit, although he
attained a place amongst the senior optimes of his year. But
he was in fact more calculated for classical than for mathe¬
matical excellence. His memory would have been in a great
measure thrown away if he had been employed in abstract
calculations; and his inventive powers do not appear to have
been at all of the same class with his retentive faculties;
although certainly in the mechanical pursuit of the fashion-
SON. 367
able methods of modern analysis, which are intended, like Forson.
steam-engines, to overcome all difficulties by the inanimate ^v-"—^
force of mere patience and perseverance, he was capable
of filling as distinguished a place as any living algebraist.
The classical prize medal, and the university scholarship*
he obtained without difficulty, as matters of course. The
exercise which he exhibited upon the examination for the
scholarship is the well-known translation of an epitaph into
Greek iambics; which, although not free from some inac¬
curacies in the use of the tenses, is still a very remarkable
production, when it is considered as having been completed
in less than an hour, with the help of Morrell’s Thesaurus
only, and never afterwards corrected.
He obtained a fellowship of Trinity College in 1781, and
took his degree of Master of Arts in 1785 ; but not thinking
it right to subscribe the Articles of the Church of England,
he could not enter into orders, and he was therefore un¬
avoidably deprived of his fellowship in 1791, having no de¬
pendence left for his subsistence through life but his own
abilities and acquirements. His friends, however, did not
abandon him on this urgent occasion, and in order to keep
him out of actual want, a private subscription was set on
foot, to which Mr Cracherode was one of the principal con¬
tributors, and by which enough was raised to purchase him
an annuity of about L.100 a year for life. A small addition
was made to his income, about two years afterwards, by his
election to the Greek professorship at Cambridge, with a
salary of only L.40 a year. The situation, however, gave
him the option of at least doubling his whole receipts, by
the delivery of an annual course of lectures in the university;
and it was supposed that he would have made this exertion,
if he had not been discouraged by the difficulty of obtain¬
ing rooms in his college, where it would have been his wish
to reside.
Person married in 1795, Mrs Lunan, a sister of the late
Mr Perry, well known as the editor of the Morning Chro¬
nicle, but he had the misfortune to lose his wife two years
afterwards. Perry continued to be his greatest friend
through life, and was so far his best benefactor, as he knew
how to oblige him essentially, without the appearance of
doing him a favour. Porson had sometimes chambers in
the Temple, and sometimes he lodged at the Morning Chro¬
nicle office; frequently also he was a visitor at Perry’s
house at Merton, where he had the misfortune to leave
several of his books at the time of a fire, which destroyed
them all, and amongst them some letters of Rhunkenius,
w ith whom he had begun a correspondence in 1783, and who
had committed to him some valuable fragments of yEschy-
lus, besides his manuscript copy of the Lexicon of Photius,
which had cost him ten months’ labour. He used indeed
to say that this fire had destroyed the fruits of twenty years
of his life; but he had the resolution to complete a second
copy of the Photius, which is now in the library of Trinity
College. His fondness for the mechanical employment of
his pen has been regretted by some of his biographers, as
having tempted him to waste much of his most valuable
time on a trifling amusement; but in fact, his mode of writ¬
ing Greek was fully as much calculated for expedition as
for beauty; and those who have not been in the habit of
correcting mutilated passages of manuscripts can form no
estimate of the immense advantage that is obtained by the
complete sifting of every letter, which the mind involun¬
tarily performs whilst the hand is occupied in tracing it; so
that, if the correction of Photius was really worth the la¬
bour of two years of Person’s life, it w'ould have been
scarcely possible to employ the greater part of those years
more advantageously than by copying him twice over. Mr
Weston, in speaking of “ his matchless penmanship,” has
observed, not very intelligibly, that “here, indeed, he thought
himself surpassed by” another person “not in the stroke,
but the sweep, of his letters.” What Porson really said on
368 P O R
Porson. this subject was, tnat, witn respect to ‘‘command of hand,”
that person had the advantage, but he preferred the model
on which his own hand was formed. His writing was, in
fact, more like that of a scholar, whilst the method ex¬
plained in Hodgkin’s Calligraphia exhibits more the
appearance of the work of a writing-master ; holding, how¬
ever a middle place between the neatness of Porson and
the wonderful accuracy of the country schoolmaster who
made the fac-simile of the Oxford Pindar in the British
Museum.
Upon the establishment of the London Institution, his
friends obtained for him the very desirable appointment of
principal librarian, with a salary of L.200 a year, and
apartments in the house of the Institution, which was then
in the Old Jewry; but although the arrangement was
highly honourable to all parties, the librarianship was little
more than a sinecure. Porson was, however, in the habit
of attending in his place when the reading-room was open,
and of communicating very readily all the literary informa¬
tion that was required by those who consulted him respect¬
ing the object of their researches. Had the inhabitants
of Finsbury Square and its neighbourhood been more dis¬
posed to classical studies, and had the librarian of the
Institution survived to witness its completion and prosperity,
his sphere of utility would without doubt have been greatly
extended.
But it must ever be lamented that Person’s habits of life
had unfortunately been such as to lay a foundation for a
multitude of diseases. He suffered much from asthma
throughout the year 1808; his memory began to fail him
a little ; and in the autumn he had had some symptoms of
intermittent fever. On Monday the 19th of September he
had an apoplectic attack in the street, and he was carried
to a neighbouring poor-house in a state of insensibility.
The next day an advertisement appeared in one of the
papers, relating the accident, and describing some manu¬
scripts which were found in his pocket, consisting of Greek
fragments and algebraical characters. His friends at the
London Institution immediately went in quest of him. He
was afterwards well enough to appear in the library, and
to receive a visit there from Dr Adam Clarke; but his
speech was impaired, and his faculties evidently imperfect.
He survived only through the week, and died in his forty-
ninth year, on Sunday the 2oth of September 1808, at
midnight.
He was buried at Cambridge, in Trinity College chapel,
near the grave of Bentley and the monument of Newton.
He founded by will an annual prize, to be given to the best
Greek translation from an English dramatic author; and
several specimens of the successful pieces have been pub¬
lished from time to time in the Classical Journal. His
books were sold by auction, and many of them found pur¬
chasers at high prices, especially such as were enriched with
any of his manuscript notes in their margins; but more
than two hundred of these, which appeared to be the most
valuable, were withheld from the sale, and were afterwards
purchased, together with the whole of his manuscript papers,
by the Society of Trinity College, for the sum of a thou¬
sand guineas. He left a sister, married to Mr Siday Hawes,
of Coltishall, Norfolk. His brother Thomas kept a board¬
ing-school at Fakenham, and died without issue in 1792 ;
his second brother, Henrj', was a farmer in Essex, and died
young, leaving three children. His father had lived to
seventy-four, his mother to fifty-seven.
The principal works of Porson are his Letters to Travis,
his four plays of Euripides with their prefaces, and the
manuscript copy of Photius ; the rest, though somewhat
voluminous, are chiefly miscellaneous annotations upon
detached passages of a multitude of ancient authors. We
find nothing in the nature of theory, or of the discovery
ol general laws, except some canons, which he has laid
SON.
down, chiefly as having been used by the Greek tragedians Porson
in the construction of their verses. These are chiefly con- ^ -
tained in the preface to the Hecuba, together with its supple¬
ment. 1. The first is, that when a tragic iambic ends with a
trisyllable or a cretic, this word must be preceded either
by a short syllable or by a monosyllable. For example, an
ancient tragedian would not have written the line "E^oi Se
fxgTTOT uTrevKTov Sayiaros, though it might have been un¬
exceptionable in a comedy. It seems to have been about
the year 1790 that Porson first made this observation. He
certainly did not attend to it in his own serious translation
of the Epitaph on Alexis ; but it was mentioned in 1791,
by one of Porson’s intimate friends, in a moment of con¬
viviality, whilst he was somewhat characteristically attempt¬
ing to fill his glass out of an empty bottle ; and the author
of this article observed in answer, that it would certainly
sound better, on such an occasion as then occurred, to say,
nSv eKTreVojKas- ovS’ ’'EvecrTI KOTrafSos, than ov XeA.et7rTAI
KOTTajSo?. 2. The second canon is, that an anapaest is only
admissible in a tragic iambic, as constituting the first foot,
except in some cases of proper names. This, indeed, had
been cursorily hinted by Dawes. 3. The same critic had
also remarked, that the Attic poets never lengthen a short
vowel before a mute or aspirate, followed by a liquid, or a
middle consonant followed by p; and Porson more amply-
confirmed the observation as very generally, though not
universally, correct. On the other hand, Dawes had cur¬
sorily observed that Homer and the other ancient epic
poets generally lengthened the vowel in such cases ; and
Porson’s great rival, Hermann, has more fully established
this distinction as affording a good criterion of antiquity.
4. There are also some original remarks of Porson on the
caesura, in iambics, and trochaics, and anapaests. He showed
that the scenic poets do not elide the final iota, and that
the tragedians do not employ the preposition Trepl before a
vowel; and some other general laws, of greater importance
than these, may probably be found in some of his publi¬
cations, which it will now be necessary to enumerate in the
order of time.
1. His first attempts as an author consisted of some anonymous
articles in Ur Maty’s Review, beginning with a part of Shutz’s
^EseAi/7- s, June 1783, Tracts, ii. Rrunck’s July 1783,
Tracts, iii.; Mus. Crit. ii. 113; written in a day. In Latin, by
Schafer, Class. Jour. v. 136. Weston’s Hermesianax, April 1784,
Tracts, iv. Huntingford’s Apology for his Menostrophics, August
1784, Tracts, v. Account of the Learned Pig, April 1785, Tracts, vi.
Note, with letters of Le Clerc and Bentley, April 1786, Tracts,
vii.
2. He added some Notes to an edition of Xenophon’s Anabasis,
published by Nicholson at Cambridge, 4to and 8vo, 1786. They
are addressed Lectori si. quis erit.
3. Three Panegyrical Lpistles to Sir J. Hawkins, Gent. Mag, Au¬
gust, September, and October 1787 ; Tracts, lx.
4. Notes on Toupii Emendationes in Suidam. Oxford, 8vo, 1790.
Written in 1787.
5. Letters on the Three Witnesses, Gent. Mag., Oct. and Dec. 1788;
Feb., April, May, June, Aug. 1789 ; Feb. 1790. The last was re¬
printed in Tracts, xix.; most of the others in the collection of
Letters to Mr Archdeacon Travis, in answer to his defence of the
Three Heavenly Witnesses, London, 8vo, 1790. These letters are
generally considered, by critics of all parties, as finally decisive of
a question which had often been agitated before, but never so
learnedly argued, nor so satisfactorily discussed in all its bearings.
6. In the Monthly Review, llobertson’s Essay on the Parian
Chronicle, Jan. 1789, Tracts, xiii.,—satisfactorily answering the
principal part of the objections alleged against the authenticity of
that monument. Edward’s edition of the work attributed to !Jlu-
tarch, On Education, July 1793, Tracis, xxi. Payne Knight’s Greek
Alphabet, Jan. 1794, Tracts, xxiii. Pybus’s jSWere/pn, Dec. 1800;
an article affording a good specimen of his talent for humour.
7. He is supposed to have written some remarks on an Essay
upon the Transfiguration, but never expressly acknowledged them.
Tracts, xv.
8. He added a few short Notes to the London edition of Heyne’s
Virgil, 8vo, 1793, for which he made an agreement with the book¬
seller to correct the press; but he complained that his corrections
POE
orson. were disregarded; and in fact several hundred errors, of no great
^ > importance, were suffered to disfigure it.
9. He corrected the Greek text of iEschylus for the Glasgow
editions, the folio of 1795, and the two volumes octavo, printed in
1794, but only published at London in 1806. The folio is said to
have appeared surreptitiously. There are more than two hundred
original corrections, and a further number of passages pointed out
as corrupt.
10. In the Morning Chronicle he published, at different times, a
variety of spirited articles of a temporary nature. One of the
most amusing was the Nursery Song in Greek iambics, 13th of
April 1796, called A Fragment of Sophocles, and signed “ S. Eng¬
land,” in ridicule of Ireland’s pretended discoveries.
11. Imitations of Horace. Spirit of the Public Journals, 1797 ;
Class. Jour. iv. 97.
12. The first four plays of Euripides appeared separately at dif¬
ferent periods. The Hecuba, London, 1797, 8vo; Cambridge, 1802,
with a Supplement and additional Notes; which were also pub¬
lished separately, London, 1808. Orestes, London, 1798, 1811.
Phoenissce, London, 1799, 1811. Medea, Cambridge, 1801; London,
1812. The four together, London, 1822.
13. Collation of the Harleian manuscript of the Odyssey for the
Grenville Homer, Oxford, 1800, 4to; with some short Notes. Re¬
printed, Class. Jour. ix.
14. Of the review of Wakefield’s Lucretius, in the British Critic
for May 1801, the principal part appears to be Porson’s.
15. A Letter signed by J. N. Dawes, Monthly Mag., Dec. 1802, on
some Greek constructions ; admitting also an inaccuracy of his own
with resp'ect to a hiatus pointed out by Mr C. Falconer.
16. A Letter to Professor Dalzel, dated September 1803 (Mus.
Crit. i., p. 326), in answer to some remarks published in the Pro¬
fessor’s Collectanea Majora; with an Epigram respecting Hermann,
in Greek and in English.
17. Herodotus, Edinburgh, 1806. Person corrected the press for
the first volume.
18. Supplement to some Indices, Tracts, xxxvi.
19. It is well known that Person bestowed considerable pains on
the restoration of the text of the Rosetta Stone. His Supplements
were added to the plates engraved by the Society of Antiquaries;
and they also appear amongst his Tracts, xxxvii. In Dr Clarke’s
Greek Marbles (Cambridge, 1809, 8vo) we find a translation of this
inscription, communicated to the editor by Person, and printed
from “ a corrected copy in his own beautiful handwriting.” But
we may here venture to apply Porson’s favourite remark on the
facility of transposition, and to read “ a copy corrected in his own
writing,” that is, on the margin of Mr Gough’s translation, as pub¬
lished in Duane’s Coins for the whole is very negligently per¬
formed ; and it is not a little remarkable that this translation,
which was at least approved by Person, is decidedly less accurate
than the Latin translation of Heyne, as appears from the investi¬
gation of the enchorial inscription published in the sixth number
of the Museum Criticum.
20. A variety of Porson’s fugitive and miscellaneous pieces have
re-appeared at different times in the Classical Journal. Authors
cited by the Scholiast on Plato, ii. 619 ; Tracts, xxxviii. The Epi¬
taph, iii. 233; more correctly than in the Tracts, but still with
a gross error in the punctuation of the last line, which stands,
in a manuscript copy of his own, Ts^v^’, $ S>j rd^ia-rx •rair^avT’ oS
yct6oi. This reading, though not very elegant, is at least more
defensible than to make alone signify to die, and a phrase
to end with o M. A Charade in Latin, vii. 248. Some Notes on
HUschylus, vii. 456; viii. 15, 181; x. 114. A property of the lines
employed in the 47th proposition of the first book oiEuclid, p. 401.
Notes on Apollonius Rhodius, xviii. 370.
21. Adversaria (Cambridge, 1812, 8vo), consisting of Notes on
the Greek Poets, selected from his manuscripts, and arranged by
Professor Monk and Mr C. J. Bloomfield. The first article is an
interesting Lecture on Euripides, delivered upon his appointment
to the Greek professorship. It is followed by a few miscellaneous
observations, and by a large collection of Notes on Athenaeus, on
Euripides, on the Fragments of the Tragic and Comic Poets, on Sto-
bams, and on a variety of poets of miscellaneous descriptions. The
volume was reprinted at Amsterdam without any alteration, but the
sale of the foreign edition has never been permitted in Great Britain.
22. Tracts and Miscellaneous Criticisms, collected and arranged
by the Rev. T. Kidd, M.A.; London, 1815, 8vo. Besides the articles
already noticed as reprinted in this volume, there are a few Notes on
Dawes’s Miscellanea Critica, not before published, No. 51. There are
also some supplementary pages of Simplicius and Cebes, reprinted
by Person for the use of his friends, as restored by Schweighauser.
The want of this leaf of the manuscript of Simplicius had given
rise to the mistaken assertion that Xenophon was proclaimed a public
benefactor at the Olympic games, on occasion of the return of the Ten
Thousand. There are likewise some miscellaneous Notes on Athenseus,
VOL. XVIII.
SON.
Xficnauuer, anu i miemon,
' nutv, iciubdnias, and the lexicotfra-
phers ; and some Indices of authors quoted by the Scholiasts °
23. Notoe in Aristophanem, quibus Plutum comoediam adiecit P P
Dobree. Cambridge, 1820, 8vo. ^ ’ *
24. Gaisford Lectiones Platonics. Accedunt R. Porsoni Notoe ad
Pausamam. Oxford, 1820, 8vo.
25. Photii Lexicon. Cambridge, 1822, 8vo.
T.0 attempt to form a just estimate of the merit of such
a man as Person, without servilely following the dictates of
common fame, or blindly adopting the opinions of others,
is a task of no small difficulty, even to one who had the
advantage of his personal acquaintance for the last twenty
years of his life. But it may safely be conceded to common
fame and to partial friendship, that he was one of the
gieatest men, and the very greatest critic, of his own or of
any other age. “ Nothing came amiss,” says Mr Weston,
to his memory. He would set a child right in his two¬
penny fable book, repeat the whole of the moral tale of
the Dean of Badajoz, a page of Athenseus on cups, or of
Eustathius on Homer, even though he did everything to
impair his mental faculties.” It cannot, however, be denied
that the talents, and even the industry, that he possessed,
might have made him a much greater man had they been
employed in some other department of human intellect.
He might 'probably have been as great a statesman or as
gieat a general as he was a scholar, and in these capacities
his acquirements would have affected the interests of a
much greater multitude of his fellow-creatures than can
ever be benefited by the fruits of his erudition; and he
might possibly have gained more popularity as an orator or
a poet than his refined investigations of grammar and pro¬
sody could ever procure him, although it is not by any
means certain that his fancy and invention could have been
rendered by any cultivation at all comparable to his memory
and acuteness. But as far as regards the possession of a
combination of the faculties which he did cultivate, he
appears to have been decidedly the most successful of any
man on record in the same department. On the other hand,
it must be admitted that the subjects of his pursuits were
in their nature incapable of raising a man to the first rank
amongst the permanent benefactors of the human race;
and, if we calmly consider the ultimate objects of prosody
and metre, it will appear almost unfair to allow the disco¬
verer of the prosodiacal rules adopted by the ancient poets
in their melodrames and choruses, to rank so very high
amongst the luminaries of an age, and yet to look down
with so much contempt, as we are accustomed to do, on
the character of a modern dieu de la danse, notwithstanding
that he thought himself the third great man of his day, with
Voltaire and the King of Prussia, for having given soul and
sentiment to the measures and movements of the choric
representations of the present times.
Amongst the talents of Person, however, which were so
far superior to the importance of the objects on which they
were employed, we ought not, perhaps, to consider his re¬
markable strength of memory as the most to be envied,
since many persons who have been possessed of singular
and almost miraculous, not to say morbid, memories, have
been but little distinguished by any other faculty. But it
must be repeated, that Porson’s judgment and acuteness
were really almost paramount to his memory; and with
the addition of these faculties, his memory naturally ren¬
dered him capable of much that would have been impossible
without it.
The respect that is justly due to classical learning has
frequently been exaggerated in this country, partly perhaps
on account of the awe which is naturally entertained by an
ingenuous mind for its instructors in the earliest studies,
by which it is advanced towards maturity. And classical
learning having most wisely been placed by our ancestors
the foremost in the order of a liberal education, which is
most commonly adopted in Great Britain, a personal as
3 a
369
Porson.
370
Person.
FOR
well as a general respect has been involuntarily paid to
the characters of the individuals concerned, and to the dig¬
nity of all those who are engaged in similar occupations;
besides that, the means being, by a most frequent inatten¬
tion of the human mind, confounded with the end for which
they are sought, the words and syllables, and the phrases
and measures of the Greek and Latin authors, have often
been the almost frivolous occupation of a valuable life, in¬
stead of that of a few of the years of boyhood, which it
was intended to devote to them, and which could not have
been so well engaged in any other way. It is, however,
wholly unjust to stigmatize the study of the classics, and of
languages in general, as being confined to words instead
of things; for it is utterly impossible that words can be
learned without the acquisition of a considerable degree of
knowledge of the things to which they relate, and of the
historical facts which they have been employed to express,
and without an involuntary modelling of the mind to the
elegance and elevation of sentiment which pervade the
works of those authors who are habitually put into the
hands of boys in the course of their elementary studies ; an
acquirement which is of still greater value to the orator and
the statesman than the command of language, and facility
of expression, and beauty of imagery, and power of reason¬
ing, which he derives from a perfect familiarity with the
great masters of antiquity. But granting all the respect
that can possibly be claimed for ancient literature, we can¬
not but lament that such a man as Person should have
lived and laboured for nearly half a century, and yet have
left little or nothing to the world that was truly and ori¬
ginally his own.
After the full admission of the very high rank which is
due to the comparative merits of Poison’s talents and ac¬
quirements, it may be thought almost idle, if not invidious,
to dwell on any trifling exceptions to their magnitude. The
English critics have been reproached, and not without some
foundation, as paying too servile a deference to Person’s
opinions; and it seems to have been very generally be¬
lieved amongst them that it was scarcely possible for him
to commit an error or an oversight.
Although Person was in many respects irregular, and
often idle, or even intemperate, yet what he did perform
as a critic may be allowed to leave a large balance, at the
end of his life, in favour of his general industry, when com¬
pared with that of most of his countrymen. It has indeed
been asserted, and perhaps with truth {Classical Journal,
xxi.), that “ with things Person appears to have possessed
but a very inconsiderate acquaintance; and not a trace is
to be found amidst his writings of that combination of uni¬
versal encyclopaediacal knowledge with language learning
which is so abundantly found in the Dissertation on Pha-
laris, and the countless pages of Scaliger, Salmasius, and
Casaubon.” Certainly, however, neither Salmasius nor
Casaubon, with all their learning, much less Scaliger, with
all his industry and parade, nor even Bentley himself, with
all his talent and acuteness, was at all comparable to Person
in his own department, that is, as a sound, accurate, and
refined Greek critic.
But it must be confessed that at Cambridge, even
although Porson had resolved to make the classics his
principal study, and although there had not yet been many
instances of senior wranglers who were also senior medal¬
lists, it was scarcely reputable for a man with his undeniable
abilities to be only the twenty-first of his year in mathe¬
matics. Amongst the literary objects also which afterwards
engaged his attention, he might easily have found time for
the study of some of the modern languages ; and he might
have derived essential benefit from it on many occasions of
critical research. He had, indeed, read a good deal of
French, but very little Italian. He had studied the Anglo-
Saxon, but he knew nothing of the kindred dialects of the
S 0 N.
north of Europe, in which it is preserved almost entire; Person,
and he was wholly unacquainted with oriental literature.
He might have profited materially by some of these studies,
in deriving from them a clearer conception of the distinc¬
tions of the tenses than he seems to have possessed, and he
might have enlightened us in no small degree, with respect
to the history of languages and of nations, by such ety¬
mological investigations as his comprehensive mind, thus
employed, would have rendered him peculiarly capable of
pursuing with success.
It has been candidly and very truly admitted by a rival
critic in Germany, that Porson committed fewer errors
than almost any other person ; but it is right to be aware
that he has now and then committed some errors, even
where he would have been expected to be the most cor¬
rect. There is, for example, a very strange oversight in
one of the criticisms contained in his early review of
Weston’s Hermesianax, which implies a palpable blun¬
der with respect to the gender of a particle, Zwpov perpovaa
0v(iw 7rop<f>vpe7]<; Avaftiov ei veXov, “ the cup of purple glass,
which measured the fragrant wine and even in a subse¬
quent correction of the same passage, published in his
Adversaria, he has changed the gender of an adjective in
a way that is at least very unusual, if not wholly without
example, p-erpovv Ovoevra. A mere omission, in a criticism
on another author, would scarcely be called an error in an
ordinary person; but in such a critic as Porson, it is very
remarkable that he should have neglected to notice, in his
catalogue of the Errors of Le Clerc, omitted by Bentley,
{Adv. p. 291), the grossest of all Le Clerc’s blunders,
which is the quotation of the word Hypophauli or semi-
barbarous, from Pollux, with the translation Sartagines, or
frying-pans; whilst the real text of Pollux simply and
plainly states that the Teganismi or fricassations, in the
Hippocomus Menander, is a semibarbarous word. These
instances, which have occurred in a very cursory perusal of
some of Person’s works, would certainly not deserve to be
noticed in a general sketch of his character, any otherwise
than as exceptions to his perfect infallibility.
It can scarcely be considered as an imperfection in the
constitution of Person’s mind, that he wanted that amiable
vanity which is gratified by the approbation even of the
most inconsiderable, and which delights to choose for its
objects the most innocent and the most helpless of those
who are casually present in society. It has been observed
that he would neither give nor take praise; and when he
was told that somebody had called him a giant in literature,
he remarked that a man had no right to tell the height of
that which he could not measure. In fact, having learned
“ to know how little can be known,” it is not surprising
that he found himself “ without a second, and without a
judgeand that he was unwilling to affect a community
of sentiment, and an interchange of approbation with those
whose acquirements and opinions he felt that he had a
right to despise. It might have been wiser, in some
instances, to conceal this feeling ; but, on the other hand,
he had perhaps occasion for something of the habit of re¬
treating into his conscious dignity, from his deficiency in
those general powers of ephemeral conversation which are
so valuable in mixed societies; for, with all his learning
and all his memory, he was by no means prominent as a
talker. He had neither the inclination nor the qualifica¬
tions to be a fascinating story-teller, or to become habitu¬
ally a parasite at the tables of the affluent; but he was the
delight of a limited circle of chosen friends, possessing
talent enough to appreciate his merits, and to profit by the
information that he afforded them.
There has not yet been a Life of Porson that has col¬
lected all the particulars that would deserve to be recorded
by a biographer who undertook the task on an extensive
scale; but of detached documents there is no deficiency.
POE
Port Kidd has pointed out almost every work in which his name
li has been mentioned. The most material articles relating
Portarling- to wjjj enumerated here.
.  ) Morning Chronicle, 6th October 1808 ; A Short Account of the
V late Mr Richard Porson, with some particulars relative to his extra-
ordinary talents, by an admirer of great genius (the Rev. S.
Weston), Mttxsri <7ra.1rra.ivi xcenov (Look for nothing beyond him),
London, 1808, 8vo; re-published, with some additions, under the
title of Porsoniana, or Scraps from Parson’s Rich Feast, London,
1814, 8vo; Bloomfield’s Sapphic Ode, Class. Journ. i. 1. ; Some
anonymous lambics, Tp. 81', Sale of his Library, p. 385; Athenceum,
iv. 426, 521 ; v. 55 ; Class. Journ. ix. 386 ; Savage’s Librarian,
i. 274; Gentleman’s Magazine, Ixxviii. ; Monthly Magazine; Dr
Adam Clarke’s Narrative; Class. Journ. ii. 720; Correspondence
of Wakefield and Fox, London, 1813, 8vo; Greek Epitaph, Class.
Journ. xxiii. 179, making Porsonum equal to Newtunus; Aitken’s
General Biography, x., London, 1815, 4tO; Kidd’s Imperfect Out¬
line ; Tracts, 1815 ; Chalmers’s Biographical Dictionary, xxv.,
London, 1816. (t. y.)
PORT, a harbour, river, or haven, formed either by
nature or art to receive and shelter shipping from the
storms of the open sea.
Port is also a name given on some occasions to the
larboard or left side of the ship, as in the following in¬
stances : Thus, it is said, “ the ship heels to port,” that is,
stoops or inclines to the larboard side. “ Top the yard to
port,” the order to make the larboard extremity of a yard
higher than the other. “ Port the helm,” the order to put
the helm over the larboard side of the vessel. In all
these senses this phrase appears intended to prevent any
mistakes happening from the similarity of sounds in the
words starboard and larboard.
Ports, the embrasures or openings in the side of a ship
of war, wherein the artillery is ranged in battery upon the
decks above and below.
PORTADOWN, a market-town of Ireland, in the
county of Armagh, on the Upper Bann river, which is
here crossed by a fine bridge 10 miles N.E. of Armagh,
and 84 N. by W. of Dublin. It is well built and paved,
containing a parish church in the early English style ; also
Presbyterian, Methodist, and Roman Catholic places of
worship, endowed and national schools, a good market-
house, a dispensary, and a loan society, which has done
much for the encouragement of industry in the neighbour¬
hood. The manufacture of linen, lawn, cambric, &c., gives
employment to many of the inhabitants; and the town
contains besides, large corn-mills, a manufactory of steam-
engines and other machinery, and a soap and candle work.
Markets for the sale of cattle, pork, and rural produce are
held at Portadown on Saturdays ; and there are also
monthly and annual fairs. Pop. (1851) 3091.
PORTAFERRY, a seaport and market-town of Ire¬
land, in the county of Down, near the entrance of Lough
Strangford, 7 miles N.E. of Downpatrick. It contains
places of worship belonging to the Established Church, the
Presbyterians, Methodists, and Roman Catholics; two pub¬
lic schools, a market-house, and a dispensary. There are
also here a distillery and a quay. Many of the women of the
town are employed in embroidering muslin for the Glasgow
market. An active trade is carried on in coal, timber, and
agricultural produce. There is a ferry here across to Strang¬
ford, on the other side of the lough. Besides weekly mar¬
kets, four annual fairs are held here. Pop. (1851) 2074.
PORT ALEGRE, a town of Portugal, in the province
of Alemtejo, on a hill in the midst of a beautiful and
fertile region, containing extensive chestnut forests, 49
miles N.N.E. of Evora. It is walled, but derives its chief
strength from its position. The streets are narrow, steep,
and irregular; but the houses are in general well built.
The chief buildings are the Gothic cathedral and episcopal
palace. Woollen cloth is manufactured here ; and timber
and chestnuts are exported to Lisbon. Pop. 5800.
PORTARLINGTON, a market-town and parliamen-
FOR
371
Porter.
tary borough of Ireland, partly in King"s and partly in Port .u-
Queen s County, on the Barrow, which is here crossed bv two 1>riace
bndges, 44 miles W.S.W. of Dublin. The principal public
buildings are two Protestant churches (one of which is a fine
edifice with a lofty spire), a large Roman Catholic chapel
and a Methodist meeting-house, two national and two
free schools, a market-house, dispensary, and savings-bank.
Soap and candles are manufactured here; and there are eio-ht
annual fairs. The town was founded by Lord Arlington,
from whom it derives its name ; but afterwards it was'"for¬
feited to the crown, and under William III. it was settled
by many French and Flemish Protestants, who built the
two churches of the town. In one of these the service was
conducted in French till 1817. Portarlington returns a
member to Parliament. Pop. (1851) 2728.
POR F-AU-PRINCE. See Port Republicain.
POR FCULLIS (Fr. coulisse, from couler, to slip down),
is an assemblage of several large pieces of wood, joined
across one another like a harrow, and each pointed with
iron at the bottom. They are sometimes hung over the
gateway of old fortified towns and castles, ready to be let
down in the case of surprise, when the gates cannot be shut.
PORI ELIZABETH, a seaport-town of Cape Colony,
South Africa, on the W. shore of Algoa Bay, 18 miles S.E.
of Uitenhage. It contains churches belonging to Episco¬
palians, Wesleyans, Independents, and Roman Catholics;
an arsenal, court-house, and jail. There is a harbour,
which is, next to Cape Town, the most frequented in the
colony, and a pier projecting 350 feet into the sea. The
commerce of Port Elizabeth is great, and rapidly increas¬
ing. The number of ships that entered the harbour in
1855 was 163, tonnage 26,914; those that cleared 160,
tonnage 26,045. The total value of the imports in the
same year was L.376,638, and that of the exports L.584,447.
Pop. upwards of 4000.
PORTER, a kind of malt liquor which differs from ale
and pale beer, in its being made with high-dried malt. (See
Brewing.)
PORTER, Jane, a popular novelist, was born at Dur¬
ham in 1776, and spent her childhood in Edinburgh. A
love for the marvellous, and a sentimental admiration for
human excellence, increased with her increasing strength,
and fitted her for becoming a popular story-writer. Ac¬
cordingly in 1803, after her removal to London, she
entered upon a successful career as a novelist by the
publication of Thaddeus of Warsaw. The book gained
for her at once a European reputation. She saw it trans¬
lated into several of the continental languages; she was
elected a lady canoness of the Teutonic order of St
Joachim ; and she received from a relation of Kosciusko
a gold ring containing the portrait of that hero. Scarcely
less effective was her next important work, the Scottish
Chiefs, published in 1809. It is true that it failed to
realize the scenes, the costumes, the manners, and the
characters of the story ; yet to mere novel readers the
melodramatic exploits and the astounding chivalry of
Wallace and Bruce were profoundly affecting. The
ablest, however, of all her publications was probably Sir
Edward Seaivard’s Diary, which appeared in 1831. So
life-like were the representations in that work of fiction
that a grave and pompous critic mistook it for a professed
historical treatise. He laboriously rummaged the dusty
collections of Admiralty records and Indian maps to test
the accuracy of the incidents, and solemnly and triumph¬
antly refuted them in one of the leading reviews. The
latter part of Miss Porter’s life was spent in paying length¬
ened visits to her relations and numerous friends. She died
in May 1850, at the house of her eldest brother, an eminent
physician at Bristol. Anna Maria, the younger sister of
Jane Porter, was the author of several popular novels.
Porter, Sir Robert Ker, a well-known artist and
372 P O R FOR
Porter traveller, was the brother of the preceding, and was born
II at Durham in 1780. A determination to be a painter
orteus. ^e„an t0 characterize him while passing his boyhood in
' "" % Edinburgh. He persisted in making sketches from his
own fancy, until his mother, in 1790, took him up to
London and enrolled him among the students of the
Royal Academy. A few years only had been spent there
when he boldly made his appearance as an artist by pro¬
fession. Several altar-pieces were painted, and were
either sold or presented to several churches. The
“ Storming of Seringapatam,” the “ Siege of Acre,” and
the “ Battle of Agincourt,” all large pictures, were exe¬
cuted, and London was invited to see them exhibited. No
enterprise, in fact, was too great for the youthful aspirant
to attempt. Venturing to push his fortune in Russia, he
procured the appointment of historical painter to the Czar
in 1804, and won the hand of the daughter of Prince
Theodore de Sherbatoff in 1811. By this time Porter
had begun to enter upon a new and more exciting sphere
of action. The winter of 1808-9 saw him sharing in the
hardships and glories of the campaign of Sir John Moore.
From 1817 to 1820 he was journeying in the East, and
with the aid of both pen and pencil recording what he saw
in his travels. Between 1826 and 1841 he was residing
as British consul at Venezuela in South America. Leave
of absence had been obtained, and he was paying a visit to
St Petersburg, when a stroke of apoplexy suddenly carried
him off in May 1842. Ker Porter, at the time of his death,
had gained considerable reputation. The title of Knight
Commander of the Order of Hanover, which had been con¬
ferred upon him in 1832, shows how much his talents as a
warrior and a diplomatist were esteemed. His literary gifts
were also well known from the following works :—Travel¬
ling Sketches in Russia and Sweden, in 2 vols. 4to, 1808 ;
Letters from Portugal and Spain, 8vo, 1809 ; Narrative
of the late Campaign in Russia, 4to, 1813 ; and Travels
in Georgia, Persia, Armenia, Ancient Babylonia, fyc. fyc.,
during the years 1817-20, in 2 vols. 4to, 1821-22.
Porter, George Richardson, an eminent statist, was
born in London in 1792, and was educated at Merchant
Taylors’ School. A failure which he made in the trade of
a sugar-broker was the occasion of bringing him into
notice. Driven to literature, he published a paper on Life
Assurance in the Companion to the Almanac for 1831,
which introduced him to the acquaintance of Mr Charles
Knight. That well-known publisher was instrumental not
long afterwards in procuring for him the office of superin¬
tendent of the statistical department in the Board of
Trade. Placed in this congenial situation, he soon had the
opportunity of showing to the best advantage his skill in di¬
gesting and tabulating the most incongruous materials. His
great work, The Progress of the Nation, which he began to
publish in 1836, established his reputation as a statist. His
growing skill in his official duties also recommended him in
1841 to the post of one of the joint secretaries of the Board
of Trade. He was still holding this situation when he died
at Tunbridge Wells in 1852, in consequence of inflamma¬
tion, which had been caused by the sting of a gnat.
PORTEUS, Beilby, an eminent dignitary of the
Church of England, was born at York in 1731, and was
educated for holy orders at Christ’s College, Cambridge.
A Seatonian prize poem On Death, which appeared in
1759, gave him the start on the road to eminence. At¬
tracting the notice of Dr Seeker, Archbishop of Canterbury,
he was presented to several benefices. The conscientious
manner in which he discharged his ministerial duties, and
the impressive and eloquent style in which he preached,
soon secured for him the patronage of the queen. His
prospects of promotion accordingly became certain. In
1769 he was appointed chaplain to George III.; in 1776
he was raised to the see of Chester; and in 1787 he was
transferred to the see of London. Occupying this high p0rt-
position, Bishop Porteous used all his power and influence Glasgow,
to promote the interests of religion. He established a
fund for the relief of the poorer clergy of his diocese. He
founded three prizes in Christ’s College, Cambridge, as an
incitement to the study of Christianity, both theoretical
and practical. He also at his death, in 1808, bequeathed
his library for the use of his successors in the metropolitan
see. The collected works of Bishop Porteous, containing
sermons, pamphlets, a Life of Archbishop Seeker, and a
Summary of Christian Evidences, and accompanied with
a memoir of the author by the Rev. R. Hodgson, were
published in 6 vols. 8vo, London, 1816.
PORT-GLASGOW, a parliamentary and municipal
burgh, and a sea-port town of Scotland, in the county of
Renfrew, on the south bank of the Firth of Clyde, about
15 miles below Glasgow and 3 above Greenock. This
place originally formed part of the adjoining parish of Kil¬
malcolm, and consisted of the small village of Newark, so
called from the barony of that name, which lay in its im¬
mediate vicinity. On a point of land projecting into the
river, a little above the town, stands the ancient and now
deserted castle of this barony. The ground on wdiich the
tow n stands was, in 1668, purchased from Sir Patrick Max¬
well of Newark by the magistrates of Glasgow, with a
view to provide a convenient harbour for the vessels be¬
longing to the merchants of that city. In 1695 the place
w^as detached from the parish of Kilmalcolm, and, with a
few adjacent farms, erected into a distinct parish. It was
called New Port-Glasgow, or more commonly Port-Glas-
gow, a name simply expressing the design of its erection
as the port or harbour of Glasgow. In 1775 it was created a
burgh of barony ; and by the Reform Act of 1832 it became
a parliamentary burgh, uniting with Kilmarnock, Ruther-
glen, Dumbarton, and Renfrew, in returning a member.
The town is romantically situated at the foot of a hill,
which, covered with wood and verdure, exhibits a beau¬
tiful object to travellers passing along the river. It is
one of the most handsome and regularly-built seaport-
towns of Scotland. The streets are straight, and for the
most part cross each other at right angles; whilst the
houses, pretty nearly equal in size, and generally white¬
washed, give to the w'hole a light and uniform appearance.
The only buildings worthy of particular notice are the
town-house and the parish church. Of these, the former
is of plain but substantial workmanship, ornamented in
front w'ith a portico, resting on four massy fluted columns,
surmounted with a handsome spire, which rises from the
centre. The parish church, built in 1823, is square in form,
and plain but handsome in appearance. A commodious
chapel of ease was built in 1774. The other places of wor¬
ship in the parish belong to the Free and the United Presby¬
terian churches. Port-Glasgow has also an endowed school,
two parish schools, a public library, and two reading-rooms.
Attached to this port are two capacious harbours, sub¬
stantially built, and completely sheltered. The first dry or
graving-dock in Scotland was constructed here in 1762,
and has since been improved at great expense. More re¬
cently a wet-dock has been constructed in the bay of
Newark, which admits vessels drawing 25 feet of water.
It is provided with spacious quays and commodious sheds,
cranes, and other conveniences; and possesses extraordi¬
nary facilities for ingress and egress, owing to the great
depth of water in the roads and entrance. With all these
advantages, Port-Glasgow now affords shipping accommo¬
dation of a very superior description. The trade of the
place was at one time chiefly carried on in ships belonging
to Glasgow' merchants; but the inhabitants have of late
themselves become shipowners.
The foreign trade is chiefly with the West Indies and
North America. It is the principal place on the Clyde
P O R
Portici for the importation of North American timber, for the re-
|! ception of which it has large wood-ponds. The number
Portland, of sailing-vessels registered at Port-Glasgow, 31st Decem-
ber 1857, was 54, tonnage 5706: of steam-vessels 8, ton¬
nage 1192. In 1857 there entered the port 124 sailing-
vessels, tonnage 51,324; and there cleared 44 sailing-ves¬
sels, tonnage 29,410; and 10 steam-vessels, tonnage 3695.
The improvements in the navigation of the Clyde, and the
rise of Greenock, have proved injurious to the prosperity of
Port-Glasgow. Its coasting trade was at one time very
considerable ; but owing to the facility with which vessels
of small burden now find their way up the river, nearly the
whole of this branch has been transferred to Glasgow.
The work of ship-building is carried on here to a consider¬
able extent. Of late years a great number of iron steam¬
boats have been produced, some of them of the largest
size. The manufacture of ropes and sail-cloth has been
prosecuted for about a century. A considerable business
is carried on in sugar-refining. Pop. in 1831, 5192; in
1841, 6973; and in 1851, 6986.
PORTICI, a town of Naples, in the province of Naples,
on the shore of the Bay of Naples, 4 miles S.E. of the capi¬
tal, with which it is connected by railway. It contains a
royal palace, which was formerly used as a museum for the
antiquities of Herculaneum and Pompeii. These, however,
have been removed to Naples; and the palace has thus
lost its chief attraction. It still possesses, however, some
good pictures by modern French artists. Portici is a
favourite resort during the autumn of the higher classes of
Neapolitans. It has a harbour protected by a mole, a
church, convent, barracks, and ribbon manufactory. Fishery
and the coasting trade are actively carried on here. Pop. 6200.
PORTICO. See Glossary to Architecture.
PORT-JACKSON, an inlet of New South Wales, in
the county of Cumberland, has an entrance about 2 miles
wide, between steep cliffs, called the North and South
Heads ; S. Lat. (of the South Head, on which is a light¬
house, 345 feet above the sea) 33. 51., E. Long. 151. 18.
It is 15 miles in length, and has several arms and creeks
stretching into the land. The anchorage is everywhere
good and well sheltered. On the south shore, about 6
miles from the entrance, stands Sydney.
PORTLAND, Isle of, a peninsula and parish of Eng¬
land, in the county of Dorset, is joined to the land by
Chesil Bank, which is a narrow ridge of clay covered
with shingles, about 10 miles in length. The isle itself is
about 4 miles in length by 2 in breadth ; and it terminates
in a rocky promontory called the Bill of Portland, on which
stand two lighthouses,—the one 130, and the other 197
feet above the sea, N. Lat. 50. 3., W. Long. 2. 26. It
consists of oolitic limestone, and slopes gradually from a
height of 490 feet to within 30 feet of the sea. Portland
Isle is approached from the land by a wooden bridge 600
feet long. It contains the castle of Portland, built by
Henry VIII. in 1520; the Bow and Arrow^Castle, a rudely-
built tower, said to have been erected by William Rufus ;
a convict prison, erected in 1849 ; and several small villages.
There are also here extensive quarries of Portland stone,
with which many of the public edifices in the kingdom have
been built. A harbour of refuge is in process of being
constructed at Portland by means of a breakwater from the
north end of the isle, partly inclosing Portland road. It
is intended to be 2500 yards long, and to extend to a dis¬
tance of If miles from Weymouth pier, thus sheltering
from the S.E. an area of 2107 acres at low-water; while
Chesil Bank forms a natural breakwater on the S.W. The
work was begun August 11, 1847, and up to March 31,1857,
it had been extended to a length of 5145 feet by the deposi¬
tion of2,667,905 tons of Portland stone. The sum expended,
from the beginning of the works up to March 31, 1857, was
L.627,585. Pop. of the parish of Portland (1851), 5195.
FOR 373
Portland, a seaport-town of the United States of North Portland
America, in the state of Maine, stands on the W. shore of II
Casco Bay, 60 miles S.S.W. of Augusta, and 105 N.E of Portland
Boston, N. Lat. 43. 4., W. Long. 70. 46. It is built on ^a8e-
what was originally an island, but is now connected with
the continent by a neck of land only a few yards wide. It
is about 3 miles in length from E. to W., and terminates
at the E. in Munjoy, and at the W. in Bramhall’s Hill, the
former 156 and the latter 171 feet above the sea. Be¬
tween these two eminences there is an elevated ridge, along
which runs the principal street of the town. A broad street
lined with wharves extends along the edge of the water for
about 2 miles, and is intended to be continued round the
whole peninsula. The houses of Portland, which are for
the most part of brick, are regularly built, and many of the
streets are very elegant. The beauty of the town is also
much enhanced by the many shady trees which grow in
different parts of it. Of these there are, it is calculated, no
fewer than 3000 in all. One of the most conspicuous edi¬
fices is the custom-house, which is three storeys high, sur¬
mounted by a dome 75 feet above the ground, and adorned
in front with a portico of eight fine columns. The city-hall
and court-house are both handsome buildings. There are
in all 26 churches in Portland belonging to various sects,
and most of them built of wood. The number of schools
in the town and neighbourhood is 25, with 57 teachers and
an average attendance of 3600 pupils ; and the sum devoted
to the purposes of education in 1852-3 was L.4272. Port¬
land has several scientific and literary associations, the chief
of which are the Society of Natural History, numbering
about 275 members, and possessing an excellent museum;
and the Athenaeum, which has a library of 8000 volumes.
The town contains 6 banks and 11 newspaper offices. The
manufactories of Portland comprehend a large sugar esta¬
blishment, covering acres of ground, and employing about
200 hands; the Portland Company, for the manufacture of
locomotive steam-engines, railway carriages, and all kinds
of machinery. The latter was established in 1847, em¬
ployed in 1854 about 325 hands, and had built up to that
date 90 railway locomotives, besides steam-boat engines
and other pieces of machinery. Ship-building is another
branch of industry extensively carried on at Portland. The
number of vessels built in the district during the year ] 854
was 40, tonnage 30,195. The total shipping of the port,
June 30, 1852, was 77,575 tons registered, and 28,403 tons
enrolled and licensed. In that year there entered the port
from foreign countries 384 vessels, tonnage 57,610; and
there cleared for foreign countries 443 vessels, tonnage
69,893. The commerce of Portland is extensive and rapidly
increasing. The total value of the exports in 1854 was
L.627,985 ; and of the imports, L.650,970. The harbour
of Portland is very good. It is easy of access, not being
obstructed by any bar, and it is safe and well sheltered.
Vessels of the largest size can enter or leave the harbour
at all states of the tide; and there are numerous wharves
and piers accessible for vessels drawing from 18 to 28 feet.
Portland is connected by railway with Boston, and the other
great cities of the United States on the one hand, and with
Quebec, Montreal, and Toronto on the other. It has there¬
fore a very advantageous position for commercial purposes ;
and to this position it owes not a little of its advancement
and prosperity. The total amount of real and personal
estate at Portland in 1857 was valued at L.4,661,180.
Pop. (1850) 20,819; (1855) 27,090.
Portland Vase, a celebrated funeral vase, long in pos¬
session of the Barberina family, but which was purchased
by Sir William Hamilton, and afterwards passed to the
Duchess of Portland for 1000 guineas. Its height is
about 10 inches, and its diameter where broadest 6.
There are upon it a variety of figures of most exquisite
workmanship, in bas-relief, of white opaque glass raised on a
374
FOR
FOR
Port Louis ground of deep blue glass, which appears black except
Porto w^en against the light. It seems to have been the
Maurizio. W01^ many years, and there are antiquaries who date
v / its production several centuries before the Christian era;
since sculpture was declining in excellence even in the
time of Alexander the Great. It was deposited in the
British Museum in 1810 by the Duke of Portland.
PORT LOUIS, the capital of the island of Mauritius,
on a small bay formed by basaltic and partially-wooded
hills near the N.W. extremity of the island ; S. Lat.
20. 10., E. Long. 57. 29. The streets are regular, though
narrow, and some of them are planted with beautiful acacias.
The houses are low, and built for the most part of wood.
Behind the town lies an open space called the Champ de
Mars, which is lined with many elegant villas. The chief
buildings are the large and convenient barracks, hospital,
bazaar, theatre, public library (containing more than 60,000
volumes), court-house, college, and botanic garden. The
harbour is good and well sheltered, but it is difficult of
access, on account of a coral reef at its mouth. During
the season of hurricanes the anchorage is not safe, except
for a small number of vessels. Port Louis is a convenient
port for repairing vessels, and has docks for that purpose.
The harbour and town are defended by fortifications of
some strength. Pop. 35,000.
PORT MAHON. See Minorca.
PORTO ALEGRE, a town of Brazil, in the province
of Sao Pedro do Rio Grande do Sul, stands on the Jacuhy,
near its mouth in Lake Patos, 150 miles N.N.W. of Rio
Grande. It is regularly and w'ell built, and contains several
churches, a custom-house, hospital, lyceum and other schools.
The harbour is much frequented by merchantmen, and an
active trade is carried on. Pop., with the suburbs, 12,000.
PORTOBELLO, a parliamentary and municipal burgh
of Scotland, and a suburb of Edinburgh, in the county of
Mid-Lothian, on the S. shore of the Frith of Forth, 3
miles E. of Edinburgh. The older streets are narrow, but
there are many elegant streets of recent erection. There
are here places of worship belonging to the Established
Church, the Free Church, the United Presbyterians, Epis¬
copalians, Independents, and Roman Catholics. Porto-
bello is much resorted to during the summer for bathing.
The beach is sandy and gently sloping; and the town con¬
tains hot and cold baths. Many of the inhabitants are em¬
ployed in the manufacture of bricks and tiles, pottery, flint-
glass, and paper; and there are salt-works at the village of
Joppa, which is within the limits of the burgh. The burgh
is governed by a provost and nine councillors ; and it unites
with Leith and Musselburgh in returning a member to
Parliament. Pop. (1851) 3497.
PORTO FELIX, a town of Brazil, in the province of
Sao Paulo, on the left bank of the Tiete, 50 miles W. of
Sao Paulo. It stands in a beautiful, rich, and salubrious
country, which produces sugar in large quantities, and feeds
numerous herds of cattle. Pop. of the district, 10,000.
PORTO FERRAJO, a town of Tuscany, capital of
the island of Elba, occupies a promontory on the N. coast
of the island. It is fortified and defended by two forts on
the hill above. There are in the town, which is well built,
two parish churches, courts of law, a theatre, hospital, bar¬
racks, &c. Iron is exported from the mines in the vicinity ;
and there is an excellent harbour. Napoleon I. resided at
Porto Ferrajo from May 1814 till February 1815. Pop. 4436.
PORTO MAURIZIO, a town of the kingdom of Sar¬
dinia, in the division of Nice, on the shore of the Gulf of
Genoa, 40 miles E.N.E. of Nice. It stands on a hill pro¬
jecting into the sea, and separating the bays of Oneglia and
St Stefano. The bold and lofty position of the town, with
its brilliantly-painted church in the centre ; the quiet little
port below, crowded with picturesquely-rigged boats ; and
the mountains which rise in the distance, combine to pro¬
duce a very beautiful and characteristic picture. The town Porto Novo
contains a convent, hospital, theatre, and schools. A trade ||
in oil of good quality is busily carried on here ; but the har- Porto Rico,
bour is shallow, and inconvenient. Pop. 6481.
PORTO NOVO, a seaport of British India, in the dis¬
trict of South Arcot, presidency of Madras, at the mouth of
the river Vellaur, 116 miles S. of Madros. It was at one
time a place of much importance, but it suffered very se¬
verely in the wars of the British government against My¬
sore, and fell into a state of decay. It is now, however, in
a more prosperous condition, chiefly on account of the ex¬
tensive iron-works, which have been established here. The
ore is obtained in abundance in the vicinity, and may be
made into the finest steel. At Porto Novo, Hyder Ali,
with an immensely superior army, was totally defeated by
the British under Sir Eyre Coote in 1791.
PORTO RICO, a Spanish possession, one of that group
of Westlndia Islands called the Great Antilles, and the small¬
est of the four in population and extent, but yielding to none
in fertility and general importance. It lies between N.
Lat. 17. 56. and 18. 20., W. Long. 65. 40. and 67. 20., to
the E. of Hayti, Cuba, and Jamaica, being separated on
the W. from the first-named island by the Mona Channel,
75 miles in breadth, and having the Atlantic Ocean on the
N., with the Caribbean Sea on the S. It is about 100 miles
in length from E. to W., by 40 miles in average breadth,
and contains an area of 3700 square miles. A chain of lofty
mountains intersects it from E. to W.; the highest part,
called Luguilla, at the N.E. extremity of the island, being
3678 feet in height. Valleys, levels of table-land, and gentle
declivities, all highly fruitful, are everywhere found em¬
bosomed in these mountains, which are themselves suscep¬
tible of cultivation to the very tops. To the N. and S.
of this interior ridge, between it and the coast, are those
richly fertile valleys which produce the chief wealth of the
island. They are formed by smaller ridges of hills, which
run N. and S. from the principal chain, and they are much
more level than the valleys among the loftier mountains.
The valleys of the N. and E. coasts are the richest and
the most picturesque, the pasturage there being always
verdant and luxuriant, from the abundant supply of rain
which they receive; whilst those of the S. coast, though
more productive of sugar, are often parched by excessive
drought. Few countries of the same extent as Porto Rico
are watered by so many streams. Seventeen rivers, taking
their rise in the mountains, cross the valleys of the N.
coast and fall into the sea. Some of them are broad and
deep, and navigable for 5 or 6 miles from their mouths,
which, however, are much obstructed by bars. These
rivers are well stocked with excellent fish, and their banks
are nearly all under cultivation. The south, west, and east
coasts are well supplied with water, notwithstanding the
unfrequency of rain, by several large streams, besides
numberless rivulets. The coasts of the island are indented
with numerous bays and creeks; and in some places there
are lagoons extending to the length of 8 or 10 miles. The
climate of Porto Rico is tropical; but it is healthy, and
more favourable to Europeans than that of the adjacent
islands. There are two rainy seasons here, the first occur-
ing in May and the second in September. In August the
atmosphere is oppressively hot, the thermometer being fre¬
quently above 90° of Fahrenheit; and during the coldest
season it is never below 70° at noon. In September the
rains descend like a deluge, and the rivers swell and over¬
flow their banks, completely inundating the low lands. In
October the weather becomes cooler, and in the following
month the N. and N.E. winds generally set in, diffusing an
agreeable coolness through the atmosphere. When the
fury of the north wind abates, the most delightful w'eather
is experienced. Hurricanes, the scourge of the West Indies,
sometimes visit this island, generally between the months
FOR
FOR
°orto Rico, of July and October. The warmth and moisture of the
climate foster a luxuriant vegetation. Ebony, cedar, lig¬
num vitae, mahogany, logwood, and other kinds of timber,
grow in the forests; indigo, and many other valuable and
medicinal plants, are also found in the island. Porto Rico
exhibits a singular scarcity of indigenous animals. There
are no venomous snakes or reptiles, no beasts of prey or in¬
digenous quadrupeds of any kind to be found in the forests,
scarcely any birds except parrots and water-fowl, and no
noxious insects. But rats of an enormous size infest the
country in great numbers, and sometimes commit dreadful
ravages upon the sugar-canes.
The most valuable mineral productions of Porto Rico are
copper, iron, lead, and coal. Gold is obtained from the
streams; and there are two productive salt ponds. The
principal employment carried on in the island is agriculture,
as there are hardly any manufactures, and the mining opera¬
tions, only recently commenced, attract little attention.
Only about one-twelfth of the soil is under cultivation.
Coffee, sugar, and tobacco are the crops principally raised;
and there are also extensive farms for the rearing of live
stock. The commerce of the island is very great. It is
chiefly carried on with Spain and the United States ; but
also to a large extent with the other West Indian islands,
with Great Britain and the British colonies. The quantity
and value of the chief articles exported from the island in
the years 1850 and 1855 were as follows :—
Articles.
Quantity. Value,
Quantity.
Sugar (cwt.)
Coffee „
Cotton „
Hides „
Tobacco „
876,011
92,060
1,887
4,256
23,228
L.814.611
147,295
7,865
10,212
24,775
792,484
106,580
1,855
6,271
19,349
L.633,983
170,526
4,656
15,050
20,650
The total value of the exports was, in 1850, L.1,175,464,
and in 1855, L.994,343. For the same years the quantity
and value of the principal imports to Porto Rico were as
follows:—
Articles.
Wheat flour (brls.)...
Cod-fish (cwt.)  
Cotton fabrics  
Linen fabrics  
Metals 
Quantity. Value
50,493
79,755
L.131,490
76,794
135,644
64,608
159,375
Quantity. Value.
57,864
91,697
L.150,606
73,554
183,408
69,499
60,493
The total value of the imports was, in 1850, L.1,044,406,
and in 1855, L.1,157,178. In 1850 there entered the
various ports of the island 1206 vessels, tonnage 132,041 ;
and there cleared 1179, tonnage 131,767. In 1855 there
entered 1317, tonnage 167,203; and cleared 1276, ton¬
nage 163,477. The dues collected at the custom-houses
of the island amounted in 1855 to L.24,674, being an in¬
crease of L.9445 over the preceding year. The principal
seapoi ts of the island are San Juan de Porto Rico (the
capital), Mayagues, Ponce, Guayama, and Arecibo. The
government and laws of the island resemble those of the
other Spanish possessions in America. The supreme power
in military affairs is in the hands of the lieutenant-general,
who is also president of the Audiencia Real, the highest
court in the island. The military force of Porto Rico^con-
sists of a regiment of infantry, a brigade of artillery, and a
body of cavalry, besides a militia comprehending seven
battalions of infantry and a regiment of cavalry. The reli¬
gion of the island is Roman Catholic, and it forms the see
of a bishop, who resides at the capital. The public re¬
venue in 1854 amounted to L.364,906, and the expendi¬
ture to L.356,706.
Porto Rico contains fifty-eight towns and villages. The
largest place is San Juan de Porto Rico, the capital. It is
finely situated on a small island on the north coast,' which
is connected with the mainland by a bridge. The'streets
are straight and regular, and the town is inclosed on every
part by strong fortifications, which render it almost im¬
pregnable. It is considered one of the best and healthiest
towns in the West Indies. Among the public edifices
may be mentioned the cathedral, a large mass of building,
which has never been finished; four churches, two chapels',
three convents, an episcopal palace, and a seminary for the
education of the clergy ; the royal military hospital, a large
stone edifice, and an establishment of the same kind for
females ; the jail, a house of correction, a large and hand¬
some town-house, a beautiful theatre, a custom-house, an
arsenal, and some others. The town has also several public
schools, and a society for the promotion of the fine arts.
There is an excellent and secure harbour, and a commo¬
dious wharf. This town was founded in the year 1514.
Within a century afterwards it was twice taken and plun¬
dered by the English, who, however, could gain no per¬
manent footing on the island, neither at these times nor at
a later period under General Abercromby. The popula¬
tion is estimated at 30,000.
Porto Rico was discovered by Christopher Columbus in
1493, and was supposed at the time to contain 600,000 in¬
habitants. It was invaded in 1509 by Spaniards from
Hayti, and the natives were soon exterminated by them.
Towards the end of the seventeenth century the island was
captured by the British ; but it had to be abandoned soon
after on account of the mortality among the troops. In
1820 a revolution was made in Porto Rico, with a view to
a separation from the mother-country ; but this movement
was finally put down in 1823. The island is divided into
seven departments, as follows:—
Pop.(184G).
La Capital 70,861
Arecibo    54,044
Aguadilla   57,322
Mayagues   99,895
Pouce  71,168
Pop. (1846).
Humacao 41,593
Guayama 51,756
Total 446,639
In 1855 the total population amounted to 500,000. More
than half of the people are of Spanish descent; the re¬
mainder is nearly equally divided between Mulattoes and
Negroes, and of the latter about two-thirds are slaves. It
has been remarked that in Porto Rico there is none of that
antipathy between the black and white races that exists in
the United States and other countries.
PORTO SANTO. See Madeiras.
PORT OF SPAIN, or Puerto d’Espana, a town of
the West Indies, capital of the island of Trinidad, on its
N.W. shore, near the mouth of the Carony, in the Gulf
of Paria. It is one of the finest towns in the West Indies,
being well built of stone and brick, and having broad and
regular streets, some of them adorned with rows of trees.
It contains a government-house, court-house, a good market-
house, churches belonging to the Episcopalians, Presbyter-
rians, Methodists, and Roman Catholics, several schools, a
lunatic asylum, hospital, and jail. In the vicinity of the
town are botanic gardens and St James’s barracks, which
are built in one of the most unhealthy spots in Trinidad.
Port of Spain has a large and good harbour, where an
active trade is carried on. Pop. 11,693.
PORTPATRICK, a seaport-town and parish of Scot¬
land, in the county of Wigton, built partly on the slope of
a hill on the shore of the Irish Channel, 6£ miles S.S.W.
of Stranraer, and 109 S.W. of Edinburgh. The principal
street extends in a curve along the shore of the bay, and
some smaller streets branch off from it. The houses are for
the most part well built and slated. There are here an Estab¬
lished church, a Free church, several schools, and a pub-
375
Porto
Santo
Port-
patrick.
376 FOR
Port Philip ]ic library. Many of the inhabitants are engaged in cod-
11 fishing. The new harbour, which was constructed by the
Port Royal Admiralty at great expense, is neither safe nor easy of
access. Portpatrick has declined very much since the max
packets ceased to ply between this and Donaghadee in Iie-
land. A submarine telegraph has been laid between these
two places. Pop. (1851) 1038.
PORT PHILIP, a large bay of Australia, in the colony
of Victoria, about 35 miles in length and as much in
breadth, with an entrance not quite 2 miles wdde; S. Lat.
(of Point Nepean at the entrance) 38. 18., E. Long.
144. 42. On its west side is an inlet, at the head ot which
the town of Geelong stands; and at its northern extremity
the Yarra-Yarra flows into Port Philip, having Melbourne
on its banks about 8 miles up. (See Melbourne.) _
PORTREE, a village and parish of Scotland, in the
county of Inverness, at the head of a small loch of the
same name, in the Isle of Skye. It contains an Established
church, a Free church, and a parish school. The natu¬
ral harbour is well sheltered on all sides, and is capable of
containing a large number of vessels. Steamers ply regu¬
larly between Portree, the other towns on the west coast of
Scotland, and Glasgow. Cattle, salmon, and other^ai tides
are exported from Portree. Pop. of the parish, 3557.
PORT REPUBLICAIN, or Port-au-Prince, the
capital of the empire of Hayti, and the chief seaport in
that island, stands at the head of the bay of Gonaives, on
the W. coast, N. Lat. 18. 35., W. Long. 72. 18. It is
partially fortified towards the land, and there is a battery
on a small island that protects the harbour. It has a com¬
manding appearance from the sea; but though the streets
are broad and regular, the most of the houses are built of
wood, low, and mean in appearance. The chief buildings
are,—the palace, court-house, church, arsenal, mint, school,
and military hospital; but few of these are of any archi¬
tectural merit. The surrounding country is swampy and
unhealthy. Port Republicain carries on some commerce
with Jamaica and the United States. Ihe number ot
ships that entered the port in 1855 was 182, tonnage
30,530; those that cleared 158, tonnage 26,079: besides
the coasting trade, in which were employed 38 ships, ton¬
nage 7241. The harbour is quite safe, except during the
hurricanes which occur between August and November.
Port Republicain was founded in 1749. It was nearly
destroyed by an earthquake in 1770, and has been much
injured on various occasions by fire. Pop. 25,000.
PORT ROYAL, a fortified town of Jamaica, once the
capital of that island, at the end of a narrow strip of land
forming the S. side of Kingston harbour, N.Lat. 17. 56., W.
Long. 76. 51. It was once a flourishing and well-built town,
but it has suffered once and again from earthquakes and fires,
and its public offices have been removed to Kingston. It
still contains a naval arsenal, barracks, hospital, and other
buildings, and its harbour is a station for British men-of-war.
The town is chiefly inhabited by Negroes. Pop. 15,000.
Port Royal, a name celebrated in history, and under
which is designated two nunneries, the one situated near
Chevreuse, about 5 leagues from Paris; the other in Paris,
in the Faubourg St Jacques. Hence the two-fold designa¬
tion of Port lloyal de Paris and of Port Royal des Champs.
The latter is the more ancient title, dating back as far as
the time of Philippe-Auguste, who having lost his way
while hunting, found in this sequestered valley a shelter or
“ port” for himself and his attendants. The monastery
was founded in 1204 by Mathilde de Garlande, wife of
Matthieu de Marli of the family of Montmorency, when he
was on the eve of setting out for the Holy Land. The
nuns were of the order of St Bernard de Citeaux, and
had their own abbess. Pope Honorius III., in 1223,
conferred upon it the privilege of affording an asylum
to seculars without binding themselves by permanent vows.
FOR
The abbey became rich, and the rules of St Bernard Port Royal
were forgotten. It was reserved for Marie Jaqueline An-   '
gelique Arnauld, sister to the famous Antoine Arnauld, to
introduce into this institution a thorough spirit of reform.
She was chosen abbess, through family interest, at the pre¬
mature ao-e of eleven years; and she had hardly attained
to the ao-e of seventeen, in 1608, when she began her work
of reform. She resolved at once to shut out the world,
and this she gradually effected. In less than five years
her sister Agnes, who had been educated at St Cyr, joined
the young abbess, and found the reform all but complete.
The older nuns gave an example of sincere submission,
and the younger were willing to learn. The “ Mere An-
gelique” was removed at this juncture to introduce her
discipline at Maubuisson, where the notorious Madame
d’Etres had hitherto ruled. She remained there five
years; and on her return to Port Royal des Champs,
thirty nuns of Maubuisson besought her to allow them to
accompany her. A great many ladies from all parts of
France were eager for admittance; and such a rapid in-
crease—where an abbey originally designed for twelve
nuns was now inhabited by eighty—began to be a serious
inconvenience. The monastery was situated in a deep and
thickly-wooded valley, watered by two extensive lakes,
which from improper drainage had spread in one continued
marsh over the vale. The house at length became a com¬
plete infirmary. Madame Arnauld, mother to “Mere An-
gelique,” purchased at a very considerable cost a house
known as the Hotel Clagny, situated in the Fauxbourg St
Jacques, Paris, and presented it to her daughter. She re¬
moved her nuns to this house in 1625, calling it Port
Royal de Paris, while the original Port Royal des Champs
was deserted by all save a chaplain, who supplied the parish
church. In 1630 M. Angelique obtained a royal grant
declaring that the abbess should be elected triennially by
the nuns, upon which she and her sister M. Agnes resigned
their offices. Six of M. Angelique’s sisters were nuns at
Port Royal, and her three" brothers filled distinguished
posts in connection with the state.
The house which they had left, Port Royal des Champs,
now became occupied by a number of pious and learned
men, who wished to live a secluded life according to the
spirit of the papal bull of 1223, and who went by the name
of “ Les Solitaires de Port Royal.” The most distin¬
guished among these recluses were Claude Lancelot, the
grammarian ; Antoine le Maistre, nephew of the Mere An¬
gelique, who at the early age of twenty-nine, had aban¬
doned the profession of advocate which he had already
begun in so distinguished a manner. Antoine was soon
followed by his two brothers, Sericourt a distinguished
officer, and De Sacy, the eminent translator of the Bible.
Add to these the names of the two Arnaulds, Pierre Ni¬
cole, Blaise Pascal, and Nicolas Fontaine. The greater
number of these were disciples of Du Verger d’Hauranne,
abbe de Saint Cyran, celebrated for his connection with
Jansenius, who had been his schoolfellow at Louvain, and
celebrated no less for his controversies with the Jesuits.
The animosity towards the Jesuits, it may be safely as¬
sumed, was not a whit diminished in this “solitary” com¬
pany. These men established a school, which was to con¬
sist of five classes of five pupils each ; organized with the
design of counteracting the lax morality which tainted the
education of the Jesuits. The teachers were chiefly Lance¬
lot, Arnauld, De Sacy, Nicole, and Fontaine; known all the
world over by the excellent school-books which were pub¬
lished for the use of that institution. There were a Nou-
velle Methods pour appendre la Langue Latin ; Nouvelle
M/ thode pour appendre la Langue Grecque ; Jardin des
Racines Grecques; Grammaire Generals; Piemens de
Geometric ; La Logique, ou VArt de Penser, written con¬
jointly by Lancelot, Arnauld, Nicole, and De Sacy. Among
FOR
POE
27
Port Royal the pupils who received their education here were Tille-
mont and Jean Racine.
Meanwhile the nuns of Port Royal exceeded 180. It
became necessary once more to divide them, and Port
Royal des Champs was fixed upon as their new abode.
The recluses having removed to a farm-house called Les
Granges, which was situated on the top of a neighbouring
hill, the monastery was left vacant for the occupation of
the nuns, who after a twenty-five years’ absence, were
received back to their old abode with the greatest joy
by the entire neighbourhood. The Mere Angelique,
their superior by election, led them to their new re¬
sidence, and inaugurated their proceedings among the
happy peasantry. The double lame acquired by the
solitaires and by the religieuses secretly aroused the
envy and hatred of the Society of Jesus, who harboured
already an old grudge against the family of Arnauld. In
1594 Antoine Arnauld, the father of Angelique, gained a
lawsuit in behalf of the university of Paris against the
Jesuits; and this success had become, what it was after¬
wards phrased, “ the original sin of the Arnaulds.” Besides,
the adversaries of Port Royal witnessed with pain the edu¬
cation of the most distinguished youth of the kingdom pass
out of their hands. On the 1st July 1649, Nicolas Cornet
led on before the faculty of theology the famous quarrel
of the “ five propositions” upon grace, contained in the
book of Jansenius. Antoine Arnauld, in defence of Port
Royal, condemned the five propositions on the ground of
their having no existence in the pages of Augustinus.
Arnauld was accused of Jansenism ; and the nuns of Port
Royal, with their abbess at their head, had the courage to
declare that they could not see the five alleged heretical
propositions in the work of Jansenius. Orders for their
dispersion were on the point of being issued, when a miracle
occurred to the niece of Pascal which arrested the hand of
the executioner, and brought temporary peace to Port Royal.
In 1656 a formulary, condemning the five propositions as
having a part in the book of Jansenius, was issued by the
Archbishop of Toulouse, and imposed upon all religious
communities. The Port Royalists refused of course. At
last a royal order came in 1660 to disperse them. While
this was transpiring, the M&re Marie Jaqueline Ange¬
lique Arnauld dispersed in quite a different fashion. She
died on the 6th of August 1661, leaving behind her a
name not calculated to die. The young ladies continued
refractory ; and Perefix, Archbishop of Paris, arrested
abbess, prioress, and nuns, by a party of (police, and dis¬
tributed them to the care of several monasteries, where
they were kept in a state of confinement. In 1669 a
compromise occurred between the Pope and the defend¬
ers of Jansenius, known as the peace of Clement IX.,
when the nuns of Port Royal des Champs were restored
to their convent. They no longer possessed Port Royal
de Paris. This community was severed from the original
stock by the order of the king, confirmed by a bull of
Clement X. Subsequently disputes arose between the
two communities, in which the Jesuits and the Archbishop
of Paris played an important part. The upshot of it was,
that in March 1708 a bull of Pope Clement XI. shut the
convent of Port Royal des Champs, and transferred the
property to Port Royal de Paris. D’Argenson, lieutenant
of police, was sent from Paris with a body of men to dis¬
tribute the sisters among several convents, to strip Port
Royal des Champs of all its valuables, and level the building
with the ground, as a nest of Jansenists and heretics. The
bodies of Le Maistre, of Arnauld, of Pascal, of Racine,
&c., which lay buried there, were in 1711 exhumed and
transported to the cemeteries of Paris. Port Royal
de Paris, enriched with the spoils of the House of
Champs, continued to subsist without noise or lustre till
1790.
VOL. XVIII.
l]
The books that have been written regarding Port Royal
are very numerous. The chief are '.—L’Histoire Ge¬
nerate de VAbbaye de Port Royal, by Dorn Clemencet
10 vols., Amsterdam, 1755-57; Memoires pour servir k
VHistoire de Port Royal, by Nicolas Fontaine, Utrecht
3 vols., 1742; Hisloire de VAbbaye de Port Royal, by
Besonge, 8 vols., 1756 ; Memoires Historique et Chroholo-
gique sur VAbbaye de Port Royal des Champs, by Guil-
beit, 9 vols., 1/55—58; L Histoire de Port Royal, par
Jean Racine, 2 vols., published for the first time in 1767 ;
Les Ruinesde Port Royal, by Gregoire, 1801 ; Geschichte
von Port Royal, by Reuchlin, Hamburg, 1839; Port Royal
by Saint-Beuve, 3 vols. 8vo, Paris, 1842-43; Select Me¬
moirs of Port Royal, by M. A. Schimmelpenninck, 2 vols.,
1835, and 3 vols., 1858.
POR TSMOUTH, the strongest fortified town in Eng¬
land, is situated in the southern part of the county of
Southampton or Hampshire, within the hundred of Ports-
down, 74 miles from London by road, and 94^ by railway.
It stands on an island separated from the mainland by a
small creek or arm of the sea. This island, called Portsea,
is 3 miles long, and 2£ miles broad, and contains 5568
acres of land of great fertility. It includes, besides the
borough of Portsmouth, the town formerly known as Ports¬
mouth Common, but now by the name of the Island, and
also the suburbs called Southsea, Landport, and Kingston.
Southsea, which takes its name from the castle, built dur¬
ing the time of Henry VIII., is of very recent origin ; it
owes its prosperity to its beautiful position, and has within
the past few years become an important watering-place,
and the beach has been pronounced by competent autho¬
rities one of the finest in England. A number of mansions
and terraces have also been built, and the grounds laid out
in a very tasteful manner; so that the place is eminently
suited to the wants of a superior class of visitors. A
beautiful esplanade extends along the beach from the castle
to the king’s rooms, a distance of about a mile; and ad¬
joining the rooms are a number of warm, shower, vapour, and
other baths : there are also a quantity of bathing-machines
ranged along the beach. Near the entrance to the king’s
rooms are statues of Wellington and Nelson, which were
erected at the expense of Major-General Lord Frederick
Fitzclarence, late governor of Portsmouth. Landport is
peopled for the most part by the dockyard artizans, al¬
though it contains a few respectable houses; in it are
situated the termini of the Brighton and South Coast,
and London and South-Western railways; also the Royal
Portsmouth and Gosport Hospital, which is a noble build¬
ing erected in 1849.
The soil of the island is marshy, and was formerly found
to be unhealthy, and the inhabitants suffered much from the
scarcity and dearness of good water. But of late years
these evils have been remedied by complete drainage, and
by the construction of good sewers, which carry the im¬
purities of the town into the sea. Two efficient water
companies have been in operation some years; and Ports¬
mouth is now second to no town as far as regards the supply
of this indispensable article. Sixty years ago the average
number of deaths per annum was above 3 per cent, of the
whole population ; thirty years since the average was about
2 per cent.; and this is now considerably reduced.
The favourable situation of Portsmouth for a naval
arsenal led to the construction of the works that have since
distinguished it, at the period when the sovereigns of Eng¬
land first began to form a naval force.
The earliest notice respecting Portsmouth occurs in the
Saxon Chronicle, in 501, when it is called Poriesmuthe.
Robert, Duke of Normandy, landed here with a strong
army in 1101, during the contest for the throne between
himself and his brother Henry I., when the interference
of the barons induced him to concur in terms of concilia-
3 B
Portsmou
5- ^
PORTSMOUTH.
378
Portsmouth tion. In 1123 it is recorded that Henry I. paid a visi^°
this place, and passed the season of Whitsuntide. In 1
the Empress Maud, with her brother the Earl of Gloucester
landed here, and marched from hence to Arundel. In 11 Jo
a charter was granted to the town by Richard I., which
conferred upon it various privileges which were at that
time enjoyed by the city of Winchester, and which enacted
that there should be an annual fair of fifteen days duration ;
also a weekly market. The army of Henry HE, wluc
raised for the invasion of France, was mustered here in 1 J-.J,
and also disbanded. In 1298 King Edward I. granted the in¬
habitants a charter, conferring on them the privilege ot re¬
turning members to Parliament. A few years later, during
the reign of Richard II., the town was sacked and destroyed
by the French. Under Edward IV., Richard I I, and
Henries VII. and VIII, the fortifications, which at that time
were considerable, were greatly extended and improved.
In 1545 a French fleet attempted to surprise the town,
but to no purpose. Queen Elizabeth added considerably
to the defences, in which work she has been followed by
nearly every successive sovereign. In the reign of Charles
I. the Duke of Buckingham was assassinated by Felton;
and in 1756 Admiral Byng was shot on board the Monarque
by order of a court-martial. In 1815 Sir E. Cockburn
sailed from this town with Napoleon for St Helena.
As the town of Portsmouth is surrounded with walls, the
streets are for the most part narrow ; nor can it as a whole
be represented as a well-built place. The High Street is
of moderate breadth, and has a few good buildings ; but a
part of it is disfigured and contracted by having the market-
house running through the middle of it. Some of the
buildings are of ancient date; one especially in the High
Street is worthy of observation, as having been the dwell¬
ing-house in which the Duke of Buckingham was assassi¬
nated in the reign of King Charles. It may be remarked
that the best buildings in Portsmouth are the inns and hotels,
which are numerous, and proportioned to the great number
and various descriptions of occasional residents arriving and
departing as passengers to and from all parts of the world.
There are five barracks,—viz, the royal artillery bar¬
racks in Broad Street; those for the marine artillery near
the custom-house; and the Cambridge, the Clarence, and
the Colewort barracks, for troops of the line. The walk
round the fortifications forms a very agreeable promenade ;
and the grand parade, situated near the King’s Bastion, also
furnishes an agreeable walk. At the east end of the grand
parade is the garrison chapel, the only remaining portion of
an ancient hospital founded in 1238, and called the Domus
Dei.
At the west end of the platform, on an ancient building,
which, before the dissolution of the monasteries, had been
the government-house, a lofty semaphore has been erected,
from which signals are made to the ships in the harbour
and at Spithead. It is also connected with a chain of tele¬
graphs, terminating at the Admiralty Office in London, and
by which communications are conveyed; so that a message
can be sent, and a reply received, in about two minutes. In
a niche in a wall of this ancient building is a bust of King
Charles I, with an inscription underneath, stating that
“after his travels through France and Spain, and having
passed many dangers both by sea and land, he arrived here
5th October 1623.” This was on his return from the
secret journey he made in search of a bride of the Spanish
royal family.
The parish church is a venerable object; it was originally
erected in 1220, and dedicated to the then recently canonized
St Thomas a Becket. The chancel is the only part left of the
original building, and affords a contrast, by its numerous
pillars, clustered pilasters, and ribbed, pointed arches in the
Saracenic style, with the architecture of the nave, built in
plain Tuscan style, the pillars of which support circular
arches and carry the roof. Few places of worship in the Portsmouth
kingdom are superior to this church in internal beauty,
which is chiefly due to the elegance of the chancel, but is
increased by a few painted windows over the altar, of mo¬
dern date. At the west end of the edifice is the tower,
added in 1693, and which rises to the height of 120 feet.
Over this, in an octagon latticed erection called the lanthorn,
is a fine peal of eight bells. Surmounting the whole, as a
weather vane, is a gilt model of a ship, 6 feet long, which
has a shiftino- flag on the mizen-mast that moves with the
slightest motion of the air, and indicates from what quarter
the wind blows, when the breeze is not sufficiently strong
to move the hull ot the ship.
The walls of this church are adorned with a great variety
of handsome ancient and modern monuments ; one of the
most remarkable of which is that to the memory of the
Duke of Buckingham, whose assassination has already been
adverted to. In the parish register is to be seen the re¬
gistration of the marriage of King Charles II. with the
Infanta of Portugal, 22d May 1662. This document, in
letters of gold on vellum, is highly illuminated in the style
of the old missals, and states the marriage to have been
performed by Sheldon, Bishop of London. Some doubts
have since been suggested, whether any other ceremony
wras used except a private marriage by a Catholic priest.
Besides this capacious church, there are open to the
inhabitants a district church dedicated to St Mary; the
garrison chapel, for the worship of the Established Church ;
and five places of meeting for several sects of dissenters.
In the other towns the places of worship are numerous.
At Portsea there are, for the Episcopal worship, the parish
church of Kingston, the dockyard chapel, St George’s
church, St John’s church, and Holy Trinity church ; be¬
sides a Catholic chapel, a Jews’ synagogue, a Wesleyan,
an Independent, and two other meeting-houses. In South-
sea are St Paul’s and St Jude’s churches, with four Bap¬
tist chapels. At Landport, formerly known as the Half¬
way Houses, are All-Saints’, St Mary’s, and St James’s
churches, in addition to six meeting-houses of various
sects. Almost all these places of worship have Sunday
or day schools attached to them; and there are also
schools where reading, writing, and arithmetic are taught
on the systems of Bell and Lancaster. A philosophical
society, founded in 1818, contains a museum of natural his-,
tory and curiosities ; also a choice library, and a number of
members : it has weekly lectures, and a reading-room, which
is open daily. The mechanics’institute was established thirty
years since : it has a large share of public patronage. There
is also a beneficial society in Kent Street, and an association
in connection with the Established Church. A well-endowed
grammar school in Penny Street was founded in 1732, by
Dr Smith, himself a native of Portsmouth, for the instruction
of fifty boys, sons of the inhabitants, in classical learning.
The town-hall, gaol, theatre, custom-house, and other public
buildings of Portsmouth, present little or no attraction.
Few markets are better supplied than those of Portsmouth.
A large part of the fertile island of Portsea is laid out in
kitchen and fruit gardens. No market produces finer meat:
large quantities of poultry, hares, partridges, and eggs, are
brought from France ; and the extensive water communica¬
tion gives facility to provide hay, corn, flour, and other such
articles at very cheap rates. To this cheapness of provisions,
combined with the purity of the air, is in a great measure
attributed the extension of Southsea, and the number of
excellent residences which have lately been erected in that
locality.
The public buildings in Portsea, except those belonging
to the government, are by no means distinguished ; the
streets, however, are regularly built, and well paved and
lighted, but the general appearance of the houses, with some
few exceptions, is mean and despicable, the great majority
PORTSMOUTH.
379
Portsmouth of the inhabitants being of the lower classes. In Southseaare
the king’s rooms, in which the balls, soirees, and other such
like entertainments are held ; they consist of a magnificent
suite of rooms, having a frontage to the street of 80 feet:
within is the promenade-room, 45 feet long, 35 feet wide,
and 17 feet high ; besides a number of other apartments, and
hot and cold vapour and shower baths, as has already been
stated.
It is, however, as the great depot of the British naval
power that Portsmouth is most important; and in this view
the state of the surrounding water, and of the harbour above
the town, become worthy of observation and description.
One of the great advantages accruing to this place is that
very fine anchorage known by the name of Spithead. It
is nearly midway between the mainland and the Isle of
Wight, and is protected by th^ highlands of the island from
southerly winds, and from northerly and easterly winds by
the mainland. It has an advantageous entrance; for
though at the east there are some dangers on what is called
the Princessa Shoal, and on the ranges of rocks called Bern-
bridge Ledge and Betty’s Ledge, they, as well as the Nab
Rock, the Long Rock, the Warner, and Romansland, are
so well provided with either floating lights or distinguishing
buoys, that there is little risk, except in very dense fogs,
when the buoys cannot be seen, nor the leading marks ob¬
served on the sea-shore. At this entrance it is a great ad¬
vantage that at St Helen’s, at the east end of the island,
there is a good anchorage ; so that if the wind takes a ves¬
sel short, she can safely ride till the breeze is in her favour.
The western entrance to Spithead is by Hurst Castle, and
the rocks called the Needles. This passage is always safe
in fair winds, on account of the definite track which is shown
by the buoys, lights, and landmarks ; but it is so hazardous
in contrary winds that very few ships attempt to beat
through. The passage out by the Needles is used by
more vessels than come into Spithead by that way. The
anchoring-ground at Spithead is very good for holding, and
very clear, except near the wrecks of the Royal George,
the Boyne, and the Edgar, around which the tide has
formed considerable banks. There is a regular depth of
water at every part, varying from 6 to 12 fathoms, and the
space is sufficient for the whole navy of England to ride at
single or double anchor, without danger of falling on board
each other when swinging with the changes of the tide.
Within the smooth water, between the island and the
mainland, there are other very good anchorages : of these the
Mother-bank is the principal; Stokes Bay is another safe
anchorage. Here is the measured mile in which the speed
of every new ship is tried.
The great advantages arising from so secure a rendezvous
as Spithead, so near to the great national marine arsenal,
are too obvious to need any elaborate remarks. The en¬
trance to the harbour of Portsmouth is narrower than the
Thames at London Bridge; yet there is sufficient depth of
water for the largest man-of-war to enter at any state of
the tide. The defences are of the most impregnable cha¬
racter, the channels by which vessels approach the harbour
being crowned with forts and batteries, and armed with
artillery of the heaviest calibre; so that an enemy’s fleet,
however strong, would be utterly annihilated before it could
reach even the entrance. The interior of the harbour ex¬
pands into a spacious lake 4 miles long and 2 miles broad,
in which those ships of war that are under repair, or pre¬
paring for sea, are riding, and some of them lying at the
wharves of the dock, which borders the harbour on the eastern
side. From thence the harbour extends into the land, and
contains, in one part called Rotton Row, the ships that are
in ordinary, being with no other crews than a few warrant
officers, to prevent them from plunder, or from injury by
weather. The water here branches off in various directions,
and by the help of the tide is navigable to Fareham, and
to Portchester Castle, a pile of antiquity that will reward Portsmouth
the curiosity of a visitor. Respecting the defences which /
envelope the town, it has been stated that, in case of asie^e
these fortifications would require a garrison of no less than
14,000 men, all the works being surrounded by moats
which are very wide and deep, and can be speedily filled
with water from the sea.
The dockyard of Portsmouth is one of those noble ob¬
jects in which every Briton feels an interest. The gun-
wharf, under the ordnance department, is an immense ar¬
senal, consisting of various ranges of buildings for the recep¬
tion of military and naval stores and artillery. These store¬
houses are vast piles, and are fitted to contain all kinds of
necessaries for the sudden equipment, both of a fleet and
an army. Above 3000 men are constantly employed here,
although the various operations are conducted by steam-
engines, and every improved facility in machinery is
adopted. On the wharf is the grand depot for guns, carron-
ades, and mortars, with shot and shells of almost every size
and weight, all of which are arranged in gigantic pyramids.
Here also, in times of peace, the guns from the ships in
ordinary at the port are lodged, each ship’s guns being kept
in a separate tier, whilst the carriages are deposited away
in the same regular manner in the proper storehouses; so
that the whole may be easily collected again, and re-em¬
barked. The small armoury is worthy of notice ; it con¬
tains 25,000 stands of arms, all placed in the same orna¬
mental style as those of a similar description in the Tower
of London. 1 he roof of this building is covered with
copper, which, being oxidized by exposure to the atmo¬
sphere, when viewed on approaching it from the quay gate,
conveys to the mind the idea of a green grassy slope, ora
still wave of the sea.
The victualling establishment was removed at the com¬
mencement of the present century to the opposite side of
the harbour, and is now in the town of Gosport. A com¬
munication is kept up between Portsmouth and Gosport by
a steam floating bridge, which conveys passengers and
merchandise at very low rates. The biscuit-bakery, the
bread, pork, beef, rum, wine, and clothing stores, are open
to the inspection of visitors. One of the greatest curiosities
is the machinery substituted for manual labour in making
biscuits, whereby every process, in its minutest details, is
effected, preparatory to .ts being ready for the oven, in¬
cluding kneading, rolling, forming, and stamping. As a
proof of the superiority of machinery over the old methods,
it may be observed that 5 cwt. of dough may be mixed, com¬
pletely kneaded, and prepared for the oven in seven minutes.
Portsmouth, independent of its naval dockyard, possesses
a considerable foreign and coasting trade. The number of ,
sailing-vessels registered at Portsmouth, 31st December
1857, was 251, tonnage 14,867; of steamers 8, tonnage
221. In the year 1857 there entered the port. 1581 sail¬
ing-vessels, tonnage 144,596; and 36 steamers, tonnage
13,335: and there cleared 908 sailing-vessels, tonnage
35,414; and 74 steamers, tonnage 30,415. Of those that
entered, 134,961 tons were engaged in the coasting, and
22,970 in the foreign and colonial trade ; and of those that
cleared, 76,805 tons were engaged in the former, and 9844
in the latter. The amount of duty received at the custom¬
house during 1857 was over L.70,000.
The population of the borough has greatly increased
during the present century, as appears from the following
returns:—
1811. 1831. 1851.
Portsmouth  7,103 8,083 10,329
Portsea 34,484 42,306 61,767
Total 41,587 50,389 72,096
By far the greater number of these are the families of
officers and men of the navy, army, and marines, and of the
various dockyard artificers. The limits of the borough
380 P O R
Portsmouth contain within them the whole of the town of Portsea.
II The corporation now consists of fourteen aldermen and
Portugal, forty-two councillors, who elect the mayor. It is divided
into six wards, and has justices of the peace appointed by
the Crown. The Reform Act confirmed the ancient pri¬
vilege of returning two members to Parliament, which the
town has uninterruptedly enjoyed from the time of Ed¬
ward I.; the whole of the suburbs being now included in
the limits of the parliamentary borough.
Portsmouth, a seaport-town of the United States of
North America, state of New Hampshire, stands on the
right bank of the Piscataqua river, about 3 miles above its
mouth, 54 miles N. by E. of Boston. It occupies a fine
situation on a peninsula in the river, and is connected by
bridges with Kittery in Maine, on the opposite side. The
streets are irregular and narrow, but some of them have
handsome buildings, and are lined with trees. 1 here are
in the town an arsenal, two market-houses, eleven churches,
many of them handsome buildings, numerous schools, an
athenaeum, with a museum, and a library of 10,000 volumes,
a lunatic asylum, &c. The United States navy-yard, which
occupies an island near the eastern bank of the river, is one
of the most important and interesting establishments in the
town. It contains three large ship houses, and a dry dock
350 feet long by 105 broad, constructed at a great expense.
The harbour of Portsmouth, which is defended by two
forts, is large, deep, and easy of access; so that in stormy
weather many vessels take refuge in it. It is said to be
capable of containing as many as 2000 ships. Manufac¬
tures are actively and extensively carried on in the town ;
FOR
cotton, hosiery, ropes, shoes, iron-castings, &c., are the chief Portsmouthi
articles produced. Ship-building is also largely carried on ; || (
and the tonnage of the port, June 30, 1852, amounted to Portugal.
16,654 registered, and 8237 enrolled and licensed. During
the year ending at that date there entered from foreign
countries 78 ships, tonnage 8493 ; and there cleared for
foreign ports 64, tonnage <466. In the same year the im¬
ports amounted to L.20,750, and the exports to L.13,940 ;
and the duties collected to about L.6250. Pop. (1850)
9739; (1853) about 11,000.
Portsmouth, a seaport-town of the United States of
North America, in the state of Virginia, on the left bank of
the Elizabeth river, opposite the town of Norfolk, 160 miles
S.E. of Richmond. It is well and regularly built on level
ground, and it contains a large and showy naval hospital, a
court-house, six churches, a literary, scientific, and military
academy, and other buildings. In the suburb of Gosport
there is a government dry dock capable of admitting the
largest vessels. Portsmouth is connected by railway with
Charlestown in South Carolina; and steamers ply daily
between this and Richmond. The harbour is safe and ac¬
cessible to the largest ships. Pop. 8626.
Portsmouth, a town of the United States of North Ame¬
rica, state of Ohio, on the right bank of the Ohio, at its con¬
fluence with the Scioto, 115 miles above Cincinnati, and 90
S. of Columbus. It contains a court-house, abank, six or eight
churches, two large schools with 13 teachers and about 700
pupils, two iron foundries, a forge, and a nail factory. Iron,
coal, and good building-stone are obtained in abundance in
the vicinity. Pop. (1850) 4011; (1853) about 5000.
PORTUGAL.
The modern kingdom of Portugal embraces a part of, and
somewhat more than, the country called Lusitania by the
Romans. The etymology of the present name is involved
in obscurity ; for though many conjectures have been put
forward, none seems worthy of confidence.
History. The history of Portugal commences with a story to this
effect:—Affonso VI,, King of Leon and Castile, being ap¬
prehensive that his success in taking the city of Toledo
would bring upon him the whole force of the Moors, sent
to demand assistance from Philip I. of France, and the
Duke of Burgundy, whose daughter he had married. His
request was granted by both princes ; and a numerous body
of troops was speedily collected for his service, having at
their head Raymond, Count of Burgundy, and Henry,
younger brother of Hugh, Duke of Burgundy. In the
year 1087 they arrived at the court of Dom Affonso, where
they were treated with all possible marks of esteem; and
having, in the course of two or three years, given great
proofs of their courage and conduct, the king resolved to
bestow his daughter Urraca, then, at most, in her ninth
year, upon Raymond, Count of Burgundy, and assigned
them the province of Galicia for the support of their dignity.
Henry of About the year 1095 Dom Affonso, being desirous to ex-
Burgundy press his gratitude to Henry of Burgundy, gave him in
the first marriage a natural daughter of his, named Theresa; and
count of upon this marriage he conveyed in full property the frontier
r uSa • province he had conquered from the Moors. The new
sovereign, with the title of Count, fixed his residence at
Guimaraens, a town to the north of the Douro, where the
remains of an ancient palace belonging to his successors
are still to be seen.
Henry is said to have performed great exploits against
the Moors ; but the accounts given of them are extremely
indistinct and unsatisfactory. He died in 1112, and was
succeeded by his son Dom Affonso, then in the third year
ot his age. In the minority of the latter the kingdom was
governed by the queen-mother, Dona Theresa, assisted by
two ministers. During their administration differences D;g-erenccs
took place between the queen-regent and Urraca, Queen ofwjth Qas.
Castile, which were not arranged until the death of the tile,
latter.
The greatest misfortune which befell Theresa was a ^ffonso’g
quarrel with her own son, Dom Affonzo Enrique. A civil wars with
war ensued, in which the queen’s forces were totally de- the Moors
feated, and herself made prisoner, a situation in which she and the
continued during the remainder of her life. Enrique hav-
ing thus attained to the full possession of his dominions,
made several attempts upon various places in Galicia, but
without success ; and he was at last constrained to conclude
a peace with Affonso, King of Castile and Leon, who had
assumed the title of Emperor of the Spains, more espe¬
cially as his dominions happened to be at that time invaded
by the Moors. The number of infidels was so great, that
the Count of Portugal had but little hopes of subduing
them; but a plague having broken out in the Moorish
army, they were obliged to retreat, after which he reduced
several places belonging to that nation. In the meantime,
the Emperor Dom Affonso having made an irruption into
the Portuguese territories, destroyed everything with fire
and sword. The King of Portugal surprised and cut off a
considerable part of his army. At the intercession of the
Pope’s legate, however, a peace was concluded, and all
places and prisoners taken on both sides were delivered up.
Meanwhile, the progress of the Christian arms in Spain victory of
being reported to Abu-Ali Texefien, the chief of the Ourique.
Moors in Barbary, he directed Ishmael, his lieutenant in
Spain, to assemble all the forces in the southern provinces,
and to drive the Christians beyond the Douro. The Moors
were met by Dom Affonso on the plains of Ourique, near
the Tagus, and were totally defeated. The event was an
important one in the history of Portugal. It stimulated
the imagination of the people, and circumstances were
attached to it, as time rolled on, which the historian is
compelled to reject, as no more worths of credit than the
PORTUGAL.
381
History.
Dom Af-
fonso as¬
sumes the
title of
King.
Reduces
Lisbon and
other cities,
His regal
dignity
confirmed
by the
Pope.
War with
Don Ferdi¬
nand of
Spain.
legends of Romulus and Remus. It was said that the
Portuguese force consisted of no more than 13,000 men,
whilst the Moorish army, commanded by five kings, num¬
bered 200,000. The count, half daunted by the superior
strength of the enemy, was encouraged to engage in combat
by a hermit, who told him to go forth in the morning when
the bell should ring for mass, and turn to the east. He
did as he was ordered, and then beheld within a circle of
clouds the image of Christ crucified, and this promised him
victory, with a crown, and a line of sixteen successors to
inherit it. Whatever the literal fact may be, the Portu¬
guese look upon the plains of Ourique as the birthplace of
the monarchy.
After this victory, gained in the year 1139, Dom Alfonso
was proclaimed king by his soldiers, and ever afterwards
retained that title, renouncing all kind of subjection to the
crown of Spain. Being very desirous, however, of reducing
the power of the emperor, he formed a league with Ray¬
mond, Count of Barcelona, and regent of the kingdom of
Aragon, against that prince. In virtue of this treaty, he
entered Galicia with a considerable force on one side, whilst
Don Raymond simultaneously invaded it on the other. But
neither of these enterprises succeeded. The Portuguese
monarch met with a severe check in his expedition into
Galicia, where he received a dangerous wound, whilst some
of the nobility who attended him were taken prisoners. At
the same time, having received intelligence that the Moors
had invaded his dominions, he w'as obliged to retire; but
his retreat was not made in sufficient time to prevent the
strong fortress of Leiria from falling into their hands. This
fortress they demolished, and put the garrison to the sword;
but the king caused it to be re-constructed of greater
strength than before, and placed in it a more numerous
garrison. Yet he undertook nothing farther during this
campaign. The war continued with various success till
the year 1145, when the king projected an enterprise
against Santarem, a strong city, 40 miles from Lisbon.
In this he luckily succeeded, and thus gained a considerable
tract of country, with a strong barrier to his dominions.
After this success, Dom Affonso caused himself to be
crowned king of Portugal before an assembly of the states,
where he also solemnly renounced all dependence upon the
crown of Spain; declaring that if any of his successors
should condescend to pay tribute or to do homage to that
crown, he ought to be deemed unworthy of enjoying the
kingdom of Portugal. The next year the king undertook
to recover Lisbon from the Moors; but there are so many
fables related of this expedition, that it is impossible to
come at the truth. All that can be gathered from these
accounts is, that he undertook the siege with a small army,
and was able to make little progress in it, partly from the
strength of the place, and partly also from the numerous
garrison by which it was defended. At length, fortunately
for Dom Affonso, a fleet of adventurers, French, English,
Germans, and Flemings, who were on their way to the
Holy Land, having anchored at the mouth of the Tagus,
he demanded their assistance, as not altogether foreign to
their design of making war upon the infidels. His request
was readily granted ; and, with their assistance, Lisbon was
speedily reduced; a conquest which so much enhanced the
reputation of this monarch, and brought such numbers to
recruit his army, that before the end of the year 1147 he
had reduced twelve other considerable cities.
For many years after this, Dom Affonso was successful
in all his undertakings. He settled the internal government
of his kingdom ; procured a bull from Pope Alexander HI.
confirming his regal dignity; undertook many successful
expeditions against the Moors ; and became master of four
out of the six provinces which compose the present king¬
dom of Portugal. He was assisted by the counsels of his
queen, Matilda, a woman of great capacity, and able to
govern the kingdom in her husband’s absence. By her he History,
had a numerous offspring, including three daughters, the
eldest of whom, Donna Matilda, was married to the King
of Aragon; the second, Urraca, to Don Ferdinand, King
of Leon; and the third, Theresa, to Philip, Earl of Flan¬
ders. In 1166, however, the king thought proper to invade
the dominions of his son-in-law Don Ferdinand, and to
seize upon Limmia and Turon, two cities of Galicia, in
which he placed strong garrisons. The next year he
marched with a numerous army towards Badajoz, which he
invested. On receiving the news of this attack, Don Fer¬
dinand, who had assembled a large army at Ciudad Rodrigo,
marched to its relief; but he arrived too late, whereupon
he resolved to besiege his antagonist in his newly-con¬
quered city. Dom Affonso, perceiving his design, endea¬
voured to draw out his forces into the field. Though at
that time upwards of seventy years of age, he placed him¬
self on horseback, and pushing forward at the head of his
horse to get out at the gate, struck his leg against one
of the bolts with such violence that the bone was shattered
to pieces. This accident occasioned such confusion that
the Portuguese troops were easily beaten, and Dom Affonso
was taken prisoner. He was, however, kindly treated by
his opponent, and a peace w'as concluded between them.
Returning to his dominions before his leg was cured, he
became lame for the rest of his life; but this did not abate
his military ardour. Towards the end of his reign, an op¬
portunity seemed to present itself of obtaining once for all
an entire release from the disagreeable pretensions of the
King of Leon, who, it seems, had insisted on the King of
Portugal doing homage for his kingdom. This was a
quarrel between the King of Leon and his nephew Alonso,
King of Castile. The latter solicited assistance from the
King of Portugal, which was readily granted. But Fer¬
dinand having received intelligence that the infant Dom
Sancho, the king’s eldest son, was advancing towards Ciu¬
dad Rodrigo, assembled his troops with such diligence on
that frontier, that, being enabled to attack him unexpect¬
edly, he entirely defeated him.
Understanding, however, that Dom Sancho was recruit- Dom Sail¬
ing his forces with great diligence, he suggested that they cho s suc*
might be much better employed against the infidels, who c®ssa£ains*
remained careless and unprepared, expecting the issue of the r e 00rs'
contest. Dom Sancho did not fail to profit by this advice;
and after some movements intended to amuse the enemy,
he made a sudden irruption into Andalusia, penetrating as
far as Triana, one of the suburbs of Seville. The Moors
assembled their forces, in order to attack him on his retreat,
but were entirely defeated; and Dom Sancho returned to
Portugal loaded with spoil. In 1184 the King of Morocco
having already transported multitudes of men from Bar¬
bary, at length followed in person with a prodigious army,
and carried all before him as far as the Tagus. He appeared
before Santarem; but having exhausted and reduced his
army by unsuccessful assaults on that place, he was attacked
by the Portuguese, assisted by Ferdinand of Leon, and
entirely defeated and slain. By this victory the Portuguese
were left at liberty to improve the interior of their country,
and to fortify their frontiers ; but not long afterwards, that
is, in the year 1185, the king died, in the seventy-sixth
year of his age.
Dom Affonso was succeeded by his son Dom Sancho I., Sancho I.
who, by steadily applying himself to the work of restora¬
tion, in a short time quite changed the appearance of his
territories, and acquired the glorious titles of The Restorer
of Cities and Father of his Country. In the year 1189, a
fleet, composed for the most part of English vessels, but
having on board a great number of adventurers of other
nations bound for the Holy Land, entered the river Tagus.
Dom Sancho solicited them to assist him in a design he
had formed of attacking the city of Silvas in Algarve, to
-
382
PORTUGAL.
History, which they readily assented. Having joined them with a
squadron of his own galleys, and marched a body of troops
by land, the place was reduced, and the English, according
to agreement, were rewarded with the plunder. But in a
short time, the Moors from Africa having once more in¬
vaded Portugal, the town was several times taken and re¬
taken, until at last Dom Sancho, sensible of the difficulties
of retaining it, caused it to be demolished. His last enter¬
prise was the reduction of Elvas; soon after which he died,
leaving the reputation of being the best economist that
ever sat on the throne of Portugal. With the character of
being rather liberal than avaricious, he had amassed a
treasure of more than seven hundred thousand crowns in
ready money, besides fourteen hundred merks of silver,
and one hundred of gold plate, which he disposed of some
time before his death. He was interred, by his own com¬
mand, in the cathedral of Coimbra; and when his body was
taken up four hundred years afterwards, that it might be
laid in a new tomb, it was found uncorrupted.
Differ- history of Portugal presents scarcely any event of
ences with importance till the year 1289; when, in the reign of Don
Castile. Diniz, a difference commenced with Castile which subsisted
for a long period. Frequent reconciliations took place;
but these were either of short duration, or never sincere.
At length, in the reign of John I., Don Juan of Castile,
who had also pretensions to the crown of Portugal, invaded
that kingdom at the head of the whole force of his domi¬
nions, and with the flower of the Castilian nobility entered
the province of Alemtejo. He besieged Elvas, but without
effect; a disappointment which enraged him to such a
degree, that he determined the following year to invade
Portugal a second time, and lay waste the country before
him. Accordingly, having collected an army of thirty
thousand men, he invaded Portugal, and took and ruined
several places; but the Portuguese in the end were victo¬
rious, although with an inferior force, and the Castilians
consented to a truce of three years, which was soon after¬
wards improved into a lasting peace.
The city of ^.n King John undertook a successful expedition
Ceuta tak- against the Moors in Barbary, where he commanded in
en from person, his queen, Philippa, the daughter of John, Duke of
the Moors. Lancaster, having died shortly before. The city of Ceuta
was taken from the Moors almost at the first assault.
Scarcely had the king left the country, when the princes
of Barbary formed a league for the recovery of the place ;
but they were defeated by the young princes of Portugal.
John strengthened the fortifications and augmented °his
forces there.
Madeira was discovered in 1420, and the Azores in
1432. King John died in 1433, and was succeeded by
his eldest son Edward. The latter undertook an expedition
against Jangier in Barbary, but the event proved very
unfortunate; the Portuguese being so shut up by the
Moors that, to obtain leave to return to Portugal, they
were obliged to give up Ceuta. Although the king’s son
Ferdinand was left as a hostage for the delivery of Ceuta,
the king and council of Portugal constantly refused to
deliver up the place. Preparations were made for recover¬
ing the prince by force; but before anything could be
accomplished, the king died in 1438.
passage to „ H°wever, the war with Barbary continued at intervals
the East many years, but with little success on the part of the
Indies dis- i ortuguese. In the reign of Affonso V. a civil war broke
covered, out, the two parties being headed by the king, and Pedro,
t ie recent duke of Coimbra, who was finally defeated and
mled at the battle of Alfarrobeira, 1449. The vear 1497
was remarkable for the discovery of the passage to the East
snirltnfG, G0CM Hope. The enterprising
nrnmnf Portuguese had, for a considerable time before,
Afriri, 6 i leim t0i unt^erta^e voyages along the coast of
, ant when they found in the torrid zone, which the
ancients had pronounced to be uninhabitable, fertile coun- jjistor
tries, occupied by numerous nations, and perceived that the v
continent of Africa, instead of extending in breadth to¬
wards the west, according to the opinion of Ptolemy, ap¬
peared to contract itself, and to bend eastwards, they were
inspired with hopes of reaching India by continuing to hold
the course they had so long pursued. After several un¬
successful attempts to accomplish what they had in view,
a small squadron sailed from Belem, on the Tagus, under
the command of Vasco de Gama, an officer of rank, whose
abilities and courage fitted him to conduct this difficult
and arduous enterprise. From ignorance, however, of the
proper season and route of navigation in that vast ocean
through which he had to steer his course, his voyage was
long and dangerous. At length he doubled that promon¬
tory which had been descried by Bartolomeo Diaz in 1487,
and which, for several years, had been the object of terror
and of hope to his countrymen. After a prosperous navi¬
gation along the south-east coast of Africa, he arrived at
the city of Melinda, and had the satisfaction of discovering
there, as well as at other places where he touched, people
of a race very different from the rude inhabitants of the
western shore of that continent, which alone the Portu¬
guese had hitherto visited. These he found to be so far
advanced in civilization and acquaintance with the various
arts of life, that they carried on an active commerce not
only with the nations on their own coast, but with remote
countries of Asia. Conducted by their pilots, who held a
course with which experience had rendered them well ac¬
quainted, he sailed across the Indian Ocean, and landed at
Calicut, on the coast of Malabar, on the 22d of May 1498,
ten months and two days after his departure from the port
of Lisbon. (See the article Gama.)
The monarch of the country received them at first with
that fond admiration which is often excited by novelty;
but in a short time he formed various schemes to cut off
Gama and his followers. The Portuguese admiral, how¬
ever, was not to be overreached by such politics as his.
From every danger to which he was exposed he extricated
himself with singular prudence and dexterity, and at last
sailed from Calicut with his ships, loaded not only with the
commodities peculiar to that coast, but with many rich
pioductions of the eastern parts of India. He returned to
Portugal in two years after his sailing from the Tagus, but
w ith a great loss of men ; for out of one hundred and
forty-eight persons who sailed with him, only fifty-five re¬
turned. The king received him with all possible testi¬
monies of respect and kindness; created him a count; and
not only declared him admiral of the Indies, but also made
that office hereditary in his family.
The Portuguese entered upon the new career opened to
them with activity and ardour, and made exertions both mentofthe
commercial and military, far beyond what could have been Portuguese
expected from a kingdom of such inconsiderable extent, in India.
All these were directed by an intelligent monarch, Dom
Manoel the Fortunate, who happily selected a succession of
excellent officers to take the supreme command in India,
amongst whom Affonso Albuquerque was eminent. Within
twenty-four years after the voyage of Gama the Portuguese
had rendered themselves masters of the city of Malacca, in
which the great staple of trade carried on with the East
Indies was then first established. This conquest secured
to them great influence over the interior commerce of
India, whilst, at the same time, by their settlements at Goa
and Diu, they were enabled to engross the trade of the
Malabar coast and to obstruct greatly the long-established
intercourse of Egypt with India by the Red Sea. In every
part of the East they were received with respect; in many
they had acquired the absolute command. They carried
on trade there without rivalry or control ; they prescribed
to the natives the terms of their mutual intercourse; they
PORTUGAL.
History
Opposition
made by
the Vene¬
tians.
Inquisition
introduced
into Portu¬
gal.
Solyman
the Mag¬
nificent.
Conduct
and policy
of the Por¬
tuguese.
Brazil.
often fixed what price they pleased on the goods which they
purchased; and they were thus enabled to import from
Hindustan, and the regions beyond it, whatever was useful,
rare, or agreeable, in greater abundance, and of more various
kinds, than had been formerly known in Europe.
Not satisfied with this ascendancy which they had acquired
in India, the Portuguese sought to exclude all other nations
from participating in the advantages of commerce with the
East; and they accomplished one-half of what their ambi¬
tion had planned. In consequence of this the Venetians
soon began to feel that decrease of their own Indian trade,
which they had dreaded. In order to prevent the farther
progress of this evil, they incited the Soldan of the Mam-
lukes to fit out a fleet in the Red Sea, and to attack those
unexpected invaders of a gainful monopoly, of which he
and his predecessors had long enjoyed undisturbed pos¬
session. The Portuguese, however, entirely defeated this
formidable squadron, and remained masters of the Indian
Ocean. They continued their progress in the East almost
without obstruction, until they established there a commer¬
cial empire; to which, whether we consider its extent, its
opulence, the slender power by which it was formed, or the
splendour with which the government of it was conducted,
there had hitherto been nothing comparable in the history
of nations. Every part of Europe was supplied by the Por¬
tuguese with the productions of the East; and if we except
an inconsiderable quantity which the Venetians still con¬
tinued to receive by the ancient channels of conveyance,
our quarter of the globe had no longer any commercial in¬
tercourse with India and the regions of Asia beyond it ex¬
cept by the Cape of Good Hope.
In September 1521 Manoel died of a fever, and was suc¬
ceeded by his son John III. The most remarkable trans¬
action of this prince’s reign was the introduction of the
Inquisition into his dominions in the year 1525, or, as some
say, in 1535. A famine happening to cease in a short time
after the Holy Office was introduced, the priests persuaded
the ignorant multitude that it was a blessing from heaven
on account of erecting such a tribunal.
In the meantime Solyman the Magnificent, the most en¬
lightened monarch of the Ottoman race, observing the rising
power and opulence of the Portuguese, and eager to sup¬
plant them, sent orders to the Pasha of Egypt to employ his
whole strength against the Christians in die East Indies.
1 he pasha, in obedience to these orders, sailed from the
Red Sea with a greater naval force than ever the Moham¬
medans had employed before, having 4000 Janizaries and
16,000 other troops on board. Yet, by the courage and
conduct of the Portuguese officers and soldiers, all this
mighty armament was defeated, and their East India pos¬
sessions were saved from the danger which threatened them.
In Africa, likewise, the King of Fez was baffled before the
town of Safi; whilst fresh quarrels breaking out amongst the
native princes, gave great relief to the Christians, who had
long been obliged to carry on a defensive war, and had
more than once been on the very brink of ruin. The Moors
became more and more formidable ; the Portuguese king
had reason to deem that the conquest of Barbary was im¬
possible, and therefore limited his ambition to keeping those
few fortresses which he had already acquired ; a necessary
and prudent measure which nevertheless displeased the
majority of his subjects.
King John exerted himself greatly in the settlement of
Brazil, which had been discovered by Pedro Alvares Cabral
in 1501. He caused several strong towns to be erected
there, and took all possible methods to encourage the con¬
version of the natives to Christianity. He also introduced
many regulations for the welfare and happiness of his sub¬
jects at home. The disputes of the nobility about prece¬
dency were frequently attended with disagreeable conse¬
quences, which made the king resolve to establish definitive
383
ndes. His death happened in June 1557; and he was History
succeeded by his son Dorn Sebastian, an infant of three . „y'/
years of age.
The administration of affairs was undertaken by the oueen v i *•
grandmother of Sebastian. The Moors, however, supposing of tRe ^
that they might be able to dispossess the Christians of young king
such places as they held in Barbary, laid close siege to
Mazagan. But the queen-regent speedily sending succour,
the Moors, although they brought 80,000 men into the field,
were obliged to abandon the enterprise. This was at first
extolled as a conspicuous instance of the queen’s capacity
and wisdom; but, in a short time, the aversion which the
Portuguese had to the government of women, together with
the prejudice they had against her country, for she was a Cas¬
tilian, appeared so plainly, and gave her so much uneasiness,
that of her own accord she resigned her authority into the
hands of the Cardinal Dom Henry, the king’s brother.
After the king had grown up to man’s estate, his desire Sebastian
was to distinguish himself against the infidels. He himself under¬
intended to conduct an expedition to the East Indies; but takes an
the prime minister Alcocova induced him to direct his at- expedition
tention to Africa. This expedition the king entered into aSainst
in the most inconsiderate and absurd manner. He first AfrlCa•
sent for a prior, with some hundreds of soldiers; next he car¬
ried his principal courtiers with him from a hunting match,
and without equipages; he then sent for the Duke of
Aveyro, who brought with him such troops as he could
collect on so short a warning; and when all these were
assembled, the king spent his time in hunting, and slight
excursions against the enemy, without doing anything of
consequence, except exposing his person upon all occasions.
He returned to Portugal, but only for the purpose of ar¬
ranging another expedition, and it seemed to him that he
had a pretence for commencing another campaign in the
state of affairs in Morocco. Muley Hamet, King of Fez
and Morocco, had been dispossessed of his dominions by
his uncle Muley Moloch. At the beginning of this war
Dom Sebastian had offered him the Portuguese troops in
Africa, a tender which was rejected with contempt; but
now being a fugitive, and having in vain solicited assist¬
ance from Philip of Spain, Muley Hamet applied to the
King of Portugal; and, that he might the more easily suc¬
ceed, he caused the fortress of Arzila, which his father had
recovered, to be restored to the Portuguese. The king
was in rapture at this event, and fancied that his glory
would exceed that of all his predecessors. The queen-
dowager, the cardinal, and all his friends united in their
endeavours to divert him from this unfortunate enterprise.
Even Philip of Spain, his uncle, attempted to convince him
of the absurdity of his proceedings. Muley Moloch him¬
self explained in a letter his own right to the crown of
Fez, and showed that he had only dispossessed a tyrant
and a murderer, who had therefore no right to his friend¬
ship or assistance. The Moorish prince next assured him
that he had no reason to fear either the power or the neigh¬
bourhood of the Portuguese ; and as a proof of this, as well
as a mark of his esteem, he was content to make him a pre¬
sent of some 10 miles of arable ground round each of the
fortresses he possessed in Africa, viz., Tangier, Ceuta, Maza¬
gan, and Arzilla. But the King of Portugal was deaf to
all salutary advice, and disregarded all remonstrances.
On the 24th of June 1577 he set sail from the bar of
Lisbon with a fleet of fifty ships and five galleys, twelve ^e.w
pieces of cannon, and many transports and tenders, making
in all nearly a thousand sail. His troops consisted of 9000
Portuguese infantry, 3000 Germans, 700 Italians, com¬
manded by Sir Thomas Stukeley, an English exile, remark¬
able for his bravery ; 2000 Castilians, and 300 volunteers,
commanded by Christoval de Tuvara, master of the horse,
a man of courage, but without either conduct or expe¬
rience. He touched first at Lagos Bay, where he remained
PORT
The Por¬
tuguese
army en¬
tirely de¬
feated.
for four days, and thence he proceeded to Cadiz, where he
was feasted for a week by the Duke de Medina Sidonia,
who fruitlessly endeavoured to dissuade him from proceed¬
ing further in person.
Soon after landing in Africa the king was met by Muley
Hamet, who delivered him his son, a boy of twelve years of
asre, as a hostage, and brought a reinforcement of three hun¬
dred Moors. Here it was resolved in a council of war to
reduce the town of Larache, but it was disputed whether the
troops should proceed thither by land or by sea. D°m
Sebastian, who espoused the former opinion, finding him¬
self opposed by Muley Hamet, answered him so rudely that
he left his presence in disgust. ^ u- r
Muley Moloch, having received intelligence of this formi¬
dable invasion, took the field with 40,000 foot and 60,000
horse, and conducted every thing with the greatest piu-
dence, notwithstanding he was so enfeebled by fever that
he could not sit upon horseback. He advanced against the
Portuguese army with such celerity that he came in sight
of them on the 3d of August at Alcacer Quibir. Finding
his disease increase to such a degree that he had no hopes
of recovery, he resolved to lose no time in bringing on the
battle, that his antagonist might not avail himself of his
death. The disposition of the Christian army was, through
the care of some old officers in Dorn Sebastian’s service,
regular and correct.
The Christians advanced with resolution, broke the first
line of the Moorish infantry, and disordered the second.
On this Muley Moloch drew his sword, and would have
advanced to encourage his troops, but his guards prevented
him, on which his agitation became so great that he fell
from his horse. One of his guards caught him in his arms,
and conveyed him to his litter, where he immediately ex¬
pired, having only time to lay his finger on his lips by way
of enjoining them to conceal his death. But by this time
tiie Moorish cavalry had wheeled quite round, and attacked
the Christian army in the rear; the Portuguese right was
broken, and at this time Muley Hamet in passing a river was
drowned. In this emergency the Germans, Italians, and
Castilians performed prodigies; but the Portuguese, ac¬
cording to their own historians, behaved indifferently.
Attacked on all sides, however, they were unable to re¬
sist ; and the whole army, except about fifty men, were
killed or taken prisoners. The fate of the king is vari¬
ously related. According to some, he had two horses
killed under him, and then mounted a third. His bravest
officers were killed in his defence; after which the Moors
surrounded him, seized his person, stripped him of his sword
and arms, and secured him. They immediately began to
quarrel about the prisoner, upon which one of the generals
rode in amongst them, crying, “ What, you dogs, when
God has given you so glorious a victory, would you cut
one another’s throats about a prisoner ? At the same time,
discharging a blow at Sebastian, he brought the king to
the ground, when the rest of the Moors soon dispatched
him. Others affirm that one Louis de Brito meeting the
king with the standard wrapped round him, Sebastian cried
out, “ Hold it fast; let us die upon it;” upon which charg¬
ing the Moors, he was seized, but rescued by Brito, who
was himself taken with the standard, and carried to Fez.
The latter affirmed, that after he was taken he saw the king
at a distance, and unpursued. Dom Louis de Lima met
him afterwards making towards the river; and this is the
last account of his being seen alive.
Immediately after the battle, the brother of Muley Mo¬
loch was proclaimed king by the Moors. The next day,
having ordered all the prisoners to be brought before him,
the new sovereign gave orders to search for the body of
Dom Sebastian. The king’s valet-de-chambre brought
back a body, which he said was that of his master, but so
disfigured with wounds that it could not well be known ;
L.
U G A
and, notwithstanding the most diligent search, this monarch’s History,
death could never be properly authenticated. This body,
however, was delivered up as the body of the unfortunate
Dom Sebastian to Philip, King of Spain. By the latter it
was sent to Ceuta, thence transported to Portugal, and
buried amongst his ancestors in the monastery at Belem,
with all possible solemnity.
By this disaster, the kingdom of Portugal sunk at once
into the lowest rank of European states. All the young
nobility were cut off or carried into slavery, and the
kingdom was exhausted of men, money, and reputation;
so that Dom Henry, who assumed the government after
the death of his brother Sebastian, found himself in a very
disagreeable situation. At his death the crown of Portu¬
gal was claimed by three different competitors,—viz., the
Prince of Parma, the Duchess of Braganza, and Philip of
Spain. Whatever might have been the merits of their
respective claims, the power of Philip quickly decided the
contest in his favour. He found his schemes facilitated by
the treachery of the regents.
Philip finding everything in his favour, commanded the Portugal
Duke of Alva to invade Portugal at the head of 20,000 conquered
men ; whereupon, after a feeble defence made by Dom Phi'1P
Antonio, prior of Crato, who had been placed on the throne ** m‘
by the Portuguese, the whole kingdom submitted.
Philip made his entry into Lisbon as soon as the king-Tern)g
dom had been totally reduced, and endeavoured to conci- granted by
liate the affections of the people by confirming the terms to his
which he had before offered to the States. These terms ?ew sub‘
w^ere, that he would take a solemn oath to maintain thejec s’
privileges and liberties of the people ; that the States should
be assembled within the realm, and nothing proposed in
any other States that related to Portugal; that the viceroy
or chief governor should be a native, unless the king should
give that charge to one of the royal family; that the house¬
hold should be kept on the same footing; that the post of
first president, and all offices, civil, military, and judicial,
should be filled by Portuguese; all dignities in the church
and in the orders of knighthood confined to the same; the
commerce of Ethiopia, Africa, and the Indies reserved also
to them, and to be carried on only by their merchants and
vessels; that he would remit all imposts on ecclesiastical
revenues; that he would make no grant of any city, town,
or jurisdiction royal, to any but Portuguese; that estates
resulting from forfeitures should not be united to the do¬
main, but go to the relations of the last possessor, or be
given to other Portuguese in recompense of services; that
when the king came to Portugal, where he should reside
as much as possible, he should not take the houses of pri¬
vate persons for his officers’ lodgings, but keep to the custom
of Portugal; that wherever his majesty resided, he should
have an ecclesiastic, a treasurer, a chancellor, two masters
of requests, with inferior officers, all of them Portuguese,
who should despatch everything relating to the kingdom;
that Portugal should ever continue a distinct kingdom, and
its revenue be consumed within itself; that all matters of
justice should be decided within the realm ; that the Por¬
tuguese should be admitted to charges in the households of
the King and Queen of Spain ; that all duties on the Iron-
tiers should be taken away ; and lastly, that Philip should
give three hundred thousand ducats to redeem prisoners,
repair cities, and relieve the miseries which the plague and
other calamities had brought upon the people.
All these concessions, however, failed to answer the pur- Treatment
pose; nay, although Philip was to the last degree lavish of of Dom An-
honours and employments, the Portuguese were still dissa- tonio.
tisfied. Dom Antonio, the exiled prince, still styled him¬
self “ King of Portugal.” At first he retired to France,
where he found so much countenance that, with a fleet of
nearly sixty sail, and a considerable body of troops on board,
he made an attempt upon Terceira, where his fleet was
POET
History, beaten by the Spaniards. Dom Antonio was constrained
to retire, which he did with some difficulty, and going to Eng¬
land, he was well received there. After Philip bad ruined
the naval power of Portugal, as well as that of Spain, by
equipping the Armada, Queen Elizabeth assisted Dom An¬
tonio, and sent Sir John Norris and Sir Francis Drake
with a strong fleet and a considerable army to restore him.
Upon this occasion Dom Antonio sent his son Dom Chris-
toval a hostage to Muley Hamet, King of Fez and Morocco,
who was to lend him 200,000 ducats. But Philip prevented
this by surrendering Arzila; which, with the unseasonable
enterprise against Coruna, and the disputes that arose be¬
tween Norris and Drake, rendered the expedition abortive ;
so that, except carrying the plague into England, it was at¬
tended with no consequences worthy of notice. Dom An¬
tonio remained some time afterwards in England; but finding
himself disregarded, he withdrew once more into France,
where he fell into great poverty and distress; and having at
length died in the sixty-fourth year of his age, an inscription
was placed on his tomb, in which he was styled “king.”
He left behind him several children, who, on account of his
being a knight of Malta, and having made a vow of chastity
at his entrance into the order, were looked upon as ille¬
gitimate.
Impostors But Dom Antonio was not the only pretender to the
pretending crown of Portugal. The people, partly from love of their
to be Dom prince, and partly from their hatred to the Castilians, were
Sebastian. COntinually feeding themselves with the hopes that Dom
Sebastian would appear and deliver them ; and in this re¬
spect such a spirit of credulity reigned, that they would
probably have taken a Negro for Dom Sebastian. This hu¬
mour induced the son of a tiler at Alcoba^a, who had led a
profligate life, and at length turned hermit, to give himself
out as that prince; and having with him two companions,
one of whom styled himself Dom Christoval de Tavora,
and the other the Bishop of Guarda, they began to collect
money, and were in a fair way of creating much disturb¬
ance. But the cardinal archduke caused them to be ap¬
prehended, and after leading them ignominiously through
the streets of Lisbon, he who took the name of Sebastian
was sent to the galleys for life, and the pretended bishop
was hanged. Not long afterwards, Gonsalo Alvarez, the son
of a mason, gave himself out as the same king, and having
promised marriage to the daughter of Pedro Alonso, a rich
yeoman, whom he created count of Torres Novas, he as¬
sembled a body of about 800 men, and some blood was
spilt before he was apprehended. At length, being clearly
proved to be an impostor, this person and his intended
father-in-law were publicly hanged and quartered at Lis¬
bon. The punishment, however, instead of extinguishing
public credulity, served only to increase it.
About twenty years after the fatal defeat of Sebastian,
there appeared at Venice a person who created much more
trouble. He assumed the name of Dom Sebastian, and gave
a very distinct account of the manner in which he had
passed his time since that defeat. He affirmed that he had
preserved his life and liberty by hiding himself amongst the
slain ; that, after wandering in disguise for some time in
Africa, he returned with two of his friends into the king¬
dom of Algarve; that he gave notice of this to the king
Don Henry ; that finding his life sought, and being unwill¬
ing to disturb the peace of the kingdom, he returned again
amongst the Moors, and passed freely from one place to
another in Barbary, in the habit of a penitent; and that after
this he became a hermit in Sicily, but at length resolved
to go to Rome, and discover himself to the Pope. On the
road he was robbed by his domestics, and came almost
naked to Venice, where he was known and acknowledged
by some Portuguese. Complaint, however, being made to
the Senate, he was obliged to retire to Padua. But as the
governor of that city also ordered him to depart, he, not
VOL. XVIII.
U G A L. 385
knowing what to do, returned to Venice, where, at the re- History,
quest of the Spanish ambassador, who charged him not only K
with being an impostor, but also with many black and atro¬
cious crimes, he was seized and thrown into prison. In
the examinations he underwent, he not only acquitted him¬
self of the crimes which had been laid to his charge, but
entered into so minute a detail of the transactions which
had passed between himself and the republic, that the com¬
missioners were perfectly astonished; and, moved by his
behaviour, they showed no disposition to declare him an
impostor. The noise of this was diffused throughout Eu¬
rope, and the enemies of Spain endeavoured everywhere to
give it credit.
The State however refused to discuss the point, whether
he was or was not an impostor, unless they were requested
so to do by some prince or state in alliance with them.
Upon this the Prince of Orange sent Dom Christoval, the
son of the late Dom Antonio, to make that demand; and at
his request an examination was instituted with great solem¬
nity. But no decision followed; only the Senate set him
at liberty, and ordered him to depart from their dominions.
By the advice of his friends, therefore, he proceeded to
Padua in the disguise of a monk, and from thence to Flo¬
rence, where he was arrested by the command of the grand
duke, who delivered him up to the viceroy of Naples. He
remained several years prisoner in the castle Del Ovo. At
length he was brought forth, led with infamy through the
streets of the city, and declared to be an impostor who as¬
sumed the name of Sebastian ; at which words he said
gravely, “ And so I am.” In the same proclamation it was
affirmed that he was in truth a Calabrian; but as soon as
he heard this he said, “ It is false.” He was next shipped
on board a galley as a slave, and carried to San Lucar,
whence, after being for some time confined there, he was
transferred to a castle in the heart of Castile, and never
heard of more. Some persons were executed at Lisbon
for their endeavours to raise an insurrection in his behalf.
The administration of affairs in Portugal, during theBadconse
reign of Philip, was certainly detrimental to the nation ; quences of
and yet it does not appear that this proceeded so much the Span-
from any ill intention in that monarch, as from errors in is.h ad“i_
judgment. His prodigious preparations for the invasion 0fnistratlon-
England impoverished all his European dominions ; but it
absolutely exhausted Portugal. Yet the government of
Philip was so much better than that of his immediate suc¬
cessors that his death was justly regretted, and the Por¬
tuguese were taught by experience to confess that, of bad
masters, he was the best.
His son Philip, the second of Portugal and the third ofPhilip III.
Spain, sat twenty years upon the throne before he paid aand Philip
visit to Portugal, where the people put themselves to a most^'
enormous expense to receive him. He held an assembly
of the States, in which his son was sworn as his successor.
The reigns of Philip III. and Philip IV. were characterized
by a series of bad measures and worse fortune. All their
dominions suffered greatly; Portugal most of all. The
loss of Ormus in the East, and of Brazil in the West, to¬
gether with the shipwreck of a fleet sent to escort one of
merchantmen from Goa, brought the nation incredibly low,
and encouraged the Conde duke to hope that they might
be entirely crushed. These are the heads only of the
transactions of forty years. To enter in any degree into
particulars, would only be to point out the breaches made
by the Spanish ministers in the conditions granted by
Philip; which, with respect to the nation, was the original
contract and unalterable constitution of Portugal whilst
subject to the monarchs of Castile, but which, notwith¬
standing, they often flagrantly violated.
The very basis and foundation of their privileges was,
that the kingdom should remain separate and independent,
and consequently that Lisbon should continue as much its
3 c
386
PORT
History, capital as ever. But so little was this observed, that neither
v^-v ' promotion nor justice was to be obtained without journeys
The Por- to Madrid, which was not more the capital of Castile than
tuguese op- it was that of Portugal. The general assembly of estates
pressed by was to be held frequently, and they were only held thrice
the Span- jn t]ie Space 0f sixty years; two of them being held within
iards* the first three years. The king was to reside in this realm
as often and as long as possible. Philip I-, however, was
there but once ; Philip II. resided only four months; and
Philip III. never at all. The household establishment was
suppressed during all these reigns. The viceroy was to be
a native of Portugal, or a prince or princess of the blood;
vet when any of the royal family bore the title, the power
was in reality in the hands of a Spaniard. Thus, when the
Princess of Mantua was vice-queen, the Marquis de la Pue¬
bla was sent to assist her in council, and she could do nothing
without his advice. The council of Portugal, which was
to be composed entirely of natives, was filled with Castil¬
ians, as the garrisons also were, though the contrary had
been provided. The presidents of provinces, or corregi-
dors, were to be natives ; but, by keeping those offices in
his own hands, the king eluded this article. No city, town,
or district was to be given to any except Portuguese; yet
the Duke of Lerma had Beja, Serpa, and other parts of the
demesnes of the crown, which were formerly appendages of
the princes of the blood. None but natives were capable
of offices in the courts ofjustices, in the revenue, in the fleet,
or of holding any post civil or military; yet these were
given promiscuously to foreigners, or sold to the highest
bidder, not excepting the government of castles, cities, and
provinces. The natives were so far from having an equal
chance in such cases, that no situations in the presidios
were ever given to them, and scarcely any in garrisons;
and whenever it occurred, in the case of a person of extra¬
ordinary merit, whose pretensions could not be rejected,
he was either removed, or not allowed to exercise his
charge, as happened to the Marquis of Marialva and others.
The forms of proceeding, the jurisdiction, the ministers,
the secretaries, were all changed in the council of Portu¬
gal, being reduced from five to three, then two, and at last
to a single person.
By reason of these and other grievances, the detestation
of the Spanish government became universal; and in 1640
D0uke°ofthe a revo^u^on soon t0°k place, in which John, Duke of Bra-
Braganza. ganza was declared king, by the title of John IV. This
revolution, as being determined by the almost unanimous
voice of the nation, was attended with very little effusion
of blood. Several vain attempts were made by the King of
Spain to regain his authority. The first battle was fought
at Montijo in 1644, between a Portuguese army of 6000
foot and 1100 horse, and a Spanish army of nearly the
same number. The latter were entirely defeated; and
this contributed greatly to establish the affairs of Portugal
on a firm basis. The Portuguese king carried on a defen¬
sive war during the remainder of his life; and after his
death, which happened in 1655, the war was renewed with
great vigour.
This was what the Spaniards did not expect. It would
not, indeed, be easy to conceive a kingdom left in more
perilous circumstances than Portugal was at this time.
The king, Dom Affonso Enrique, was a child not more than
thirteen years of age, reputed of unsound constitution both
of body and mind ; the regency was in a woman, and that
woman a Castilian; the nation was involved in a war re¬
specting the title to the crown; and the nobility, some of
them secretly disaffected to the reigning family, were al¬
most all of them embarked in feuds and contentions with
each other; so that the queen scarcely knew whom to trust
or how she should be obeyed. She acted, however, with
great vigour and prudence. By marrying her only daughter,
the I rincess Catherine, to Charles II., King of Great Bri-
A revolu¬
tion in fa-
Perilous
state of
Portugal
on his
death.
U G A L.
tain, she procured for Portugal the protection of the Eng- History,
lish fleets, with reinforcements of some thousands of horse 's—
and foot;’ and at last, in 1665, the war was terminated by
the glorious victory of Montesclaros. This decisive action
broke the power of the Spaniards, and fixed the fate of the
kingdom, though not that of the King of Portugal. Affonso
was a prince whose education had been neglected in his
youth, who was devoted to vulgar amusements and mean
company, and whom the queen for these reasons wished to
deprive of the crown, that she might place it on the head
of liis younger brother Dom Pedro. The Portuguese,
however, would not consent to set aside the rights of primo¬
geniture, and involve the kingdom in all the miseries at¬
tending a disputed succession.
Affonso was compelled to sign a resignation of the king- DomAffon-
dom; and his brother, after governing a few months with- so obliged
out any legal authority, was in a meeting of the States t° resign
unanimously proclaimed regent, and vested with all thethe t rone•
powers of royalty. Soon after this revolution, for such it
may be called, the marriage of the king and queen was de¬
clared null by the chapter of Lisbon; and the regent, by a
pontifical dispensation, and with the consent of the States,
immediately espoused the divorced lady. He governed,
under the title of regent, fifteen years, when, upon the
death of the king, he mounted the throne by the title of
Dom Pedro II.; and after a long reign, during which he
conducted the affairs of the kingdom with great prudence
and vigour, he died in 1706.
Dom John V. succeeded his father ; and though he was Dom John
then little more than seventeen years of age, he acted with V.
such wisdom and resolution, adhered so steadily to the
grand alliance formed against France and Spain, and showed
so great resources in his own mind, that though he suf¬
fered severe losses during the war, he obtained such terms
of peace at Utrecht, that Portugal was in all respects a
gainer by the treaty. The two crowns of Spain and Por¬
tugal were not, however, thoroughly reconciled until the
year 1737. In 1750 a treaty was concluded with the
court of Madrid, by which Nova Colonia, on the river
Plata, was ceded to his Catholic majesty, to the great
regret of the Portuguese, as well on account of the value
of that settlement, as because they apprehended that their
possession of the Brazils would by this cession be ren¬
dered precarious. The king died in 1750, worn out by
infirmities.
He was succeeded by his son Joseph L, who ascended Dom Jo-
the throne of Portugal under very favourable circumstances ; sePh I-
but his reign, although short, was marked by great national
calamities. The most remarkable event which occurred
was the memorable earthquake, which, in November 1755,
destroyed one half of the city of Lisbon, and buried thirty
thousand people under the ruins. Two hours had scarcely
elapsed after this terrible convulsion, when, to aggravate
its horrors, flames burst forth from different quarters of the
city, and the conflagration raging with terrific violence for
three days, Lisbon was completely desolated. The royal
family were fortunate enough to escape ; but amongst the
victims were the Spanish ambassador, and many other
persons of distinction. Britain promptly afforded relief to
the sufferers; an act of generosity the more honourable to
her, as she had every reason to be dissatisfied with the
conduct of the King of Portugal. From the commence¬
ment of his reign, he had thrown great obstructions in the
way of our commerce, evading treaties, and imposing
vexatious imposts; and it seemed perfectly clear that his
object was to annihilate the commercial intercourse which
had for so many ages subsisted between the two countries.
The same spirit of humanity was evinced by Spain ; but
both nations received an unworthy return, although Britain
had most to complain of.
Scarcely had the agitation which this calamity gave rise
PORT
History, to subsided, when Portugal was again thrown into com-
motion by an attempt to assassinate the king (3d Sept.
1758), who was wounded one night near his palace at
Belem. Suspicion fell on various classes of persons, par¬
ticularly on certain ecclesiastics, who were said to have
been incensed at the reform introduced by Dom Joseph ;
on the creatures of Spain, who aspired to the reunion of
the two kingdoms under one sceptre ; on the Jesuits, who
were represented as indignant at the restriction of their
ancient privileges; and on a prince of the royal family.
All that is known with certainty is, that the scaffold flowed
with noble blood; and that the Jesuits were stripped of
their possessions, whilst their expulsion was decreed by the
crown. Another occurrence of this reign was a rupture
with the see of Rome, every servant of the Pope being
expelled from Portugal, and all intercourse between the
two courts suspended for about two years. A more im¬
portant event was the invasion of the country by Spain.
This aggression originated in the refusal of the king to
join the alliance of France and Spain against England.
War was immediately declared against him, and troops
marched to the frontiers of his kingdom. The ally whom
he had so long neglected, and even deliberately ill-used,
was appealed to, and not in vain. Troops, arms, and all
necessary munitions of war, arrived from Britain; and
although the invaders succeeded in capturing Miranda,
Braganza, and Almeida, their triumphs were speedily put
a stop to by the combined forces of Britain and Portugal.
At the instance of the British cabinet, the Count de Lippe
was brought from Germany to assume the command of the
whole army. This commander was ably assisted in his
operations by General Burgoyne, and they had soon the
glory of freeing the country from the Spanish army. The
consequence of this triumph was a peace, solicited and
obtained by the two hostile courts, now hopeless of suc-
' cess, and in apprehension of fresh disasters.
Ihe remainder of this king’s reign, extending from the
year 1763 to 1777, was occupied by the introduction of
measures for social, agricultural, and commercial improve¬
ment. He laboured to improve the police and judicial
administration, and not without success. He founded
schools in the large towns, and improved the system of
study in the university of Coimbra. He encouraged
agriculture, the fisheries, and trade with the colonies; but
in attempting to give a stimulus to home manufactures, by
laying such duties on articles of British produce as
amounted to an almost total exclusion of them from the
Poi tuguese market, he acted with equal short-sightedness
and ingratitude. One monument to his honour, more
noble than the statue of bronze which his grateful subjects
erected to him in Lisbon during his lifetime, remains to
be mentioned. 1 his was a decree by which the grandsons
of slaves, and all who should be born after the date thereof,
wei e declared free. Although this benefit was confined to
Poitugal alone, yet, considering the state of matters at the
time it was conferred, it must be regarded as an amazing
stride in the career of improvement. Joseph I. died in
1777, and was mourned by his people as the best monarch
who had swayed the sceptre of Portugal since the days of
Philip I. The prosperity of his reign was owing in great
measure to the ability of his minister, the Marquis of
Pombal, who, from his antipathy to the Jesuits and ecclesi¬
astical tyranny, has been vigorously decried by the papal
pai ty ever since. Pombal s diplomatic correspondence
and papers relating to the period 1738-47 were obtained
for the British Museum in 1855.
*ia* Joseph was succeeded by his daughter Maria, whom the
necessities of state had induced her father to give in mar¬
riage to his own brother. Such revolting connections are
unhappily far from rare in the modern history of Portugal.
Some attempts were made to exclude her in favour of a
U G A L.
nephew, but they proved completely abortive. Thouo-h
the abilities of this queen were limited, yet she was actuated
by good intentions. Her administration was feeble but
upon the whole beneficial. She followed the example of
her father in encouraging national industry and reforming
the administration of justice. She founded the Academy
of Sciences, introduced into the convents of friars a com¬
pulsory form of general education, endowed several ad¬
mirable charitable institutions, and went so far in judicial
reform as to abolish the law of imprisonment for debt. In
short, had her foreign policy resembled her domestic
administration, Portugal would have had no reason to
complain of her. Maria was forced into a family compact
by her powerful neighbours of France and Spain, by which
the influence of the latter was strengthened and confirmed,
whilst in the same degree that of England was weakened.
This alliance was accompanied by a treaty of limits, which
fixed the boundaries of Brazil, Paraguay, and Peru, the
arrangement being peculiarly favourable to Spain.
In the year 1792 the queen exhibited symptoms of
mental alienation, and John Maria Joseph, prince of
Brazil, was appointed regent. One of the first acts of his
administration was a declaration of war against the French
republic, a step which he was induced to take from his
connection with England. But commercial distress, the
accumulating debt of the country, and the menacing
language which France compelled Spain to adopt towards
her neighbour, led to a peace in 1797. In 1799 the
malady of the queen appearing to be incurable, the prince
was confirmed in the regency, with full regal powers; but
he made no change in the policy of the government. The
same year he was again encouraged to arm against French
aggression, in alliance with England and Russia; the vic¬
torious career of the revolutionists having received a
severe, although, as it proved, only a temporary check.
After Napoleon had confirmed his ascendancy, Spain was
under the necessity of declaring war against Portugal in
the year 1801 ; but it was soon terminated by the treaty
of Badajoz, in consequence of which Portugal was com¬
pelled to cede Olivenza to Spain, and likewise to pay a
considerable sum of money. After this the prince enjoyed
but a mere shadow of power, and at considerable sacrifices
maintained a nominal independence, until at last, in 1807,
a hostile army under Marshal Junot invaded Portugal, and
the House of Braganza was declared by Napoleon to have
forfeited the throne. This bold declaration was owing to
the prince having refused to seize the English property in
his dominions. Having embarked with his family for
Brazil, the French general immediately afterwards took
possession of his capital, and Portugal sank into the con¬
dition of an appendage of France.
Junot issued a proclamation, in which he declared that
justice should be duly administered, tranquillity preserved,
and the future happiness of the people solicitously guarded.
But these professions were far from satisfying a people of
whom the lower classes were dying of absolute want, and
two-thirds of the merchants were bankrupt. A British
force under the Duke of Wellington (then Sir Arthur
Wellesley) was promptly despatched to Portugal, where it
was joined by a considerable body of national troops, now
mustered in the northern provinces, and determined to
maintain the struggle for freedom. A Junta was immedi¬
ately established in Oporto, to conduct the government.
After some sharp skirmishing between the two armies, the
decisive battle of Vimeiro, which was fought on the 21st
of August 1808, overthrew the power of France in
Portugal. The severely-censured convention of Cintra
followed, and the country was evacuated by the French
troops. The immediate consequences of this evacuation
were highly beneficial. The government displayed an
energy which restored subordination, and was felt all over
388 PORT
History, the kingdom. A levy en masse of the whole male inhabi-
V—^ tants, from fifteen to sixty years of age, was demanded ;
but it does not appear that the call was responded to with
much alacrity. Towards the close of the year 1808,
Madrid having surrendered, and the British army under
Sir John Moore having been compelled to retreat through
the mountains of Galicia to Coruna, the subjugation ol
Portugal was again resolved upon by the French. I he
intelligence of the approaching invasion at first spiead
consternation and dismay throughout Portugal, for it was
in no condition to offer any serious resistance to the force
of the enemy that menaced the frontiers. But fresh re-in-
forcements arrived from Britain, and General Beresford,
who had been appointed commander-in-chief of the armies
of Portugal, having established a system of subordination
and discipline amongst the troops, confidence was in a
great measure restored before a blow could be struck.
Marshal Soult entered the kingdom of Portugal at the
head of the French army, after dispersing the Spanish
force in Galicia. He was feebly opposed by the Portu¬
guese. Their commander, General Freyre, was opposed
to a regular engagement; but his unruly troops rose in
mutiny and massacred both him and his supporters, under
the suspicion of treachery. They were led against the
enemy by Baron Eben, a German in the British service,
and a battle was fought and lost. Soult then invested
Oporto, and although the city had been strongly fortified
and garrisoned, it was carried by assault on the 29th of
March 1809, after a feeble defence of only three days.
Immediately on entering the town, the French soldiery
commenced an indiscriminate slaughter of the inhabitants;
and although their commander used every effort to repress
their fury, the plunder and licentiousness had continued a
day and a night before subordination could be restored.
The defeat of the Spanish army at Medellin opened an
easy road to Lisbon ; but the French force wTas divided
into three separate bodies, under three independent com¬
manders, Soult, Victor, and Lapisse, though, from fear of
being separately committed, the whole remained inactive,
or only engaged in insignificant manoeuvres. Each com¬
mander appears to have waited for intelligence as to the
movements of the others, and by this delay the capital was
saved. Such was the situation of affairs wEen Sir Arthur
Wellesley landed at Lisbon on the 23d of April, and as¬
sumed the chief command of the armies of England and
Portugal. By a series of brilliant manoeuvres, the British
commander compelled the French to abandon Portugal.
But Napoleon being pledged to his people and the world
to conquer that country, early in 1810 an army of seventy-
two thousand men was assembled in the vicinity of Sala¬
manca, and the command of it intrusted to Marshal
Massena. After clearing his way to Portugal, by the
capture of several strongly-fortified places, the French
general advanced upon Lisbon. But his vigilant enemy
had well employed the time afforded him, by preparing a
secure asylum for his troops, by which he at once kept his
footing in the Peninsula, and defended Lisbon against a
greatly superior force. This formidable defensive position
is celebrated in military annals by the name of the lines of
Torres Vedras. The advance of Massena, the battle of
Busaco, the stand made at Torres Vedras, the retreat of
the French, and their final evacuation of Portugal, will be
found described in the article Britain. It is true, that in
the subsequent operations of the war, some parts of the
kingdom were included in the theatre of hostilities, yet
they never extended much beyond the frontiers. During
the remainder of the war, however, the troops of Portugal
bore an active and creditable part in almost every en¬
counter w’ith the enemy.
On the death of Maria, John VI. ascended the throne
of Portugal and Brazil. The establishment of the court
U G A L.
of Lisbon in an American settlement, though productive
of little good to the mother-country, led to important
results. In the first place, it induced Brazil to withdraw
itself from dependence on England; and secondly, it
paved the way for that colony erecting itself into a separate
state. But the influence of England in Portugal con¬
tinued, and the condition of the kingdom for the present
remained essentially unchanged by the transference. The
peace of Paris, concluded in May 1814, which, it was
believed, would place everything on a proper basis, did not
realize the expectations of the nation. Spain evaded the
restitution of Olivenza, which had been provided for by
the congress of Vienna; whilst, at the same time, Portugal
was required to restore French Guiana to France. The
court of Rio therefore took possession of the Banda
Oriental; but an account of these transactions has been
given in another part of this work (see Brazil). These
circumstances rendered the condition of Portugal far from
tranquil. The country felt that the order of things had
been inverted, and the parent state had become a depend¬
ent on her colony. A conspiracy of a very extensive
nature was discovered in the army, and its progress
checked ; but the spirit which generated it was not extin¬
guished. In short, everything was ripening for a funda¬
mental change in the administration and constitution of
government; and the Portuguese people were soon afforded
an opportunity of showing their dislike of the absence of
the court, and the predominance of English influence.
The continual bickerings between the commander of the
forces and the regency induced Marshal Beresford to repair
to Rio de Janeiro to obtain fresh instructions, and, it might
be, fresh powers from the king; but during his absence
that revolution burst forth which completely changed the
whole political aspect of the kingdom.
The first symptoms of this revolution were exhibited at
Oporto on the 24th of August 1820, both the citizens
and the army acting in concert. The soldiers swore fealty
to the king, the Cortes, and the constitution which might
be adopted, and the civil authorities declared in favour of
the measure. A junta of thirteen members was chosen by
acclamation ; and a declaration was addressed to the nation,
stating, that the assembling of the Cortes and the adoption
of a new constitution were the only means of saving the
state. On the loth of September, the day on which it
was usual to celebrate the deliverance of Portugal from
France, the regency in Lisbon, fearing to assemble such a
multitude of people as generally met on that day, resolved
to omit the ceremony. But the troops and the citizens
met and deposed the government, declared for the king,
the Cortes, and the constitution, and installed a temporary
council as a provisional government. Thus a complete
revolution was effected without either violence or blood¬
shed. The provisional government formed a union with
the Junta of Oporto on the 1st of October; and one of
the earliest acts of this united body was to despatch Count
Palmella, the head of the royal regency, to Brazil, with an
account of the transactions which had just taken place, and
a petition that either the king or the prince-royal would
return to Europe and assume the sovereignty of Portugal.
One deputy was chosen for every thirty thousand inhabi¬
tants. Clergymen, lawyers, and officers were the sorts of
persons who were chiefly elected, few men of wealth or
family being chosen. On the 26th of January 1821, the
Cortes met and named a regency and ministry, declared the
late insurrections legal and necessary, and abolished the
Inquisition. On the 9th of March the articles of the new
constitution were adopted almost unanimously. By these,
freedom of person and property was guaranteed, and the
liberty of the press, legal equality, the abolition of privi¬
leges, the admission of all citizens to all offices, and the
sovereignty of the nation, were secured. One chamber
History.
PORTUGAL.
389
History, and a conditional royal veto were likewise resolved
upon.
John VI. returned from America, leaving his eldest son,
Dom Pedro, regent of Brazil. He was under the neces¬
sity of acceding to certain restrictions on his power, im¬
posed by the Cortes, before he was permitted to disembark.
On landing, he swore to observe the new constitution, and
concurred in all the succeeding acts of the Cortes. In
May 1822, Dom Pedro accepted the dignity of constitu¬
tional emperor of Brazil, and a complete separation took
place between the two countries. The constitution of
Portugal was finally completed and sworn to by the king
on the 1st of October 1822; and, shortly afterwards, the
session of this extraordinary Cortes closed. A plot, how¬
ever, was formed for abolishing the new constitution, at the
head of which was the queen, a Spanish Infanta; and
several of the nobility and clergy were likewise engaged in
it. Dom Miguel violated the promise which he had
solemnly given to his father by becoming the leader of the
counter-revolutionists, and inviting the nation to rise under
the royal standard against the anarchical policy of the Cortes.
The greater part of the troops declared for the Infant, and
John VI., yielding to the force of circumstances, named a
new ministry, and declared the constitution of 1822 null
and void. Sixty members of the Cortes protested against
this proceeding; but the king, a mere puppet in the hands
of his son, was borne along by the force of the current,
without being able to give any effectual check to its course.
The object of the queen and the Infant was to induce
the king to resume absolute power; but John VI. firmly
declared his resolution not to comply. The counter¬
revolutionists, however, began to act independently of his
authority, and various steps were taken to carry out their
views. Dom Miguel being appointed commander-in-chief
of the army, called the troops to arms, and issued procla¬
mations, in which he declared it to be his intention to
emancipate the king from the control of free-masons and
others by whom he was surrounded. The ministers and
other civil officers, to the number of one hundred persons,
were on the same day put under arrest; but when the king
ascertained what had occurred, he declared that the whole
had been done without his orders. As an excuse for his
conduct, the Infant said that he had taken these steps for
the purpose of frustrating a conspiracy which had been
formed against the king’s life. On the representations of
the foreign ambassadors, the individuals imprisoned were
released; and the king issued a decree commanding an
immediate investigation of the pretended treason. John,
finding himself in danger of falling a victim to the intrigues
of his son, contrived to escape on board of an English
vessel which lay in the Tagus. He deprived the Infant of
his command, but pardoned him and gave him permission
to travel. Portugal and Brazil assumed a hostile attitude,
but at length the independence of the latter country was
acknowledged. This weak, good-natured monarch died in
March 1826, having previously appointed his daughter
Isabella regent of Portugal.
Isabella for a short time governed Portugal in the name
of the emperor of Brazil, Dom Pedro, who was the legi¬
timate successor to both the European and American
possessions of the House of Braganza. On the 23d of
April 1826 he granted a constitution to Portugal, which
established two chambers, and in some other respects re¬
sembled the French charter. Not long afterwards, he
surrendered Portugal to his daughter, Donna Maria, as an
independent queen, on condition of her marrying her
uncle, Dom Miguel. An unsuccessful attempt was then
made by the absolutists to overthrow the constitution, and
proclaim Dom Miguel absolute king of Portugal. In July
1827 Dom Miguel was appointed by his brother lieutenant
and regent of the kingdom. The prince immediately re¬
turned to Portugal, having pledged himself to abide by
the terms required by Pedro. He arrived in Lisbon in
February 1828, and immediately assumed the administra¬
tion of the government, at the same time taking the oath
to maintain the constitution. But oaths were in his eyes
a mere formality of state, involving no moral obligation.
He assumed the sceptre as absolute king, and took his
measures accordingly. But the military in general were
unfavourable to his projects. The garrison of Oporto de¬
clared for Dom Pedro and the charter; other bodies of
troops followed their example, and a corps of 6000 men
advanced towards the capital; but they were defeated by
a superior force, and the efforts of the constitutionalists
were for the present baffled.
The object of Dom Miguel was now to consolidate his
power, and get himself proclaimed king. The Cortes met,
and all who were likely to oppose him having been im¬
prisoned or exiled, this body unanimously declared Dom
Miguel lawful king of Portugal. The pretext by which
the Cortes endeavoured to vindicate its conduct was, that
as Dom Pedro had become a foreigner, he had neither a
right to succeed himself nor to appoint a successor. On
the 4th of July 1828, Dom Miguel confirmed the decree
of the Cortes, and assumed the title, as he had already
done the powers, of royalty. The punishment of those
implicated in the Oporto insurrection followed as a matter
of course. An expedition was likewise sent against the
refractory islands which had refused to acknowledge the
usurper; and Madeira and the Azores were, with one
exception, reduced.
In the meanwhile, Donna Maria had set sail from Brazil
for Europe ; but on arriving before Gibraltar, she found
that, under actual circumstances, it would be injudicious, if
not dangerous, to land at Lisbon, and accordingly steered
for the English shores. She remained sometime in Lon¬
don, and during her stay was entertained as queen of
Portugal. In August 1829 she returned to Brazil, in
which a revolution suddenly deprived her father of his
American empire. Having abdicated a crown which he
could no longer retain, in favour of his infant son, the ex¬
emperor sailed for Europe with his daughter, to assert her
claims to the throne of Portugal. The usurper still pur¬
sued the same course of oppression, and, not content with
confining and despoiling his own countrymen, he extended
his outrages to British and French subjects. In the year
1830 it was calculated that 40,000 individuals were under
arrest for political causes alone; and that 5000 persons
were concealed in hiding-places in different parts of the
country. How many had been devoted to destruction by
being sent to the fatal shores of Africa, and how many
had voluntarily exiled themselves, it is impossible to esti¬
mate. The British government demanded redress for the
acts of violence committed against its subjects, and on this
being refused, a British fleet entered the Tagus, and terri¬
fied the tyrant into compliance. France acted in a similar
manner, and with even more success, demanding an in¬
demnity for the expenses incurred by the expedition.
Even the United States despatched a fleet to Lisbon to
obtain satisfaction for injuries done to American commerce.
But these repeated humiliations wrought no change in the
policy of Dom Miguel. But his finances were now falling
into inextricable confusion. The revenue scarcely sufficing
for the household expenses and the maintenance of the
troops, the usurper was driven to all manner of expedients
to relieve his necessities. The island of Terceira, one of
the Azores, resisted his claims; and here a regency was
formally installed, with the Marquis of Palmella at its head.
From this spot Dom Pedro issued a decree in favour of his
daughter Donna Maria.
Although neither the government of France nor that of
England gave open assistance to Dom Pedro, both abstained
History.
390 PORT
History, from opposing any obstacles to his measures of recruit-
's,,—ing. Many officers of each nation enlisted in his ranks;
and towards the end of December 300 half-pay officers
and volunteers sailed for Belleisle on the coast of France,
which had been fixed upon as the place of rendezvous.
Insurrections took place in Portugal, but were ultimately
suppressed. Meanwhile the island of fet Michael s was
captured by a force from Terceira, under Villa Flor, one
of the members of the regency. Afraid that Madeira would
be the next object of attack, Dom Miguel sent a small
armament for its defence. Dom Pedro now resolved to
hazard a descent upon Portugal with the undisciplined troops
he had collected together. I he expedition sailed from the
island of St Michael on the 27th of June 1832. It consisted
of two frigates, three corvettes, three armed brigs, and four
schooners, besides transports and a number of gun-boats,
to cover the landing. An officer who held a commission
in the British army undertook the command of the naval
department, with the rank of admiral. I he whole aimy on
board did not amount to 10,000 men, scantily provided
with artillery, and still more scantily with cavalry.
Dom Miguel made every preparation in his power to re¬
pulse the threatened attack. On the 8th of July Dom
Pedro appeared before Oporto, landed his troops, and took
possession of the town, without the loss of a single man.
Miguel immediately menaced Oporto from two points. On
the 22d of July an action took place, in which his troops
wrere repulsed, and compelled to fall back.
The operations of the naval squadron were attended with
little success. Several partial engagements took place be¬
tween the two fleets, but no advantage was gained on either
side. Dom Pedro continued to fortify Oporto; whilst
Miguel, with equal industry, was increasing his army, the
greater part of which lay on the north side of the Douro.
The Miguelites made an attack upon a suburb of Oporto,
which they carried; and the possession of this place enabled
them to harrass the city greatly. Dom Miguel then made
a general but unsuccessful assault upon the works with
which Oporto was surrounded. Finding that it was impos¬
sible to carry Oporto by storm, Miguel determined to cut
off the supplies. By this step Dom Pedro found himself
reduced to great difficulties.
The contention continued through 1833. In this year
Admiral Napier, then commanding Dom Pedro’s fleet,
utterly annihilated the enemy’s in the neighbourhood of
Cape St Vincent. Previously to this achievement, a body
of queen’s troops had landed at another point of the coast,
and in a few days the whole of the Algarves declared for
Donna Maria. This small army, under the command of
Villa Flor, now Duke of Terceira, marched upon Lisbon,
and on the way completely routed a greatly superior force.
The capital was deserted by the garrison; the inhabitants
rose en masse, and declared Donna Maria their lawful sove¬
reign ; and the Duke of Terceira, entering Lisbon in triumph,
hoisted the queen’s colours on the citadel. Dom Pedro
instantly set sail from Oporto to assume the government,
and no sooner had the intelligence reached France and
England, than both immediately acknowledged Donna Maria
as queen of Portugal.
Great preparations were made for the defence of Lisbon
against the Miguelite army, 18,000 strong, which, under
Marshal Bourmont, an experienced general, was now ad¬
vancing towards the capital. Several attacks were made
©n the defences during the rest of the year 1833, but the
results were unimportant. The first military operation of
importance which took place in 1834 was the capture of
Leiria, an important town between Lisbon and Coimbra,
which capitulated to the queen’s troops in February. A
battle was lost by the Miguelites near Almoster, where
Saldanha was posted ; and towns and provinces began to de-
claie for the queen so rapidly that the cause of the usurper
U G A L.
became desperate. He shut himself up at Santarem, with History,
a view of keeping up his communications with the fron-
tiers of Spain, whence he expected aid. It was a singular
coincidence, that in Spain as well as in Portugal, an infant
queen was supporting her cause by favouring popular
privileges, with an uncle for her rival, as a representative
of more despotic principles of government. The cause of
the two queens being so far the same, a community of
interest led to an alliance, to which the courts of Britain
and France became parties. Each was recognised as law¬
ful successor to the throne to which she aspired, and they
both agreed to employ their arms jointly against their
two rivals. Don Carlos was compelled to fly from Spain
into Portugal, and thither he was pursued by a Spanish
army, which proved even more fatal to Dom Miguel than to
Don Carlos. The Miguelites, seeing all hope lost, rapidly
disbanded, and only the miserable remnant of an army re¬
mained attached to the usurper. A suspension of arms was
agreed to; and on the 26th of May a convention was en¬
tered into, by which Miguel formally consented to aban¬
don the country. The terms granted him were, that he
should never again set foot either in Portugal or Spain, nor
in any way concur in disturbing these kingdoms; that he
should leave the country within fifteen days ; that he should
have a pension of about L.15,000, and be permitted to dis¬
pose of his personal property, after restoring the crown jewels
and other articles ; and, finally, that, by his command, the
troops still adhering to his cause should instantly lay down
their arms, and the fortresses surrender to the queen. On
the 2d of June he embarked for Genoa, where he had no
sooner arrived than he issued a declaration declaring that
he had acted under compulsion in relinquishing the throne,
and that the transaction was null and void.
The civil war being thus terminated, an extraordinary
Cortes was assembled on the 14th of August. The regency
was ultimately conferred on Dom Pedro, bvit he expired
on the 22d of September 1834, having, during the latter
years of his life, acted a part which the earlier stages of
bis career gave the world little reason to expect. The
queen’s marriage with the Duke of Leuchtenberg, the son
of Eugene Beauharnois, and the brother of Dom Pedro’s
wife, was soon afterwards resolved upon. A bill to ex¬
clude Dom Miguel and his descendants from the throne
of Portugal was passed without one dissentient voice. The
budget for the year 1834 showed a considerable deficit,
and this formed an excuse for treating the British auxiliaries,
to whom they owed so much, with shameful ingratitude.
Prince Augustus of Leuchtenberg, the husband of the
young queen, having arrived in Portugal in the beginning
of the year 1835, was appointed commander-in-chief of the
Portuguese army, a nomination which gave rise to much
contention. But death soon cut short the discussion, for
the young prince expired on the 28th of March. The cham¬
bers, however, did not allow the queen to indulge long in
the sorrows of widowhood. The constitutional system
depended greatly on a direct succession to the throne, and
before the end of the year the queen’s second marriage was
arranged. The bridegroom selected was Prince Ferdinand
of Saxe-Coburg, a nephew of the King of the Belgians.
The prince arrived at Lisbon in April 1836. Govern¬
ment now became extremely annoyed by the question,
whether the king should be appointed to the command
of the army, when it turned out that this was one of the
special conditions of the marriage treaty. The proceeding
proved very unpopular, and materially hastened a revolu¬
tion, in which the ministry and the constitution were ship¬
wrecked together. It does not appear, however, that the
government anticipated any serious changes, as the country,
although a good deal irritated, exhibited no dangerous
symptoms of discontent. Yet the revolutionary plot must
have been arranged beforehand, for even the troops of the
PORT
History, line were seduced. The queen was compelled to declare
the political constitution of the 23d of September 1822 to
be in vigour; but it was at the same time agreed that it
should undergo such modifications as circumstances had
rendered necessary. A new ministry was immediately ap¬
pointed, and Prince Ferdinand was deprived of his military
commission. But neither the great body of the people
nor the more influential classes showed any indications of
accordance with the remodellers of government. Almost
all the nobility, the superior clergy, and many persons hold¬
ing official situations of greater or of less importance, re¬
fused peremptorily to take the oath to the new constitu¬
tion. The peers, whose existence as a separate legislative
assembly was thus abolished, protested to the queen against
the measure. The queen, however, was obliged to accede
to most of the demands of the liberal party, and thereupon
dismissed her ministers.
The principal events which followed these changes were,
the economizing of the expenditure, the imposition of a
tax for the support of the priesthood, the introduction of a
uniform system of duties on vessels sailing from Portu¬
guese harbours, the abolition of the slave trade, and other
measures of more or less moment. During the years 1837
and 1838 some provinces of Portugal were kept in con¬
stant terror, and, to a certain extent, ravaged by rebel
banditti, whose ostensible object was to excite a rising in
favour of Dom Miguel. The most noted of these guerilla
chiefs, Remechido, was at length taken and shot.
To trace the tangled thread of Portuguese politics, to
narrate all the changes of ministry, all the outbreaks of
the people, during the last few years, would be tedious and
uninteresting. It will be sufficient to mention the prin¬
cipal events. On the 4th April 1838, the nineteenth
anniversary of the queen’s birthday, she and her hus¬
band solemnly swore to maintain the new constitution ; and
an amnesty was granted towards all political offenders in
respect of events that had taken place since the 10th Sep¬
tember 1836. Viscount Sa de Bandeira was placed at the
head of the new cabinet; and the general election of de¬
puties was proceeded with. On the 31st October the
queen was delivered of son, who received the title of Duke
of Oporto, and is now the reigning king. During the
year 1839 there were two changes of ministry : in the lat¬
ter Costa Cabral came into power. Early in 1840 the
Cortes were suddenly dissolved, and a new Cortes sum¬
moned to meet in May. As the year wore away disaffec¬
tion showed itself in a part of the army, but the insur¬
rectionary spirit was soon put down. About this time a
quarrel broke out between the governments of Spain and
Portugal as to the navigation of the Douro, which had
been declared free to both nations throughout its course
by a convention signed in 1835, leaving certain regulations
to be settled afterwards. The Portuguese government
appearing to hold back, that of Spain threatened to en¬
force the treaty vi et armis, whereupon the former gave
w'ay, and the dispute was adjusted.
In January 1842 Costa Cabral, who then held the port¬
folio of justice, suddenly left Lisbon for Oporto ; and there,
along with the military commander, proclaimed Dom Pedro’s
charter of 1826; forming, at the same time, a provisional
government in the name of the queen, in the presence of
the municipal authorities and the troops of the garrison. It
was strongly suspected that the court connived with this
proceeding ; however the government compelled the queen
to dismiss Cabral from his office, and to issue a proclamation
against the insurrection. A new cabinet was formed, at
the head of which was placed the Duke of Palmella; but
the troops at Lisbon and the populace broke out into open
revolt, demanding the restoration of the charter, where¬
upon the newly-appointed ministers resigned, and a royal
decree issued proclaiming the charter to be the law of the
U G A L.
391
land. Of the next cabinet the Duke of Terceira was no- Hi«torv.
minal chief, and Costa Cabral came in as minister for
home affairs. The Cortes met in July, and the queen told
them, with reference to the charter, that their mission was
to consolidate it. Matters went on pretty quietly until Fe¬
bruary 1844, when a regiment mutinied, and the insurrec¬
tionary spirit spreading, the Count de Bomfin put himself
at the head of about 700 men, and retired to Almeida,
where he was besieged by the government forces. The
alleged object of the insurgents was to procure the dis¬
missal of the ministers. They made, however, a feeble
resistance: the place was surrendered, and the leaders al¬
lowed to escape into Spain. After the close of the session
ministers did several arbitrary acts under the shelter of
royal decrees, for which, however, they were afterwards
indemnified by the Cortes. In April or May 1846, the
standard of revolt was once more raised. The insurrec¬
tion commenced in the Upper Minho, the immediate cause
being, the imposition of a new tax. Great dissatisfaction
with the ministry had existed throughout the nation for
some time ; the conduct of Costa Cabral especially had
excited indignation and disgust, his rapacity and venality
being notorious, and his increasing wealth evident. A
great part of Portugal was up in arms, and the ministers
resigned ; whereupon a new ministry was formed, with the
Duke of Palmella at its head, and the Marquis of Sal-
danha and the queen issued a proclamation promising a
redress of grievances, including a restoration of the liberty
of the press. Cabral (who had been ennobled the pre¬
vious year by the title of Count Thomar) made his escape
into Spain. A royal decree authorized the Bank of Por¬
tugal to suspend its cash payments. The Chamber of
Deputies was dissolved, and the Cortes assembled for the
ensuing 1st of September. At the commencement of
October the queen abruptly dismissed her ministry, and
at once entrusted Saldanha with the task of forming a new
one. The suddenness of the proceeding, and the names
of some of the ministers, led a large section of the nation
to believe that the crown wished to replace the Cabralista
party in power. A considerable body of troops revolted,
and placed themselves under the leadership of the Conde
das Antas and the Conde da Bomfin ; whilst a revolution¬
ary Junta was organized at Oporto. Affairs being in a
very alarming position, the British government despatched
a special agent to watch the proceedings, and endeavour
to effect a reconciliation between the parties; and a Bri¬
tish fleet was ordered into the Tagus. In the confusion
that ensued, an attempt was made to excite a movement
in favour of Dom Miguel, but this utterly failed. Cabral
wished to return to Portugal, but the ministers prevented
him ; giving him, however, the appointment of ambassador
at Madrid. On the 23d December an engagement took
place at Torres Vedras between the queen’s troops, under
Saldanha, and the insurgents, under Bomfin, about 4000
men being engaged on each side. Bomfin was completely
routed ; 1300 of his men were taken prisoners along with
the commanders, at a loss to the queen’s army of nearly
400 killed and wounded. Saldanha (now a duke) then
marched into the north, a small force having been sta¬
tioned at Estremoz, in the east. He remained inactive
for some time in the neighbourhood of Oporto, but being
too weak to besiege or attack the place, the insurgents
gathered strength and organized their plans. In April
1847, several steamers having fallen into the hands of the
insurgents, about 1200 troops under Sa da Bandeira were
transferred from the north to the south ; where, being
augmented by a body of the local militia, they marched
in the direction of Lisbon. Troops under the Conde de
Mello raised this portion of the insurgent army to about
4000. On the 1st May an engagement took place in the
neighbourhood of St Ubes (Setubal), in which 500 of the
392 POET
History, ante-ministerial troops were killed or wounded. The capi-
V—tal meantime was only kept quiet by the threatening atti¬
tude of the British fleet. The queen felt her throne
trembling under her, and preparations were made to re¬
ceive her and the royal family onboard a British man-of-
war. The government having appealed to the govern¬
ments of Britain, France, and Spain, active negotiations
were set on foot to negotiate with the malcontents, and
an amnesty for the past was offered ; but the negotiations
failed. There had been all along a strong disposition on
the part of Spain to send a body of troops to the assist¬
ance of the queen. Spanish interference not being desii-
able for political reasons, it was at length arranged that the
three governments should afford the queen the needful
assistance; and a protocol was accordingly signed in Lon¬
don on the 21st May. The ministers had previously
resigned, and a transition ministry appointed. An amnesty
was issued, and the insurgents, seeing that the contest had
become hopeless, laid down their arms, and Spanish troops
occupied Oporto. The Cortes met, and new ministers
were called to power. Through 1848 the country was
quiet, Saldanha being at the head of affairs. In March
1819 Cabral had intrigued so successfully that he ousted
Saldanha, and continued prime minister until April 1851,
when Saldanha broke out into open revolt. He marched
northwards with an inconsiderable body of troops, and fol¬
lowed the queen’s husband at the head of a strong force.
Saldanha denounced the peculations and continued infrac¬
tions of the constitution committed by Cabral, and he called
upon the queen to dismiss him from her counsels. At first
Saldanha’s movement did not receive much encouragement;
at length the city of Oporto declared for him. Cabral re¬
signed, taking refuge on board a British steamer ; and Sal¬
danha returned in triumph to Lisbon. He was placed at
the head of a new ministry, which continued in power
until June 1856. During this period the country remained
quiet, but the ministry were guilty of a disgraceful act of
bad faith towards the public creditors of the state. The
finances for many years had been becoming worse and
worse. The credit of the nation was very low, and the
annual deficit large. Endeavouring by a vigorous effort to
put the national affairs on a better footing, a royal decree,
issued on the 18th December 1852, to reduce the rate of
interest on the national debt, irrespective of the rate at
which the money was borrowed, and without any offer of
paying dissentient creditors in full. Large arrears of in¬
terest had been previously capitalized after deducting 10
per cent, of the amount. These dishonest acts were almost
sufficient to justify the intervention of the British govern¬
ment, since a very large amount of the debt was owing to
British subjects. The London Stock Exchange refused to
allow any quotation of the funds in their lists; and this
continued to be the case until 1856, when the Portuguese
government came to an arrangement with its foreign cre¬
ditors, of dubious advantage to them it is true, but the best
that could be made under the circumstances.
Donna Maria died in childbirth on the 15th November
1853, whereupon the king-consort proclaimed himself
regent until his eldest son should be of age. At the close
of her troubled life she left behind five sons and two daugh¬
ters. The eldest son quietly ascended the throne, with the
title of Dom Pedro V., on the 16th September 1855, the
anniversary of his eighteenth birthday. Little occurred
during his minority that needs to be chronicled here, save
that the deficient harvest of 1854 compelled the govern¬
ment to admit for a time foreign grain free of duty ; and
that the young king paid a visit to England and part of the
Continent, accompanied by his next brother, in pursuance
of a wish expressed by their mother. His majesty has lately
married a German princess of the House of Hohenzollern.
He is said to be of a reserved disposition ; but he won
U G A L.
golden opinions from the nation by his behaviour during Statistics,
a pestilence resembling yellow fever that carried off nearly
5000 persons at Lisbon in the autumn of 1857. The ex¬
citing cause of this fever was the poisonous atmosphere
occasioned by defective drainage. Lisbon has long had the
character of being the filthiest city in Europe ; but if money
can be procured, something is now to be done to amend
this state of things. The Saldanha ministry having pro¬
posed to raise a sum of L.3,000,000, to make a grant to a
French company of the right of constructing certain lines
of railway, and to impose new taxes, their plans met with
strong opposition in the lower chamber of the legislature.
This, however, was surmounted ; but a still more violent op¬
position was threatened in the chamber of peers; to avoid
which the king was asked to create a number of new peers.
As he refused to do this, the Saldanha ministry tendered
their resignation in June 1856. The king then empowered
the Marquis de Louie to form a new government, which
contented itself with asking for authority to contract a loan
of L.330,000. This was given ; and the arrangement with
the British bond-holders was confirmed. An act was
passed in the same session to abolish slavery in the Portu¬
guese colonies on the west coast of Africa.
Here our sketch of the history of Portugal ceases.
What the future of the country may be, it is not easy to
foresee. The past affords a miserable story ; the enormous
debt must for a long period cripple the nation. The re¬
sources of the country are doubtless great, but they can
only be developed by the enlightened and honest conduct
of men in power, by a peaceful and law-respecting people,
and by capital. This last requisite exists not at present in
Portugal itself, nor can it be obtained from abroad as long
as there are evidences of dishonest dealings or political
disturbance. The conduct of the young king since his
accession to the throne affords ground for good hopes, but
great tact will be required to reconcile conflicting parties,
as well as a firm determination to do justice to all, and to
reign for the benefit of the whole body of the people.
List of the Sovereigns of Portugal.
I. House of Burgundy.
A.D.
Henry of Burgundy  1095
Affonso I. (Enrique)  1112
Sancho I   1185
Affonso II. (the Fat)  1211
Sancho II. (Capel)  1223
Affonso III  1248
Diniz (the Farmer)  1279
Affonso IV  1325
Peter (the Severe)  1357
Ferdinand 1  1367
A regency  1383
II. House of Avis.
John I. (the Great)  1385
Edward   1433
Affonso V. (the African) 1438
John II. (the Perfect)  1481
Manoel (the Fortunate)... 1495
John III  1521
Sebastian  1557
Henry (the Cardinal)  1578
III. Interval of Submission to
Spain.
A.D.
Philip II  1580
Philip III  1590
PhUip IV  1623
IV. House of Braganqa.
John IV 
Affonso VI 
Peter II. (regent from
1667) 
John V 
Joseph  
Mary I., and Peter III....
Mary alone  
Regency 
John VI 
Peter IV 
Mary II 
Miguel I 
Mary II. (restored) 
Peter V., the present king
1640
1656
1683
1706
1750
1777
1786
1792
1816
1826
1826
1828
1833
1853
Portugal, the most westerly kingdomof continental Europe, Boundaries
lies between 36. 56. and 42.13. N. Lat., and between 6.15. and extent,
and 8. 55. W. Long. Its length from N. to S. is 310 geo¬
graphical miles, and its extreme breadth is 132 miles. It has
the figure of an irregular parallelogram, and its superficial
extent is estimated at 35,400 square miles. On the N. and
E. it is bounded by the Spanish provinces of Galicia, Leon,
Estremadura, and Andalusia; on the S. and W. by the At¬
lantic Ocean, to which it presents a coast-line of nearly 500
miles in length, having only one province, Traz-os-Montes,
PORTUGAL.
Mountains.
Statistics, not washed by the sea. On the N. the coast is low at first,
but it afterwards becomes rugged and steep. In Beira it
again gets flat, sandy, and marshy; in Estremadura it is
in one part steep, and in another almost a dead level, and
very insecure; in Alemtejo it is low, being full of rocks
and shallows; and although at Cape St Vincent it is high
and rocky, as we proceed towards the Spanish frontier the
country sinks into low sandy downs. The promontories
most worthy of notice are Mondego in Beira, Carvoeiro
de Rocha and Espichel in Estremadura, Sines in Alem¬
tejo and San Vicente, and Santa Maria in Algarve. On
the low coasts there are inlets of the sea, which afford op¬
portunities for the formation of excellent harbours.
Portugal is not separated from Spain by any natural
boundaries, and hence in all its physical relations it is to be
considered as a westerly continuation of that country. The
principal chains of mountains are prolongations of those
which traverse Spain. In the N., between the Minho and
Douro, the country is intersected in various directions by
the southerly and westerly procession of the Galician
and Austrian mountain ranges, which terminate at the
sea in a steep and broken coast. The provinces situated
in this quarter are alternating mountain and high table¬
land, a continuation of the lofty table-land of Old Castile
and Leon. The Serra de Montezinho, near the northern
frontier, is a lofty range, on the summit of which snow lies for
many months of the year; and indeed the peak of Gaviarra,
7850 feet, which forms part of the Serra de Suajo, is said to
be crowned with perpetual snow. This range runs between
the rivers Lima and Minho, terminating at the sea under
the name of the Serra d’Estrica. On the left bank of the
Lima extends the Serra de Gerez, a branch of the last-
mentioned range, and declining towards the lower Douro,
receives the name of the Serra de Sant Catarina. The
highest point of this range attains the altitude of 7360 feet.
In the province of Traz-os-Montes is also the Serra de
Mar3o, on the left bank of the Tamega, and stretching
down almost to the Douro. To the E. of it is the plateau
of Guardo, between 2000 and 3000 feet in height, and
which on the N.E. is bounded by the Serra de Montezinho.
In the province of Beira, between the rivers Mondego and
Zezere, extends the Serra d’Estrella, a continuation of a
chain which traverses Leon and Castile. The mountain
ridge consists of granite and layers of sandstone. It pre¬
sents a shattered and savage aspect, is covered with snow
during the greater portion of the year, and in its ramifica¬
tions incloses the river* Mondego. Its highest summits
aie those of Cantaro Delgado and the Malao da Serra.
Northwards it declines gently towards the Vouga, and
stretches in a westerly direction to the gates of Coimbra
under the name of the Serra de Alcoba. The southerly
branch runs through the province of Estremadura, to the
mouth of the Tagus, forming the granite mountains of
Cmtra, which terminate in the sea at the Cabo de Roca
(Rock of Lisbon), lo the S. of the mouth of the Tagus
stretches the Serra d Arabida, an inferior range. Between
the Tagus and the Guadiana the country is elevated, but
giadually sinking towards the Spanish province of Estre¬
madura, is bounded on the S. by a continuation of the
Sierra Morena of Spain, which mountain chain is here
penetrated by the river Guadiana. The Serra de Caldei-
rao, which afterwards bears the name of the Serra de Mon-
chique, a ramification of the gigantic Sierra Morena, ex¬
tends in a^ westerly direction to the sea, where it termi¬
nates in Cape St Vincent, and completely incloses Al¬
garve. Its loftiest peaks are Foya (3840 feet) and Picota
(3720 feet), near the western extremity of the chain.
From this account it will be seen that Portugal is a land
of mountains intersected by valleys, many of which con¬
tain scenery of great beauty. There are, however, two
plains of some extent; one to the S. of the Tagus, of which
VOL. xvm.
393
a continuation, and one at the Statistics.
that of Santarem forms
mouth of the Vouga.
Portugal receives its principal rivers from Spain. TheRiverf
largest are the Tagus, the Guadiana, the Douro, the Lima
and the Minho. The Tagus originates in the Sierra d’Al-
baracin, on the borders of Cuenpa and Aragon, flows at
first in a northerly direction, and then turns to the S. but
during the most part of its course its general bearing is
westerly. After traversing several Spanish provinces, it
enters the Portuguese territory near the point where it
receives the Sever, separates the provinces of Beira and
Alemtejo, and after dividing Portuguese Estremadura into
two unequal parts, falls into the Atlantic. It receives the
waters collected between two parallel ranges of mountains,
flows through a mountainous country, and its current is
much broken by rocks and cataracts. Its waters are turbid,
and annually overflow and fertilize the extensive plains in
the environs of Santarem and Villa Franca. Lower down
it forms many marshes of considerable extent, which yield
a large revenue. The length of its course is 450 miles.
It is affected by the tide a considerable distance above Lis¬
bon, but it is only navigable to Abrantes. Its width is so
great near its mouth as to make it resemble a vast lake or
arm of the sea; and at Lisbon it forms one of the finest
and safest harbours in the world. The tributaries which
it receives on the N. are the Elga, the Ponsal, and the
Zezere ; and those from the S. are the Sever, the Sorraya
erroneously called Zatas in most maps, and the Canha;
but none of these are navigable. The rivers worthy of
notice which have their source in Portugal are the Cavado,
Aye, Vouga, Mondego, Sado, Odemira, Portimao, and
Rio Quarteira. I he Cavado rises in the Serra de Gerez,
and after traversing the province of Minho, discharges
itself near Esposenda, being only navigable for 7 miles.
The Vouga has its source in Beira, and after traversing
this province, enters the ocean below Aveira. The Mon^
dego issues in the Estrella, crosses Beira and the plains of
Coimbra, and finally joins the ocean near Figueira and
Buareos. I his is the largest of the rivers belonging ex¬
clusively to Portugal, and it is navigable for 60 miles, ex¬
cept in summer, when its waters considerably diminish. Its
sands occasionally yield particles of gold. The Sado has
its source in Alemtejo in the Serra de Monchique, and flows
with a north-westerly course towards Estremadura. It be¬
comes navigable from Porto de Rey, and enters the ocean
by a large bay to the S. of Setubal. The same serra
gives rise to the Odemeira and Portimao, the former being
navigable to the town of the same name, and the latter as
far up as Silves. The Rio Quarteira has its source in the
Serra de CaldeirSo, and forms at its mouth the small port
wdiich bears its name. These rivers, when swollen by the
winter rains, overflow their banks, much to the advantage
of the country, for the waters leave a rich deposit behind
them. In summer they are very low, and many of the
smaller rivers of Portugal are dried up during that season.
They are in general much obstructed by rocks and bars of
sand at their mouths, by which navigation is greatly
impeded.
Portugal possesses no navigable canals worthy of notice. La^es an^
On the coast, especially in Alemtejo and Beira, there are 8frinSs-
morasses, lakes, and inferior inland seas, none of them being
of great circumference. Several mountain lakes on the
Serra d’Estrella are tepid, and throw up bubbles. Portugal
is rich in medicinal springs, some of which are used for
baths. They consist of gaseous and saline mineral waters,
and of sulphureous and chalybeate springs. Thirty-four
hot springs are known to exist, and lead to the supposition
that volcanic action is still proceeding below the whole
country. The most celebrated sulphur and warm baths are
the Caldas de Gerez in Minho, those of Rainha and Oeiras
in Estremadura, those of Chaves and Anciaes in Traz-os-
3 D
394
Statistics. Montes, of San Pedro do Sul and Penagarcia m Beira,and
W, ' of Monchique in Algarve. The best chalybeates are at
Torro de Moncorvo in Traz-os-Montes, those of Ama-
ranha and Guimaraens in Minho, and of Villas in Estiema-
Geology. ^More than half Spanish Galicia—that is to say, all the
western and middle parts of the province—consists of gra¬
nite, gneiss, mica, schist, and other crystalline rock, ; the
eastern side being chiefly formed of slate, graywacke, &c
which probably belong to the Silurian and
lions. The mean strike of the slates is about N.N.VY.
Small patches of secondary red sandstones, and marls o un¬
ascertained age, are scattered over the provmc6; whilst now
and then a small tertiary deposit occurs; and the bottoms
of many valleys contain thick deposits of gravel. 1 he same
formations are found in the N. of Portugal. Great part
of Minho and the western side of 1 raz-os-Montes are
formed chiefly of crystalline rocks; but the rest of the
latter province consists of slates, continuous with those in
the E. of Galicia. The crystalline rocks extend with
some interruptions of slate and other rocks towards the b.
or S S.E., in a band of 40 or 50 miles wide, through the
whole extent of Portugal, from the province of Minho to
the Guadiana. The great mountainous districts of the
Serra d’Estrella are included in their range. The granites
gradually slope away from the Atlantic, and approach the
Spanish frontier; while the slates on their eastern flank
slope into Spain. The wine district of the Upper Douro is
formed of slate rocks belonging to the Silurian system, being
of precisely the same mineral type as those of France and
Spain, and including the same fossils. 1 hese rise up in
highly-inclined and vertical strata, and are neaily sur¬
rounded by granitic and syenitic mountains. They are
quarried for roofing-slates. In this district is the coal-field
of Vallongo, which supplies Oporto with anthracite coal,
and geologists with a difficult puzzle. By mineral struc¬
ture and fossil remains it belongs to the carboniferous era,
and yet it is seen to dip under lower Silurian schists with
their characteristic fossils. Murchison’s explanation of the
anomaly is, that the trough containing coal of true carbo¬
niferous date, deposited upon Silurian strata, has been dis¬
located and changed by subterranean movements, so that
the original relative position of the beds has been inverted.
The great granitic band is flanked on its western side by
slaty and schistose rocks. The schists run S.E. from the
mouth of the Vouga, keeping on the N. of the river; then
turning southward, they run along the Serra de Busaco,
pass about 4 miles to the E. of Coimbra, and continue
along the small river Deupa ; and then down the lower part
of the Zezere to the Tagus near Abrantes. The district
lying between the schists alluded to and the Atlantic is
composed of sandstones of undetermined age, at the base
above which are a series of Jurassic beds, a subcretaceous
series, and a hippuritic limestone which is equivalent to our
chalk. Southward of Abrantes is a great tertiary basin,
with an area of between 2000 and 3000 square miles,
through which the Tagus and the Sado cut their way to
the sea. Lisbon stands in this basin. The most important
part of this series is marine, belonging to the miocene
period ; but there occur some beds of lacustrine limestone.
The upper part of this tertiary basin forms a marshy dis¬
trict, consisting probably of quite modern lacustrine and
fluviatile deposits. To the N. of Lisbon, basalt, covering
a considerable area, sharply separates the secondary and
tertiary deposits. To the S. of that basin secondary beds
make their appearance in the middle of Alemtejo, and these
are probably older than those on the N. of the Tagus. On
the S. is a lofty chain of hills, separating Alemtejo from
Algarve, and consisting of schists and slates. A little
granite, however, occurs at the Cabe9a de Monchique.
Schists are met with along part of the Alemtejo coast, and
PORTUGAL.
svenite at the Cane of Sines. In Algarve a band of second- Statistic,,
arv rocks lies to the S. of the schistose chain, and these are
overlaid by tertiary deposits on the S. coast, pap las
burst forth near Cape St Vincent. Very little is known as
to the geology of Portugal, except .n regard to the neigh¬
bourhood of Lisbon and Oporto. The reader ,s referred,
for further information, to Mr D. Sharpe s Memoirs in the
Transactions of the Geological Society for 1841 ; and to
the Journal of the Geological Society, vols. v. vi. and ix.
Tin mines appear to have been wrought by the Car-Mines,
thaginians in this part of the Peninsula; and it is affirmed
thatT mines of tin-stone existed in some granitic mountains
of Beira. Mines of gold and silver were wrought in this
country by the Romans. There are lead mines near Coim¬
bra a mine of plumbago near Mogadouro, and iron mines
near Figueira and Torre de Moncorvo. In Estremadura
there ai&e two very old establishments of the same kind, one
in the district of Thomar, and the other in that of Figuero
dos Vinhos. On the frontier of that province, and of its
neighbour Beira, are situated the mines of red oxide of
iron by which they are supplied. Iron indeed is one of
the most abundant minerals in the country. There is a
mine of antimony near Oporto, and the mountains in that
neighbourhood everywhere give indications of copper and
other ores. All the mines, however, are worked to a very
small extent: the mineral riches of the country are great,
but capital and enterprise are required to turn them to
account. In Portugal there are also mines of tin, mercury,
bismuth, and arsenic. Some of the rivers of this country,
as well as those of Spain, are washed for the gold which
they contain; and it is said that in this way large quan¬
tities of the precious metal were formerly collected. The
river Tagus was anciently celebrated for the particles of
gold which were found mingled with its sands; but its
greatest riches are now borne on its bosom. Indeed, none
of the streams yields a quantity worth much above the
labour of collecting it. There is only one gold-mine in
Portugal, situated in a place called Adissa, in the district
of Setubal; but its annual produce is a mere trifle, not
reaching 20 lb. weight at an average. Two coal-mines
exist: one near Figueira, and the other near Oporto; but
the coal is of inferior quality, and large importations con-
sequently arc made from England, fhc country abounds
with beautiful marbles, but they are comparatively little
wrought, from the expenses required to bring them to
market. Precious stones are found in Portugal, and also
quarries of limestone, gypsum, slate, freestone, millstone,
black agate, together with immense beds ot pyrites and
marcasites, potter’s and porcelain clay, and pits of common
salt. In 1853, 60,000,000 bushels of salt were produced,
of which about seven-twelfths were exported.
Various causes conspire to produce great differences Climate
in the climate of Portugal in different situations, such asan(fs01#
inequality of soil, vicinity to the ocean and to mountain
ranges, &c. The mountain chains in the northern part
of the country are very rugged and cold, the limits of
perpetual snow being in this latitude under 8000 feet.
This cold region comprises a considerable portion of the
provinces of Traz-os-Montes and Beira, and the whole ot
the northern frontiers of Minho. The sea-coast of Por¬
tugal is very warm, the heat of summer, however, being
tempered by the sea-breezes. The elevated plains and
mountains are sterile, and destitute of wood ; but the val¬
leys and other low situations have a mild and agreeable
climate, and are for the most part fruitful. A great part
of Minho possesses a delightful climate. Estremadura, on
the other hand, is very hot in summer and very cold in
winter ; but the high lands throughout the whole southern
portion of Portugal have an agreeable temperature, equally
removed from excessive heat in summer and severe cold
in winter. Algarve alone has an African climate, but the
PORTUGAL.
Animals.
Statistics, excessive heat is greatly tempered by the sea-breezes.
The warmer parts of Portugal have a short winter and a
double spring. The first, which commences in February,
is a delightful season. The succeeding months are
variable, being in some years hot and dry, and in others
cold and rainy. Harvest is gathered in June. Summer
commences in the last week of July, and continues till
the beginning of September. The heat is then very great,
parching up all the vegetation on the plains and sea-coast,
so that it is necessary to water plants to preserve them
from destruction. Rain begins to fall early in October,
and the vegetation of spring immediately succeeds to that
of autumn. Winter lasts from the end of November till
February, but the cold is seldom excessive, except in
very elevated situations. In December heavy rains de¬
scend, accompanied by strong winds; it is during this
period that the rivers are so liable to overflow their banks.
J he climate of Portugal, in general, may be pronounced
salubrious, particularly along the coasts and on the table¬
lands. Fevers of various kinds appear to be the diseases
most prevalent, but there are disorders peculiar to dif¬
ferent localities. In many districts, in the country around
Lisbon for instance, earthquakes are not unfrequently felt
in harvest and winter. Portugal is rarely visited by violent
stoi ms, and thunder is seldom heard except during autumn
and winter.
Liids are not numerous; vultures and the gray eagle
haunt some of the serras, and the red-legged partridge is
common. Of wolves, wild cats, wild goats, wild boars,
stags, and some other species of large game, there are a
few in certain localities. Hares are rare, and rabbits are
not so numerous as in Spain. Amphibious reptiles are
not common, but vipers and venomous serpents abound in
the mountains ; the other parts of the country, however,
appear to be free from them. There are several species of
lizards. The rivers are amply stocked with fish, and the
coasts literally swarm with them; but the fisheries are much
neglected, and large quantities of salted fish are imported.
The indigenous flora is very much the same as that of
the rest of the Peninsula. Besides the British species of
elm, ash, maple, sycamore, poplar, alder, hazel, and ar¬
butus, there are found species of oak, willow, rhamnus,
juniper, and heath, which are not indigenous in our
islands, in addition to the species that are. Amongst the
oaks, the cork-tree and the kermes oak mav be noticed
Here grow also the bay tree, Portugal laurel, Spanish
chestnut, two species of Pistacia, three species of Phil-
lyrea, the sumach, carob-tree, Celtis australis, Finns
mantima, and P. pinea. The myrtle, pomegranate, rose¬
mary lavender, liquorice-plant, as well as Viburnum Tinus,
Daphne Gnidium, Smilax mauritanica. Thirty spe¬
cies of Cistus, and many members of the genera Genista,
bpartmm, and Cytisus, are natives. In the south laro-e
plains are covered by Cistus ladaniferus, with patches
o the dwarf-palm {Chamcerops humilis). Amongst the
hhces it is curious that Davallia canariensis, a fern only
found elsewhere in the Atlantic islands, should grow at
Cintra and the neighbourhood of Oporto. Turning to
plants which have been introduced, we may mention that,
at the latter place, the camellia flourishes in the open air-
whilst at Lisbon there grow, unprotected in gardens’
the date-palm, the dragon-tree, coral-trees, acacias, and
-t nytolacca dioica. 1 he Agave americana has become
wild ; and this is the case in the extreme south of Portugal
with a cactus, the castor-oil plant, and the oleander. Groves
of fruitful orange trees and fields of rice also attest the
mildness of the climate ; and, contrasted with the alpine
plants on the mountains of the north, give some idea of its
I'ange. Much needs to be done to work out the flora of Por¬
tugal, for scarcely anything has been published respecting
it since Brotero’s Flora Lusitanica, which appeared m
395
Flora
thTArp1 f 1 h 0'>treeiand %'tree Y^ld fruits Statistics,
that aie not only consumed on the spot, but are largely ^  /
exported. From the fruit of the arbutus a spirit is ex-
tracted ; almonds are produced in considerable quantities.
1 he leaves of the dwarf-palm are applied to many useful
purposes ; and the grass known as Esparto {Stipa tenacis-
sima, L.) is made into nets and cordage. There are lar<Te
forests of Spanish chestnut on the mountains, but the
kermes of the Quercus coccifera is no longer gathered, its
use having been superseded by cochineal. A cactus
(Opuntia) yields a fruit on the lower grounds which is
much esteemed on the spot.
According to the census of 1854, the population of the Population
several provinces of Portugal was as follows
Area in
■n x B<1- miles.
Lntre JVlmho e Douro  3 144
Traz-os-Montes  4 044
Beira   8,712
Estremadura  7 9§4
Aiemtejo [ lo’o56
Algarve  2,160
Population.
851,266
314,524
1,155,275
730,629
301,062
146,363
Total  35,400 3,499,121
The cities and towns having more than 10,000 inhabi¬
tants are—
Lisbon  275,000
Oporto  90,000
Setubal  17,000
Braga  16,000
Coimbra  15,000
Elvas  12,000
Ovar    12,000
Evara    10,000
The government, once one of the most absolute kind, Govern-
is now a limited monarchy, altered by an additional actment-
dated 5th July 1852. The existing constitution bears
date the 29th April 1826. The crown is hereditary, and
may be worn by females as well as males. The person of
the monarch is irresponsible. There are two legislative
chambers,—that of the peers and that of the deputies,—
which are conjunctively named the General Cortes. The
peers are named for life by the crown, by whom the pre¬
sident and vice-president are nominated. The deputies
are chosen by direct election; the electors must be of
full age, and possessed of a yearly revenue of about L.22.
The deputies must have an annual income of about L.89,
but no property qualification is necessary in the case of
the graduates of a learned profession. The number of
electoral districts in continental Portugal is 37, and the
number of deputies is 133. The deputies elected in Ma¬
deira, Azores, and the colonies, amount to 25. Each de¬
puty has a remuneration of about 10s. a day during the
session. The annual session lasts three months, and a
fresh election must take place at the end of four years. In
case of a dissolution a new Cortes must be called together
within thirty days. The chamber of peers cons?sts of
about 115 members, but the crown has the power of ap¬
pointing new peers without limit. A peer does not neces¬
sarily bear a title; and, in fact, many peers are without
titles, as many of those who have been ennobled have no
seat in the chamber. There are seven ministers of state,
one for each of the departments of the interior, finance,
justice, and ecclesiastical affairs; public works, commerce,
and industry; naval affairs and the colonies; war and
foreign affairs. The deliberations of these ministers, who
form, as we would say, “ the cabinet,” are held in the pre¬
sence of the president of the council, who is considered
the prime minister. Several of the ministers are assisted
by administrative boards: for instance, there is a board of
public instruction under the minister of the interior.
There are six orders of knighthood in Portugal, viz.:— Knights,
The military order of Christ, established in 1319; the r°ya^ titles,
order of San Thiago of the sword, founded in 1288; the
order of Avis, for military merit, established in 1213 ; the
military order of the Tower and Sword, founded in 1459
and revived in 1805-8; the order of Our Ladv of the
II
396
Statistics.
Finances.
Justice.
PORTUGAL.
Immaculate Conception of Villa Viqosa, for civil merit,
founded in 1818; and the female order of Santa Isabel,
established in 1804. In 1749 the King of Portugal re¬
ceived from Benedict XIV. the title of rex fidelissimus ;
and his Most Faithful Majesty styles himself King or
Portugal and Algarve, of both sides of the sea in Africa,
Lord of Guinea, and of the navigation, conquests, and
commerce of Ethiopia, Arabia, Persia, and India. i^e
heir to the throne is styled Prince-Royal; his eldest son
Prince of Beira; the other royal children are called 1
fants and Infantas of Portugal. The present Braganza
line of princes commenced with John IV., who was pr
claimed king in 1640. The national escutcheon is a sil¬
ver shield, with five smaller blue shields lying crossways
On each of these are five silver pennies placed so as to
form a St Andrew’s cross. There is a red border contain¬
ing the armorial bearings of Algarve, which are seven
o-olden castles with blue towers. The number of royal
palaces, and that of the nobility, are in inverse propor¬
tion to the extent and wealth of the kingdom 01 the
former there are eleven ; and as to the latter there are,
according to the Almanack de Portugal for 18ob, no
fewer than 7 dukes, 21 marquises, 79 counts, 102 vis¬
counts, and 106 barons.
The finances have been in a bad state for many years.
The debt is rapidly increasing, the income being never
equal to the expenditure. The national credit has fallen
very low, and the nation is greatly impoverished; a state
of things which internal troubles, breaches of contract with
creditors, unprincipled dealings, and financial blunders, have
contributed to form in their several degrees. The public
debt was in 1855, L.21,384,538 ; an enormous amount for
so poor a country, the interest of which presses grievously
upon the springs of industry. 1 he national revenues arise
Direct imposts ; 2. Customs and indirect imposts ;
3. Rents and profits of national property. From the first
class, consisting of a land-tax, income-tax, percentage on
land sold, stamps, &c., there was produced in 1856 about
L.650,000. From the second class, which includes the
produce of the tobacco and soap monopoly, there was
raised about L.1,384,000; and from the third, which in¬
cludes the profits of the post-office, about L.140,000 was
obtained. Besides these sums, L.l 18,000 was raised
chiefly by the sale of national property. The budget
for 1858-9 wasIncome, L.2,553,100; expenditure,
L.2,894,790; deficit, L.341,690; two-thirds of which it
was proposed to make up by various retrenchments and re¬
ductions of salaries. The king and royal family receive
endowments amountingto L.131,000. The members ofthe
Cortes receive L.l7,000. In the budget for 1856-7, the
following sums were allotted to the ministers for the ex¬
penditure of their several departments :—Finance (in addi¬
tion to the allowances above mentioned, and to the in¬
terest on the national debt), L.160,000; home affairs,
L.260,000; justice and ecclesiastical affairs, L. 100,000;
war, L.64,000; marine, L.186,000; foreign affairs, L.33,000;
public works, commerce, and industry (including railways,
roads, and post-office), L.231,000.
For the administration of justice, continental Portugal
is divided into 105 comarcas, in each of which there is a
judge called juiz de direito, the highest judicial authority
in the district. From his decision there is an appeal to
one of the two superior courts of appeal sitting at Lisbon
and Oporto. These judges must not remain more than
six years at the same place, and are never appointed to
exercise their functions in the district in which they were
born. To the court of each juiz de direito is attached a
public prosecutor, who is appointed by the crown, like the
judge himself. Inferior to the juiz de direito are three
classes of judges, exercising jurisdiction within narrower
limits, appointed by the people ; they serve two years, and
are named mixes or dinar ios, juizes elect os, sm&jmzesde Statistics.
vaz. Criminals are tried before a jury composed of twelve
persons, except in thinly-populated districts where nine
persons may form a jury. Their verdict needs not to be
unanimous; it is sufficient if two-thirds are agreed. In
civil cases the parties may agree to dispense with a jury,
and this is very frequently done, in which case their func¬
tions are exercised by the judge. The course of law in
civil matters is tedious and expensive; in criminal pro-
ceedino-s the accused frequently lies many months in jail
before bein^ brought to trial. The functions of police
magistrates are exercised by an officer called admimstrador,
appointed by the crown in each concelho or district of a
municipal chamber. < .
The strength of the army for the economic year 185o-6 Ar™y and
was fixed b)^ law at 24,000 men of all arms, exclusive of nav>'-
the municipal guards. On the 1st of January 1855 the
army actually comprised—infantry, 15,217 ; cavalry, 2394;
artillery, 1563; and engineers, 334. In addition to these
there was a militia amounting to oOOO men. The engin¬
eers consist of one battallion, the artillery of three iegi-
ments, the cavalry of eight regiments, the infantry of
eighteen regiments, besides nine battalions of riflemen.
Connected with the army are the royal military college at
Mafra, the polytechnic school, and the military school, both
at Lisbon. Continental Portugal is divided into eight mili¬
tary divisions ; the Madeiras and Azores forming two more.
At the head of the entire army is the commander-in-chief,
who is by law bound to obey the orders of the crown,
signified through the secretary of state for war.
The naval force for the same year was fixed by law at
2383 men, distributed amongst one man-of-war, one frigate,
three corvettes, four brigs, seven schooners and cutters, and
six steamers. Official documents exhibit the fleet as
consisting of twenty-six armed sailing-vessels, nine dis¬
armed, four under construction, five armed steamers, and
one disarmed, the whole carrying 449 guns. The orders
of the crown are communicated to naval officers through the
secretary of state for naval affairs.
Continental Portugal is divided into three pro vinces,—viz., ulergy and
Braga, Lisbon, and Evora. Under the Archbishop of Braga,
who has the title of primate, are six bishops ; under the Pa-
triarch of Lisbon (who is always a cardinal),are five bishops;
and in addition the bishops of Augro (Azores), Funchal
(Madeira), Cape Verde, St Thomas, and Angola. Under
the Archbishop of Evora are three bishops. T. his hierarchy
divides about L.21,300 amongst them. Goa in India is the
seat of an archbishop, who has under him seven bishops
and a prelate. The number of parishes in continental
Portugal is 3769. The conventual establishments were
suppressed in 1834, and their property taken by the state.
At that time there existed in Portugal 632 monasteries and
118 nunneries, the two classes having 18,000 inhabitants.
A few convents, however, are still permitted to exist, but
their inmates are in a state of great poverty, and the build¬
ings are gradually falling to ruin. The lower ranks ofthe
priesthood throughout Portugal are poorly educated and
badly paid. Roman Catholicism is the religion of the state,
but all other forms are tolerated; and there are Protestant
chapels at Lisbon and Oporto. .
The affairs relating to public instruction are under the
management of the superior council of education, the nomi-8 ruc
nal head of which is the secretary of state for the home de¬
partment. This council holds its sittings at Coimbra. In
Portugal the school is entirely separated from the control
of the church ; a remarkable fact in a Roman Catholic
country. By a law enacted in 1844 it is compulsory on
parents to send their children to a place of public instruc¬
tion, but this law is far from being enforced, and only a
very small fraction of the full number really attends a school.
There is only one university in the kingdom, that of Coim-
POKTUGAL.
Statistics, bra, founded in 1290. This has five faculties and forty-six
professors and lecturers, who are attended by between 800
and 900 students. In 1854 there were 1136 schools de¬
voted to primary instruction in the kingdom, attended by
33,500 scholars of both sexes, of whom only 1570 were
females. The lyceums, which constituted the division of
secondary instruction, were 182 in number, and the pupils
were 2860. Into the section of superior instruction fall the
polytechnic academies and medico-chirurgical schools of
Lisbon and Oporto, besides the university of Coimbra;
into that of special instruction fall the academies of fine
arts at Lisbon and Oporto, and the royal conservatorio of
Lisbon for music, declamation, and dancing. As to the
education of the clergy, six dioceses have seminaries, and
eight have halls of theology. There is a royal military
college at Mafra, an army school, a navy school, and a
veterinary school at Lisbon. In the building of the extinct
monastery of Belem, about 900 orphan and abandoned
children of both sexes are supported, educated, and taught
various useful arts. Two educational institutions recently
established by government at Lisbon are likely, if properly
worked out, to be attended with great benefit to the na¬
tion. These are the agricultural institute and the indus¬
trial school. The first is a college where instruction on
the scientific treatment of the soil, cattle, &c., is imparted.
In the year 1854-5 eighty pupils matriculated. The second
is an institution where various useful arts are taught, as
well as the elements of mathematical and physical science.
In November 1855 the pupils amounted to 458. There is
also an agricultural institute at Oporto. Lisbon has two
botanical gardens; Oporto and Coimbra each one. These
three cities have likewise observatories, public museums
and libraries, and printing establishments. At Lisbon is a
national printing establishment supported by the state ; but
recourse is had to a foreign country when neatly-printed
books are required.
Portugal is behind almost every nation of Europe in
agriculture; and improvements are here very slowly intro¬
duced. The soil is neither manured nor tilled as it ought
to be. The plough is composed of three pieces of wood
awkwardly fastened together, and imperfectly aided by
wheels. The districts best cultivated are the valleys of the
Minho, the Upper Douro, and some portions of Traz-os-
Montes and Beira. The total want of roads, and internal
circumstances, present a very great check to every kind of
production, and to native industry generally. Not one
half of the area of Portugal is cultivated, and that in a
very insufficient manner. Until lately grain was imported ;
it is now only beginning to be exported; and yet grain is a
staple production, like oil and wine. Finer wheat, finer
grapes, finer olives, can nowhere be produced; yet the
wheaten bread is not good, the oil is inferior, and proper
caie is not taken in making the wines. Farmsteads, such
as we are acquainted with in England, do not exist.
Ihe small occupants keep a few pigs, a goat, and poultry ;
but the rearing of swine, sheep, and cattle, is almost exclu¬
sively confined to the wealthier proprietors of extensive
unreclaimed lands at the extremes of the kingdom, or in
the vicinity of the Spanish frontier. The cattle in the
north are small but fine, many of them having been reared
on the fertile pastures of Galicia, and smuggled across the
Minho. The southern breed is of great size, and is parti¬
cularly well adapted for drawing the rude carts of very an¬
cient form, the wheels and axles of which turn round to¬
gether. The breed of pigs is not good; but as droves
usually feed on acorns and chestnuts, the pork and hams
are much esteemed. The best breed of sheep is reared
on the frontier of Spain ; but the mutton is generally very
poor. The flocks of the Alemtejo yield the best wool.
Milch cows are rare, butter being imported. Cheese is
made on the mountains from the milk of sheep and goats;
397
Agricul¬
ture.
but in the cities the cheese consumed is imported. The Statistic
milk consumed is chiefly that of goats. The general bread
of the people is made from maize, for the cultivation of
which grain the climate and soil are well adapted The
straw affords sustenance through the winter to the draught
oxen. Rice is grown to a considerable extent in marshy
districts m the south. I he vegetables chiefly cultivated
are beans, gourds, cabbages, onions, garlic, and potatoes
Chestnuts are a considerable item in the food of the people.
Beer is almost unknown, wine taking its place. The horses
are principally imported from Spain ; but the native breed
ot mules is fine. The quantities of agricultural produce
used as food, raised in 1855, were theseWheat, 938 100
quarters; maize, 1,714,200 quarters; rye, 651,900 quar¬
ters; barley, 271,400 quarters ; 68,100 quarters ; kidney-
beans, 104,700 quarters. Hemp and flax are extensively
grown. The average annual production of olive oil may
cnnnlven]at pipes; and of this quantity, between
6000 and 8000 pipes are annually exported. Oranges,
aimonds, figs, and carob-tree fruit are grown and exported,
in 1853 the sheep are calculated to have numbered two and
a-haif millions; the wool produced amounted to nearly four
millions of pounds, and the raw silk to 315,000 pounds.
, o-o kark ^le amount ot 61,500 cwt. was exported in
1 ooo.
Four modes of cultivating the vine are adopted in For- The vine,
tuga!,—1^, The vine is trained upon pollard or low trees,
after the manner in use by the ancients Romans. 2d, In
the valley of the Douro the vines are planted on terraces,
and are not allowed to be higher than about 4 feet. The
branches are tied to stakes as the fruit ripens, so that the
grape is at least 8 inches above the ground. This is the
mode generally adopted in the port wine district, where
the ground is turned three times a year by hand labour, it
not being possible to use the plough. 3d, The vines are
planted in rows about 8 feet apart, with the view of admit¬
ting the plough between them. The plants are kept low,
and resemble gooseberry bushes. 4tk, In gardens near
towns the vines are supported on trellises at a height of 8
or 10 feet above the ground, walks and arbours beino-
formed beneath. In the wine district of the Douro, when
the grapes are cut, they are conveyed in baskets to the
press, which resembles a large stone trough. The white
grapes are separated from the dark ones, but of the latter
all varieties aie thrown together, to make the wine we
know as port. The grapes are then trodden by the feet
of labourers stepping to the sound of some musical instru¬
ment ; and when the first gang is tired, another takes its
place. The operation is continued for about thirty-six hours.
The grapes being fully crushed, fermentation commences
in the “ must;” and this is allowed to proceed for a longer or
shorter time, according to the quality of the grape and the
kind of wine proposed to be made. A “ must” deficient in
saccharine matter becomes wine in a much shorter time
than one in which that matter is abundant. To produce a
rich wine, the fermentation is checked, and brandy is added;
to produce a dry wine, the fermentation is permitted to run
its natural course, and only a small quantity of brandy is
thrown in. Many varieties of grape are in cultivation, and
the wines produced are very numerous. From the Douro
district, a mountainous tract about 40 miles from Oporto,
we derive port wine. The district within the control of
the Oporto Wine Company produced in favourable years
about 105,000 pipes; but the production for the last year
or two has scarcely been one-fourth of this. A large tract
of soil is devoted to the vine beyond this district; but the
wine is consumed in the country. Comparatively little of
the wine produced on the banks of the Tagus, known in
this country as Lisbon wine, comes to England, the chief
part of the exportations being taken to Brazil. Buccellas
is the best known of these wines. The number of pipes of
398
POUT
Statistics. Portuguese wine annually exported previously to the ap-
pearance of the vine disease was about 60,000, more than
one-third of which was taken by Britain, and about one-half
by Brazil. The average total quantity of wine annually
produced amounted to about 650,000 pipes. In 185
about 16,500 pipes of brandy were produced.
Manufac- The manufactures of the kingdom are of little impoi t-
tures. ance, except in the coarsest fabrics. Not more than about
20,000 persons are employed in manufactures, and all the
finest fabrics are imported. Small arms are made at Lis¬
bon and Oporto; porcelain, after foreign designs, at V ista-
alegre; cotton goods at Lisbon, Oporto, and Ihomar, go c
and silver work, iron and tin wares, at the same places,
steam-engines and general foundry-work are made at Lis¬
bon and Oporto; pottery, stearine candles, and fine soap
are made at Lisbon, where there are sugar-refineries, distil¬
leries, tanneries, &c. There are woollen manufactoiies at
Lisbon, Port-alegre, CovilhSo, and fondao; glass manufac¬
tories at Marinha Grande, Terra de Feira, and Vista-alegre.
Silk is manufactured in the Algarve ; paper at Tojal and
Alemquer. That Portugal is advancing, is shown by the
increasing use of steam-power and machinery in manufac¬
tories, oil-mills, corn-mills, See.
Trade and The foreign trade of the country has been much reduced
commerce, t]ie separation of Brazil and political disturbances. T. he
chief articles of exportation are wine, oil, salt, wool, fruits,
cork-bark. The chief importations consist of the finer
fabrics of silk, cotton, linen, and wool; coals, metal-work,
metal ores, tar, pitch, drugs, salt fish, butter, and cheese.
Heavy duties are imposed on many manufactured fabrics,
and a good deal of smuggling is the consequence. For
this reason, and the additional reason, that many goods were
imported for the purpose of being smuggled into Spain,
where still higher duties were imposed, the official returns
are little to be relied on. In 1854 the total value of the im¬
ports was, according to official returns, about L.4,044,600;
and the total value of exports amounted to L.3,147,500.
The following table gives the particulars of imports and
exports for that year :—
Cotton and cotton goods 
Linen goods 
Woollen goods 
Silk goods 
Fats and fatty goods 
Animals  
Animal products 
Fish  
Colonial produce   
Grain  
Wine, spirits, and fermented liquors
Fruits, seeds, and plants 
Woods 
Crockery and glass 
Metal goods   
Minerals, coal, &c 
Paper  
Chemicals and drugs  
Imports. Exports.
L.880,000 L.154,440
124.500 23,110
237.500 31,150
62,140 14,660
144,800 45,330
43,480 53,330
127,000 70,660
148,880 26,660
419,100 13,330
100,350 381,220
8,880 1,460,440
8,440 248,410
150.440 87,550
29,900 5,700
1,093,550 348,000
973.440 17,770
27,110 8,440
153,110 139,330
The extent of the trade between Great Britain and Por¬
tugal may be judged of from official returns relating to the
year 1854. In that year we received from Portugal pro¬
duce to the amount of L.2,102,000, and we sent to her
foreign and colonial produce to the amount of L.150,000,
and home produce to the amount of L.1,370,600; there
entered British ports during that year 195 Portuguese ves¬
sels with cargo; whilst in the preceding year 558 laden
British vessels entered Portuguese ports. In 1854 Great
Britain took from Portugal 22,800 pipes of wine ; and in
1855, 52,000 qrs. of grain (principally wheat), and 10,430
cwt. of flour. Brazil is the next best customer of Portugal.
In 1853 Brazil received from her goods amounting to
L.580,000 ; and sent her produce of the value of L. 190,000.
Ihere is also commercial intercourse between Portugal and
U G A L.
the United States of America, France, Spain, Russia, Statistics.
Sweden, and Norway. v'—
At Lisbon there are two joint-stock banks, and at Oporto
one. At these two cities there are several insurance offices,
and"public companies for working mines, carrying on ma¬
nufactories, &c. The nominal amount of capital embarked
in public companies at the commencement of 1855 was, how¬
ever no more than L.3,326,000. The manufactures of
tobacco and soap form government monopolies, and are
farmed out to companies, whose articles are much complained
of. The cities of Lisbon, Oporto, and Coimbra are lighted
with gas manufactured by companies. At the two former
places many English have settled, who are chiefly engaged
in the wine trade.
Portugal is connected with England, France, the Medi¬
terranean ports, and Brazil, by regular lines of steamers.
Small steamers also connect Oporto, Lisbon, and ports in the
Algarve. The Portuguese government is endeavouring to
establish a line of steamers for connecting the Azores with
Lisbon, and another line for connecting their West African
possessions with the mother-country. In 1852 the ships,
boats, &c., of continental Portugal numbered 671, with a
tonnage of 71,400, manned by 7387 persons.
Several railroads have been projected, but the only one
completed is a line of 22 miles connecting Lisbon with Car-
regado. Telegraphic lines, worked by electricity, have been
established between Lisbon and the Spanish frontier, and
Lisbon and Oporto.
The post-office is in the hands of government. The rate of
postage has lately been reduced; and aletter not exceeding a
quarter of an ounce is now carried any distance within the
kingdom for 1 Jd., which is paid by a stamp, on our own plan.
The coinage is on the decimal system, and accounts are Coinage,
kept in rets, 4500 of which are equal to the pound sterling.
The chief silver coins are the testao—100 reis, the crusado
novo 486 reis, and the mil-rei, or dollar = 1000 reis. There
are gold coins of 4800 reis (the moeda, or moidore), 5000
reis, and 8000 reis.
The Azores and the Madeiras (see these articles) are Colonies,
termed adjacent isles, and are not considered colonies. The
Portuguese exercise sovereignty over the islands of Cape
Verde, the islands of Principe, S. Thome, and Anno Bom,
off the African coast, near the equator ; have possessions on
the Guinea coast; and lay claim to a great region on the
west coast of Africa, south of the line known as Angola and
Benguela. The area of the country claimed by them in
this part amounts to 153,000 square geographical miles, and
the inhabitants are said to number 53,000, chiefly Negroes.
On the east coast of Africa the Portuguese claim the
territory of Mozambique, extending from the Bay of Lou-
renpo Margues, in Lat. 26. S., to Cabo Delgado, in Lat.
10. S. The area is calculated at 216,000 square geo¬
graphical miles, and the population at 300,000. In Hin¬
dustan the Portuguese have settlements at Goa, with a
subject population of 350,000; a strip of land at Damao, in
the Gulf of Cambay, with 34,000 inhabitants ; and the fort
of Diu, in Gujerat, with a piece of land inhabited by 11,000
persons. In China, Portugal claims nine square miles at
Macao, with a population of 4600. She also claims the
islands of Timor and Solor, lying between Australia and
Java. These are said to have a population of 92,000.
The language, like the Italian, may be described as a soft Language
bastard Latin, for the majority of Portuguese words are de- and fitera'
rived from that tongue. It has a close affinity to the t;Ule■
Spanish ; so much so, that Spaniards and Portuguese can
understand each other; and yet considerable differences
have been produced by the separation of the two kingdoms
through a long course of years, and by the efforts of the
Portuguese themselves, who have always desired to make
their language diverge as much as possible from their neigh¬
bours. The Spanish tongue is more dignified, stately, and
Portus.
Literature.
P O R
Portumna rich ; the Portuguese more concise, soft, and fluent, with
II more conversational aptitude. In the latter tongue is em¬
bodied a large number of Teutonic and Arabic tvords ; of
words of eastern origin, chiefly Arabic, a list of 1400 has
been made out. It has no guttural sounds, but possesses
many strongly-marked nasal endings, chiefly em, ao (for¬
merly written am), and aa. Jand x are soft, not guttural,
as in Spanish ; ch is also soft, as in French, not hard, as in
Spanish ; h is silent except in the middle of a word, when it
has the liquid sound ofy ; c before e and i is soft, before the
other vowels hard, unless marked with the cedilla. Adjectives
change their terminal o into a for the feminine ; s is the sign
of the plural in nouns ; and the infinitive mood of verbs ends
in r. The language is easily acquired by foreigners. The best
modern dictionary is F. S. Constancio’s Novo Diccionario Cri-
tico e Etymologico da Lingua Portuguesa, Paris, 1836; its
etymological explanations, however, are frequently unsatis¬
factory.
The literature of Portugal, almost ignored by the rest
of Europe, contains, it must be admitted, no masterpieces,
with the exception of Os Lusiadas of Camoens ; and this
poem is much oftener mentioned than read out of Portugal.
It has, however, been translated into most European lan¬
guages, there being no fewer than three into English. The
language, lending itself readily to verse, poetry forms a dis¬
proportionately large section of the literature; and of this
section love poems form the great bulk. Several early
kings and members of the royal family composed verses,
and thereby gave fashion to the occupation. In the fifteenth
century romantic pastorals, the most artificial of all poetical
compositions, came into vogue, and this class of poetry has
ever since been much cultivated. At the close of the fif¬
teenth century appeared Bernardino Riberio, one of the
best of the early poets; and a little later the much-esteemed
poems of Saa de Miranda saw the light, many of them, how¬
ever, being written in the Castilian language. Camoen’s
great poem was first printed in 1572. Amongst modern
poets the name of Almeida Garrett, only recently dead, is
conspicuous. Ihe first classical prose work is a romance
entitled Corte na Aldea, by Rodriguez Lobo, published to¬
wards the close of the sixteenth century ; and at the same
period the works of Cortereal, another classic writer, saw the
light. In the seventeenth century appeared several works
of travel, one of which, Mendes Pinto’s Perigrinugam
(1620), has been translated into most European languages,
and has acquired a distinguished reputation for want of vera¬
city. In one of Congreve’s plays, a dealer in fictions is thus
addressed,—“Mendes Pinto was but a type of thee, thou
liar of the first magnitude ! ”
In the department of history the writers are numerous.
The national conquests in the sixteenth century are a fa¬
vourite theme; and here the Pecads of Barros (1553),
the Livy of the Portuguese, are conspicuous. In the next
century Andrade s Life of Don Joao de Castro, fourth vice¬
roy of the Indies, is considered a masterpiece of biographical
P O R
399
composition. Almost the only complete history of the king- Portus
dom by a native writer is the Historia de Portuqal bv Le-
mos, 1786-1804, 20 vols. A valuable history of the kingdom
is, however in progress, and promises, by its critical spiritand
elegant style, to form a classical work. We allude to the His¬
tory of Alexandre Herculano, the royal librarian, of which
four volumes have appeared. In a nation which has always
boasted of its adherence to Romanism, it is only to be ex¬
pected that theological and ecclesiastical writings should be
numeious, and a glance at any library will show that such is
the case. We shall content ourselves, however, with refer¬
ring to Diniz’s Das Ordens religiosas em Portugal, 1853.
As to pieces for the theatre, the early dramas of Antonio
Ferreira, Camoens, and Gil Vicente, the Plautus of Portugal
were original; then came imitations of the Spanish writers !
and of late years the French stage has been the main sup¬
port of the Portuguese drama. The best comedy in the
language is thought by the Portuguese themselves to be
the Countess Vimieiro’s Osmta, which was crowned by the
Academy. It is founded on an event in their early history.
In the department of fiction the Portuguese of the pre¬
sent time rely chiefly on importations or translations from
other nations, chiefly the French. With regard to periodi¬
cal literature, there are between forty and fifty newspapers
published in the capital, and in the principal towns ; they
are all of small size, and their circulation is very limited.
The leading articles read like translations from the French
applied to Portuguese topics. Those who wish to learn
more of the literature of Portugal may consult Sismondi’s
History of the Literature of the South of Europe.
In this department Portugal presents us with no name of pjne art,
eminence, with the exception of an old painter who is known
as the Gran Vasco, and who in that country takes the rank
that Raffaelle takes in the rest of Europe. The events of
his life are unknown; the year, even the century of his
birth, is a matter of dispute ; and all that can be said with
certainty is, that he was born either in the fifteenth or six¬
teenth centuries. A vast number of pictures in different
paits of the country are attributed to him, the majority, no
doubt, quite erroneously. The best collection of his works
is said to be found in the cathedral of Viseu. The wealthier
class of Portugal seems to have little taste for the fine arts;
a few of the nobility, however, possess small collections.
The national collection is deposited in the convent of St
I rancisco (at present the Academy of Fine Arts) at Lisbon ;
but not more than half-a-dozen pictures of real value are to
be found in it. Exhibitions of the works of living artists
occasionally take place here.
The follovying works may be consulted by those desirous
of learning fuller particulars on the subject of Portugal:—
Forrester’s Prize Essay on Portugal, second edition, 1854;
Portugal und Seine Colonien, von Dr Minutoli, 1855 ;
Murray’s Handbook for Travellers in Portugal, 1855 ; and
the Boletin do Ministerio das Obras Publicas, an official
work published at intervals. (j. y. j.)
PORT UMNA, a market-town of Ireland, in the county
of Galway, at the head of Lough Derg, 39 miles S.E. of
Galway, and 94 W.S.W. of Dublin. Though at one time
a place of some importance, it is now but a poor town
There are here a fine parish church in the perpendicular
style, with a lofty spire; a Roman Catholic church, court¬
house, national school, dispensary, workhouse, and jail.
The ruins of Portumna castle, and of an old monastery, are
also to be seen here. Tobacco is manufactured; and there
is some trade. Six fairs are held annually. (Pop. (18511
1542. '
PORTUS, -fEiMiLius, an accomplished Greek critic, was
the son of the eminent philosopher Francis Portus, and
was born at Ferrara about 1550. Like his father before
him, he devoted his life to the promotion of polite learning.
From 1581 to 1592, his time was occupied with the duties
of Greek professor at Lausanne. He then discharged the
same office at the university of Heidelberg. Meanwhile
his mind, down to the time of his death in 1610, was also
occupied with the composition of commentaries, translations,
and original works, all bearing upon his favourite study.
He published editions of the Iliad, Euripides, Pindar, Aris¬
tophanes, Thucydides, and Xenophon. He translated into
Latin the De Theologia Platonis of Proclus, the Lexicon of
Suidas, the History of Thucydides, and the Homan Anti¬
quities of Dionysius of Halicarnassus. At the same time,
he gave to the public the following works :—Oratio de
Variarum Linguarum Usu, 4to, Cassel, 1611; Dictiona-
400
Portus
II
Posen.
PGR
rium lonicum, 8vo, Frankfort, 1603 ; Dictionarium Dori-
cum, 8vo, Frankfort, 1604 ; Pindaricum Lexicon, 8vo,
Hanau, 1604; De Prisca Grcecorum Compotatione, 8vo,
Heidelberg, 1604; and De nihili Antiquitate et multiphci
Potestate, 4to, Cassel, 1609.
Portus, Francis, an eminent philologer, was born in
the isle of Candia in 1511, and received his education at
Padua. The classical attainments which he now showed
were destined to be matured by a long and varied ex¬
perience as a teacher. He began life by holding for some
time the directorship of the school for young Greeks at
Venice. He then occupied, for the space of six years, the
chair of Grecian literature at Modena. His next post was
that of tutor to the sons of the Duchess Renee of France,
who was then living at Ferrara. At length, in 156-,, he
was found at Geneva, a refugee on account of his adher¬
ence to Protestant opinions, and the professor of Greek in
the university of that city. It was about this time that
Francis Portus became known as a philological writer. ±le
published commentaries and annotations upon Pindar, so™6
of the works of Xenophon, Thucydides, Aristotle s Rhe¬
toric, Longinus, and some other writers. After his death
in 1581, his posthumous works were published by his son
JSmilius, in 4to, 1584.
PORUS, an Indian prince who was conquered by Alex¬
ander the Great. (See Macedonia.)
POSEIDON. See Neptune.
POSEN, a province of Prussia, lying between N. Lat.
51.10. and 53. 32., E. Long. 15. 7. and 18.30.; and bounded
on the N. by the province of West Prussia, W. by that of
Brandenburg, S. by that of Silesia, and E. by the Russian
empire; area 11,348 square miles. I he surface is al¬
most entirely level, and large portions of it are occupied by
lakes and marshes. The principal rivers are the Warthe
and the Netze, both taking their rise in Poland, and flow¬
ing westwards,—the former through the middle and south
of the province into the Oder, and the latter through the
north, and falling into the Warthe. The principal affluents
of the Warthe that join it in this province are the Prosna
and the Obra, both from the left. The Oder just touches
the province at one point on the extreme S.W., and the
Vistula washes it for a short distance on the N.E. frontier,
and receives here the Brahe, which is connected by the
Bromberg Canal with the Netze. The Warthe is navi¬
gable all through the province, and the Netze as far as
Nackel, where the Bromberg Canal meets it. Of the lakes
in Posen, the largest is that of Goplo, on the Polish frontier,
which is 10 square miles in extent. The most important
marsh is that from which the Obra takes its rise. The soil
is in general very fertile, especially on the banks of the
Warthe: in other places it is of a sandy nature, and not so
good. The minerals found here, consisting of iron, build¬
ing-stone, saltpetre, &c., are of no great importance. All
the ordinary kinds of agricultural produce may be raised ;
and this is one of the provinces in Prussia most productive
of corn. Posen contained, in 1852, 3,649,807 acres of
arable land, 515,516 of meadows, 1,348,389 of forests, and
1,144,932 of waste land. Besides corn there are raised
here potatoes, pulse, hops, tobacco, hemp, flax, &c. Tim¬
ber is obtained in large quantities from the forests, and
forms an article of export of some importance. The pro¬
vince contained, in 1855, 153,442 horses, 868 asses, 481,418
horned cattle, 2,199,977 sheep, 13,749 goats, and 163,258
pigs. Poultry and bees are also kept, and fish are ob¬
tained from the rivers. Manufactures are not carried on
here to any great extent. The most important establish¬
ments are 303 breweries, 257 distilleries, 13 tanneries, be¬
sides manufactories of woollen cloth, cotton, and linen. A
considerable trade is carried on in the export of manu¬
factured articles, as well as of corn, timber, cattle, wool,
hides, tallow, honey, wax, &c. Education is not in such a
p o s
Posen
good state in Posen as in other parts of the monarchy. It
contains, however, 14 gymnasia’. Wlth.l8f teachers and ||
4207 scholars; 3 normal seminaries, with 175 pupils; 36™™™
middle schools, attended by 2702 and 1984 public ele- v—'
mentary schools, by 212,152 scholars. This province at
one time formed part of the kingdom of Poland ; but at the
fjrst partition in 1772 Prussia obtained all the country
north of the Netze, and at the second partition in 1793 all
the rest of the present province. An insurrection of the
Poles against Prussia took place in this province in 1848;
but afte^ suffering several defeats, the insurgents were dis¬
persed, and their leaders apprehended. In the same year,
certain portions of Posen, inhabited chiefly by Germans,
were incorporated with the German Confederacy ; but in
October 1851 these were again separated by a treaty.
Besides Germans, Posen is inhabited by Poles and Jews,
both of which races are more numerous here than in any
other part of the kingdom,—the former amounting to about
930,000, and the latter to 74,031 in 1851. In that year
there were 447,986 Protestants and 870,574 Roman Ca¬
tholics in the province. It is divided into the governments
of Posen and Bromberg. Pop. (1855) 1,392,636.
Posen (Pol. Poznan), the capital of the above pro¬
vince, a strongly-fortified town on both sides of the Warthe,
149 miles E. by S. of Berlin. It is pretty well and re¬
gularly built, and is entered by four gates. In the middle
of a large market-place stands the town-hall, a Gothic
building of the sixteenth century, with a tower erected in
1730, which is the highest in Posen. In the interior there
are some curious sculptures, and statues of several Polish
kings. Another large and splendid square, the Wilhelms-
platz, contains the theatre and the public library of 26,000
volumes,—the latter occupying a building erected in 1836,
with a portico of twenty-four Corinthian columns in front.
In the suburb of Wallischei, which lies on the right bank
of the river, and is connected with the rest of the town by
a wooden and a stone bridge, stands the cathedral, a build¬
ing of no great pretensions, but containing several ancient
monuments,—among the rest that of the Woywoda Gurka
and those of the bishops of Posen. The Golden Chapel,
added to the main building in 1842, is a richly-decorated
specimen of the Byzantine style. The church of St Stanis¬
las is a beautiful building in the Italian style. Numerous
other churches, a synagogue, and several convents, are con¬
tained in the town. The former Jesuits’ college is now
used as a government-house. Posen contains two gym¬
nasia, a Roman Catholic normal seminary, and several other
educational and charitable institutions. The town was
made a fortress of the first rank by the erection in 1828
of Fort Winiary. It stands on a hill to the north of the
town, of which, as well as of the hilly and well-watered
country round about, it commands a fine view. The manu¬
factures of Posen are numerous, consisting of linen and
woollen cloth, chintz, calico, leather, tobacco, sealing-wax,
carriages, &c. An active trade is carried on ; there are
two wool markets, and three much-frequented annual fairs.
Posen is said to have been, next to Gnesen, the most an¬
cient city of Poland, and the residence and place of burial
of the dukes and kings of that country. It was originally
built only on the right bank of the Warthe ; but in 1250
that part which lies on the other side was founded. All
the finest parts of the town have risen since Posen became
a part of Prussia. Pop. (1852) 44,039.
POSIDONIUS, a distinguished Stoic philosopher, was
a native of Apameia in Syria, and was the pupil of Panae-
tius and cotemporary of Pompey and Cicero. He was pro¬
bably born about 135 b.c. ; but the date of his birth is not
known with exactness. On the death of Panaetius at Athens,
Posidonius set out on his travels, and first visited Spain.
Having collected a variety of information on points of geo¬
graphy and natural history, he next visited Italy, Sicily,
PCS
rosing Dalmatia, Illyricum, Massilia, Gallia Narbonensis, and Li-
Positive and fixed his abode at Rhodes. Here he became
ism. " Pres^ent °/ die Stoic school, and took a prominent part
^ in the political affairs of the republic. He was sent on an
embassy to Rome, B.c. 86, when he became personally ac¬
quainted with Marius. Cicero and Pompey both visited
him at Rhodes; and he is reported to have gained much
geographical and historical knowledge from the latter. In
B.c. 51 Posidonius removed to Rome, where he soon after
died. As a physical investigator he was greatly superior to
the generality of the Stoics, attaching himself in this re¬
spect more to Aiistotle. He was a man of very extensive
information on almost all departments of human knowledge
and particularly of astronomy and geography. He calcu¬
lated the diameter of the earth, the distance of the sun and
its magnitude, and the influence of the moon on the tides.
Of the writings of Posidonius there were in all about
twenty-five, none of which has come down to us entire.
The relics of his writings have been carefully collected and
illustrated by Janus Bake, in a work called PosidoniiRodii
Reiiquiie Doctrinal, Lugd. Batav. 1810. (Fabric. Bibl.
Grcec., vol. iii.; Ritter, Gesch. der Philosophic, vol. iii.;
Smith’s Dictionary of Greek and Roman Biog. and Myth.)
POSING, a town of Hungary, in the county of Press-
burg, on a small affluent of the Danube, 12 miles N.E. of
Pi essburg. It has a castle, churches, a monastery, and a syna¬
gogue. There are here celebrated mineral baths. Paper,
saltpetre, and other articles are manufactured. In the
vicinity granite is quarried; and vines are extensively grown.
Some trade in timber is carried on. Pop. 4950.
POSH IVISM, or il Positive Philosophyf is the name
given to that new philosophy inaugurated by the late Au-
guste. Comte, and which is to be found developed both in
principle and in details in his Cours de Philosophic Posi¬
tive, 6 vols., Paris, 1830-42. It lays claim to present a doc¬
trine which is positive, because elaborated from the sciences,
and yet possessing all the desired generality of metaphysical
doctrines. It puts aside as futile all inquiry into causes and
essences, and restricts itself to the observation and classifi¬
cation of those laws which regulate all phenomena. Comte
advances three initial conceptions, two of which relate to
method, one to historv.
The first conception is, that philosophy and science are
identical; that every science, of whatever kind, is but a
blanch of the positive philosophy; consequently, that one
method must be followed in all investigations, whether they
i elate to physics, to psychology, to ethics, or to politics.
, . sec011d conception is, that of classification, whereby
this philosophy resolves itself into five fundamental sciences,
ot winch the succession is determined by a necessary sub¬
ordination, founded on a comparison of corresponding phe¬
nomena, t le simpler being studied first, are converted into
instruments for the better prosecution of those which suc¬
ceed. 1 hus mathematics becomes the instrument of astro¬
nomy and physics; chemistry becomes the instrument of
biology, and biology the instrument of socioWy. There
are two classes of phenomena to be signalized,—inorganic
p lysics an organic physics. In inorganic physics we
sepaiate tie geneial phenomena of the universe from the
less general terrestrial phenomena, and obtain thereby
celestial physics or astronomy, and terrestrial physics.
Astronomy, as the most general and simple in its pheno¬
mena, demands the first place in our studies. Terrestrial
Physics is divided into the two classes of physics proper and
P o s
401
tTpZi P0SSel“iV9
Sr„.n’°re COmpleX than thoSe re*at‘ng to the indivi-
The third conception refers to the fundamental law of
evolutton. Humanity has three stages of development
he theological, the metaphysical, and the positive In Ihe
history of indtv,duals, in the history of nations, we find that
speculation originates with supernatural explanations ad-
\ ances to metaphysical, and finally rests in positive explana
t.0nsff In the theological state, man is disposed to TeS
all effects as supernatural, as so many signs of the pleasure or
ast Go'cT TlS0Te be!ng or bein£® ad°red and propitiated
as a God. fhe lowest condition of this stage is Fetishism
e highest is I heism. The metaphysical stage, which is
properly but a modification of the Theological, is equally
important as the Transitive stage. In it tlm supernatural
fhp hS glVe ? T t0 abstract forces> supposed to inhere in
the bosom of substances, and capable of producing pheno-
memi. fn the Positive stage the mind, convinced of the
oyefmqmrmg into causes and essences, applies itself to
the di&covery of those laws which regulate effects. It tries
to discover those invariable relations of succession and
^ ,eXiSt t!lr°UShout nature- The pretension
to absolute knowledge is disavowed, since everythin- be-
yond the senses is futile The discovery of laws becomes
tne great aim of mankind.
. Such is a brief view of the positive philosophy, possess¬
ing great merits and very great defects. The attempts of
the author to found a social doctrine and a new religion will
not tend to smooth down what is harsh in his philosophy
Positivism finds an advocate in George H. Lewes See
his chapter on “Auguste Comte,” in his Bistory of Phi¬
losophy. He has likewise written a volume to expound
it, entitled Comte s Philosophy of the Sciences, 1853. Har¬
riet Martineau has given us a condensed translation of the
Cours de Philosophic Positive.
POSSESSIVE. See Grammar.
POSSNECK, a walled town of Saxe-Meinigen, Hild-
burghausen in the principality of Saalfeld, on the Kerschau,
miles E.N.E. of Saalfeld. It is an active manufacturin-
tovvn, producing cloth, leather and porcelain. Pop. 4200.&
POST a word derived from the Latin positus, set or
placed. It is used in several different meanings, but all of
them referring either immediately or remotely to this pri¬
mitive sense of position. Thus the word post signifies a
stake, or piece of timber set upright; a station, particularly
a military station; an office or employment; an operation
in book-keeping; a conveyance for letters or despatches; a
particular mode of travelling.
. POS I ERN, in fortification, a small gate usually made
in the angle of the flank of a bastion, or in that of the cur¬
tain, or near the orillon, and descending into the ditch, by
which the garrison can march in and out unperceived by
the enemy, either to relieve the works or to make sallies.
I he word is also used in general for any small door or gate.
POSTH (Lat. post, after; It. postilla; Sp.postila), a
name anciently given to a note in the margin of the Bible,
and afterwards to one in any other book posterior to the
text.
POSTLIMINIUM, amongst the Romans, the return
of one who had gone to sojourn elsewhere, or had been
banished or taken by an enemy, to his own country or
state. J
3 E
VOL. XVIII.
402
POST-OFFICE.
Introdiic- It has been usual to trace the origin of P^ts to a remote
tion. antiquity, certain establishments, having somet
mon with the modern post system, being found to have
existed at an early pedod of the world’s history. Hero¬
dotus and Xenophon mention that, among tlje ancient Per¬
sians, stations were appointed at intervals g g
roads of the empire, where couriers were constantly kept
eadiness to bear despatches and intelligence. Snmlar
institutions, as we learn from Suetonius, were maintained
amongst the Romans in the time of Augustus, and some such
nSblv existed much earlier. But although the name of
the post may he traced to this source (from the Latin woid
vositus whether as applied to the accommodation and means
0^ transport placed at intervals for the service o the
couriers, or to the couriers themselves, placer ov posted at
the several stations), such institutions obviously bear but a
va'ue resemblance to the post-office of the present times.
The couriers were mere State messengers, the communi¬
cation only to and from the seat of government; nor, so tar
as appears, was there any regular machinery for the receipt
and delivery of letters, so essential to the idea of a modern
post establishment. The posts which were first instituted
in the kingdoms of modern Europe, as those by Charle¬
magne and Louis XL of France, the Emperor Charles V.,
and some other sovereigns, differed little, if at all, fiom
those now described. It is indeed probable, that whenever
the posts or couriers were appointed to perform their jour¬
neys at stated periods (which, as soon as the occasions tor
employing them became frequent, would be found at once
the most economical and effective mode), such a conve¬
nient means of conveying correspondence, though primarily
intended only for State purposes, would soon come to be
used by individuals. Houses of call for the icceipt and
delivery of letters would in process of time be established
by custom, if not by regular appointment; and in this way
the modern post system might grow up. The earlier posts
instituted in Europe, however, were in general but of tem¬
porary duration; their existence being dependent some¬
times on occasion, sometimes on the disposition or policy
of particular monarchs. In our own country, the insular
position of which made out sovereigns less anxious about
intelligence from their frontier, nothing of the nature of a
public post establishment can be proved to have existed (or
with an immaterial exception in the reign of Edward IV.)
till that after the modern form was introduced ; to explain
the rise of which, however, is matter of no difficulty. Ihe
conveyance of letters, indeed, is what must inevitably be¬
come, in the course of human transactions, as much matter
of necessity, as the conveyance of persons or of commodi¬
ties; and the same circumstances which generate the for¬
mation of roads and bridges, and give existence to the trade
or occupation of carrier, shipmaster, or innkeeper, must
necessarily lead to the employment of the post messenger,
under greater or less degrees of system and regularity.
History, more attentive to record the transactions of mon¬
archs than the steps by which communities effect their
advancement and improve their conveniences, furnishes
little beyond an incidental notice of the modes by which
the circulation of correspondence was conducted before it
became matter of State regulation. The conveyance and
delivery of letters was often part of the usual occupation
of travelling pedlars and others, whose business led them
to perform stated or frequent journeys. When commerce
began to advance, regular conveyances for correspondence
were established between some of the principal trading
cities, either by the municipal authorities, or by concert of
nvivote individuals or associations. A permanent establish- British
ment of messengers for the conveyance ot letters was Post-Offlca
attached to the university of Pans from the beginning of h.
the thirteenth century, and indeed was not abolished until
the year 1719, long after a general post had been settled in
France Other universities were similarly provided. In
some instances powerful and opulent individuals established
poSs, either as a mercantile speculation, or for the conve¬
nience of any district in the prosperity of which they took
an interest. “But although the conveyance of correspond¬
ence was thus brought to some degree of system, or rather
prevailed under a variety of systems, even in places where
the State authorities had not yet provided any public
establishment for this purpose, it is easy to see that com¬
munication, especially between distant places, must have
been slow, irregular, and insecure, d he advantage and
even necessity of having a uniform and legalized system of
post conveyance could not have failed to piesent itself to
the eyes both of subjects and rulers; although it may be
a question whether the sovereigns who first established such
systems in their dominions were in general moved so much
by large and enlightened views of public benefit, as by the
wish to create, according to the practice so usual in that
age, a lucrative trading monopoly in behalf of some of their
favourites.
The establishment of the modern post system, then, in
some of the principal countries of Europe, is not properly
to be viewed asot the nature of a political 01 civil invention,
bein0- merelv the assumption, on the part of the State, of
the conduct of a particular department of human affairs
which had grown up with the progress of society, but was
now fast outgrowing the means and appliances of private
enterprise, and presenting tempting possibilities of aggran¬
disement to official persons. Everywhere the transmission
of letters, and more especially of government despatches,
was at first connected with the furtherance of ordinary
travel; and (as we shall see hereafter) in many parts ot
Europe the connection still continues. Our historical
review begins at home. After narrating the successive
proceedings which have gradually made the Biitish post-
office the best in the world, we shall describe its existing
regulations and mechanism. It will then remain to give
such account of the postal systems of other countries as our
limitations may permit.
I. HISTORY OF THE BRITISH POST-OFFICE.
As early as the middle of the thirteenth century, entries History
occur in the wardrobe accounts of the kings of England the
of payments to royal messengers for the conveyance of P°
letters to various parts of the country. In entries of the
same year (e.g., 12o2) these messengers are variously de¬
signated. Sometimes the term used is cokinus, sometimes
nuncius or garcio. The same three words occur, half a
century later, in the wardrobe accounts ot Edward L, two
of them being employed in the title of the chapter relating
to such payments,— Titulus de Expensis Nunciorum et
Cokinorum Regis Edwardi Jiln Regis Henrici, See. In
the supervision of these royal messengers lies tbe geim o
the office of postmaster-general. # .
The first of such officers ot whom we can give a distinct
account is Sir Brian Tuke, who is described in the recurcs
as Mogister Aunciorum, Cursorum, sive Postarum, boti
in England and in other parts of the king’s dominions be¬
yond the seas.” Thomas Cromwell wrote to him, m
August 1533, complaining of “ great default in conveyance
British
Post-Office
Postal sys¬
tem in
England
under Hen¬
ry VIII.
Beguiation
of the Eng¬
lish post-
office in
1591.
of letters, and signifying the king’s pleasure “ that posts
be better appointed.” Tuke, in reply, assures the secretary
that the cause of the mischief is the insufficiency of the
sums assigned for the payment of men and horses. “ The
king’s grace,” he writes, “ hathe no moo ordinary postes,
ne of many days hathe had, but bitwene London and
Calais; and they in no wages, save the post of London in
12d., and Calais 4d., by day; but riding by the journey,
whereof most part passe not two in a moneth; and sens
October last the postes northewarde, every one at 12d. by
day. Thise in wages be bound but to on horse, which is
inough for that wages, albeit some of them have moo. I
never used other ordre, but to charge the towneshippes to
Jay and appoint such a post, as they wol answer for ” ^fter
some other explanations, the postmaster-general proceeds
thus Sir, ye knowe well that, except the haknev horses
bitwene Gravesende and Dovour, there is no such usual
conveyance in post for men in this realme as is in the accus-
tumed places of France and other partes ; ne men can kepe
horses in redynes withoute som way to here the charges,
but when placardes be sent for such cause, the constables
many tymes be fayn to take horses ante of plowes and
cartes, wherein can be no extreme diligence. But, sir not
taking upon me to excuse the postes, I wol advertise’you
that i have knowen in tymes past folkes whiche, for their
owne thanke, have dated their letters a day or two more
be orejFey were wnten, and the conveyers have had the
urn 6' Jn o40. Sir Brian Tllke was succeeded by Sir
William Paget and John Mason, Esq., as joint postmasters-
general under letters-patent, which grant the office to them
unng tieir lives and the life of the survivor, under the
same designation as that borne by Sir Brian Tuke “ to¬
gether with the wages of L.66, 13s. 4d. a year,” in addition
to the expenses incurred in the conveyance of letters, of
which accounts were rendered from time to time.
But. long subsequent to this appointment of a post¬
master-general, the details of the service were frequently
regulated by proclamations and by orders in council. Thu«
in the curious collection of royal proclamations in the
nndM °f ^ ?0C1jty, Antiquaries, there is one of Philip
f . ' ,,ary (undated, but apparently of looo), which regu-
ates the supply of horses for the conveyance of letters to
n (iVei< ,^»ain> m duly 1556, the Lords of the Council
oner -that the postes betweene this and the Northe should
leitr °th Mem Ikfi?pe a b0°ke’ and make entrye of every
umn h ha| he,sha . the tyme of the deliverie thereof
unto his hands, with the parties names that shall bring it
unto him. Sir John Mason was succeeded in ISST^by
wal-TT fcd,,1,,)h’ and he by Sir John Stanhope (after-
waids Loid Stanhope of Harrington) in 1591.
redresse^f T laf named aPPeared " A Proclamation for
lediesse of disorders in postes which convey and bring to
It ldte n116 partsbeyond tl>e seas packers of letters.”
‘W S P,leV‘OUS attompts to redress such disorders, and
pat ticul.arly t° prevent the inconveniences both to our
prohibTthir tTl the laWfu11 trade °f b°nest merchants, by
prohibiting that no persons whatsoever should take upon
them, publicly or privately, to procure, . . . brine, in'or
carry out any packets or letters to or from the countries
senoTr fe^aS’ eXcept sucb our ordinary posts and mes-
sengers for those parts as, either by our master of the posts,
procalk a^erSn H CP°S,tS‘general °f th0Se oountries reci-
J;' a y’ should be found nominated for that kind of ser-
ice. I his prohibition is renewed in more stringent terms
and command is given io all mayors, sheriffs, j^dee 2
s; :fuir\an? ofcers "T'6 |)ost' “ ^ s^t
seaich of all mails, budgets, and other carriages of all such
POST-OFFICE.
403
disavowed carriers, messengers, or suspected persons p k
an, all such so d.scovered ,o apprehend and slay.” ’ ' '
J he accession of James I. to the English throne, by ne-
cesMtatmg a more frequent communication between I on- p , ,
seTvic^ Kornev1’ ^ r0"’6 impr”Vements in the postal rangemTn'ts
W V t’t kSl ye cm’her, special posts had been esta-Scot-
bhslied by the magistrates of some Scottish towns (or theland : and
conveyance of their despatches to and from the court.in Gr.ea“
Ilms, in 1590, a messenger was appointed by the ma^is-B/ltam
trates of Aberdeen with the title of “council post,” and sioTof''63'
with a dress of blue cloth bearing the town arms.1 The James I.
new royal orders of 1603, “ (br thorow posts and carriers
riding in post in our affaires,” direct (1.) that “ in all places
where posts are laid for the packet, they also . . . shall
have the benefit and pre-eminence of letting . . . of horses
to all riding in post (that is to say) with horn and guide, by
commission or otherwise; and to that end shall keep
or have in readiness . . . such . . . sufficient post-horses*
... as their own abilities will bear, or that the contribu-
tory provision of the towns . . . shall enable them unto
(2.) that ■ it shall be lawful for the posts or the owners of
the horses to demand for the hire of each horse, after the
rate of twopence-halfpenny the mile, besides the guides’
groats, of all such as ride on public affairs. But of all others
riding post with horn and guide about their private busi¬
nesses, the hire and prices are left to the parties’discretion
to agree and compound within themselves.” Finally, it is
irected that every post shall keep at least two horses for
the express conveyance of government letters, shall forward
such letters within a quarter of an hour of their receipt, and
shall travel at the rate of not less than seven miles the hour
in summer and five miles in winter.2
In 1619 a new office of “ postmaster-general of England Annoint-
for foreign parts, being out of our dominions,” was created meat of a
y ettei s-patent of James I., in favour of Matthew de postaias-
yuester, and Matthew de Quester the younger, the former ter‘KeneraI
of whom, it is recited, “ had humbly petitioned us in re- for foreiSn
spect of his many years’ service in sending packets in for-
raine parts, and for that he had beene often occasioned to
send speciall messengers beyond the seas in matters of
more importance,” &c. The new office was regarded by
the existing postmaster-general, Charles, Lord'Stanhope
(w io had succeeded his father) as an infringement of his
own patent. On a reference to the council, it was declared
that “both grants might well stand together, being of dis¬
tinct places, but the dispute, as we shall see, lasted for
many years, and had curious consequences.
After a trial in the King’s Bench, which had no definite
result, the matter came repeatedly before the Lords of the
Council. In 1626 the Council ordered that, “as most of
the foreign posts were now well settled by the labour and
industry of the said De Quester, . . . the Marchants Ad¬
venturers and other marchants should attend the board, and
show cause why he should not be likewise employed by
them for their dispatches into foreign parts without the
king’s dominions.” But on a hearing, “ liberty was given
as well to all other companies of merchants as to the Mer¬
chants Adventurers, to send their letters and dispatches
by messengers of their own choosing.” A year afterwards
this liberty was revoked, except as regarded the Company
of Merchants Adventurers only. Lord Stanhope, how¬
ever, continued by his agents to carry letters abroad, and
obtained a warrant prohibiting De Quester from inter¬
fering. Sir John Coke, writing to his fellow-secretary,
Lord Conway, deplores “ the audacity of men in these
times, and that Billingsley, a broker by trade (the deputy
of Lord Stanhope), should dare to attempt thus often to
^ Kennedy,^ Annals of Aberdeen, vol. i., p. 262.
3 Or “ De 1 ’Equrer'“aSPtHfL'faUedp’87 ^ 1844’ APPendix. PP‘ 38-40.
404
P O S T-0
British question the King’s service, and to derive that power of
Post-Office, foreign letters unto merchants, which in all States^ is a
branch of regal authority. Neither can any place in Clnis-
tendom be named where merchants are allowed to send
their letters by other bodies or posts than by those only
which are authorized by the State.” Billingsley was im¬
prisoned ; but the House of Commons addressed the King
tor his release.1 It strikingly shows the confusion oi postal
affairs at this period to find a statement addressed to the
Privy Council by “ all the posts of England, being in num¬
ber ninety-nine poor men,” that divers of them “ he now
in prison, ... by reason of their great debts which they
are in, for want of their entertainment, they being unpaid
ever since the last day of November 1621 till this present
time, June 1628;” the arrears amounting to E.22,6-.b.
In 1632 the foreign postmastership was assigned by tne
De Questers to William Frizell and Thomas Withermgs.
The substitution was approved by the King, and was
notified by a royal proclamation in July 1632. Amongst
other recitals, this document sets forth the Kings consi¬
deration “how much it imports his state and this realm,
that the secrets thereof be not disclosed to foreign nations,
which cannot be prevented if a promiscuous me of trans-
mittino- , . . foreign letters and packets should be suftered,
which will also be no small prejudice to . . merchants in
their trading.”2 Here we get a glance at one of the motives
of the jealous monopoly of postal communication,—a motive
which found still plainer expression in Sir John Coke’s
letter to Lord Conway, cited above, when he wrote, “ ^ our
Lordship best knoweth what account we shall be able to
give in our places of that which passeth by letters in or out
of the land, if every man may convey letters, under the
covers of merchants, to whom and what place he pleaseth.
Coke seems to have solved the difficulty in his own fashion,
for, a few years afterwards, an English letter-writer tells
his correspondent in Scotland, “ I hear the posts are way¬
laid, and all letters taken from them and brought to secre¬
tary Cooke.”3
Inland Let- In June 1635 Witherings submitted to the king a pro-
ter Office, position (still preserved in the State-Paper Office), ‘‘for
established selt]ing 0f staffets or pacquet-posts betwixt London and
in 1635. ap parts 0f Majesty’s dominions, for the carrying and
re-carrying of his subjects’ letters,” which contains some
curious incidental notices of the then state of the internal
communication of the kingdom. 1 he nett charge to the
Crown of the existing posts is stated to be L.3400 per
annum. Letters, it is said, “ being now carried by car¬
riers or footposts 16 or 18 miles a day, it is full two
months before any answer can be received from Scotland
or Ireland to London. If any of his Majesty’s subjects
shall write to Madrid in Spain, he shall receive answer
sooner and surer than he shall out of Scotland or Ire¬
land.” By the new plan it is proposed that all letters
for the northern road, for example, “ be put into one port-
mantle that shall be directed to Edinburgh, and for all
places of the said road, . . . with particular bags directed
to such postmasters as live upon the road near to any city
or town corporate.” The postage is to be, according to
distance, “ 3d., 4d., 6d., and to Scotland more.” The
journey from London to Edinburgh is to be performed
within three days ; so that, says the proposer, “ the posts
being punctually paid, the news will come sooner than
thought.” The scheme was approved of on the 31st July
1635 by “a proclamation for the settling of the letter
office of England and Scotland.” This proclamation pro-
F F I C E.
vides for eight main postal lines—namely, the Great Northern British
Road; to "Ireland by Holyhead; to Ireland by Bristol; Post-Office.
to the marches of Wales by Shrewsbury; to Plymouth ; ' ^
to Dover; to Harwich; and to Yarmouth. The postage
of a single letter is fixed at 2d. if under 80 miles; 4d ,f
between 80 and 140 miles; 6d., if above 140 miles; 8d,
if to Scotland. And it is signified to be his Majesty s
pleasure that from the beginning of this service no other
messeno-ers or foot-posts shall carry letters to any places
so provided, “except common known carriers, or a particu¬
lar messenger to be sent on purpose with a letter by any
man for his”own occasions, or a letter by a friend ;” on pain
of exemplary punishment.4 In February 1638 another
royal proclamation ratified an agreement between Wither¬
ing and M. Denoveau, “postmaster to the French king,
for the conveyance of the mails into France by Calais,
Boulogne, Abbeville, and Amiens.5
But in 1640 the active postmaster is accused of divers The post¬
abuses and misdemeanours,” and his office is sequestrated ?®c®hdpur*
into the hands of Philip Burlamachi of London, merchant, ^
who is to execute the same under the inspection of the prin¬
cipal secretary of state.6 Witherings then assigns his patent
to Robert Rich, Earl of Warwick. A long contest ensues
in both Houses of Parliament. Lord Stanhope petitions
the House of Lords, and asserts that his surrender of his
prior patent was compulsory, he having been summoned to
the council table, and obliged, before he was suftered to
depart, to subscribe somewhat then penned upon your
petitioner’s patent by the lord keeper Coventry.” These
complaints and debates gave repeated occupation to both
Houses during the memorable period from 1641 to 1647,
and were diversified by several affrays, in which ^violent
hands were laid upon the mails ; “one Mr Prideaux, after¬
wards attorney-general, actively assisting on one occasion
in the seizure ot that from Plymouth, as it was being cai-
ried into the post-office which had been opened by the
Earl of Warwick, “ near the Royal Exchange.” On
another occasion the Chester mail, according to the deposi¬
tions of the earl’s officers, was met at the foot of Highgate
Hill by five persons “ on great horses, with pistols, habited
like troopers, who demanded of these deponents, Who had
the letters? saying they must have them ;” and who kept
their word. These incidents occur in 1642. In 1644 the
Lords and Commons, by a joint ordinance, appoint Edmund
Prideaux “to be master of the posts, messengers and
couriers.” In 1646 the opinion ot the judges is taken on
the validity of Witherings’ patent (assigned to Lord War¬
wick), and they pronounce “ that the patent of the Inland
Letter Office was well created; that the clauses of restraint
in the said patent are void and not good in law ; that, not¬
withstanding these clauses be void, the patent is good foi the
rest.”7 It is evident, therefore, that any prohibition to carry
letters must be by act of Parliament, to have force of law.
In 1650 an attempt was made by the Common Council The post
in iuuv an aueuipt was uiauc —  .
of London to organize a new postal system on the great
roads, to run twice a week. This scheme they temporarily monweaith
carried into effect as respects Scotland. But Mr Attorney-
General Prideaux speedily obtained the intervention ot
the Council of State. He drew up a paper in which he
thus summed up his own proceedings in postal matters: —
“ By authority of the Parliament, I erected postages foi
the service of the State. For defraying the charges of
the several postmasters and easing the State of it, I pub¬
lished that there should be a weekly conveyance of letters
into all parts of the nation. With the benefit which came by
1 Journals of the House of Commons, i. 891-918. — .
2 A Proclamation concerning the Postmaster of England for Forraigne Parts, 19th July, 1632 ; in Rytner’s Fcedera, xix. 385.
^ Lang, Historical Summary of the Post-Office in Scotland, 4. 4 Rymer, Feedera, xix. 649.
6 Rymer, Foedera, xx. 192. 6 Ibid., xx. 429.
7 Journals of the House of Commons, ii. 81, 82, 95, 470, 493, 500, 501, 658, seq.; Journals of the House of Lords, v. 343, 387, 450,
469-473, 500, seq.; Report from Secret Committee on the Post-Offi.ee, Appendix, 60-69.
i
POST-OFFICE.
British the postage of letters, I have taken off from the State the
Post-Office, charge of the postmasters of England (except Dover road),
which is above L.7000 by the year.” Prideaux seems to
have been especially wroth with the Common Council of
London for their audacity in having “ employed a natural
Scott into the North.” He urged on the Council of State,
that if the new enterprise be permitted, “ besides intrench¬
ing on the rights of the Parliament, it will distract that
course which is now settled, .... and another way must
be thought on for payment of the postmasters.” Both
Houses resolved: (1.) “That the offices of postmasters,
inland and foreign, are, and ought to be, in the sole power
and disposal of the Parliament. (2.) That it be referred
to the Council of State to take into consideration all exist¬
ing claims in relation thereto. Of these there were no less
than five under the various patents which had been granted
and assigned. Ultimately, the posts, both inland and
foreign, were farmed to John Manley for L. 10,000 a year,
by an agreement made in 1653. The rates of postage
and the rights and duties of postmasters were settled,
under the Protectorate, by an act of Parliament of 1657,
c. 30. In 1659 the item, “ By postage of letters in farm,
L. 14,000,” appears in a Report on the Public Revenue.1
Settlement During the rule, both of Parliament and of Protector,
of the post-the practice of opening letters, on suspicion of plots, con-
officeunder tinueth Foreign mails were repeatedly stopped, and com-
Cromwe . mjttees nominated to open and read letters. On one oc¬
casion, a message having been sent to the Lords, the
answer was returned, “ that they did yield to the opening
of letters, but it would be very inconvenient if often used.”
On another occasion a formal complaint against the prac¬
tice was made to the Lords by the Venetian ambassador;
and the House resolved, “ that four members of this
House be forthwith sent to the ambassador to disavow the
action, and to endeavour to give him all satisfaction, by
declaring how sensible they are of it, as tending to the
breach of public faith and the law of nations.” Neverthe¬
less, the act of 1657 expressly enumerates among the
advantages of a post-office, that “ it hath been found by
experience, .... the best means . . . to discover and
prevent many dangerous and wicked designs which have
been, and are daily contrived, against the peace and wel¬
fare of this Commonwealth, the intelligence whereof cannot
well be communicated but by letter of escript.”2 And the
numerous “ intercepted letters” which appear amongst the
Thurloe State Papers, sufficiently show how extensively
those advantages were turned to account.
The government of the Restoration continued to farm
the post-office upon conditions very similar to those im¬
posed by the act of 1657, but for a larger sum. Henry
Bishop was the first postmaster-general, and he contracted
to pay to the King a yearly rent of L.21,500. The new
arrangements were embodied in the act 12 Charles II., c.
35, entitled “ An Act for Erecting and Establishing a Post-
Office.” A clause proposing to frank all letters addressed
to or sent by members of Parliament during the session
was carried, on a division, after considerable debate, in
the course of which Sir Heneage Finch characterized it as
“ a poor mendicant proviso, and below the honour of the
House.” Even the Speaker, on putting the motion from the
chair, paused to say, “ I am ashamed of it.” The Lords
struck it out of the bill, and the Commons agreed to their
amendment.3 But the indenture enrolled with the letters-
patent contains a proviso for the free carriage of all letters
to or from the King, the great officers of state, “ and also
the single inland letters only of the members of the pre-
sent Parhament during the continuance of this session
of this Parhament.” It is also provided that the lessee
shall permit the secretaries of state for the time beino- or
either of them, from time to time, to have the survey’and
inspection of all letters at their discretion. Bishop was suc¬
ceeded by Daniel O’Neile in 1662, on similar terms. In
the consequent “ proclamation for quieting the postmaster-
general in the execution of his office,” which was issued as
usual, on the 25th May 1663, it is commanded “ that no
postmasters or other officers that shall be employed in the
conveying of letters, or distributing of the same, or any
other person or persons, . . . except by the immediate war¬
rant of our principal secretaries of state, shall presume to
open any letters or pacquets not directed unto themselves.”
By an act of the 15th Charles II. (“ An Act for Settlin'o-
the Profits of the Post-Office on H.R.H. the Duke ofYork,
and his Heirs-Males”) ; and by a subsequent proclamation
issued in August 1683, “ for prevention of treasonable cor¬
respondences and other inconveniences arising by the in¬
fringement of the said act,” it is directed that the post¬
master-general shall “ take effectual care for the convey¬
ance of all bye-letters, by establishing correspondences
... in all considerable market-towns with the next adja¬
cent post-stage, and all persons whatsoever, other than the
postmaster-general, are warned that they presume not to
prepare or provide any horses or furniture to let to hire,
.... where any post-roads are or shall be settled or esta¬
blished, unless the postmaster or his deputies shall first fail to
provide and furnish the persons riding post with sufficient
horses and furniture within half an hour after demand.”
It was during the possession of the post-office profits by
the Duke of \ ork that a London penny post was esta¬
blished by the enterprise of William Dockwra, who is de¬
scribed as a London merchant. A suit was commenced
against him at the duke’s instance, and a verdict, casting
him in damages, was obtained in the King’s Bench. Soon
after the Revolution he was one of the multitude of peti¬
tioners for redress at the hands of the House of Commons,
by whom his case was recommended to the king, who, in
1690, granted him a pension of L.500 a year for a limited
term, and in 1697 appointed him “ comptroller of the
penny post.” But in the following year a long list df
charges was exhibited against him by the “officers and
messengers,” which led to his removal. At this time par¬
cels were carried as well as letters. One of the allegations
against Dockwra runs thus:—“ Hee stops under spetious
pretences most parcells that are taken in, which is great
damage to tradesmen, by loosing their customers, or spoil¬
ing their goods, and many times hazard the life of the
patient when phisick sent by a doctor or apothecary.”4
Dockwra’s example was imitated in 1708 by Mr Povey,
who took “ upon himself to set up a foot-post under the
name of the ‘ halfpenny carriage,’ appointed receiving-
houses, and employed several persons to collect and deliver
letters for hire wfithin the cities of London and West¬
minster, and borough of Southwark, to the
great prejudice of the revenue,” as was represented by the
then postmaster-general to the Lords of the Treasury.
Povey was compelled to desist.
At this period the postal system of Scotland was distinct
from that of England. It had been so re-organized early
in the reign of Charles II., who, in September 1662, had
appointed Patrick Grahame of Inchbrakie to be postmaster-
general of Scotland for life, at a salary of L.500 Scots. But
it would seem, from the proceedings of the Scottish Privy
Council, that the rights and duties of the office were ill de-
405
British
Post-Office.
Establish¬
ment of the
London
penny post.
The Scot¬
tish post-
office from
the Resto¬
ration to
the reign
of Queen
Anne.
’ Journals of the House of Commons, vii. 627. 2 Scobell, Acts and Ordinances, 1656, p. 511.
3 Commons'1 Journals, viii. 217, 223; xxiv. 262; Parliamentary History, xxiii. 56.
4 “ The Case of the Officers of His Majesty’s Penny Post-Office, 1698” (printed in Ninth Report of the Commissioners on the Post-Office
Department, Appendix, 72,73). #
406
POST-OFFICE.
British fined ; for immediately after the appointment of Grahame,
Post-Office. tjle councji commissioned Robert Mein, “ merchant, and
keeper of the letter-office in Edinburgh,” to establish posts
between Scotland and Ireland ; ordained that Linlithgow,
Kilsyth, Glasgow, Kilmarnock, Dumboag, Ballintrae, and
Portpatrick, should be stages on the route, and granted
him the sum of L.200 sterling, to build a packet-boat to
carry the mail from Portpatrick to Donaghadee.”1 And
in 1665 we have a privy seal by which the postmaster of
Haddington, William Seton, is granted a salary exceeding
that of the postmaster-general, namely, L.600 Scots a year."
The rate of speed at which ordinary correspondence tra¬
velled in those days may be estimated from the fact, that
the express conveying intelligence of the death of Charles
XL, on the 6th of February, was received in Edinburgh at
one o’clock on the morning of the 10th. In 1695 the
Scottish Parliament again re-organized the post-office, and
fixed the rates of postage at 2d. for a single letter to Ber¬
wick, or any place within 50 miles of Edinburgh; 3d. from
50 to 100 miles; 4d. to any place in Scotland above 100
miles; and also established a weekly post between Scot¬
land and Ireland. In 1698 Sir Robert Sinclair of Steven¬
son had a grant from King William of the whole revenue
of the Scottish post-office, in addition to a pension of L.300
per annum, “ to keep up the post.” But he speedily re¬
signed the grant.3 Six years later, however, we find George
Main, jeweller in Edinburgh, accepting a lease of that re¬
venue at a yearly rent of L.l 194 sterling, subject to certain
deductions for the conveyance of public expenses, and also
to an allowance of L.60 a year for the Irish packet. Main
appears to have paid to the postmaster at Haddington, L.50;
to him in Canongate, L.35 ; to him at Cockburnspath,
L.50; and to the clerk to the post-office, L.25. His lease
was for three years, and would seem not to have invited
renewal, as we find him acting in 1708 at a yearly salary
of L.200 sterling. At this date the Edinburgh post-office
employed seven persons, and its entire cost was L.364 a
year (postmaster, L.200; accountant, L.50; clerk, L.50;
clerk-assistant, L.25 ; three letter-carriers, each L.l3).
The postal Our colonial post-office at this period was naturally
arrange- more rudimental still. Perhaps the earliest official notice
ments of 0f jt js to seen jn t]le f0iicwjng paragraph from the re-
colon^es^ cor^s ^,e General Court of Massachusetts in 1639:—
“ It is ordered that notice be given that Richard Fairbanks
his house in Boston is the place appointed for all letters
which are brought from beyond the seas, or are to be sent
thither to be left with him ; and he is to take care that
they are to be delivered or sent according to the directions;
and he is allowed for every letter a penny, and must answer
all miscarriages through his own neglect in this kind.”
That court, in 1667, was petitioned to make better postal
arrangements, the petitioners alleging the frequent “ loss
of letters whereby merchants, especially with their friends
and employers in foreign parts, are greatly damnified;
many times the letters are imputed (?) and thrown upon
the Exchange, so that those who will may take them up ;
no person, without some satisfaction, being willing to
trouble their houses therewith.” In Virginia the postal
system was yet more primitive. The colonial law of 1657
required every planter to provide a messenger to convey the
despatches as they arrived to the next plantation, and so
on, on pain of forfeiting a hogshead of tobacco for default.
I he government of New York in 1672 established “ a post
to goe monthly from New York to Boston,” advertising
those that bee disposed to send letters; to bring them to
t ie secretary’s office, where, in a lockt box, they shall be
preserved till the messenger calls for them ; all persons
paying the post before the bagg be sealed up.”4 Thirty British
years later this monthly post had become a fortnightly one, Post Office
as we see bv the following paragraph in the Boston News-
Letter :—“ By order of the postmaster-general of North
America. These are to give notice, That on Monday night,
the 6th of December, the Western Post between Boston
and New York sets out once a fortnight, the three winter
months of December, January, and February, and to go
alternately from Boston to Saybrqok, and Hartford, to ex¬
change the mayle of letters with the New York Ryder; the
first turn for Saybrook, to meet the New York Ryder on
Saturday night the 11th currant; and the second turn he
sets out at Boston on Monday night the 20th currant, to
meet the New York Ryder at Hartford, on Saturday night
the 25th currant, to exchange Mayles; and all persons
that sends letters from Boston to Connecticut from and
after the 13th inst., are hereby notified first to pay the
Postage on the same.”5
This office of postmaster-general for America had been
created in 1692. The rates of postage were,—for 80 miles
or under, 4^-d.; from New York to Philadelphia, 9d. ; to
Virginia, 12d. For a long time the expenses of the office
exceeded the income. Until after 1704 there was no re¬
gular post further east than Boston, or further west than
Philadelphia. In that year Lord Cornbury, writing to the
government at home, says,—“ If I have any letter to send
to Virginia or to Maryland, I must either send an express,
who is often retarded for want of boats to cross those great
rivers they must go over, or else for want of horses; or
else I must send them by some passengers who are going
thither. The least I have known any express to take
hence to Virginia has been three weeks.6 Shortly alter
the date of this letter stage-coaches were established be¬
tween Boston and New York, and Boston and Philadelphia;
but no post-office was established in Virginia until 1732;
nor did any postal revenue accrue to Great Britain from
the colonies until 1753.
We have now traced the postal communications of dif-Consolida-
ferent portions of the British empire from their earliest be- tion of the
ginnings until the eve of the passing of that act of the 9th British
of Queen Anne, which consolidated them into one establish-
ment, and which, as to organization, continued to be the c^q ’
great charter of the post-office until the advent of Mr Row¬
land Hill. This act largely increased the powers of the
postmaster-general. It re-organized the chiefletter-offices
of Edinburgh, Dublin, and New York, and settled new
offices in the West Indies and elsewhere. It established
three rates of single postage,—viz., English, 3d. if under
80 miles, and 4d. if above; and 6d. to Edinburgh or
Dublin. It continued to the postmaster-general the sole
privilege “ to provide horses to persons riding post.” And
it gave, for the first time, parliamentary sanction to the
power, formerly questionable, of the secretaries of state
with respect to the opening of letters, by the following
clause :—“ And whereas abuses may be committed by wil¬
fully opening, embezzling, detaining, or delaying letters or
packets, to the great discouragement of trade, commerce,
and correspondence ; for prevention thereof be it enacted
.... that from and after the 1st day of June 1711, no
person or persons shall presume ... to open, detain, or
delay . . . any letter or letters . . . after the same is or
shall be delivered into the general or other post-office, . .
and before delivery to the persons to whom they are directed,
or for their use, except by an express warrant in writing
under the hand of one of the principal secretaries of statet
for every such opening, detaining, or delaying?
Eang, Historical Summary of the Post-Office in Scotland, 4, 5.
«BSi„U<.VUpt*;8-. 4 Miles, " History
o am, Specimens of Newspaper Literature (Boston, 1850), i. 16, ;
Register of the Privy Seal of Scotland, i. 331 (ibid.)
Post-Office” (Banker's Magazine, N. S., vii. 358, seq.)
6 Miles, ut supra.
POST-OFFICE.
British Nine years after the passing of this act, the cross-posts
Post-Office, were farmed to a Mr Allen, who made great improvements
in their management, upon an agreement that the new pro¬
fits so created should be his own during his lifetime. His
schemes were so successful that he is said to have netted
during forty-two years an average profit of nearly L.12,000
a year. The nett revenue for the post-office, which, as we
have seen, had been L.10,000 in 1653, and L.21,500 in
1663, had increased in 1685 to L.65,000. For the suc¬
ceeding ten years it was almost stationary. At the passing
of the act of Anne it had reached L.90,223, the gross in¬
come being L.111,426. In twelve years (1724) the lat¬
ter had increased to L. 178,071, but the nett revenue was
only L.96,339. Then followed a series of supplementary
enactments having for their object the increase of postal
rates, the regulation of franking, and the prevention of
illicit conveyance. Very little attention seems to have
been bestowed on the increase of postal facilities, and the
results corresponded. In 1754 the gross income was but
L.214,300, and the nett revenue L.97,365. The falling in
of Allen’s lease in 1764 gave a considerable increase (the
nett produce rising from L.l 16,182 to L.157,571), but
after five years this was followed by a decrease, which,
with slight intermission, continued until the introduc¬
tion of the mail-coach system of John Palmer in 1784.
The precise figures will be shown by the following table,
which we abridge from the parliamentary returns of
1808:—
Tabular
view of the
post-office
revenue
from 1724
to 1784.
Post-Office of Great Britain; gross and nett income,
1724-83.
Decennial
Periods.
1724-
1734-
1744-
1754-
1764-
1774-
Gross Produce of the
First and Last Year.
L.
f 178,071 16
\ 171.283 18
176,334 3
190,623 5
194,461 8
206,636 5
214.300 10
\ 278,999 5 10
j 225,325 5 8
1 310,126 11 9
/ 313,032 14 6
[ 398,624 6 4
Nett Revenue of the
First and Last Year.
96,339 7
92,146 6
91,701 11
88,441 5
85,114 9
98,148 9
97,335 5
97,833 15 10
116,182 8 5)
167,176 11 4 J
164,077 8 4
159,625 1
u.
s'}
u)
10 }
}}
Average Nett
Yearly Revenue
of the Decennium
L.
96,022 11 2
93,173 7 4
89,716
87,911
157,247
150,808
5 2
0 9
0 7
7 1
Pensions
charged
upon this
! revenue.
The system of burdening the post-office revenue with
pensions, nearly all of which had not the slightest connec¬
tion with the postal service, was begun in characteristic
fashion by Charles IT., who granted to Barbara, Duchess
ot Cleveland, L.4/00 a year, and to the Earl of Rochester
L.4000 a year, out of that revenue. 1 he example was
followed, until, in 1694, the list of pensions so chargeable
stood thus:—
Post-Office of Great Britain.—Pensions Charged on
Revenue.
Earl of Rochester  ^ ^ q^q
Duchess of Cleveland  4 700
Duke of Leeds  s'sOO
Duke of Schomberg  4 000
Earl of Bath    2 500
Lord Keeper   2 000
William Dockwra (until 1697)  ’gOO
Total L.21,200
Queen Anne granted a pension of L.5000 to the Duke
of Marlborough, charged in like manner. For many years
past the amount of these pensions has been L.10,307 a
year. In 1856 it was L.29,310, but of that sum L 19 003
was expended in the purchase of part of the pension’en¬
joyed by the heirs of the Duke of Schomberg. In March
18o7 the existing pensions ceased be payable by Ae
post-office, and became chargeable to the Consolidated
Fund.
1 he first important and enduring impulse to the develop¬
ment of the latent powers of the post-office, both as a public
agency and as a source of revenue, was given by the shrewd¬
ness and energy, not of a postmaster or other official person
but of the manager of the Bath theatre, Mr John Palmer!
Mr Palmer’s notice was attracted to the subject in October
1782. His avocations had made him familiar with that
great western road which was still in such peculiar favour
alike with people of fashion and with the gentlemen of the
highway. No road in England was so much travelled by
the wealthy, and on none were they eased of their super¬
fluities with so polite an air. In the intervals of this more
agreeable department of their calling, the highwaymen
idieved their ennui by a sedulous attention to the mails
bo habitual were the robberies of the post, that they came
to he regarded by its officials as among the necessary con¬
ditions of human affairs. They urged on the public the
precaution of sending all bank-notes and bills of exchange
in halves, and pointed the warning with a philosophical
remark, that “ there are no other means of preventing rob¬
beries with effect, as it has been proved that the strongest
cai ts that could be made, lined and bound with iron, were
soon broken open by a robber.” Another functionary, who
bad reflected on the matter still more deeply, suggested
that “ when desperate fellows bad once determinecf on a
mail robbery, the consequence would be murder in case of
resistance.”
At this period, in addition to the recognised perils of
the roads, the postal system was characterized by extreme
irregularity in the departure of mails and delivery of letters;
by an average speed of about three miles and a half in the
houi ; and by a rapidly-increasing diversion of correspond¬
ence into illicit channels. As our table shows, the nett
revenue, which had averaged L.157,000 during the ten
years ending with 1773, averaged but L.150,000 during
the ten years ending with 1783. Yet when Mr Palmer
suggested that by building mail-coaches of a construction
expressly adapted to run at a good speed, by horsing them
libei ally, and attaching an armed guard to each coach, the
public would be greatly benefited, and the post-office
levenue considerably increased, one official person expressed
Ills i egi et that the author of the plan should not first have
been informed of the nature of the business,” and boldly
asserted that the constant endeavours which had long been
directed towards the improvement of postal affairs, ” in all
situations and under all circumstances, has made them now
almost as perfect as can be, without exhausting the reve¬
nue arising therefrom.” Another predicted that the new
methods, if adopted, “will fling the whole commercial cor¬
respondence of the country into confusion, and will justly
raise such a clamour as the postmaster will not be able to
appease.”
At one time this pertinacious opposition seemed likely
to succeed. But, through the intervention of Lord Cam¬
den, the plan was brought under the personal notice of
Mr Pitt. No sooner was the minister convinced of its
merits than he insisted on its being tried. The experi¬
ment was made in August 1784. In the following year
Mr Palmer, writing to Mr Pitt, says (and his assertion is
fully borne out by the documents subsequently submitted
to Parliament):—“ In the progress of this business I have
bad every possible opposition from the office.” Yet its
success exceeded all anticipation. The following table
will show the rapid progress of the revenue under the new
arrangements :—
407
British
Post-Office.
The mail-
coach sys¬
tem of
John
Palmer.
408
British
Post-Office.
P 0 S T - 0
Post-Office of Great Britain.—Gross and Nett Income,
1784-1808.
Tabular
view of the
growth of
the postal
revenue
under
Palmer’s
system.
Year.
1784.. .
1785.. .
1786.. .
1787.. .
1788.. .
1789.. .
1790.. .
1791.. .
1792 ..
1793.. .
1794.. .
1795.. .
1796.. .
1797.. .
1798*..
1799.. .
1800.. .
1801...
1802*..
18031..
1804.. .
1805.. .
1806*.
1807.. .
1808..
Gross Income.
L.
420,101
463,753
471,176
474,347
509.131
514.538
533,198
575,079
585,432
627,592
715,608
745,238
811.539
863,624
950,476
1,012,731
1,083,950
1,144,900
1,289,197
994,970
1,320,585
1,317,842
1,506,841
1,568,106
1,552,037
s. d.
15 8
4 3
1 9
3 10
10 10
19 0
0 0
0 0
0 0
0 0
0 0
0 0
0 0
0 0
0 0
0 0
0 0
0 0
0 0
0 0
0 0
Nett Revenue.
L.
196,513
261,409
285,975
278,599
296.980
318,610
331,179
355,999
366,959
391,508
431.980
414,548
479,487
541,883
613,280
657,388
720.981
755,299
880,069
721,349
924,839
944,382
1,066,397
1,129,285
1,100,606
s. d.
16 7
18 2
15 11
14 11
12 1
5 8
18 8
6 6
19 8
15 11
18 1
11 7
6 9
14 11
11 8
19 10
7 4
0 0
The three years in this instructive table to which aster¬
isks are affixed convey a special lesson, which seems to
have passed unheeded at the time, although it has since
been turned to good account. In each of those years
additional rates of postage were imposed, and in each ot
the succeeding periods the estimated produce of the addi¬
tional tax failed to be realized. The revenue, indeed,
continued to increase with the growth of trade and popula¬
tion, but the 'proportional rate of that increase was checked.
It had been at first proposed to reward Mr Palmer by a
grant for life of two and a half per cent, on a certain pro¬
portion of the increased nett revenue, which would even¬
tually have given him some L. 10,000 a year; but this pro¬
position fell through, in consequence either ol technical
difficulties created by the Post-Office Act, or of the opposi¬
tion of the post-office authorities. Mr Pitt, however, ap¬
pointed Palmer to be “ Comptroller-General of Postal
Revenues,” an office which was soon made too hot for him
to hold. He obtained a pension of L.3000ayear; and
ultimately, by the act 53 Geo. IIL, c. 157, after his case
had received the sanction of five successive majorities
against government, an additional sum of L.50,000. Every
sort of obstruction was placed in the way of his reward—
the claim to which was pending in Parliament during six
years—in exact harmony with the course which had been
pursued at the outset of the scheme. And this was done
in the face not alone of nearly a million annually added to
the public revenue, but of the fact, that during a quarter
of a century the mails had been conveyed over an aggre¬
gate of some seventy millions of miles without the occur¬
rence of one mail robbery throughout the period.2
Compari¬
son of
postal af¬
fairs in
Scotland
and Ire¬
land at end
of 18th
century.
Scotland shared in the advantages of the mail-coach
system from the first. Shortly before its introduction, the
local penny post was set on foot by the keeper of a coffee-
shop in the hall of the Parliament House, Peter Williamson
by name. He employed four letter-carriers, in uniform,
F F I C E.
and provided them with bells ; appointed receivers in various British
parts of the town ; and established hourly deliveries.3 The 1 ost-Office.
officials of the post, when the success of the plan had be-
come fullv apparent, gave Williamson a pension, and ab¬
sorbed his business, the acquisition of which was subse¬
quently confirmed by the act 34 Geo. III., c. 17. A
dead-letter office was established in 1784.^ I he entire
staff, which, as we have seen, consisted in 1708 of seven
persons, now comprised twenty-five, at a cost of E.140b.
In 1796 the number of functionaries had increased to forty,
and the cost to L.3278.4 But in Ireland the old state of
things continued until the present century. In 1801 only
three public carriages in the whole country conveyed mails.
rpj-jgj-0 were, indeed, few roads of any sort, and none on
which coaches could travel faster than four miles an hour.0
At this period the gross receipts of the Irish post-office
were L.80,040; the charges of management and collection
were L.59,216, or at the rate of more than 70 per cent.;
whilst in Scotland the receipts were L. 100,651, and the
charges L.16,896, or somewhat less than 17 per cent.6
In’the American colonies postal improvements may be The post¬
dated from tbe administration of Franklin, who was vir-office in
tually the last colonial postmaster-general, as well as un- America
questionably the best. In one shape or other he had forty
years’ experience of postal work, having been appointed
postmaster at Philadelphia as early as October 1/37. Fie
notified his appointment in his own newspaper in these
words:—“ Notice is hereby given, that the post-office of
Philadelphia is now kept at B. Franklin’s in Market Street,
and that Henry Pratt is appointed riding postmaster for all
stages between Philadelphia and Newport in Virginia, who
sets out about the beginning of each month, and returns
in 24 days, by whom gentlemen, merchants, and others
may have their letters carefully conveyed,” &c.' When
appointed postmaster-general in 1753, Franklin bestirred
himself for the improvement of his department, in that
practical painstaking way with which he was wont to guide
anv plough he had once put his hand to, whatever the
ground it had to w'ork in. Fie visited all the chief post-
offices throughout Pennsylvania, New Jersey, New York,
and New England, looking at everything with his own
eyes. His administration cannot be better summed up
than we find it to be in a sentence or two which he wrote
soon after his dismissal. Up to the date of his appoint¬
ment, he says,—4< The American post-office had nevei
paid anything to that of Britain. We (i.e., himself and his
assistant) were to have L.600 a year between us, if we
could make that sum out of the profits of the office. Fo
do this, a variety of improvements were necessary: some
of these were inevitably, in the beginning, expensive; so
that in the first four years the office became above L.900
in debt to us. But it soon after began to repay us; and
before I was displaced by a freak of the minister’s, vve had
brought it to yield three times as much clear revenue to
the crown as the post-office of Ireland. Since that im¬
prudent transaction, they have received from it—not one
farthing.”
The interval between the development of Mr Palmers The Re^
improved methods (as far as that development was Per* Q0°m..
mitted by the authorities), which we take to be missi0ners
nearly contemporaneous with the parliamentary settlement ^j^quiry
of his claims, and the still more important reforms intro- into Post-
duced thirty vears afterwards by Mr Rowland Hill, is chiefly Office Re
      1826-30.
0 1° O1'8 year, from an alteration in the mode of stating the public accounts, three quarters only are comprised.
3 debates of both Houses of Parliament in 1808 relative to the Agreement for the Reform and Improvement of the Post-Office, passim.
° Lang, Historical Summary of the Post-Office in Scotland, 15.
^ Appendix to Seventh Report from Select Committee on Finance (1797), reprinted in collective series of Reports, xii. 209.
g Minutes of Evidence before Select Committee on Taxation of Internal Communication (1837), evidence of Sir Edward Lees, 397.
Revort etc., of Select Committee on Postage. 7 Miles, in the New York Bankers' Magazine, vii. 360.
POST-OFFICE.
British marked by the growth of the packet system, under the in-
Post-Office. fluence of steam navigation, and by the elaborate investi-
gations of the revenue commissioners of 1826 and the fol¬
lowing years. Undoubtedly, the inquiries of these com¬
missioners attracted a larger share of public attention to the
management of the post-office than had theretofore been
bestowed on it; but if anything had been wanted to throw
into bolder relief Mr Hill’s intelligent and persevering ex¬
ertions, these reports supply the want in ample measure.
The lucubrations of the commissioners have the merit of
repletion,—they fill three large folios ; but the most friendly
critic could scarcely find in them any other. Clumsy in ar¬
rangement, resilient in the treatment of the various branches
of the service, and crowded with petty details, they afford
the best possible contrast to the lucid order and vigorous
reasoning of Mr Hill’s Post-Office Reform. Nor is it the
least curious infelicity of the Revenue Reports of 1826-30,
that whilst the functionaries of the post-office are criticised
in them with a keen severity, which is so salient as to wear
an appearance at times of almost personal hostility, the truth,
that a liberal increase of public facilities would be likely to
benefit the revenue much more materially than small eco¬
nomies in salaries and perquisites, does not seem once to
have dawned on the minds of the commissioners. Even in
dealing with a new accommodation actually provided,—that
of the money-order office,—whilst taking just exception to
the unofficial character of its management, they incline
rather to its abolition than its reform.
Postal As early as 1788 the cost of the packets employed by the
tem 6t ^ Post'°®ce attracted parliamentary attention. In that year
the “ Commissioners of Fees and Gratuities” reported that,
in the preceding seventeen years, the total cost of this
branch had amounted to L.1,038,133 ; and they naturally
laid stress on the circumstance, that “ many officers of the
post-office were owners of such packets, even down to the
chamber-keeper.” At this time part of the packet service
was performed by hired vessels, and part by vessels which
were the property of the crown. The commissioners re¬
commended that the latter should be sold, and the entire
service be provided for by public and competitive tender.
The subject was again inquired into by the Finance Com¬
mittee of 1798, which reported that the recommendation of
1788 had not been fully acted upon, and expressed its con¬
currence in that recommendation. The plan was now to a
considerable extent enforced. But the war rapidly en¬
hanced the expenditure. The average, L.61,000,ofT77U87
had increased, in 1797, to L.78,439; in 1810 to L.105,000,
in 1814 to L. 160,603. In the succeeding years of peace
the expense fell to an average of about L.85,000. As early
as 1818 the Rob Roy plied regularly between Greenock
and Belfast; but no use was made of steam navigation for
the postal service until 1821, when the postmaster-general
established crown packets. The expenditure under the
new system, from that date to 1829 inclusive, was thus re¬
ported by the Commissioners of Revenue Inquiry in 1830: 
Post-Office of Great Britain.—Cost of Packet Service,
1820-29.
Year. ^
1820 (last year of exclusive sailing-packets)  85,000
1821 (first year of steam-packets) 134 868
}lll  -•::::::n5;429
1825  110,838
1826   144,592
1827  159,250
1828  117,260
1829  108,305x
409
period now under review, was still characterized by repeated British
advances in the letter-rates, and the last twenty years of it Post-Otfice.
by a stationary revenue. The following table will show the
gross receipts, the charges of collection and management,
and the nett revenue (omitting fractions of a pound). We
repeat the figures for the year 1808 for the purpose of
comparison:— 1
Post-Office of Great Britain.—Gross and Nett Income
1808-1837.
The general administration of postal affairs, during the
Year.
1808
1815-1816
1818-1819
1820-1821
1824-1825
1826-1827
1836-1837
1838-1839
Gross In¬
come.
L.
1,552,037
2,193,741
2,209,212
2,132,235
2,255,239
2,392.272
2,206,736
2,346,278
Charges of
Collection,
&c.
L.
451,431
594,045
719,622
636,290
655914
747,018
609,220
686,768
Rate per
cent of
Charges.
Nett
Rerenne.
L.
1,100,606
1,526,527
1,489,590
1,495945
1,599,325
1,645,254
1,511,026
1,659,510
Population
of United
Kingdom.
19,552,000
20,928,000
22,362,000
25,605,000
Before passing to the reform of 1839, we have now to Thehistory
revert to that important feature in postal history,—the in- of g°vern-
terference with correspondence for judicial or political pur- mental in'
poses. We have already seen,—(1.) That this assumption withcoTrl
had no^parhamentary sanction until the enactment of the spondence"
9th of Queen Anne ; (2.) That the enactment differed from resumed,
the pre-employed royal proclamations in directing a special
warrant for each opening or detention of correspondence^
It is a significant gloss on the statute to find that for nearly a
century (namely, until 1798 inclusive) it was “ not the prac¬
tice to record such warrants regularly in any official book.”2
Of the use to which the power was applied,, the State At ter*
Trials afford some remarkable instances. At the trial 0f bury s oaw&
Bishop Atterbury, for example, in h723, certain, letters were
oftered in evidence which a clerk of the post-office de¬
posed on oath “to be true copies from.the originals, whicht
were stopped at the post-office, and copied, and sent forward)
as directed. Hereupon Atterbury very naturally asked this,
witness, “ If he had any express warrant under the hand,
of one of the principal secretaries ©£ state for opening the
said letters.” But on this question the lords, after debate,,
resolved,—“ That it is the opinion of this House that it is
inconsistent with the public safety, as well as unnecessary
for the prisoner’s defence, to suffer any further inquiry
to be made, upon this occasion, into, the warrants which
have been granted by the secretaries of state for the stop¬
ping and opening of the letters which should come and go
by the post, or into the methods that have been taken by
the proper officers at the post-office in obedience to such
warrants.” 1 wenty-nine peers recorded their protest against
this decision. But the inflamed majority went the further
length, when it was proposed to cross-examine the Rev..
Edward Willes, one of his Majesty’s post-office decipherers,
of again resolving,—“ That it is the opinion of this House,
that it is not consistent with the public safety to ask the
decipherers any questions which may tend to discover the
art or mystery of deciphering.3
The practice thus sanctioned appears to have been pushed Proceed-
to such lengths as to elicit in April 173o a strong protest inSs of tbe
and censure from the House of Commons. In. the preced- commons
ing February “ Complaints were made by several members in^ktion
that their letters were not only charged at the post-office, to opening
but that they were often broke open and perused by the of letters *
clerks ; that the practice of breaking open letters was be- in I735-
come frequent, and was so publicly known that the very
end for which that liberty was given to the postmaster
was entirely disappointed for the intention being at first
1 Twenty-second Report of the Commissioners of Revenue Inquiry, 4-6.
3 Lords' Journals, xxii. 183-186; Howell’s State Trials, xvi. 540, sen.
VOL. XVIII.
2 Report of Secret Committee on the Post-Office (1844), p. 9.
3 F
410
POST-OFFICE.
British to discover any treasonable correspondence that might be
Post-Office. carried on against the government, that intention was ren-
dered altogether vain, because, by the practice of opening
letters being so frequent and so well known, it was certain
that no man would carry on any treasonable correspondence
by means of the post-office; so that the liberty gi\en to
break open letters could now serve no purpose but to
enable the idle clerks about that office to pry into the pri¬
vate affairs of every merchant and of every gentleman in
the kingdom.”1 A committee of inquiry was appointed,
and after receiving its report, the House resolved : “ 1 hat it
is an high infringement of the privileges of the . . . Com¬
mons of Great Britain in Parliament for any postmaster, his
deputies, or agents, in Great Britain or Ireland, to open or
look into, by any means whatever, any letter directed to or
signed by the proper hand of any member, without an ex¬
press warrant in writing under the hand of one of the Pri11*
cipal secretaries of state for every such opening and look-
ino- into; or to detain or delay any letter directed to, or
signed with the name of any member, unless there shall be
just reason to suspect some counterfeit of it, without an ex¬
press warrant of a principal secretary of state for every such
detaining or delaying.” That the expressions used in de¬
bate were fully borne out by post-office practices there is
abundant evidence.2 In the subsequent proceedings of the
famous “Committee of Secrecy on the conduct of Robert,
Earl of Orford, “ it appeared by the testimony of the secre¬
tary of the post-office, that within ten years only there had
been paid by the government to that officer, without voucher
or account, the sum of L.4o,6/o, and that “the greatest
part of this money is for defraying the expense of a private
Staff and office for the inspecting foreign correspondence That
salaries of the annual expenses of this office are as follows:—To the
the deci- chief decipherer, Dr Willes, for himself and his son, L.1000;
pherers to second decipherer, Mr Corbiere, L.800; to the
department Rnnj decipherer, Mr Lampe, L.500; to the fourth deci¬
pherer, Mr Zolman, L.200; to the chief clerk, L.650; to
four other clerks, L.300 each ; to the comptroller of the
foreign office, L.60; and to the doorkeeper, L.oO. There
are incidental charges for seals, &c.,” it is added, “ which
may amount to L.100; .... the overplus, which may
amount to L.90, is divided between the two postmasters
and the secretary.”3 For his twenty years’ services in this
“ private office” the Rev. Dr Willes was rewarded, first,
with the deanery of Lincoln, and afterwards with the
bishopric of St David’s.
As must always happen in like cases, the example spread
downwards. So little attention was paid to the requirements
of the act of Queen Anne, or the warnings of the House of
Commons, that the very bellmen took to scrutinizing the
letters given them for their bags. “ When I have got all
my letters together,” deponed one of these functionaries at
the trial of Dr Hensey in 1758, “ I carry them home and
sort them. In sorting them, I observed that the letters I
received of Dr Hensey were generally directed abroad, and
• to foreigners; and I, knowing the Doctor to be a Roman
Catholic, . . . advised the examining clerk at the office to
inspect his letters.” This witness, in answer to the questions,
“ How came you to know Dr Hensey was a Roman Catholic?
What had you to do with his religion?” clinched his evi¬
dence thus:—“ We letter-carriers or postmen have great
opportunities to know the characters and dispositions of
gentlemen . . . from their servants, connections, and cor¬
respondents. But, to be plain, if I once learn that a
person who lives a genteel life is a Roman Catholic, I im¬
mediately look on him as one who, by education and prin¬
ciple, is an inveterate enemy to my king, my country, and
PrntP^tant religion.”4 Sometimes the political motives British
for examinationwfre diversified by merely polite acquies-Po«-Offlc,
cence in the wishes of a friend. Thus, m 1741, “at the
request of A., a warrant issued to permit the eldest son of
A. to open and inspect any letters which the youngest son
of A. might write to either of two females, one of whom
that youngest son had imprudently married.5 What re¬
mains to be said of the more recent contents of this dis¬
creditable chapter in our postal history will be found in a
subsequent page. The incidents of 1844 are yet fresh in
memory.
Mr Rowland Hill’s pamphlet of 1837 took for its starting- The post¬
point the fact, that whereas the postal revenue showed for office re-
the past twenty years a positive, though slight, diminution, ^ of
it ought to have showed an increase of L.507,700 a year,
in order to have simply kept pace with the growth of po¬
pulation ; and an increase of nearly four times that amount,
in order to have kept pace with the growth of the analo¬
gous though far less exorbitant duties imposed on stage¬
coaches. The population in 1815 was 19,552,000. In
1835 it had increased to 25,605,000. The stage-coach
duties had produced in 1815, L.217,671. In 1835 they
produced L.498,497. The nett revenue arising from the
post-office in 1815 was L.1,557,291. In 1835 it had de¬
creased to L.l ,540,300.
In 1837 there did not exist any accurate account of the Postal sta-
number of the letters transmitted through the general post- tistics in
office. Mr Hill, however, was able to prepare a sufficiently 1837.
approximative estimate from the data ot the London dis¬
trict post, and from the sums collected for postage. He
thus calculated the number of chargeable letters at about
88,600,000 ; that of franked letters at 7,400,000, and that
of newspapers at 30,000,000, giving a gross total of about
126,000,000. At this period the total cost of management
and distribution was L.696,569. An analysis of the com¬
ponent parts of this expenditure assigned L.426,517 to cost
of primary distribution, and L.270,052 to cost of secondary
distribution and miscellaneous charges. A further analysis
of the primary distribution expenditure gave L.282,308
as the probable outgoings for receipt and delivery, and
L.144,209 as the probable outgoings for transit. In other
words, the expenditure which hinged upon the distance the
letters had to be conveyed was L.l44,000, and that which
had nothing to do with distance was L.282,000. Applying
to these figures the estimated number of letters and news¬
papers, 126,000,000, passing through the office, there re¬
sulted a probable average cost of yVfrths of a penny for each,
of which 3^ths was cost of transit, and -j^ths cost of receipt,
delivery, &c. Taking into account, however, the much
greater weight of newspapers and franked letters as com¬
pared with chargeable letters, the apparent average cost of
transit became, by this estimate, but about T$7ths, or less
than the tenth of a penny.
A detailed estimate of the cost of conveying a letter
from London to Edinburgh, founded upon the average
weight of the Edinburgh mail, gave a lower proportion still,
since it reduced the apparent cost of transit, on the average,
to the thirty-sixth part of penny. Mr Hill inferred that
if the charge for postage be made proportionate to the
whole expense incurred in the receipt, transit, and delivery
of the letter, and in the collection of its postage, it must be
made uniformly the same, from every post-town to every
other post-town in the United Kingdom, unless it could be
shown how we are to collect so small a sum as the thirty-
sixth part of a penny. And, inasmuch as it would take a
ninefold weight to make the expense of transit amount to
1 Parliamentary History, ix. 842, seq.
9 Commons' Journals, vol. xxii., 26th Feb., 16th April, 2oth April, 1735. The committee’s Report will be found at p. 462.
3 Ibid. xxiv. 298. 4 State Trials, xviii. 1369. 6 Report from Secret Committee, 12.
POST-OFFICE.
411
British one farthing, he further inferred that, taxation apart, the
Post-Office, charge ought to be precisely the same for every packet
of moderate weight, without reference to the number of its
inclosures.
At this period the rate of postage actually imposed (be¬
yond the limits of the London district office) varied from
4d. to Is. 8d. for a single letter, which was interpreted to
mean a single piece of paper not exceeding an ounce in
weight; a second piece of paper or any other inclosure,
however small, constituted a double letter. A single sheet
of paper, if it at all exceeded an ounce in weight, was
charged with fourfold postage. The average charge on
inland general post letters was nearly 9d. for each letter.
Apart from the evils of an excessive taxation, with its
multifarious results in checking communication, hampering
trade, and creating an illicit traffic in letters which involved
systematic deception, the effects upon the postal service
itself were most injurious. On the one hand, a complicated
system of accounts, involving both great waste of time and
great temptation to fraud in their settlement; on the other, • such changes
pressed, more especially among the middle and working British
classes of the people, and this in consequence, as all the Post-Office,
witnesses, including many of the post-office authorities,
think, of the excessively high scale of taxation ; (4.) The
fact of very injurious effects resulting from this state of
things to the commerce and industry of the country, and
to the social habits and moral condition of the people;
(5.) The fact, as far as conclusions can be drawn from
very imperfect data, that whenever on former occasions
large deductions in the rates have been made, these reduc¬
tions have been followed in short periods of time by an
extension of correspondence proportionate to the contrac¬
tion of the rates. And, as matters of inference from fact
and of opinion—
(i.) That the only remedies for the evils above stated,
are a reduction of the rates, and the establishment of addi¬
tional deliveries, and more frequent despatches of letters.
(ii.) That owing to the rapid extension of railroads,
there is an urgent and daily-increasing necessity for making
Post-office
opposition
a constant invitation to the violation of that first duty of
postal officers, respect for the sacredness of correspondence,
by making it part of their daily work to expose letters to
a strong light expressly to ascertain their contents.
These mischiefs it was proposed wholly to remove by
enacting “ that the charge for primary distribution,—that is
to say, the postage on all letters received in a post-town,
and delivered in the same or in any other post-town in the
British Isles,—shall be at the uniform rate of one penny for
each half-ounce ; all letters and other papers, whether single
or multiple, forming one packet, and not weighing more
than half an ounce, being charged one penny; and heavier
packets, to any convenient limit, . . . being charged an
additional penny for each additional half-ounce.” And it
was further proposed that stamped covers should be sold
to the public at such a price as to include the postage,
which would thus be collected in advance.1
By the public generally, and pre-eminently by the trad¬
ing public, the plan was received with great favour. By
to t ep an. functionaries of the post-office it was at once denounced
as ruinous, and ridiculed as visionary. Lord Lichfield,
then postmaster-general, said of it in the House of Lords,—
“ Of all the wild and visionary schemes which I have ever
heard of, it is the most extravagant.”2 On another occa¬
sion he assured the House that if the anticipated increase
of letters should be realized, “ the mails will have to carry
twelve times as much in weight, and therefore the charge
for transmission, instead of L. 100,000 as now, must be
twelve times that amount. The walls of the post-office
would burst; the whole area in which the building stands
would not be large enough to receive the clerks and the
letters.”3
The Report But in the course of the following year (1838) petitions
leefcom- W^ie Poured int0 the House of Commons. A select com-
mitteeTn rnitte^ was appointed, which held nearly seventy sittings, and
Postage of examined eighty-three witnesses, in addition to the officers
of the department. Its report (one of the most instructive
and best arranged works of its class, as the report of the
revenue commissioners was one of the worst), after carefully
stating the questions which had to be considered, and the
course of inquiry which had been pursued, thus pro¬
ceeded :—“ The principal points which appear to your
committee to have been established in evidence are the
following:—(1.) The exceedingly slow advance and occa¬
sionally retrograde movement of the post-office revenue dur¬
ing the . . . last twenty years; (2.) The fact of the charge
of postage exceeding the cost in a manifold proportion ;
(3.) The fact of postage being evaded most extensively by
all classes of society, and of correspondence being sup¬
1838.
(iii.) That any moderate reduction in the rates would
occasion loss to the revenue, without in any material degree
diminishing the present amount of letters irregularly con¬
veyed, or giving rise to the growth of new correspondence.
(iv.) That the principle of a low uniform rate is just in
itself; and when combined with prepayment and collec¬
tion by means of a stamp, would be exceedingly convenient
and highly satisfactory to the public.
During the session of Parliament, which followed the The new
presentation of this report, about 2000 petitions in favour postal law
of penny postage were presented to both Houses, and at of 1839-
length the chancellor of the exchequer brought in a bill
to enable the Treasury to carry it into effect. The measure
was carried in the House of Commons by a majority of
100, and became law on the 17th August 1839. A new
but only temporary office under the Treasury was created
to enable Mr Hill to superintend (although, as it proved,
under very inadequate arrangements) the working out of
his plan. The first step taken was to reduce, on the 5th
December 1839, the London district postage to Id., and
the general inland postage to 4d. the half-ounce (except as
respected places to which letters were previously carried
at lower rates, those rates being continued). On the 10th
January 1840 the uniform penny rate came into operation
throughout the United Kingdom; the scale of weight ad¬
vancing from Id. for each of the first two half-ounces, by
gradations of 2d. for each additional ounce, or fraction of an
ounce, up to 16 ounces. The postage was to be prepaid,
or charged at double rates. Parliamentary franking was
abolished. Postage stamps were introduced on the 6th May
following. The facilities of despatch were soon afterwards
increased, especially by the establishment of day mails..
But on the important point of simplification in the in¬
ternal economy of the post-office, with the object of re¬
ducing its cost without diminishing its working power, very
little was done. In carrying out the new measures, the
officers were, as the chancellor of the exchequer (Mr Bar¬
ing) expressed it on one occasion, “ unwilling horses.”
Nor need a word more be said in proof of the assertion than
is contained in a naive passage of Colonel Maberly’s evidence
before the Postage Committee of 1843 :—“ My constant
language to the heads of the departments was,—‘ This
plan we know will fail. It is your duty to take care that
no obstruction is placed in the way of it by the heads of
the department, and by the post-office. The allegation, I
have not the least doubt, will be made at a subsequent
period, that this plan has failed in consequence of the un¬
willingness of the government to carry it into fair execu¬
tion. It is our duty, as servants of the government, to take
* Post-Office Reform, 27, seq.
2 Mirror of Parliament, debate of 15th June 1837.
3 Ibid., debate of 18th Dec. 1837.
412
POST-OFFICE.
Impedi¬
ments to
the proper
working of
the new
plan.
Itesults of
the first
two years.
The in¬
quiry of
1844 into
the open¬
ing of let¬
ters at the
post or
home of¬
fices.
care that no blame eventually shall fall on the government
through any unwillingness of ours to carry it into proper
effect.’” And, again,—“ After the first week, it was evi¬
dent, from the number of letters being so much below Mr
Hill’s anticipations, that it must fail, inasmuch as it wholly
rested upon the number of letters; for without that you
could not possibly collect the revenue anticipated. Very
formidable are the prophets who can scarcely, under the
limitations of average humanity, avoid promoting in their
daily avocations, the fulfilment of their own prophecies.
The plan then had to work in the face of rooted mis¬
trust on the part of the workers. Its author was (for a
term of two years, afterwards prolonged to three) the officer,
not of the post-office, but of the Treasury. He could only
recommend measures the most indispensable thiough the
chancellor of the exchequer; and when Mr Goulburn
succeeded Mr Baring, the chancellor was very much of
Colonel Maberly’s way of thinking. It happened, too, that
the trial of Mr Hill’s scheme had to be carried through at
a period of severe commercial depression.
Nevertheless, the results actually attained in the first two
years were briefly these :—(1.) The chargeable letters de¬
livered in the United Kingdom, exclusive of that part of
the government correspondence which theretofore passed
free, had already increased from the rate of about 75,000,000
a year to that of 208,000.000; (2.) The London dis¬
trict post letters had increased from about 13,000,000 to
23,000,000, or nearly in the ratio of the reduction of the
rates; (3.) The illicit conveyance of letters was substan¬
tially suppressed ; (4.) The gross revenue, exclusive of re¬
payments, yielded about a million and a half per annum,
which was 63 per cent, on the amount of the gross revenue
in 1839, the largest income which the post-office had ever
afforded. These results at so early a stage, and in the face
of so many obstructions, amply vindicated the policy of the
new system. But by its enemies that system was loudly
declared to be a failure, until the progressive and striking
evidence of year after year silenced opposition by an ex¬
haustive process.
In the summer of 1844 public attention was aroused in
a remarkable manner to a branch of post-office administra¬
tion which theretofore had been kept almost wholly out of
sight. The statement, that the letters of a political refugee,
long resident in England, and highly respected by all who
knew him, whether sympathizing or not in his plans and
aspirations, had been systematically opened, and their con¬
tents communicated to foreign governments, by Sir James
Graham, then secretary of state for the home depart¬
ment, aroused a storm of indignation throughout the
country. Men of all parties felt that this was an abuse of
power, and a national degradation. The tragedy of Co-
senza made a thorough investigation into the circumstances
a public necessity.
The consequent parliamentary inquiry of August 1844,
after retracing the earlier events connected with the exer¬
cise of the discretional power of inspection which Parlia¬
ment had vested in the secretaries of state in 1710, elicited
the fact, that in 1806, Lord Spencer, then secretary for
the home department, introduced for the first time the
practice of recording in an official book all warrants issued
for the detention and opening ot‘ letters; and the addi¬
tional fact, that from the year 1822 downwards, the war¬
rants themselves had been preserved. The whole number
of such warrants issued from 1806 to the middle of 1844
inclusive, was stated to be 323, of which no less than 53
had been issued in the years 1841-44 inclusive, a number
exceeding that of any previous period of like extent, even
in the days of Sidmouth and Castlereagh. It further ap- British
peared that the whole recorded number of warrants from Post-Office,
the beginning of the century was 372, and that, they af-
fected the correspondence of 724 persons. The committee
further stated, that eight of the warrants so issued “ ap¬
plied each to some particular object, but were not restricted
to any definite number of persons.” In plainer words,
those eight warrants were in flagrant violation of the express
words of the statute.
The 372 warrants of the period 1799-1844 the com¬
mittee proceeded to classify under the following heads :—
Post-Office of Great Britain.—Classification of the Sub¬
ject-Matters in relation to which Warrants were issued
for the Opening of Letters, 1799-1844.
Bank of England   13 Letters returned to writers.. 7
Bankruptcy  2 Address copied....,  1
Murder, theft, fraud, &c 144 Forged frank   1
Treason, sedition, &c  77 Uncertain      89
Prisoners of war  13  
•Revenue ;  5 Total....    3721
Foreign correspondence  20
The reader will not omit to observe that, within a period
scarcely co-extensive with the official career of some living
persons, eighty-nine warrants for the violation of corre¬
spondence had been issued by British secretaries of state
for “ uncertain” objects. The humiliation of such a record
is complete when we place beside it a passage in one of the
letters addressed to Mazzini by Attilio Bandiera, not the
least memorable of the Neapolitan victims at Cosenza:-—
“ Fidando sempre sulla nota lealta delle poste inglesi,
potete indirizzar qui al mio name le vostre lettered 2 It
will need better regulations on this head than yet obtain
to make the “ noted integrity” of the English post-office
again an article of European faith.
The committee of 1844 proceeded to report, that “ the Farther
warrants issued during the present century may be divided ^sl0fCthe
into two classes :—1st, Those issued in furtherance of cri- warrantg
minal justice, and usually for the purpose of obtaining a for 0pPn.
clue to the hiding-place of some offender, or to the mode ing letters,
or place of concealment of property criminally abstracted.
  2d, Those issued for the purpose of discovering
the designs of persons known or suspected to be engaged
in proceedings dangerous to the State, or (as in Mazzini’s
case), deeply involving British interests, and carried on in
the United Kingdom, or in British possessions beyond the
seas. With regard to both these classes of warrants, the
object in issuing them has been, in many cases, to ascertain
the views, not of the party receiving, but of the party send¬
ing the letter. In issuing these warrants, the mode of
proceeding is as follows:—(1.) In the case of criminal
warrants, they do not originate with the Home Office.
The application is made in the first instance to that one of
the two under-secretaries of state who is of the legal profes¬
sion ; and the usual course is for the applicant to state the
circumstances in writing ; but if the case be very urgent,
owing to the time being too short before the departure of
the post, to draw out a written statement, that condition is
sometimes dispensed with If the under-secretary
accedes to the application, he submits the case to the prin¬
cipal secretary of state, with whose approval a warrant is
drawn by the head clerk of the domestic department under
the instructions of the under-secretary, and is then signed
by the principal secretary. A record of the date of the
warrant is kept under lock and key, in a private book, to
which the two under-secretaries and the above-mentioned
head clerk have access. To the applicant information is
given, according to circumstances, of the post-mark or ad¬
dress merely, or of the contents of the letters detained, or,
1 Report from the Secret Committee on the Post-Office (1844), p. 11.
iticordi dei fratelli liandiera e dei loro compagni di martirio in Cosenza (Parigi, 1844), p. 47.
POST-OFFICE.
British
Post-Office
if the case require it, the original letter is put into his
hands. (2.) In the case of warrants of the second descrip¬
tion, they originate with the Home Office. The principal
secretary of state, of his own discretion, determines when
to issue them, and gives instructions accordingly to the
under-secretary, whose office is then purely ministerial.
The mode of preparing them, and keeping record of them
in a private book, is the same as in the case of criminal
warrants. There is no record kept of the grounds on which
they are issued, except so far as correspondence preserved
at the Home Office may lead to infer them The
letters which have been detained and opened are, un¬
less retained by special order, as sometimes happens in
criminal cases, closed and re-sealed, without affixing any
mark to indicate that they have been so detained and
opened, and are forwarded by post according to their re¬
spective superscriptions. ”1
The committee of 1844 made no propositions for the
regulation or control of this power. Its members content
themselves with repeating the remark made a century be¬
fore, as to the improbability that evil-intentioned persons,
knowing that the secretary of state has occasionally re¬
course to the opening of letters, will venture to communi¬
cate their plans by post, but they make a different applica¬
tion of it. They acknowledge that, if this opinion be well
founded, the importance of retaining the power as a mea¬
sure of detective police is diminished. They suggest, how¬
ever, that to withdraw the power would be to advertise
“every criminal and conspirator against the public peace”
that he may use the post-office with unhesitating confid¬
ence. They also suggest that to regulate the power might
perhaps “ have an indirect effect in giving an additional
sanction to the power in question, and thereby possibly ex¬
tending its use ;”2 with many other remarks of the like see¬
saw tendency. Our own clear conviction is, that the docu¬
mentary evidence in this report is conclusive of the duty of
the legislature to do at least these three things :—(1.) To
enact that no warrant whatever shall issue except on written
information upon oath ; (2.) To enact that every such in¬
formation shall be recorded in the secretary of state’s office,
with the date of the warrant, the period during which it
remained in force, and the results obtained. (3.) To re¬
quire a yearly statement of the number of warrants issued,
and their respective grounds, with such reservations as to
names and details as a wise discretion may dictate (without
violating the spirit of the requirement), to be laid before
Parliament. These precautions would, at all events, enable
us to dispense with those platitudes about “deeply-involved
British interests,” and the like, which are better calculated
for the meridian of Naples than for that of London.
413
rapidly of late years than has its “money-order office.’ British
I his branch of the business was for more than forty years Bost-Office.
the private enterprise of three post-office clerks, who were
anc* ComPany.’’ It was commenced in History of
1192, with the more especial object of facilitating the safe M0Iley-
conveyance of small sums to soldiers and sailors’, but was 0rder
soon extended to all classes of small remitters, although °ffice'
still on a very humble scale. The postmaster-general sanc¬
tioned the scheme without interposing in the management.
Each of the three partners advanced L.1000 to carry it on ;
and each of them seems, during the greater portion of the
period, to have derived about L.200 a year in profit. In
1830 the amount of remittances from London was but
about L.10,000.3 The percentage was eightpence in
the pound, out of which had to be defrayed the salaries of
clerks, the commission to the country postmasters, and the
profits of the partners. On the 6th December 1838 the
office became an official department under the postmaster-
general ; the then partners receiving due compensation.
The commission was reduced to a fixed charge of Is. 6d.
for sums exceeding L.2 and under L.5, and of 6d. for
all sums not exceeding L.2. In 1840 these rates were
reduced to 6d. and 3d. respectively. The number and
aggregate amount of the orders issued in each year since
the re-organization are as follows :—
Post-Office of Great Britain—Number and Amount of
Money- Orders.
Years.
1839.
1840.
1841.
1842.
1843.
1844.
1845.
1846.
1847.
1848.
1849.
1850.
1851.
1852.
1853.
1854.
1855.
1856.
1857.
Number of Orders
Issued.
188,921
587,797
1,552,845
2,111,980
2,501,523
2,806,803
3,176,126
3,515,079
4,031,185
4,203,651
4,248,891
4,439,713
4,661,025
4,947,825
5,215,290
5,466,244
5,807,412
6,178,982
6,389,703
Aggregate Amount
of Orders Issued.
313,124
960,975
3,127,507
4.337.177
5,112,840
5,695,395
6,413,361
7,071,056
7.903.177
8,151,294
8,152,643
8,494,498
8,880,420
9,438,277
9,916,195
10,462,411
11,009,279
11,805,562
12,180,273
The following table will show the amount of money-
orders issued and paid in the principal towns of the king¬
dom, individually, in the year 1857:—
No department of the post-office has advanced more
Post- Office of Great Britain.—Money- Orders Issued and Paid in Certain Towns,
Name of Town,
1. London 
2. Liverpool  
3. Manchester 
4. Birmingham 
5. Bristol 
6. Newcastle-on-Tyne.
7. Leeds    
8. Sheffield   
9. Hull 
10. Nottingham 
11. Portsmouth 
12. Southampton 
13. Bath  
Population
(1851).
2,362,336
375,955
316,213
232,841
137,328
87,784
273,613
135,310
84,690
57,407
72,096
35,305
54,240
Amount
Issued.
L.
1,684,524
364,472
278,506
182,744
124,666
100,018
98,969
86,778
82,467
76,995
74,466
70,974
63,284
Amount
Paid.
L.
3,016,547
367.068
380,550
305,661
204,022
84,879
135,199
93,959
109,671
69,503
62,541
66,394
63,458
Name of Town.
14. Plymouth 
15. York 
16. Cheltenham 
17. Wolverhampton 
18. Leicester 
19. Bradford (Yorkshire).
20. Derby 
21. Norwich 
22. Exeter. 
23. Preston  
24. Coventry  
25. Macclesfield 
26. Newcastle (Staff.) 
Population
(1851).
52,221
40.359
35,051
119,748
60,584
149,543
40,609
68,195
40,688
69,542
36,812
39,048
10,569
Amount
Issued.
L.
62,395
54,446
52,499
50,355
46,916
45,874
45,327
44,906
44,030
40,412
35,140
16,840
15,795
Amount
Paid.
L.
64,936
56,279
41,562
33,919
48,101
43,599
40,228
57,865
57,992
36,237
24,084
11,948
8,752
1 Report of 1844, ut supra, 14-17. 2 Ibid. 19.
3 Evidence of Mr Robert Watts (1829), 612-14; Eighteenth Report of Commissioners of Revenue Inquiry, 85, 86.
414
POST-OFFICE.
British Post-Office of Great Britain:—Scotland and Ireland.—Money-Orders Issued and Paid in certain Towns. British
Post-Office. ^ J          Post-Offio
Name of City or Town. Population. Amount Issued. Amount Paid. Name of City or Town. Population. Amount Issued. Amount Paid.
1. Dublin 
2. Belfast 
3. Cork 
4. Limerick  
5. Waterford ....
6. Londonderry.
7. Drogheda 
258,361
100,300
86,485
55,268
26,667
16,876
L.
274,905
40,946
31,213
15,721
13,135
9,480
5,338
L.
217,846
45,693
34,633
19,251
11,154
12,584
7,878
1. Edinburgh
2. Glasgow ...
3. Dundee 
4. Aberdeen ..
5. Perth 
6. Stirling 
160,302
329,097
78,931
71,973
23,835
12,837
L.
132,635
164,920
33,660
33,451
18,209
11,751
L.
210,329
200,024
29,659
42,720
18,037
14,395
In 1848 the money-order office involved a loss of L.5,745
by excess of expenses over the amount of poundage. In
1849 a profit accrued of L.322, which has gradually in¬
creased, year by year, until in 1857 it amounted to L.24,l75.
History of The increase in the number of postal deliveries, and in
the postal that of the receiving-houses and branch-offices, together
revenue with the numerous improvements introduced into the work-
™9 }ng economy of the post-office, when Mr Rowland Hill at
length obtained the means of fully carrying out his reforms
by his appointment as secretary, speedily gave a more
vigorous impulse to the progress of the nett revenue than
had theretofore obtained. During the seven years, 1845-51
inclusive, the average was but L.810,951. During the
seven’years, 1852-57 inclusive, the average was L. 1,166,448.
The following table shows the details for the entire period
from 1838, the last complete year of the old rates of post¬
age, to 1857 inclusive :—
Post-Office of Great Britain—Number of Letters ; Gross and Nett Income, 1838-57.
Estimated
No. of
Chargeable
Letters.
75,908,000
168,768,344
196,500,191
208,434,451
220,450,306
242,091,684
271,410,789
299,586,762
322,146,243
Year Ending
Jan. 5,1838
„ 1839
„ 1840
„ 1841
„ 1842
„ 1843
„ 1844
„ 1845
„ 1846
„ 1847
„ 1848
Gross In -
come.
L.
2.339,737
2,346,278
2,390,763
1,359,466
1,489,418
1,578,145
1,620,867
1,705,067
1,887,576
1,963,857
2,181,016
Cost of
Manage¬
ment.
L.
687,313
686,768
756,999
858,677
938,168
977,504
980,650
985,110
1,125,594
1,138,745
1,196,520
Postage
Nett Re- | charged
venue.
' Governt.
L.
1,652,424
1,659,509
1,633,764
500,789
561,249
600,641
640.217
719 957
761,982
825,112
984,496
L.
38,528
45,156
44,277
90,761
113,255
122,161
116,503
109,232
101,190
100.354
121,290
Estimated
No. of
Chargeable
Letters.
Year Ending
328,830,184
337,399,199
347,069,071
360,647,187
379,501,499
410,817,489
443,649,301
456,216,176
478,393,803
504,421,000
Jan. 5, 1849
„ 1850
„ 1851
„ 1852
„ 1853
„ 1854
Dec. 31,1854
„ 1855
„ 1856
„ 1857
Gross In¬
come.
L.
2,143,679
2,165,349
2,264,684
2,422,168
2,434,326
2,574,407
2,701,862
2,716,420
2,867,954
3,035,713
Cost of
Manage¬
ment.
L.
1,403,250
1,324,562
1,460,785
1,304,163
1,343,907
1,400,679
1,506,556
1,651,364
1,660,229
1,720,815
Nett Re¬
venue.
L.
740,429
840,787
803.898
1,118,004
1,090,419
1,173,727
1,195,306
1,065,056
1,207,725
1,314,898
Postage
charged
Governt.
L.
115,902
106,923
109,523
167,129
124,977
134,112
185,236
173,560
154,229
135,517
Summary Briefly, under the penny rate the number of letters has
of progress, become sixfold what it was under the exorbitant rates of
1839-57. lygg. When the change was first made the increase of
letters was in the ratio of 122*25 per cent, during the year.
The second and third years showed an increase on each
preceding year respectively of about 16 per cent. During
the next fourteen years the average increase was at the rate
of about 6 per cent, per annum; and this rate is still
maintained. And although this enormous increase of busi¬
ness, coupled with the increasing preponderance of railway
mail conveyance, invaluable but costly, has carried up the
post-office expenditure from L.757,000 to L.1,720,000, yet
the nett revenue of 1857 is within L.300,000 of the nett
revenue of 1839. These are the direct results. The in¬
direct advantages which have attended postal reform are
beyond calculation.
During the year 1857 the number of newspapers de¬
livered in the United Kingdom was about 71,000,000; and
that of book packets (the cheap carriage of which is one of
the most serviceable and praiseworthy of the recent im
provements) about 6,000,000.
Under this head it only remains to show, as concisely
as possible, the extent of postal correspondence between
Great Britain and the principal British colonies and foreign
countries, individually. The following table, for the year 1856,
will afford this information as nearly as it is yet attainable:—
Post-Office of Great Britain.—Statistics of Colonial and Foreign Correspondence, 1856.
Name of Colony or State.
African, West Coast of 
Australia 
Belgium 
Brazils 
Bremen 
Canada 
Ceylon  
East Indies 
France  
German Postal Union 
Hamburg 
Holland 
Hong Kong  
Lisbon, Oporto, and Gibraltar
Mauritius   
Mediterranean 
Sweden     
United States 
West Indies and Pacific 
Letters
Outwards.
28,800
913,733
325,811
66,252
57,166
358,284
28,722
610,482
2,184,916
911,957
385,445
233,632
72,522
171,846
20,730
234,786
26,015
1,733,745
322,716
Letters
Inwards.
22,836
250*564
80,076
49,538
396,915
37,542
647,800
2,021,610
635,145
257,649
179,827
78,228
161,088
16,530
175,056
17,253
1,547,054
281,700
Letters In¬
wards and
Outwards.
51,636
576,375
146,328
106,704
755,199
66,264
1,258,282
4,206,526
1,547,102
643,094
413,459
150,750
335,934
37,260
409,842
43,268
3,280,799
604,416
Newspapers
and Books
Outwards.
22,884
1,342,466
202,740
123,408
19,608
908,028
114,084
979,068
718,296
586,968
149,592
81,636
105,930
75,402
43,164
92,802
4,776
1,063,584
572,412
Newspapers
and Books
Inwards.
4,632
185,460
60,084
424,416
22,122
220,687
614,304
184,380
127,868
44,808
59,228
4,860
26,250
9,420
3,264
872,664
122,496
Newspapers and
Books Inwards
and Outwards.
27,516
388,200
183,492
1,332,444
136,206
1,199,755
1,332,600
771,348
277,460
126,444
165,158
80,262
69,414
102,222
8,040
1,936,248
694,90s1
1 Miles, History of the Post-Office, ut supra, 349.
POST-OFFICE.
H. ORGANIZATION AND MECHANISM OF THE BRITISH
POST-OFFICE.
The principal acts which regulate the management of
the post-office of the United Kingdom, are those of 1 Viet.,
c. 32-36, “ An Act to Repeal the several Laws relating to
the Post-Office“ An Act for the Management of the
Post-Office “ An Act for Consolidating the Laws relative
to Offences against the Post-Office,” &c.; and 2 Viet., c. 98,
“An Act to provide for the Conveyance of the Mails by Rail
ways3 and 4 Viet., c. 96,  
the Duties of Postage 7 and 8 Viet., c. 49, “ An Act for
the better Regulation of Colonial Posts 10 and 11 Viet.,
415
c. 85, “ An Act for giving further facilities for the Transmis¬
sion of Letters by Post, and for the Regulating the Duties of
Postage thereon, and for other purposes relating to the Post-
Officeand II and 12 Viet c. 88, “ An Act for further Re- Britut,
guiating the Money-Order Department of the Post-Office ” Post-Office.
1 he briefest possible analysis of these acts would claim a '
large sPace. It must here suffice to enumerate the exist-
mg staff and expenditure ; to indicate the chief branches of
the office, and its methods of working; and to detail the
principal regulations which concern the public in the prac¬
tical business of correspondence. ^
A n A /ni- Gi fin t? , , a,0nthe31stJDrieoc^mber 1857 the entire staff of the post-Staff Of the
An Act for the Regulation of office comprised 23,731 persons of all ranks. Of this num- post-office.
8 Viet., r. 49. An An tnr ber, 23,545 were employed in the British Isles, 125 in the
colonies, and 61 in foreign countries as agents for the col-
Inland ser¬
vice.
Postmaster-general  1
Secretary and assistant secretaries  3
Private secretary to postmaster-general  1
Secretary’s office,—
1 chief clerk; 51 clerks (in three classes); 20 supple¬
mentary clerks ; 4 paper-keepers  76
Surveyors’ department,—
13 surveyors; 25 clerks; 13 stationary clerks; 38
clerks in charge     89
Mail office,—
1 inspector-general; 1 deputy inspector-general; 1 chief
clerk ; 13 clerks; 3 inspectors of mails; 1 supervisor
of mail-bag apparatus  26
The number of post-offices in the United Kingdom, on
the 31st December 1857, was 11,101. Of these, 810 were
head post-offices, and 10,291 sub-post-offices. The num¬
ber of street and road letter-boxes was 703. The distance
over which mails are daily conveyed within the United
Kingdom is, in the aggregate, 129,480 miles : of which
lection of postage, &c. Of the 23,545, about 2000 were at¬
tached to the chief office in London. Exclusive of the
letter-carriers, they may be classified thus
Post-Office of Great Britain.—Staff of Chief Office, 1858.1
No. of Persons. ^
Railway department of mail-office,  0,° Persons'
1 superintending clerk ; 60 clerks  gl
Solicitor’s office,—
1 solicitor; 4 clerks ; 1 inspector-general  g
Medical department  £
Receiver and accountant-general’s office 
1 receiver-general; 1 chief examiner; 1 cashier; 1 book¬
keeper; 48 clerks    ^
Money-order office,—
1 comptroller ; 1 chief clerk; 149 clerks  151
Circulation department,—
2 comptrollers ; 10 deputy do.; 219 clerks; 1 inspector-
general of letter-carriers ; 35 inspectors; 3 officers in
charge of Indian mails; 1 surveyor; 3 surveyor’s clerks 274
distance, 30,172 miles are performed by railway, at an aver¬
age charge of 9£d. per mile; 32,997 by coach, omnibus,
or mail-cart, at an average of 2^d.; 63,432 on foot, at an
average of 1^-d.; and 2879 miles by packet and boat, at
maximum charges varying from 5s. 6Jd. in England, to 54d.
in Ireland, per mile. The details are thus stated:—
Post-Office of Great Britain—Conveyance of Mails, 1857 {Inland Service).2
Countries.
England.
Ireland..
Scotland.
United Kingdom.
Mails Conveyed by Rail¬
ways.
No. of Miles
per Week-day.
23,620
2,850
3,702
30,172
Average
Charge
per Mile.
0s. 8£d,
Is. 4d,
0s. 10’d,
0s. 9}d
Mails Conveyed by Coaches,
No. of Miles
per Week-day.
19,097
8,603
5,297
32,997
Average
Charge
per Mile.
2Jd-
2d.
24d.
2*d.
Mails Conveyed on Foot.
No. of Miles,
per Week-day.
46,643
6,721
10,068
63,432
Average
Charge
per Mile.
Hd.
Id.
Hd.
lid.
Inland Mails Conveyed by
Packets and Boats.
No. of Miles
per Week-day.
1451
52
1376
2879
The post-office expenditure for 1857 was as follows : 
Post- Office of Great Britain.—Expenditure, 1857.
Maximum
Charge.
5s. 6£d.
0s. 5id.
Is. Ifd.
5s. 64d.
Minimum
Charge.
id.
Jd.
id.
Heads of Service.
1. Salaries, pensions, &c 
2. Hereditary pensions by statute 
3. Buildings 
4. Conveyance of mails—
By railways L.422,943
By coaches, &c  167,823
By mail packets and
private ships  12,298
5. Manufacture of postage stamps, &c
6. Rents, taxes, clothing expenses,
law expenses, and miscella¬
neous expenses 
Amount
in 1857.
L.
948,573
1,573
29,367
603,064
28,566
109,672
1,720,815
Amount
in 1856.
L.
909,094
29,310
33,330
553,509
26,164
108,822
1,660,2293
The fifth item in this abstract—“ Manufacture of postage
stamps”—has been of late years reduced (relatively to the
number consumed), and the process much improved, by the
perforating machine invented by Mr Henry Archer, and
purchased of him for the public, in pursuance of the re¬
commendation of a select committee of the House of Com¬
mons which sat in 1852. That committee reported its
inability to decide on the conflicting evidence which had
been offered to it, “ as to the greater or less security
against forgery afforded by copper-plate engraving than by
surface printing; but it adopted the opinion which had
been previously expressed by the Commissioners of Inland
Revenue, “ that the application of the perforating machine
would afford additional security against forgery, inasmuch
as the accurate perforation of counterfeit sheets would be a
work of great difficulty, and sheets not accurately perfo¬
rated would at once excite suspicion if offered for sale.”4
The item “ Salaries and pensions” is necessarily, and
wisely, an increasing one. As respects a large proportion
1 Jrt *■*>« (1858), p. 15. 2 Fourth Report, ut supra, !5.
Report from Select Committee on Postage Label Stamps (1852), iv.
416
POST-OFFICE.
British of the staff, there is an annual increment of salary, and an
Post-Office, annual expenditure in defraying the cost of substitutes
during the absence of the officers on their regular holiday,
or on account of ill health. On this recently-established
practice of annual vacations there is an instructive passage
in a report addressed in 1857 to the postmaster-general
by Mr Bokenham, comptroller of the circulation depart¬
ment :—“ The attendance of the clerks during the year,”
writes this officer, “ has been good, and an improvement
has shown itself in their general health. This is highly
satisfactory, and the decreased amount of absence from
illness may, I think, greatly be traced to the good effects
the annual holiday has produced upon them, in the tem¬
porary relaxation which it gives from their labours. 1 he
Saturday half-holiday, too, has not been without its in¬
fluence. The duty certainly has not suffered by the
establishment of that measure. Both for the ordinary
business of the week, and for any extra work that has re¬
quired to be done (and in the district branch the pressure
has been very great), the officers have cheerfully attended
beyond the regular official hours, in order that no arrears
might accrue. The privileges are felt to be most valuable,
and every effort will be made by the officers to retain
them.”
Railway No improvement of detail has tended more importantly
post-offices, to accelerate the delivery of letters than has the establish¬
ment of “ railway post-offices,”—now a familiar sight, al¬
though still a subject of public curiosity as to their methods
of working. By Mr Ramsay’s ingenious apparatus, fetter-
bags are dropped into a net attached to the official carriage,
without checking the speed of the train, and their contents
are rapidly assorted into the range of boxes or “ pigeon¬
holes” appropriated to the respective towns on the line,
and thence into the proper bags, which in many cases are
left, as they were received, whilst the train continues at
full speed. Plans for sorting letters on board ship were
lon<r impeded by technical difficulties; but in 1857 these British
were surmounted, and the object was successfully attained Post-Offi®
in the packets which convey the Australian mails between v-»-
Alexandria and Southampton. It has since been adopted
in other lines of packets, and will doubtless become general.
By the new arrangements for sorting letters on their Accelera-
journey, and by other improvements in postal economy tion of
still more recent, a remarkable acceleration has taken place P08^1 de ¬
in the deliveries in almost all parts of the kingdom, as wellliverie8'
as in London. The extent of this acceleration in the me¬
tropolis will be briefly and strikingly shown by the follow¬
ing percentage table:—
Post- Office of Great Britain—Acceleration of Metropo¬
litan First Morning Delivery, 1856-58.
Delivery completed
A.M.
At (or before) 9.0
Between 9.0 and 9.15
9.15
9.30
9.45
10.0
10.15
9.30
9.45
10.0
10.15
11.0
First Six
Weeks of
1856.
(Delivery
commenced
7.55 a.m.)
Per Cent.
5
14
25
23
16
8
9
100
First Six
Weeks of
1857.
(Delivery
commenced
7.28 A.M.)
Per Cent.
65
18
10
5
2
100
First Six
Weeks of
1858.
(Delivery
commenced
7.4 A.M.)
Per Cent.
93
6
1
100
The cities and towns of the United Kingdom which
yield a postal revenue next in importance to that of the
English metropolis are Liverpool, Manchester, Glasgow,
Dublin, Edinburgh, Birmingham, and Bristol. The de¬
tails in the years 1856 and 1857 were respectively as fol¬
lows. The staff and local expenses are those of 1854:—
Post-Office of Great Britain.—Local Statistics, 1856-57.
Cities and Towns.
1. London (1857).
2. Liverpool 
3. Manchester 
4. Glasgow 
5. Dublin  
6. Edinburgh 
7. Birmingham....
8. Bristol 
Population in
1851.
2,362,336
375,955
316,213
329,097
258,361
160,302
232,841
137,828
No. of Clerks,
Receivers, &c.
No. of Letter-
Carriers.
3200
149
160
123
124
82
90
117
82
123
134
109
74
64
53
Local Ex¬
penses.
L.14,029
12,765
10,096
19,930
11,043
7,364
6,158
Postal Revenue.
1856.
L.834,927
100,379
85,301
63,441
55,103
56,270
38,849
29,967
1857.
L.833,952
104,865
89,765
68,877
60,391
59,177
42,107
31,264
The metro¬
politan of¬
fices of
Scotland
and Ire¬
land.
During the inquiry into the organization of the post-
office which was instituted by the Treasury in 1854, a
proposition was brought under consideration for discon¬
tinuing the metropolitan offices at Edinburgh and Dublin,
and placing the Scottish and Irish business immediately
under the central office. But it was clearly established, on
careful investigation, that the proposed change was an unde¬
sirable one, for tliese reasons amongst others:—(1.) The
management of remittances and accounts requires that re¬
ceivers should be stationed in Edinburgh and in Dublin
respectively; (2.) A dead-letter office is requisite in those
capitals, inasmuch as the delay of transmission to London
and the probable deficiency of local knowledge at the
chief office would be alike prejudicial to the public service.
(3.) The existing plan admits of the settlement of many
questions arising in the ordinary course of business more
expeditiously, and therefore more satisfactorily, than could
be effected in London.1
On the general question of appointments in the ser¬
vice of the post-office, the Treasury committee of 1854 Rules as t(j
reported its opinion “ that the postmaster-general should appoint-
lay down strict rules for the examination of all candidates
for admission, either into the class of clerks, or into that 0fl}Ce^Ser.
of sorters and letter-carriers, in order to test their capa- vice>
city; .... that the limits of age for admission should
be seventeen and twenty-three, in the case of all candidates
for letter-carrierships, sorterships, or clerkships, who have
not previously been in the service of the department; ” and
that “a medical examination should also take place in
order to ascertain that the candidate has no physical or men¬
tal defect or disease which is likely to incapacitate him for the
public service.” They also proposed that the appointment
of local postmasters should be transferred from the Treasury
to the postmaster-general. Many other changes and re¬
arrangements were recommended, which it is not needful
here to notice.
Most of the recommendations of the committee received
the approval both of the Lords of the Treasury and of the
1 Report [to the Treasury] upon the Post-Office (ft54), pp. 33-35.
I
POST-OFFICE.
British postmaster-general, and have been carried into effect. But,
Post Office, on the proposed limit of age for admission to the service of
letter-carriers and sorters, the Treasury minute observed that
Treasury it was too low :—“ My lords advert first to the trustworthy
minute on character of the duty, requiring, at least, considerable steadi-
^ ™Port ness of character and habits, which may not be easily secured
0 ’ at so early an age ; and they also advert to the fact, that the
limit of age for admission into other parts of the public ser¬
vice for which the officers are drawn from similar classes of
society, and where the duties are not of a character re¬
quiring so much trust, extends to the age of thirty. My
lords are therefore of opinion that it is desirable that a
latitude should be given to the postmaster-general in the
selection of this class of officers up to the age of twenty-seven.
“ The only other point in the report,” continues the
minute, “ which my lords desire to modify is that which
proposes to transfer the appointment of local postmasters
from this board to the postmaster-general. My lords en¬
tirely concur with the committee that it would be beneficial
to the public service, and advantageous to the post-office
department, that the postmaster-general should have an op¬
portunity of rewarding meritorious servants by promoting
postmasters to more important towns where vacancies oc¬
cur, and by appointing deserving officers in country post-
offices, as well as in the chief office in London, to the charge
of local post-offices. But it appears to my lords that this
principle can only be applied with advantage to a class of
post-offices where, from their importance and the amount
of the emolument, the office is held as a separate and distinct
employment, and that it would be inapplicable in all cases
where the post-office is held in conjunction with a private
business or profession, in which case it is obviously neces¬
sary that the appointment must be conferred upon a local
person. In the latter cases, my lords are of opinion that it
is for the public interest that the appointments should con¬
tinue to be made as at present, after consulting, through
the recommendation of the member for the county or town,
the convenience and wishes of the population.” For these
reasons it was decided that the Treasury should continue
to appoint provincial postmasters in places where the nett
income shall not exceed L.175 a year, and that in all other
cases the appointment shall lie with the postmaster-general.
The existing rates of postage and public regulations of
the department stand thus (February 1859):—
1. All inland letters must be paid in advance by postage stamps, as
follows:—For a letter weighing not more than £ oz.. Id.; more
than £ oz., but not exceeding 1 oz., 2d.; more than 1 oz., but not
exceeding 2 oz., 4d.; more than 2 oz., but not exceeding 3 oz., 6d.;
and so on, 2d. being charged for every additional ounce. Inland
letters which are posted wholly without stamps are returned to the
writers. This compulsory regulation came first into operation on
the 10th February 1859.
2. If insufficiently stamped, the deficient postage is charged with
an additional rate of one penny. Thus, an inland letter, weighing
more than half an ounce, but not more than an ounce, and bearing
a single stamp, is charged twopence. But in the case of letters
which have to be re-directed, the unpaid additional postage is charged
at the ordinary rate. Unless three-quarters at least of the postage
of a letter exceeding four oz. be prepaid, the letter is not forwarded.
3. Petitions and addresses to her Majesty, forwarded direct are
exempt from postage; and such petitions and addresses, as’also
petitions to either House of Parliament, if sent to a member of
either house, are also exempt, provided they do not weigh more
than 2 lb., and are without covers, or in covers open at the sides or
at the ends.
4. AW periodical publications, including newspapers, published in
. the United Kingdom, at intervals not exceeding thirty-one days,
nudicals. and which bear an impressed stamp denoting stamp-duty of the
value of Id. at least, may be transmitted and re-transmitted
through the post free of postage ; but the stamp must be exposed
to view; the cover must be open at the ends; it must contain no
417
Existing
■ates of
lostage.
etitions.
ewspa-
!rs and
inclos.ure or writing of any kind; and, in case of a second trans- British
mission, the previous address, if written on the paper, must be cut Post-Office
off. For transmission abroad newspapers must be registered at the i /
post-office, and the postage must be prepaid in postage stamps • the ^ v ^
impressed stamp counts for nothing beyond the British Isles. ’
5. Parliamentary papers, open at the ends, are carried within Parliamen-
the United Kingdom at the rate of Id. for every 4 oz. or fractional tary papers
part thereof, whether prepaid or not; but they must be marked
“ parliamentary proceedings ” on the cover.
6. Book packets, open at the ends or sides, are charged at the Book¬
like rate of Id. for 4 oz., and 2d. not exceeding 8 oz.; but the nackets
rate proceeds by half-pounds, 2d. being charged for 8 oz.,
or fractional part of 8 oz. A book packet may contain any
number of separate books or other publications (including jarmfeci
letters and printed matter of every kind), prints, or maps, and any
quantity of paper, parchment, or vellum. And the books, &c., may
be either printed, written, or plain, or any mixture of the three.
All legitimate mounting, binding, or covering, is allowed, as also
rollers in the case of prints or maps ; but no book packet may con¬
tain any letter or communication in the nature of a letter otherwise
than wholly in print, nor anything which is sealed or otherwise
closed against inspection, nor must it exceed 2 feet in length, width,
or depth.
7. Registration of inland letters or book packets may be made by Registra-
the prepayment in stamps of a fee of 6d., in addition to the ordi- ^
nary postage. Such registration makes it practicable to trace a
letter from receipt to delivery. A receipt must be obtained by the
sender at the post-office window, and a receipt is required from the
receiver by the letter-carrier on delivery.
It is held by the post-office authorities that even registra- Responsi-
tion does not render the postmaster-general responsible to bilityofthe
the sender, but leaves intact the old legal doctrine, that post-office,
the responsibilities of common carriers do not extend to
postmasters, as was decided in the case of Lane v. Cotton.
I he post-office establishment is regarded as a branch of the
public police, created by statute, and controlled by the go¬
vernment. Postmasters enter into no contract with indivi¬
duals, and receive no hire, like common carriers, in propor¬
tion to the risk and value of the letters under their charge,
but only a general compensation from government. The
same doctrine was asserted in the case of Whitfield v. Lord
Le Despencer, which was an action to recover the value
of a bank-note stolen by one of the sorters out of a letter in
the post-office. But a deputy-postmaster is answerable in
a private suit for individual acts of misconduct or negli¬
gence, as for wrongfully detaining a letter an unreasonable
time. And all subordinate officers are responsible to the
postmaster-general, who may require them to make good to
the sufferers any loss sustained through their neglect or
breach of duty.1 2 3 4
8. Parliamentary notices may be forwarded by post if posted at Purliamen-
such offices as transact money-order business. The postage and the tary notices
registration fee of 6d. on each must be prepaid either in money or
stamps. The words “ parliamentary notice ” must appear legibly
on each, and with them must be presented lists in duplicate to be
examined at the post-office window.
9. For Colonial letters, fid. the half-ounce. This rate now extends Colonial
to every British colony or dependency. To the following places pre- letters,
payment is optional:—Bermuda, Canada, Cape Coast Castle, Cape
of Good Hope, Ceylon, Gold Coast, Ionian Islands (at an advanced
rate), Kew Brunswick, Newfoundland, Nova Scotia, Prince Edward
Island, Sierra Leone. To all others it is compulsory.
10. For Foreign letters the rates are too numerous for much de- Foreign
tail. To France the rate is 4d. per quarter-oxmc,e, if prepaid; letters,
double, if not prepaid. To Belgium, to most parts of Germany
via Belgium, to Holland, 8d. per A«Z/-ounce; to Sardinia via
France, and to Spain, fid. per quarter-ounce; to the Papal States,
to Greece, and to Naples, lid. per quarter-ounce; to the United
States, Is. the half-ounce, and so on.
11. To Belgium, France, Algeria, to Prussia via France, and to Foreign
the French offices in Turkey, Syria, and Egypt, registered news- newspapers
papers are conveyed at the rate of Id. for 4 oz., 2d. for 8 oz., and book-
and 2d. for every additional 8 oz., or fractional part thereof, packets.
Other printed papers are 3d. for 4 oz., fid. for 8 oz., and fid.
for every additional 8 oz., and so on. Prepayment is compul¬
sory. To Sardinia, Spain, the Balearic and Canary Islands, the
1 See the cases Lane v. Cotton in Lord Raymond’s Reports, i. 646; Whitfield v. Lord Le Despencer in Cowper’s Reports, 754; and
Browning v. Goodchild, in Wilson’s Reports, iii. 443. r r > > ”■
VOL. XVIII. 3 G
418
POST-OFFICE.
Colonial
book-
packets.
Registra¬
tion of co
lonial and
packets.
British rates for registered newspapers are double the above. To Tuscany,
Post Office Parma, Modena, and the Austrian dominions, they are quadrup ,
Post-Office. Ea, ^ ^ 4 ^^ ^ 8d_ for every g oz or fractmnal part
thereof. Book packets are—to Sardinia, &c.,—4d. for 4 oz., 8d.
8 oz., and the like for every additional 8 oz. But no pack
of books or newspapers can be sent to the Austrian dominions na
Sardinia, if it weigh more than 1 lb. . , .
12. The term “ printed papers,” as applied to ^ore.1g” coun ’
includes parliamentary proceedings, books of all kin s (w le
printed, engraved, or lithographed), sheets of music prints, maps
and every thing necessary for the safe transmission of such, but
must contain no writing of any sort, except in t ®®inge^ f
transmission to Sardinia, where writing, not of the nature o
letter is permitted, as in the United Kingdom ; and no packet must
exceed 18 inches in length, width or depth, unless it be uddressed
either to Sardinia, Spain, Balearic or Canary Islands, Tuscany
Parma Modena, or the Austrian dominions, in which countries the
limit is 24 inches. But bound books cannot be sent to Spain or the
Balearic or Canary Islands; neither can prints, music maps nor
drawings,* unless they form part of a book. The United States have
not ye/attained a book-packet rate, except for periodicals under 16
oz. weight, at Id. for 2 oz., 6d. for 3 oz., and 2d. for every
additional ounce. Pamphlets under 8 oz. may be sent at the
SaTs.^Colonial book packets may be transmitted at the rate of 3d.
for every 4 oz. Newspapers are Id. each. Newspapers for
India weighing above 4 oz., and not exceeding 8 oz., are
chargeable with two single rates ; above 8 oz., and not exceeding
21 oz., with three single rates. The book post to and from India
and New South Wales is limited to packets not exceeding 3 lb. in
weight; any packet weighing more than 3 lb. is liable to the letter
rate” In all other respects the regulations were assimilated in 185/
to those of the inland book post. . .
14. By the prepayment of the ordinary postage and the British
registration fee of 6d., letters, newspapers, and book packets can be
lomai ana registered, irrespective of weight, between this country and the
foreien let- British West Indies, British North America, Sierra Leone, Gola
ters and Coast, St Helena, Cape of Good Hope, Natal, Mauritius, South Aus¬
tralia, Western Australia, Malta, Gibraltar, and Ceylon. Letters
may on the same terms be registered to Belgium, Luxemburg,
Holland, and countries through Holland, Sardinia, Spain, the Ba¬
learic or Canary Islands, the United States, Alexandria, Suez,
India, and Liberia. By the prepayment of a fee of 9d., in addition
to the usual postage, letters, &c., irrespective of weight, may be re¬
gistered to Prussia, and to countries to which correspondence is
usually sent through Belgium. In like manner, for a fee of lid.,
letters, &c., may be registered to Tuscany, Parma, Modena, and
Venetian Lombardy ; and for double postage, letters may be regis¬
tered to France, and to countries, the correspondence of which is,
as a rule, sent through France, and can be paid to destination.
Returned 15• When letters, &c., remain undelivered, owing to the resi-
or “ dead” dences of the persons to whom they are addressed being unknown,
letters. a list of the addresses is exhibited in the window of the post-office
to which they have been sent during one week. “ Refused ” letters
are sent as soon as possible to the “ returned letter office,” as are
all letters intended for ships which have sailed before their arrival.
When the reason is “ not known,” or “ gone away,” the letter is
retained by the provincial postmaster, for a period not exceeding
fourteen days, before being sent to the “ returned letter office ; ”
and when the reason is “ not called for ” (the letter being addressed
to a post-office), the letter is retained for a month. Undelivered
letters from the country to London are retained for three days in
the “ letter-carriers office,” and then sent to the “ returned letter
office,” whither London district letters go on the second day after
the unsuccessful attempt to deliver them. All inland letters which
contain the name and address of the senders are returned to them
on the day of their receipt at the “ returned letter office.” Colonial
and foreign letters are returned in periods which vary from one
month to two months. Letters which contain no address of the
sender are destroyed, unless they contain money or other articles of
value.
[The number of letters so returned to the writers during 1857
was about 1,700,000, as against 1,581,000 in 1856. The number of
newspapers which could not be delivered during 1857 was about
580,000.1]
Re-directed Redirected letters are usually chargeable with additional post¬
letters. aSe tke prepaid rate, unless they be re-directed by an officer or
servant of the post-office, and be so re-directed to a place within the
district of the same head-office. A registered letter, when re¬
directed is subjected to the ordinary rate.
Money or¬
der busi-
17. Application forms for money-orders may be obtained at the United
rate of ten for a penny. The commission is 3d. on an order not States
exceeding L.2 ; 6d. above L.2. No order is granted for more than Post-Office.
L 5. Unless the remitter shall notify, in writing, that the order is
to be paid through a bank, the person applying for it at the office
must furnish the surname, and at least the initial of one Christian
name, both of remitter and of payee, together with the remitter’s
addre’ss. Applicants for money-orders are cautioned not to trans -
mit the information required on payment in the same letter with
the order. After once paying an order, by whomsoever presented,
the office is no longer liable. Presentation must be made before
the end of the second calendar month after the month of issue. If
made later, a new order and new commission are required. If not
paid before the end of the twelfth calendar month after issue, all
claim to the money will be lost.
18. Penalties of L.5 for conveying any letter otherwise than by Penalties
post, and of L.100 for every week during which the practice of such for offences
conveyance is continued, are enacted by 1 Viet., c. 36, sec. 2. The against
sender also incurs a penalty of L.5 for every letter, with full costs post-office
of suit. The exceptions (by 1 Viet., c. 34) are these:—(1.) Letters acts.
by a private friend; (2.) Letters by an express messenger on the
personal affairs either of sender or of receiver, and proceedings of
courts of law; (3.) Letters sent out of the United Kingdom by
private ships; (4.) Letters of merchants and of owners of vessels
or cargo, sent by such vessels without reward or profit for such
conveyance ; (5.) Letters expressly relating to and accompanying
merchandise sent by common carriers. Provided always that no
collection be made of any such excepted letters.
19. The following persons are expressly forbidden to carry let¬
ters, either with or without hire or reward :—(1.) Common car¬
riers, except as above ; (2.) Owners or commanders of ships, except
as above ; (3.) Passengers, or other persons on board ships or other
vessels; (4.) Owners of, or any persons whatsoever conveyed by,
any ship or boat passing on a river or navigable canal, within the
United Kingdom.
III. HISTORY AND MECHANISM OF THE POST-OFFICE OF
THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.
Benjamin Franklin was the first postmaster-general of
the United States, but he very soon vacated the office on
being appointed ambassador to France. From November
1776 to November 1858, the office has been held by nine¬
teen persons.
From 1776 to 1816 the rates of postage varied from 7
to 33 cents (3^d. to Is. 4d.) according to distance: re¬
ductions of slight extent were made in 1816, and again in
1845. In 1851 Congress established the following rates :—
For “drop” or local letters, 1 cent (^d.) ; letters not exceed¬
ing oz., for any distance not exceeding 3000 miles, 3 cents
(Hd.), if prepaid; five cents (2£d.), if not prepaid; and
double those rates for letters of like weight if conveyed
more than 3000 miles. The existing law, enacted in 1855,
and carried into full effect on the 1st of January 1856, fixed
the rates at ^d. for local letters, 1 |d. for single letters if
under 3000 miles, 5d. if above 3000 miles ; made prepay¬
ment compulsory ; and directed that unpaid letters should
be stopped and sent to the “Dead-Letter Office.” It
was further enacted, that from the date last named the
prepayment should be by stamps. By another law of
March 1856, prepayment was extended to printed matter.
Under this compulsory system upwards of a million
of unpaid letters were detained, not returned to the
writers as in this country, — and sent to Washington,
where they were destroyed. The same practice is pur¬
sued with respect to all letters refused or undelivered,
from whatever cause. It leads, according to the testi¬
mony of the able historian of the American post-office, Mr
Pliny Miles, to the destruction of about 4,000,000 of letters
annually.
On the same authority (but in a much abridged form), the
statistics of the American postal system for the last seventy
years may be stated thus :—
Fourth Report, ut supra, 18.
POST-OPEICE.
419
United
States
Post-Otlice.
Statistics
of Ameri¬
can post-
office.
Post-Office of the United States.—Statistics, 1790-1856.
Year.
1790
1795
1800
1805
1810
1815
1820
1825
1830
1835
1840
1845
1850
1855
1856
No. of
Post-
Offices.
75
453
903
1,558
2,300
3,000
4,500
5,677
8,450
10,770
13,468
14,183
18,417
24,410
25,565
Miles of
PostKoad.
1,875
13,207
20,817
31,076
36,406
48,966
72,492
94,052
115,176
112,774
155,739
143,940
178,672
227,908
239,642
No. of
Letters.
265,545
1,124,340
1,965,628
2,949,651
3.861,788
7,301,455
8,895,415
10,016,488
13,804,664
26,942,013
40,891,698
39,958,978
69.426,452
126,723,425
131,450,409
Expenses
of Convey
ance.
L.
4,416
15,071
25,728
47,927
65,593
97,555
145,685
157,129
254.801
343.801
642,608
579,726
619,194
,215,267
,353,127
Total
Expenses.
L.
6,428
23,578
42,798
75,473
99,193
149,624
231,185
241,316
386,541
551,470
943,547
864,146
1,042,590
1,993,668
2,081,573
Revenue.
L.
7,587
32,124
56,160
84,274
110,366
208,613
222,385
250,412
370,116
598,711
908,704
887,968
1,110,594
1,577,035
1,524,1641
The total number of mail routes on the 30th June 1856
was 7972, and the number of contractors 6372. The a<r- United
giegate length of routes, and annual amount of transnorta- States
tion stood thus1 Post-Office,
Post-Office of the United States.—Statistics of Transit
June 1856.
Mode of Transit.
By steamboat  
By railway 
By coach 
By other methods of transit...
Totals.
Length of
Routes.
Miles.
14,951
20,323
50,453
153,915
239,642
Annual
Transportation.
4,240,170
21,809,296
19,114,991
26,143,440
71,307,897
Cost per
Mile.
lOd.
5id.
3£d.
2*d.
The income and expenditure of the post-office of the
United States, during each of the years 1855 and 1856,
were respectively as follows :—
Post-Office of the United States.—Income and Expenditure, 1855-56.
Headings of Expenditure.
Salaries and wages 
Conveyance of mails  
Miscellaneous expenses, includ¬
ing packet service, and ba¬
lances due to foreign offices...
Total.
1855.
L.
596,253
1,215,267
197,479
2,008,999
1856.
L.
604,777
1,353,128
123,668
2,081,573
Income.
Gross Income
Deficiency to be provided for 1
by votes of Congress J
Total.
L.
1,482,366
526,633
2,008,999
1856.
L.
1,524,164
557,409
2,081,573
Causes of
the defi¬
ciency of
income to
meet ex¬
penditure
in United
States
post-office.
An annual deficiency of half a million is a result so strik¬
ingly in contrast with British postal experience, that it may
well claim some elucidation. Its true causes, and the lesson
they convey, have been brought saliently before the Ame¬
rican public by the indefatigable advocate of Transatlantic
post-office reform, Mr Pliny Miles. On one important
point, his views and those expressed in the report of
the postmaster-general (then Mr James Campbell) for
the year 1856 are in harmony. Both agree in condem¬
ning the extent to which the franking privilege is carried
in the United States. Both recommend its abolition.
On most other points of postal affairs they are greatly at
variance.
Mr Campbell’s report, after referring to previous ex¬
pressions of his official disapproval of the continuous in¬
crease of franking, proceeds thus:—“ The experience of
the last year has satisfied me more fully that this privilege
should be speedily abolished. For months during this
year free matter by the ton passed through the mails into
every part of the United States, interfering greatly with
the regular transmission of the correspondence of the coun¬
try. When this free matter passes from the railroad, it is
almost impracticable to forward it by the ordinary convey¬
ances. I he evil is yearly increasing, detracting largely
from the revenues of the department, and impairing its
efficiency. . . . “ The reduced rates of postage having
largely reduced the revenue, it has not been possible to con¬
fine the expenditures of the department within its income,
and the postmaster-general has been compelled to apply
to Congress annually to appropriate the deficiency from
the general treasury. These causes have removed in
effect the salutary restraints imposed by the act of 1836, and
left the head of this department in a great degree uncon¬
trolled in his expenditures. This state of things should not
continue. The laws should be so framed as to produce a
sufficient amount of revenue to defray all proper expendi¬
tures. If my views regarding the abolition of the franking-
privilege ... be not adopted2 [be adopted ?] by Congress,
I would recommend the passage of a law enabling the de¬
partment to charge the ordinary rates of postage on letters
and printed matter which now pass free through the mails.
If, in addition to this, the clause in the act of the 30th of
August 1852, allowing a deduction of 50 per cent, on news¬
papers and periodicals, when paid quarterly or yearly in
advance, be abolished, as recommended in my last two
annual reports, and the department be relieved from the
expense of ocean mail-steamships and isthmus service, it
would, with a proper economy, soon sustain itself.”3
In 1854 there was laid before the Post-Office Committee
of the House of Representatives a report from the post¬
master of Washington of the weight of the letters, news¬
papers, and official documents posted in that city, under
franks, within one ordinary month,—that of January 1854.
It ran thus:—
Nature of Matter transmitted.
Weight in
One Month,
Amount of Postage,
if charged at
usual rates.
Letters from members of Congress...
Documents from do. do 
Letters from departments of State ...
Newspapers  
lb.
3,446
693,508
7,065
111,002
Total for one month.
815,021
L. s. d.
932 16 0
22,192 4 0
1,356 8 0
2,220 0 0
26,701 8 0
According to this return, the franked matter transmitted
1 Miles, “ History of the Post-Office of America,” Bankers’ Magazine, ut supra, 363, 364.
So the passage reads as printed in the official document.
Dec^^Vn^6 P°Stmaster~General °fthe United States, Dec. 1, 1856, printed in the documents appended to
President’s Message of
420
POST-OFFICE.
United outwards, from Washington alone, would amount in a year
States t0 about 5000 tons, and its postage, at ordinary prepaid
Post-Office. rates> to upwards of L.320,000. Taking this as a datum,
the postage of the whole of the matter so transmitted
throughout the Union cannot be fairly estimated at less
than L.500,000 a year on the average. The amount ac¬
tually appropriated by Congress to cover this expenditure
has, during the last ten years over which the official reports
extend, averaged but L.l 12,535. If to this fact it be added
that the entire influence of the post-office functionaries at
Washington has been exerted for seventeen years to keep
up the rates of postage as much as possible, and, when con¬
cessions became inevitable, to make those concessions as
small in extent and as imperfect in their practical work¬
ing as they could be made, further explanation or hypo¬
thesis as to the causes of the annual deficit become quite
needless.
The postal The extent to which the natural development of postal
statistics of correspondence, amongst such a population as that of the
the United American Union, is checked by bad methods and insuffi-
States com-cjen(. faciljtjes, cannot be more strikingly displayed than by
those or contrasting the postal statistics of Great Britain with those
Great Bri- of the United States. Those statistics show that the ratio
tain. of letters annually passing through the post to the total
population of the country is nearly five times as high in
Britain as it is in America; and that the population of
London alone sends by post a greater number of letters
than does the whole population of the Union. The details
of the ten years, 1847-56 inclusive, are as follows :—
British and American Post-Offices.—Comparative
Numbers of Letters, 1847-56.
1847..
1848.,
1849..
1850.,
1851.
1852.
1853.
1854.
1855.
1856.
Total of)
10 years )
London
Local
Letters.
34,630,817
33,672.747
33,960,398
38,887,844
40,585,952
40,403,207
42,816,314
46,191,569
45,844,963
47,894,708
404,885,519
London
Mail
Letters.
43,757,540
45,991,153
45,845,683
44,856,170
47,819,499
51,171,423
54,402,023
57,186,159
59,647,549
64,961,321
Total of
London
Letters.
78,388,357
79,663,900
79,806,081
83,744,014
88,405,451
91,574,630
97,218,337|
103,377,728:
105,492,512'
112,856,029:
515,638,520920,527,039
Total of
Letters in
Great Britain.
322,146,243
328,830,184
337,399,199
347,069,071
360,647,187
379,501,499
410,817,489
443,649,301
456,216,176
478,393,803
Total of
Letters in
U. States.
47,585,757
52,364,819
60,159,862
69,426,452
83,252,735
95,790,524
102,139,148
119,634,418
126,723,425
131,450,409
3,864,670,152 888,527,549
In no particular is the defective character of the Ameri¬
can system more apparent than in its treatment of the local
correspondence of towns. In none does that system con¬
trast more unfavourably with our own. Whilst in Britain
local letters yield a considerable proportion of the nett re¬
venue of the post-office, the larger share of their transmis¬
sion in the United States is left in the hands of private
persons. The law which prohibits the carriage of letters
by individual enterprise between New York and Philadel¬
phia, and punishes it with heavy penalties, permits any
speculator to establish a private post-office in either of these
cities, provided its operations do not extend beyond the
municipal limits. Mr Miles thus describes the operations
of the ‘‘ two that do the largest business” in New York:—
“ One,” he says, “ employs 45 letter-carriers, has over 2000
receiving-boxes where letters can be deposited in various
parts of the city ; and collects and delivers, or deposits in
the city post-office for the mails, from 6000 to 15,000 letters
Gaily. In one day . . . there passed through his hands, he
tells me, in collecting and delivering, 164,000 letters. French
This was the largest day’s work he ever did. Another Post-Offico
tells me he employs 25 letter-carriers, lets 350 boxes in
his private post-office at a rent of four dollars each, and
collects and delivers an average of 10,000 letters a day.
There are three or four other private post-offices ... in
the city.”1 This system is, as might be anticipated, at¬
tended by much irregularity and insecurity. Nor are its
disadvantages in any material degree compensated by the
extensive and provident facilities which mercantile enter¬
prise and competition usually bring in their train. The
greatest cities of the United States are still in arrear of our
second-rate towns, as respects both the number and con-
veniency of receiving-houses and the frequency of letter
deliveries.
In brief, it may be said that the chief deficiencies which Improve-
need to be supplied in the American postal system are ments
these:—(1.) An equitable compensation for the service neede(3.in
rendered to the government and nation in the transmission
of official correspondence and public documents, so regu-^°St
lated as to admit of plain and exact account-keeping, which
is wholly unattainable under the existing system of franks ;
(2.) Low and uniform rates of postage, graduated according
to weight, and by a broad not minute or fractional scale ;
(3.) An ample provision of receiving-houses in the cities
and great towns, more frequent and punctual deliveries, and
abolition of private post-offices ; (4.) A book post, at low
rates and with liberal regulations ; (5.) A money-order sys¬
tem of like character; (6.) A “ returned letter office,” in
place of the present discreditable method of destroying
all correspondence remaining undelivered, from whatever
cause. These improvements once fairly established, there
will be an end of the doleful complaints hitherto reiterated,
year after year, by the postmaster-general, of the inade¬
quacy of the revenue to meet the outgoings; yet rarely, if
ever, suggesting the wisdom of giving extended facilities to
correspondence, were it only by way of experiment.
IV. HISTORY AND MECHANISM OF THE POST-OFFICE OF
FRANCE.
The French postal system dates from the reign of Louis Origin of
XL, who, by an edict of the 19th June 1464, established Frencl1
posting-houses on the great roads of the kingdom, at stages Postal s)’s'
of four French leagues apart, and created a postmaster-
general {conseiller grand-maitre des coureurs de France),
“ to be near the king’s person.” This edict contains minute
regulations as to the passports which every courier was to
be provided with, and establishes a “ register of passports,”
as a department of the newly-created post-office.2 In
France, as elsewhere, the posts were at first intended ex¬
clusively for the royal service, but they were soon rendered
available (under stringent regulations) for private corre¬
spondence. The times of departure and arrival, however,
continued long to depend on the exigencies of the govern¬
mental despatches.
For a century no important change appears to have beer
made in the system. But in 1565 Charles IX. gave to the
postmaster-general large powers with reference to the ap¬
pointment and dismissal of postmasters and their assistants ;
and by subsequent letters-patent precluded the jurisdiction
of the law courts in relation thereto, “ because the estab¬
lishment of the said office of postmaster-general [controlleur-
general des pastes) is a matter which concerns our special
service, and is a dependency of our household, and there¬
fore beyond the knowledge and province of our local officers
cations1 treft°t!iae Ur9ef feceffiO and Practicability, 19 ; Comp. Banker's Magazine, Dec. 1857, N.S., vii. 441. Both publi-
be interposed, Mr Miles’ laboar^nd ^ h 116 Ameri<ian P°st'°®c.e system with great fulness and vigour. Whatever delays may yet
2 Le Ouien de Ea N 3 M?Urrarnd Can scarcely ^ of ultimate success,
ue Vimen de Ha Neufville, Usages des Pestcs, 1730, pp. 59-67.
POST-OFFICE.
French am] magistrates.1 It is obvious, from the repeated issue of
_c<y similar letters-patent at subsequent periods, that there were
^frequent contests on this point between the postmaster-
general and the Parliaments.
^Office*1 Henry IV. issued letters-patent which recite
under ^ t^e Sreat importance and dignity of the office of controlleur-
Uenry 17. general des pastes, “the designation of which,” it is added,
“ we think fit to alter, seeing that the title of ‘ comptroller’
has, since the creation of the said office, been made more
common than it was at that time.” For the future the official
title was to be “general of the posts.” At this period the
office was held by De La Varanne, under whose successor
(by purchase, at the price of 350,000 livres), Pierre D’Al-
meras, the first great improvements in postal arrangements
were gradually introduced. In 1622 he laid down rules
for the departure of the couriers at certain days and hours.
In 1627 he established a tariff for letters. Until that date
it had been the practice for the writers of letters to mark
on the cover the fee which was to be paid by their corre¬
spondents on delivery, a practice which was found to in¬
volve a descending scale of payments. He also established,
at the same date, a rudimentary sort of “ money-order
office,” with the view, as it is stated in the regulation, of
preventing abuses which had grown up by the frequent
“ enclosure of gold, silver, and precious stones in letters
and packets, for the safe carriage of which the senders
claimed to make the office responsible.”3 A system of re¬
gistration of letters sent on the public service was also set
on foot.
It was not until the year 1672 that any settled revenue
accrued to the State from the post-office. The sale of
421
The farm¬
ing of the
post-office   --        r        v.*
revenue in offices had brought occasional sums into the treasury from
16’2- time to time, especially when the function of “ general of
the posts” was suppressed, in order to create three “ super¬
intendents.” With a like view, decrees were repeatedly
issued to restrain all persons other than the officers of the
post from intermeddling with the supply of post horses in
any part of the kingdom, as well as with the transport of
letters. But the troubles of the Fronde had completely
disorganized the service, which, as respects some parts of
the country, may almost be said to have ceased to exist.
In 1672 the postal revenue was let on lease to Lazare Patin,
the first “ farmer-general of the posts of the kingdom.”4
The farming system remained in operation until 1790.
Local postmasterships continued for a long period to be
hereditary. Great improvements of detail in many branches
of the service were introduced by Louvois, who was “ super¬
intendent-general” from 1663 to 1691. From this period
that office was usually held by one of the principal secre¬
taries of State. In 1728 Cardinal de Fleury issued a regu¬
lation which made certain postmasters on one of the great
lines of road that had become notoriously unsafe, specifically
responsible for all losses or depredations occurring to the
mails thereon, a principle which in subsequent years he
extended to other main routes as occasion required. The
rents of the farmers-general were increased from time to
time, as the profits of the office augmented ; but here, as in
so many other departments of the State, some formidable
abuses continued with little check.
The Revolution introduced a new system,—that of ad¬
ministration by a board. The last lease of the farmers-
Organiza-
tion of the
post-office
under Na- general was cancelled bv a decree of the 12th June 1790
poleon rr" ..... .i
The constitution of the governing council, and its subor¬
dinate machinery, were modified by several successive laws ;
but the new plan, whatever its favourable results in other
particulars, appears to have failed to secure a sufficient French
amount of direct and certain responsibility. Towards the Post-Office
close of the Consulate a postmaster-general (directeur-
general des pastes) was again appointed. He became pre¬
sident, ex officio, of the council, which continued to exist as
a consultative body. In substance the organization thus
established still continues. The council consists of the
director and two sub-directors.
The law of France vests in the post-office the exclusive Extent of
right of conveying letters, newspapers, periodical works, postal
packets, and papers of all kinds, not exceeding the weight monoPoly-
of a kilogramme (two pounds), subject to the following
exceptions : 1. Letters or packets sent by one private per¬
son to another, in charge of a domestic servant or express
messenger ; 2. Registers, maps, and plans ; 3. Proceedings
in law-suits; 4. Printed books, not periodical, nor bearing
any writing, nor partaking of the character of a circular or
advertisement; 5. Newspapers or periodical works in col¬
lective packets exceeding 2 lb. in weight; 6. Letters ac¬
companying merchandise to which exclusively they relate,
oi simply authorizing the delivery of merchandise to the
bearer; 7. Papers exclusively relating to the personal busi¬
ness of a carrier. 1 hese, and also the letters referred to
under No. 6, must be open at the ends or sides. Every
infraction of the privilege thus conferred is punishable
by fines, which range, according to the character of the
offence, from L.6 sterling up to L.120.5
In addition to the service of which it has a legal mono¬
poly, the hiench post-office undertakes the conveyance at
special rates of—(1.) Valuable articles of small dimensions
(valeurs cotees) ; 2. Books, prints, and autographs ; 3. Mer¬
cantile prices-current and circulars, &c.; (4.) Visiting-
cards; (5.) Money subscriptions to the legal periodicals, 
Bulletin des Lois, Moniteur des Communes, Bulletin des
Arrets de la Cour de (cassation y (6.) IMoney by orders as
in England, at the rate of two per cent, commission.”6
Until 1847 the general letter-rates were regulated by Rates of
weight and distance, under a law of the loth March 1827. postage in
The rates were, on the average, about two-thirds of the France
English rates for like distances prior to the adoption of the prior to
plan of Mr Rowland Hill. One postage was charged for 1847‘
any weight not exceeding 7£ grammes, or about £ oz.
English, and an additional half-postage for every additional
five grammes, or about oz. English ; so that a letter
weighing an ounce was charged three postages and a half.
Newspapers were charged two centimes (somewhat less than
a farthing) if addressed to a place within the department in
which the paper was published, and double that rate if ad¬
dressed to another department. Other printed papers and
pamphlets were charged at the rate of a halfpenny per sheet
of 400 square inches. Under these rates, the number of Number of
chargeable letters, as nearly as could be ascertained, was in letters, and
the year 1837, 83,348,008; that of newspapers and other amo,jnt of
printed publications was 50,376,029; that of franks was rev'enup>
estimated at 8,760,000.7 The gross receipts (exclusive of^^f1^6
returns) amounted to L.1,615,294, the expenditure to weMu and
L.882,653, the nett revenue to L.732,641. distance.
The details of the expenditure, which included the whole
cost of providing and working the mail-coaches, were as
follows:—
Salaries and wages L.336,610
Conveyance of mails  487,142
Rent, furniture, printing, and incidental expenses 58,901
Total L.882,653
1 Lettres Patentes du Roy Charles IX., printed in Le Quien de La Neufville, ut supra, 86.
4 tv.. •Pia ^eafville, at supra, 121-123. ^ 3 Reglement du Sieur d'Almiras sur le port des Lettres, &?., ibid., 147-149.
7 timi 5 Annuaire des Pastes, 1858, pp. 35-37. 0 JpRi,
* Hill, Report on the French Post-0 fee, addressed to the Chancellor of the Exchequer (1837), 3.
422
POST-OFFICE.
French In August 1848 a decree of the National Assembly al-
Post-Office. tered t]ie scale and method of charge, by enacting that all
mail letters of like weight should pay a uniform rate, irrespec-
French tively of distance. Such letters, if not exceeding a quarter
postal re- 0f an ounce weight, were to be charged twenty centimes
°f (or twopence sterling), and greater weights in prescribed
proportion. This rate was increased in 1850 to twenty-
five centimes (2-Jd.), but reduced to the former amount in
1854, so far as respects prepaid letters ; unpaid letters be¬
ing charged at one rate and a half, or threepence. 1 hese
differential rates continue in force. Local letters pay in
Paris, for any weight not exceeding 15 grammes (about
% oz.), ten centimes, if prepaid ; fifteen, if unpaid, ten cen¬
times being added for every additional 30 grammes, or frac¬
tion thereof. Local letters in the provinces pay the same
rate, whether prepaid or not; the single rate carrying ^in
the towns 15 grammes, but in the rural districts only
grammes. .
The legislation of August 1848, whilst lowering the
letter rates for certain classes of correspondence, had the
effect of cancelling the special tariff for mercantile circulars,
prices-current, &c., which was previously in extensive ope¬
ration. Matter of this sort passed almost entirely away from
the post-office in consequence ; but was brought back by a
new law of June 1856, which established five distinct tariffs
for postal matter, not of the nature of ordinary correspond¬
ence, as follows :—(l.) Newspapers and periodica] works
treating of politics or social economy, which are charged,
for transit within the department in which they are pub¬
lished, at rates varying from 2 centimes (^d.) for any weight
not exceeding 40 grammes (about oz.), up to a franc and
a half (Is. 3d.) for weights ranging between 2 and 3 kilo¬
grammes (4 to 6 lb.), and double those rates beyond the
limits of such departments. (2.) Newspapers (not politi¬
cal), magazines, transactions of societies, and other perio¬
dical works, exclusively devoted to literary, scientific, ar¬
tistic, or industrial subjects, and appearing at intervals
not exceeding three months ; these are carried at rates
nearly identical in amount with the preceding, but be¬
ginning at 1 centime within the department, and 2 cen¬
times beyond it, for weights not exceeding 20 grammes,
and being more minutely graduated on the scale. (3.) Cir- French
culars, catalogues, prices-current, &c., which are charged at Post-Office
a uniform rate, from a centime for 5 grammes or under, up
to 3 francs for packets exceeding 2 and not exceeding 3
kilogrammes. (4.) Papers of business, commerce, and law
proceedings in packets ; these are charged at 50 centimes
for any weight not exceeding 500 grammes (or 1 lb.), with
an additional centime for every additional 10 grammes.
(5.) Announcements of births, marriages, and deaths ; visit¬
ing-cards, circulars, and other like matter, in the form of
letters unsealed, or in wrappers open at the ends or sides ;—
these are carried, separately, at the rate of 5 centimes for
10 grammes within the district in which the post-office
receiving them is situated, and at double that rate be¬
yond such district (arrondissemerit). Registration, whe¬
ther of letters or of packets, entails an extra payment of
20 centimes (2d.); and in the event of the loss of a
registered letter or book-packet, the post-office is bound
to pay to the sender 50 francs, whatever may have been
its contents.
No portion of the postal reform of 1848 has worked
more successfully than has the introduction of postage
stamps. The good precedent set by the British post-office
was of course the immediate cause; but it is curious to
note that the practice had been, in rudimentary form,
established in Paris itself almost two centuries before the
advent of Mr Rowland Hill. In 1653 a master in chan¬
cery (inaitre des requetes), named De Velayer, established
an office close to the law courts, in pursuance of a royal
grant giving him an exclusive privilege so to do, at which
were sold for a penny stamped slips of paper, printed with
the words, “ Port pave le . . . jour du mois de . . . fan
1653.” These slips were folded round the letter or note to
be thrown into the letter-box, the blanks in the super¬
scription being first filled up. The boxes were cleared and
the letters delivered three times daily.1 How long the
practice subsisted does not appear to be known. The suc¬
cess which has attended its re-introduction in 1849 (the
law of August 1848 took effect on the 1st of the following
January) will be strikingly indicated by the following
tables, compiled from official sources:—
Postal sta¬
tistics of
France
from 1847
to 1857.
Post-Office of France, 1847—57.—Number of Stamps Sold, and of Prepaid and Unpaid Letters
Y ears.
No. of Stamps
Sold.
| Total No. of
Prepaid Letters No. of Unpaid
(by Stamps or Letters,
otherwise).
Total No. of
Letters Prepaid
and Unpaid.
Gross
Kevenue.
Expenditure.
Nett Revenue.
L.
L.
L.
1847.
1848.
1849.
1850.
1851.
1852.
1853.
1854.
1855.
1856.
1857.
21,232,665
21,523,175
25,848,113
28,589,540
31,254,226
83,359,350
148,433,000
169,508,750
185,947,200
12,648,000
12,214,040
23,740,200
31,900,000
33,000,000
39,820,000
40,819,240
104,068,650
198,489,450
221,773,024
227,629,710
113,832,000
109,926,360
134,527,800
127,600,000
132,000,000
141,180,000
144,722,760
108,316,350
35,027,550
30,241,849
25,292,232
126,480,000
122,140,400
158,268,000
159,500,000
165,000,000
181,000,000
185,542,000
212,385,000
233,517,000
252,014,873
252,921,942
2,220,653
2,205,839
1,751,452
1,814,999
1,846,143
1,942,063
2,057,043
2,237,826
2,251,698
2,326,801
2,334,618
1,478,222
1,522,496
1,482,921
1,416,316
1,443,017
1,379,984
1,366,768
1,410,354
1,501,802
1,512,120
1,517,502
742,431
683,343
268,531
398,683
403,125
562,078
690,274
827,471
749,895
814,680
817,115
Thus, it will be seen, the number of prepaid letters, re¬
latively to the whole number of letters transmitted, was in
1847 and 1848 but ten per cent. After the adoption of
uniform rates for like weights in 1849, the pre-payment in¬
creased, but only very gradually, until 1854, when the in¬
troduction of the extra charge for unpaid letters, during the
last half of that year, raised the proportion of prepaid letters
from 22 per cent, to 49 per cent., which was further in¬
creased in 1855 (the first whole year of the differential
postage) to 85 per cent. In 1857 the proportions of paid
and unpaid letters became directly the reverse of those
which had obtained ten years previously, the paid being
now 90 per cent, of the whole number.
The next table shows the specific items of which the
gross revenue of the French post-office during the same
period was composed :—
,1,,Qu0(ted’on th® authority of Pelisson, by Pierre Clement, in his Am>rhiation (let Consequences de la Reforme Postale : and by the editor
of the Annuaire des Postes (1858), p. 6. > J
French
Post-Office.
POST-OFFICE.
Post-Office of France, 1847-57.—Sources of the Income.
Sources.
Gross Income in the several Years.
1847.
1. Letters 
2. Newspapers and books 
3. Money-orders 
4. Conveyance of precious metals, &c..
5. Places in the mail-coaches 
6. „ mail-packets 
7. Balances from foreign offices 
8. Miscellaneous receipts 
L.
1,877,005
112,844
33,120
17,190
85.124
44,364
45,986'
5,020!
1848.
L.
1,830,777
161,491
41,556
17,447
64,995
49,776
34,738
4,959
1849.
L.
1,341,089
183,160
46,490
21,557
61,365
58,710
35,857
3,224
1850.
1851.
L.
1,484,280
118,277
46,501
19,842
46,712
52,155
39,361
7,871
L.
1,607,854
42,459
46,581
17,837
36,961
43,150
44,969
6,332
1852.
L.
1,693,050
118,579
47,820
26,202
3,154
51,831
1,627
Total of receipts 2,220,653 2,205,839^,751,452 1,814,999 1,846,143 1,942,063 2,057,043 2,237,826 2,251,698 2,326,801 2,334,618
1853.
1854.
L.
1,787,489
124,468
51,018
2i’,014
2,265
51,529
19.260
L.
1,939,316
144.841
64,128
17,435
2,329
53.595
16,182
1855.
L.
1,909,803
154,559
71,263
ii’,189
324
85,636
18,924
1856.
1857.
I>. L.
,995,117 2,002,298
153,438 165,351
72,781! 68,498
5,969
614
83,675! 83,338
15,8211 14,519
423
French
Post-Office.
Three of the sources of income here indicated have
ceased to exist—the fourth and sixth absolutely, in conse¬
quence of the transfer of the packet service to ordinary
commercial enterprise (aided, however, by an annual grant
or subsidy) ; and the fifth by the almost entire suppression of
the mail-coaches. Allowance being made for these changes,
and for the contingent expenditure, the nett income,
as compared with the outgoings, was, according to the
official reports, 61 per cent, in 1847, and 79 per cent, in
1856.1
The total number of branch-offices, receiving-houses,
and letter-boxes in Paris is 406.—namely, branch-offices
{bureaux d’arrondissement) 10; supplementary offices, 25 ;
receiving-houses and boxes (boites aux lettres), 371; that
of country post-offices is 2374. The total number of de¬
spatches, daily, throughout France, is 3363 ; of which num¬
ber 1054 are conveyed by mail-carts or coaches, 1031 on
horseback, 1162 by letter-carriers on foot, 102 by rail¬
way, and 14 by steam-packets or ships. A hundred and
two travelling post-offices are attached to the various rail¬
ways, and employ 786 post-office functionaries. The
packet service employed in January 1858, 53 steamers,
having an aggregate of 11,000 horse-power, 43 of which
were on the Italian, Algerian, and Eastern lines; 7 on
the Corsican and Sardinian lines; and 3 on the Calais and
Dover line. Ninety-three inspectors and 30 deputy-in¬
spectors are employed in the general superintendence of
the circulation service, which is further provided for by
the appointment of 30 local comptrollers, each presiding
over a district. Early in 1858 an enhanced scale of remu¬
neration was introduced into the more important offices,
with the view of increasing the efficiency of the service.
The entire staff attached to the French post-office numbered
(at the same date) 26,071 persons, and was thus com¬
posed :—
Post-Office of France.—Staff, January 1858.
No. of
... Persons.
Administration generally    315
Collection and distribution of letters in Paris  1 194
llailway service (including travelling post-offices)... l’l38
Country post-offices and agencies  21 585
Agents connected with packet service  57
Postmasters, chiefly employed in the relay service
on the roads 
Total.
26,071 2
The system of official franking on public business still Franked
prevails in France. No regular account of the number or letters-
weight of franked letters is kept, but from time to time
special inquiries on the subject have been instituted by the
post-office authorities. This was the case in 1841, in 1850,
and in 1854, and the results were as follows :—
Post-Office of France.—Franked Letters, 1841,
1850, and 1854.
Year.
No. of Franked
Letters.
Amount of Postage,
if charged at the
ordinary rates.
1841.
1850
1854.
12,263,956
38,810,442
30,919,704
L.
2,034,084
1,692,095
1,654,017
Finally, it may be stated, that the number of letters un- statistics
delivered in due course {tombees en rebut), from various of unde-*
causes, and that of letters containing money, bills of ex- livered
change, or other articles of value, claimed of the post-office letters.
as having miscarried during transit, for the years 1847 to
1857 inclusive, are thus stated in the official reports (we
repeat the total number of letters posted in each year for
the sake of comparison):—
Post-Office of France.— Undelivered and Miscarried Letters?
Year.
Total Number
of Letters
Conveyed.
Number of
Letters Unde¬
livered in due
course.
Number of
Undelivered
Letters even¬
tually Corrected
and Re-issued.
Number of Let¬
ters Claimed as
Lost in Transit.
Number of
Letters so
Claimed Dis¬
covered and
Restored.
Number
Undiscovered.
Proportion of
Letters Claimed
but Undiscover¬
ed, in each
100,000 carried
by Post.
1847
1848
1849
1850
1851
1852
1853
1854
1855
1856
1857
126,480,000
122,140,400
158,268,000
159,500,000
165,000,000
181,000,000
185,542,000
212,385,000
233,517,000
252,014,873
252,921,942
3,706,000
3,987,000
4,351,000
4,363,000
4,059,000
3,836,000
3,106,785
3,261,930
3,349,498
2,867,904
2,734,493
307,512
301,534
315,209
294,631
400,000
389,254
629,309
4602
4483
4573
4627
4747
4659
5049
5531
6188
6767
[5395]4
2982
2837
2151
2857
2458
2249
2763
2866
3236
3111
[2498]
1620
1646
2422
1770
2289
2410
2286
2665
2952
3656
[2897]
1-29
1-34
1-53
1-10
1-38
1-33
1-23
1-25
1-26
1-45
[1-40]
* Annuaire. des Pastes, 1858, p. 13 :—“ Ces deductions etant operees, nous trouvons que le produit net vers6 dans les caisses du Tr6sor,
a et6, comparativement aux depenses; en 1847, de 61 °/0 ; en 1856, de 79 °/0.” 2 Ibid. 28.
8 Annuaire des Pastes, 1858, pp. 17, 32. 4 The figures within brackets apply to nine months of the year only.
424
Compara¬
tive
Statistics.
POST-OFFICE.
It appears from this table that the number of delayed
and undelivered letters, together, has been reduced from
2‘93 per cent., which was the proportion in 1847, and 2‘46
per cent., which was still the proportion in 1851, to 1'8 per
cent., the proportion in 1857; and, further, that whilst in
1851 only 7'57 of these w ere replaced in distribution, after
inquiry, and ultimately delivered, 23 per cent, were so re¬
placed and delivered in 1857. The figures, however, con¬
trast unfavourably with those of the British post-office.
There, in 1856, out of an aggregate number of postal let¬
ters amounting to 478,000,000, the total number of letters
undelivered in due course was but 2,400,000, of which
1.581,000 had to be returned to the writers after failure of
all the attempts which could be made to deliver them. In
1857 the number of returned letters was about 1,700,000,
out of an aggregate of 504,000,000. The French official
tables, moreover, do not discriminate between the letters
returned and those destroyed. Nor do they give any
statistics of undelivered newspapers (which, in Great Bri¬
tain, in 1857, were about 1 in 22 of the whole number).
Equally vain wmuld be any attempt to discover the rules,
methods, or results of the inspection of “ suspicious” corre¬
spondence. The historian of French police under the
monarchy writes of this practice, as it then existed, with
significant brevity :—“ Violation ot the secrecy of letters is
regarded as an ordinary prerogative of government, and Compara-
that pretended prerogative weighs as heavily on the princes tive
nearest to the throne as on the most obscure subject of the Statistics.
realm.”1 There is good reason to believe that these words Vs—
have still as much applicability and force as they ever had;
but the whole matter remains one of inferential deduction.
Precise evidence is at present out of reach.
V. COMPARATIVE STATISTICS OF THE PRINCIPAL POST-
OFFICES OF THE WORLD.
One of the chief difficulties which lie at the threshold of
comparative postal statistics on a comprehensive scale
arises from the fact, that nearly all the continental post-
offices are concerned with the transport of passengers as
well as of letters. This difficulty, however, does not affect
all the points of comparison, even as between the conti¬
nental systems and those of Britain and America, nor does
it in any degree diminish the value of the comparison be¬
tween the working expenses and revenue of the same office
at different periods. We give, therefore, the best approxi¬
mation to such a synopsis which is at present attainable,
taking as a foundation the results of the elaborate inquiries of
Mr Pliny Mdes, contributed to the New York Bankers’ Ma¬
gazines November 1857, but with needful variations:—
Comparative Statistics of various Postal Systems.
Country.
Austria 
Baden  
Bavaria 
Belgium 
Brazil 
Brunswick ....
Denmark  
France 
Great Britain
Hamburg 
Hanover 
Holland 
Oldenburg  
Peru 
Portugal 
Prussia 
Russia 
Sardinia  
Saxony  
Spain 
Sweden 
Switzerland...
Tuscany 
United States
Wurtemburg ..
Ordinary
Amount of
Postage for
Single
Letters.
Pence.
IJ to 3f
14 to 3$
14 to 24
1 to 2
If
f to H
1
1 to 2
1
14 to 3f
H
1 to 3
14 to 14
3d. to 2s.
14
14 to 3|
4 to 24
24
1 to5
4 to 14
14
4 to 5
4 to 2
No. of
Letter
Rates.
1841
1841
1842
1848
1842
1848
1841
1847
1840
1851
1849
1849
1851
1843
1842
1850
1849
1844
1839
1850
1839
1840
Gross Revenue.
L.
702,680
91,714
70,834
138,619
10,196
17,749
79,556
2,220,653
1,359,466
7,946
35,762
112,547
12,526
1,123,026
665,549
125.116
117^756
254,200
52,000
207,146
30,595
908,704
Expenses.
L.
417,269
69,314
60,612
16,481
12,863
54,204
1,478,222
858,677
3,307
12,470
39,927
10,910
895,844
261,988
67,038
79,637
152,600
45,300
177,226
15,919
943,647
Ypar.
1852
1852
1853
1852
1851
1852
1852
1856
1856
1852
1852
1852
1852
1852
1853
1853
1852
1852
1852
1852
1852
1852
1852
1856
1850
Gross Revenue.
L.
906,805
96,363
77,648
140,071
22,877
21,192
70,963
2,326,801
2,867,954
8,209
31,592
115,217
12,361
7,600(f)
36,900
1,285,596
771,080
128,506
133,579
326,370
66,888
260,585
45,109
1,524,164
76,972
Expenses.
L.
839,860
74,929
66,468
30,302
14,940
70,405
1,512,120
1,660,229
3,062
12,040
62,261
12,120
7,600(?)
27,675
1,133,101
489.978
78.787
90,654
208,250
64.788
192,484
28,483
2,081,573
74,287
Broadly it may be stated, that the half-ounce scale of
Great Britain is now adopted in nearly the whole of Ger¬
many, in the United States, in Holland, Denmark, Spain,
the Brazils, and Peru. In most other points of postal eco¬
nomy there are still wide diversities of practice ; but the
introduction of a simple scale of charge is in itself a vast
improvement, and the sure pioneer of other improvements
to come. How great the alteration is, in some cases, will
appear by the statement, that in Spain, for example, un¬
der the old system, inland letters were charged at the rate
of one real (2^d.) for six sixteenths of an ounce, and the
fifth of a real for each eighth of an ounce additional; whilst
all letters to the Spanish islands were treated as single up
to five sixteenths of an ounce, and were charged at the
rate of Is. od., with an additional penny for every additional
sixteenth of an ounce. The anomalies of the postal ar¬
rangements of many European and American countries are
still numerous and complex enough. France yet retains
the quarter-ounce scale, as do also Switzerland, Sardinia,
and Tuscany. The unitary letter weight of Belgium,
Brunswick, and Portugal is three-eighths of an ounce ;
that of Sweden is about five-eighths; that of Bremen,
Russia, and Chili, is an ounce ; and of Russia it may be
noted, in passing, as a fact of some significance, that
the whole number of letters posted in a year (1855),2
throughout the empire, is considerably less than the num-
1 Fregier, Histoire de VAdministration de la Police, ii. 363.
2 About 16,400,000, according to an article in the Journal de St Petcrsboury of 1857.
POST-OFFICE.
Ocean Mail ber posted in the single town of Liverpool and its suburbs.
Systems. Naples, again, adheres to the old plan of charging by the sheet,
and is very chary of publishing the statistics of her post-
office. And, lastly, in Iceland, letters are carried free of post¬
age at the cost of the national treasury. The worthy Ice¬
landers, however, have an intense love of orderly arrange¬
ments. Their mail to Denmark sails once in six weeks. In
order that the way-bill of the postal letters may be carefully
made out and alphabetically arranged, they find it necessary
to close the boxes two days before the departure of the mail.1
The number of letters to each 1000 persons of the
■ whole population, as it stood in 1853, was in Great Britain,
14,760; in Switzerland, 8239; in the United States,
4404; in Holland, 4367; in France, 4192; in Belgium,
2603; in Spain, 2209. In Great Britain, prior to the
postal reform of 1840, the number of letters to each 1000
persons was but 3055, or little more than one-fifth of the
ratio of 1853. In Holland the like proportion, prior to its
postal reform of 1850, was about 2001 letters to each 1000
persons. [here the inland letters have increased under
the new tariff from 4,274,180, the number of the year
1849, to 12,729,143, that of the year 1856 ; and the num¬
ber of foreign letters from 1,804,180 to 3,395,973.2 In
1850, it may be added, the mails of Holland wrere conveyed
over an aggregate distance of 6247 Dutch miles; in 1856,
over an aggregate of 17,076 miles.3
The details of the comparison of 1853 run thus:—•
425
Compari¬
son of post
al corre¬
spondence
with popu¬
lation in
certain
countries.
Postal Correspondence, as compared with Population, in
Six European States, and in the United States of
America, 1853.
Country.
Population
in 1853, or
at nearest
Census.
1. Great Britain...
2. Switzerland .
3. United States
of America
4. Holland   
5. France 
6. Belgium 
7. Spain 
27.833,501
2,392,740
23,191,876
3,056,591
35,783,170
4,426,202
13,936,218
Number of
Letters con¬
veyed by Post
in 1853.
410,817,489
19,773,625
102,139,148
13,349,853
150,000,000
11,521,955
30,775,686
No. of
Letters
to each
1000 per¬
sons in
1853.
14,760
8,239
4,404
4,367
4,192
2,603
2,209
Estimated
cost of
1000
Letters.
L. s. d.
6 4 0
4 12 0
11 12 0
4 8 0
12 8 0
13 4 0
8 8 04
VI. OCEAN MAIL SYSTEMS OF VARIOUS COUNTRIES.
The importance of an efficient system of ocean mails
cannot be measured by the profit or loss which may directly
attend it. With a regular and rapid packet service, the
commercial prosperity and the defensive power of a country
are obviously and closely connected. On this point public
opinion has made great strides since 1830, when we find
the Commissioners of Revenue Inquiry asserting, as a mat¬
ter about which there could be no sort of doubt, that the
excess of the outgoings of the packet service over its in¬
come, “ amounting in the period of nine years to about
L.300,000, must be considered a total loss.” Almost a
quarter of a century afterwards, the same subject was ela¬
borately reviewed by a Treasury committee (appointed in
1853.) “ It is unreasonable,” reports this committee, “to
expect that any person, or association of persons, should
incur the expense and risk of building vessels, formin<>-
costly establishments, and opening a new line of communi¬
cation at a heavy outlay of capital, without some security
that they will be allowed to continue the service long
enough to reap some benefit from their undertaking. It Ocean Mail
must be borne in mind that the expensive vessels built for Systems,
the conveyance of the mails at a high rate of speed, are not ^ ^ v ^
in demand for the purposes of ordinary traffic, and cannot
therefore be withdrawn and applied to another service at
short notice. The value of the services thus
rendered to the State cannot, we think, be measured by a
mere reference to the amount of the postal revenue, or
even by the commercial advantages accruing from it. It
is undoubtedly startling at first sight to perceive that the
immediate pecuniary result of the packet system is a loss to
the revenue of about L.325,000 a year ; but although this
circumstance shows the necessity for a careful revision of
the service, and though we believe that much may be
done to make that service self-supporting, we do not con¬
sider that the money thus expended is to be regarded,
even from a fiscal point of view, as a national loss.”3
I he conveyance of mails in steamers was first adopted Introduc-
by the British post-office in 1821. The Holyhead station,14011
for Ireland, and the Dover station, for the Continent, were ?teamers
selected for the first experiments. Theretofore the prac-1 "staUser
tice had been to engage sailing-vessels, under agreements vk-e'o/61'*
with their owners or commanders, at fixed annual pay- Great Bri-
ments, for the carriage of the mails ; the proceeds of pas- tain,
sengers and freight accruing, of course, to the owners.
After various fruitless negotiations with steam-packet com¬
panies, it w’as determined to build vessels at the cost of
government. Eventually six such packets were stationed
at Holyhead, and several others at Dover and elsewhere.
The report of the Commissioners of Revenue Inquiry led
to the gradual and advantageous introduction of commercial
contracts for this service, the first of which was made
by the postmaster-general in 1833 with the Mona Isle
Steam Company, to run steamers twice a week between
Liverpool and Douglas. This company has retained the
contract during twenty-five years at the same rate. In the
following year the General Steam Navigation Company
contracted to carry the mails twice a week between London
and Rotterdam, and London and Hamburg, for L. 17,000
a year. This contract remained in force until 1853, when
these mails were transferred to the Ostend route. In 1837
a contract was made with Mr Richard Bourne to convey
the mail weekly from Falmouth to Vigo, Oporto, Lisbon,
and Gibraltar, for L.29,600 per annum. This contract was
transferred in 1843 to the Peninsular and Oriental Com¬
pany, the port of Southampton was substituted for Fal¬
mouth, and the trips limited to three, monthly, the subsidy
being proportionally reduced. In 1839 an epoch was
marked in world-history, as well as in postal affairs, by the
establishment of a fortnightly mail line between Liverpool,
Halifax, and Boston, by contract between the postmaster-
general and Samuel Cunard of Halifax, at L.60,000 a year.
Soon the port of destination was made alternately Boston
and New York; and, with this change, the contract con¬
tinues in greatly increased activity, weekly trips being re¬
quired instead of fortnightly, and the subsidy being raised by
the renewal contract of 1850 to L.173,340 a year, with cer¬
tain contingent allowances in addition. Last year (1858) the
Cunard Company owned nine steamers, with an aggregate
tonnage of 18,406, and an aggregate horse-power of 6418.
This continues in force until 1862, with twelve months’
notice of its discontinuance. In 1840 a contract was made
for mail steamers to Malta, Corfu, and Alexandria, extend¬
ed in 1845 to Suez, Bombay, Ceylon, Calcutta, Hong Kong,
and Shanghai. This contract was renewed in 1853, and
made terminable in 1862, on twelve months’ notice. By
its terms, the Peninsular and Oriental Company was bound
Miles, Pos.aZ Reform (18o5), p. 89. 2 Staatkundig en Staathuishoudkundig Jaarboekie voor 1857, p. 179.
6 Staatkundig Jaarboekje, ut supra, 180. 4 Miles in Bankert’ Magazine, ut supra, 358.
JXeport to the Treasury on the Contract Packet Service (Sessional Papers of 1853 No. 195)
VOL. XVIII. r > j- ^ ^
426
POST-OFFICE.
Ocean Mail to provide two packets for the conveyance of the Indian
mails, one to steam between Southampton and Malta, and
another between Marseilles and Malta; then one between
Malta and Alexandria, and one between Suez and Aden;
one between Aden and Bombay, and another between Aden
and Calcutta. But owing to the rapid increase of Indian
traffic, the company, of its own accord, doubled the service
between Malta and Alexandria, and also between Suez and
Aden. The terms of the contract with the post-office se¬
cured its performance for a subsidy ot L.244,800 a yeai ;
but the communication having now become double during
the greater part of the route, an addition to the amount was
wisely made in 1857, which insured an additional packet
between Marseilles and Malta, and thus made the most im¬
portant mail route to India double throughout. 1 he de¬
parture of the packets was also arranged at intervals of
about a week. At this date the company had already thirty- Ocean Mu
nine vessels, with a tonnage of 48,835, and a horse-power Systems,;
of 12,850. In 1856 a new contract w'as made for a monthly
service between Southampton, Marseilles, Malta, Alexandria,
Suez, and Sydney, with the European and Australian Mail
Steam-Packet Company, at L. 185,000 a year. Under this
contract the company runs 336,000 miles a year, at 1 Is. a mile.
For the service of the West Indies, and of Central Ame¬
rica, Mexico, and Brazil, a contract subsists with the West
India Royal Mail-Packet Company, which dates from 1850,
and is terminable in 1862 (on the usual notice). Under
this contract the company runs steamers twice a month
over 37,000 miles. Its aggregate annual mileage is 547,296,
and the average pay 9s. lOd. per mile. These are the chief
contracts at present in force. The entire ocean mail ser¬
vice stood thus in 1857:—
Ocean Mail Service of Great Britain Close of 1857.
Routes.
I. Home Routes—
1. Liverpool and Isle of Man  
2. Holyhead and Dublin 
3. Aberdeen and Shetland 
4. Southampton and Channel Islands
5. Thurso and Stromness  
II. Colonial and Foeeign Routes—
Southampton, Spain, and Gibraltar 
Southampton, Mediterranean, India, and China 
( Liverpool and Boston 1
1 Liverpool and New York J
Colonial—Halifax to St Thomas 
Southampton, West Indies, Mexico, and South )
America J
f Dover and Calais 1
1 Dover and Ostend J
South American—Panama and Valparaiso 
Plymouth to Madeira and West Coast of Africa 
Dartmouth to the Cape, Mauritius, and Calcutta1...
Southampton to Marseilles, Malta, Suez, and Sydney
Add payments to minor lines 
Totals.
Date of
Service.
1833
1850
1840
1848
1856
1852
1853
1850
1854
1851
1854
1852
1852
1856
1857
No. of
Steamers.
4
35
20
118
Horse-
Power.
790
1284
300
797
60
973
12,850
6,418
300
9,308
640
2,396
850
2,000
3,290
42,256
Tonnage.
No. of
Crews.
2,089
2,408
850
1,852
250
2,782
46,053
18,406
1,151
29,454
1,765
5,719
5,951
8,000
13,410
140,140
91
115
42
107
16
200
2,877
922
60
1,667
96
378
320
575
671
V oyages.
Twice a week
Twice daily
W eekly
Thrice a week
Daily
Thrice a month
Fortnightly
Weekly
Monthly
Thrice a month
Daily
Fortnightly
Monthly
Monthly
Monthly
Annual
Subsidies.
L.
850
25,000
1,200
4,000
1,300
20.500
221,300
173,340
14,700
270,000
15.500
25,000
21,250
41,000
185.000
43.857
8,137
1,066,797
At the date of the report of the Treasury committee, al¬
ready referred to (1853), the amount of these subsidies was
L.822,390, and the estimated amount of postage was but
L.479,600.a Under the increased payments of 1857, the
service has been improved, and the revenue has also
benefited by some of those improvements, but the actual
receipts cannot be estimated at more than one-half of the
outgoings. The deficit becomes a charge upon the naval
estimates. The remarks of the committee on this point re¬
tain all their force :—“ The objects which appear to have
led to the formation of these contracts, and to the large ex¬
penditure involved, were—to afford a rapid, frequent, and
punctual communication with those distant ports which feed
the main arteries of British commerce, and with the most
important of our foreign possessions; to foster maritime
enterprise; and to encourage the production of a superior
class of vessels which would promote the convenience and
wealth of the country in time of peace, and assist in defend¬
ing its shores against hostile aggression. These expecta¬
tions have not been disappointed. The ocean has been
traversed with a precision and regularity hitherto deemed
impossible ; commerce and civilization have been extended ;
the colonies have been brought more closely into connec¬
tion with the home government; and steam-ships have
been constructed of a size and power that, without govern¬
ment aid, could hardly—at least for many years—have been
produced.”3
The experience of Great Britain as to the value of its The ocean
costly packet service has excited energetic endeavours in
the United States to arouse the government to the neces-‘ ^
sity of keener emulation. Mr Thomas Rainey, the author g[atps of
of an able work entitled Ocean Steam Navigation and the America.
Ocean Postf has endeavoured to do lor this branch of the
postal service of his country what Mr Pliny Miles is so
zealously striving to do for its inland mails and local posts.
Mr Rainey contends that, whilst steam mails upon the
ocean control the commerce of the world, the United States
have not established such mails commensurately with the
national ability and requirements ; that only very last and
powerful steamers can carry the mails with adequate speed ;
that, such a speed is so costly that the steamers cannot hve
on their own receipts; that self-support is not likely to be
attained by increasing the size of steamers; that the pro¬
pelling power in fast steamers must occupy all, or nearly all,
the available space not devoted to passengers and express
freight; that American trade has greatly suffered for the
want of more ocean mails, rapid and well organized; and
tbo r,,,br C°n exph‘e^ in 1857, and a new one was made with the Union Steam Shipping Company with improved results for
3 lbid1C ^erV1Ce‘ “ RePort on Contract Packet Service (in Sessional Papers of 1853, No. 195), p. 8.
* Second edition, London, Triibner and Co., 1858
P o s
Postulate that the only way in which the government can discharge
|| its unquestionable duty in this respect is, by imitating Bri-
Potato. t;s]-, example in the payment of liberal subsidies for the con-
veyance of mails for a long term of years.1
The Havre and Bremen mail services were the first esta¬
blished in the United States. The former remains in the
hands of the Old Havre Company, founded by the late
eminent merchant, Mr Mortimer Livingston. The Bremen
line passed into the hands of Mr Vanderbilt in 1857, on the
termination of the contract. On both lines, for the present,
the mails are carried for the gross ocean and inland post¬
ages. The Pacific Mail Steamship Company, and the
Aspinwall Steamship Company, respectively, maintain the
two lines which connect the Atlantic and Gulf seaboard
with the American possessions in the Pacific, California,
and Oregon. The Pacific Company possesses thirteen
steamers, and may, it is said, boast that it “ never lost a
trip, a mail-bag, or a passenger, by marine disaster, during
the eight or nine years they have been running in the
Pacific. These steamers run the 3300 miles between Pa¬
nama and San Francisco within an average period of less
than fourteen days, stoppages included, or at the rate of
about 250 miles a day.2 They carry the mail at a charge
of 6s. lid. per mile. The United States Mail Steamship
Company has six steamers, with a tonnage of 8544. Tins
company’s vessels run 5200 miles twice a month, at 7s. 9d.
per mile. The Collins Company had at the close of 1857
three steamers, with an aggregate of 9727 tons. At that date
the American ocean mail service, in commission, stood thus:
Packet Service of the United States of America, Nov. 1857.3
Route.
New York and Liver¬
pool ( Collins Line)
New York and Havre.
New York and Bre- )
men ( Vanderbilt)... )
New York, Havana,'i
New Orleans, and I
Aspinwall( U.S.Mail |
Company)  '
Astoria and Panama ■)
(Pacific Mail Com- l
pany) J
Charleston and Havana.
New Orleans and 1
Vera Cruz J
No. of
Steam-
13
1
1
Tonnage.
9,727
4,548
6,523
8,544
16,421
1,115
1,149
Miles of
Route.
No. I
of i
Trips [
Compen
sation.
3100
3270
3700
5200
4200
669
900
L.77,000
Gross amt.
of postages
Do.
58,000
69,650
12,000
5,800
POT
427
Some particulars of the French packet system have Potato
been glanced at already. Here it must suffice to add v
that the stations (Mediterranean and Levantinel routes
and departures of the mail steamers, were as follows in ocean
loOo: — ..
mails.
Route.
Marseilles to Malta 
Marseilles to Naples 
Marseilles to Alexandria 
Alexandria to Smyrna 
Marseilles to Smyrna 
The Piraeus to Smyrna...., 
Smyrna to Constantinople 
Marseilles to Constantinople 
The Piraeus to Constantinople....
Constantinople to Ibraila 
Constantinople to Trebizond 
Trips.
Weekly
Fortnightly
Do.
Weekly
Fortnightly
W eekly
Do.
Fortnightly
Weekly.
Do.
Length of Route.
870 miles
432 „
1500 „
1230 „
1.359 „
236 „
300 „
1441 „
667 „
404 „
552
This service, together with that of part of the Algerine
lines, is performed by the powerful company of the Mes-
sageries Imperiales; but the official documents at present
accessible do not state the terms of contract. The com¬
pany possesses fifty steamers, with an aggregate power of
about 12,500 horses, and an estimated tonnage of 60,000.
It has recently added the line of the Brazils to its former
contracts.
Here we close our protracted survey. It offers not a
few topics for comment and further elucidation, which can¬
not, however, find present place. One reflection Mill pro¬
bably have suggested itself to many readers during this re¬
trospect of post-office annals: Few subjects should give
more encouragement for steady perseverance to the practical
reformer in the field of social science. What has been
achieved, with great toil and difficulty, and after long
delay, in one country, speedily works its way into other
countries, and produces results of world-wide magnitude.
Even when improvements are borrowed with an osten¬
tatious avowal of jealousy at the progress they have faci¬
litated amongst those who originated them, they cannot
fail to add some strength to the ties which give to dif¬
ferent countries an indefeasible interest in their common
prosperity, whatever may be the prejudices or animosi¬
ties of the passing moment. The history of postal im¬
provements is eminently a history of international bene¬
factions. (e. e.)
OSTULATE, in ordinary language, signifies any posi-
tion assumed without proof, or one which is considered as
self-evident. In geometry it is applied to whatever is to
e assumed or taken for granted ; as in Euclid’s three pos-
tulates, which differ from his axioms in the manner in which
they are put. I he former is put forward as an assertion,
t ie fattei as a request. In pJiilosoplng it means any pro¬
position of which the truth is demanded or assumed for the
purposes of future reasoning.
POTASH. See Chemistry.
POTATO (Nat. Ord. Solanece, see Botany), a valuable
vegetable, said to be introduced into this country by SirW\
Raleigh about 1586. Queen Elizabeth in 1584 granted
a patent “ for discovering and planting new countries not
possessed by Christians,” when Raleigh equipped some
ships and set sail for America. Thomas Herriott, who
accompanied the expedition, sent home the description of
a plant called openawk by the natives of Virginia. Gerard,
in his Herbal, mentions that he had the plant from Virginia,
that he had grown seedlings of it in 1590, and that it grew
admirably in his garden. He gave it the name of Solanum
tuberosum, afterwards adopted by Linnaeus, and which it
still retains. Sir Robert Southwood, president of the Royal
Society, claimed the honour for his grandfather of having
first cultivated this plant in Ireland, where it has so long-
constituted the principal food of the peasantry. Sir Ro¬
bert stated that his ancestor obtained roots of the potato
from Sir Walter Raleigh. The story of Sir Walter’s gar¬
dener at Youghal, on going to taste the apples of the fine
American fruit, being so sadly mortified at not finding
them, and of his subsequent discovery of the tubers when
his master desired him to throw out the weeds, is probably
authentic.
The potato, it seems, had been known in Europe for
1 Ocean Steam Navigation, passim. 2
4 Hou. H. King to T. Rainey, 12th Nov. 1857, Ocean Steam Navigation, 220.
3 Annuaire des Postes (1858), pp. 258, 259.
128 POT
Potemkin, some considerable time before. The name which we now
. im- apply to it seems to be taken from the Spanish or Portu¬
guese, while they derived the epithet from the moun¬
taineers of Quito in South America. 1 he inhabitants of
Quito called it papas, which the Spanish corrupted into
lattata, and the Portuguese softened into batata; hence
the English potato. This plant was cultivated in Ireland
long before its introduction into Lancashire, which was
owing, it is said, to a shipwreck at the mouth of the Kibble.
From Lancashire it soon spread, first into the gardens, and
gradually into the fields of Great Britain, (for the culti¬
vation and disease of the potato, see Agriculture.)
POTEMKIN, Gregory Alexandrovich, a famous
Russian statesman, was born of a noble though poor family
at Smolensk in 1736. He was an ensign in the Horse
Guards when an incident occurred which set him upon the
road to eminence. Happening to be in St Petersburg on the
day of the revolution of 1762, and seeing that Catherine II.,
as she rode through among the ranks, had no tassel upon
her sword, he presented her with the missing badge from
his own weapon. This act of gallantry caught the queen’s
attention ; the manly beauty and noble bearing of the young
soldier affected her susceptible heart; and the ardent man¬
ner in which he responded to her amorous advances com¬
pleted the impression. In no long time he was installed
as favourite, and occupied a suite of apartments in the
palace. It is true that the fickle royal heart soon trans¬
ferred its affections to another. But by that time his gro¬
tesque and extraordinary character had begun to command
attention in the political world. Up from among his slug¬
gishness, sensuality, extravagance, and whimsicality, there
had sprung into action, as if spontaneously, a strong in¬
tellect, which easily rendered him the prince of tuft-hunters.
The other votaries of civil power soon began to feel that
they could not stand before him. Their hearts lay open
to the gaze of his instinctive insight; their intrigues could not
escape his ready observation; and their downfall was speedily
effected by his dexterous policy. Ministers, generals, and
favourites he raised like puppets before the public, used
them for a while, and when he was tired threw them aside.
Catherine herself, with all her decision and force of character,
could not escape from his influence. With delicate tact
he laid his hand upon the springs of her conduct, and con¬
trolled them to his own advantage. He gained her ear
by flattery; he earned her gratitude by the invincible
energy with which he fulfilled her behests ; and he won her
admiration by the striking projects which he formed for
extending the bounds of the empire. His very faults were
not without their effect. It was interesting to the queen to
see the giant put off his intellectual armour, and lounge in
undress for several successive weeks, playing at chess or
cards from morning till night. Potemkin having thus at¬
tained to the virtual possession of the supreme power, began
to use it with the most unbounded license. He drew upon
the public treasury for money to gratify his extravagant
epicurean taste. He insulted, bullied, and cuffed the no¬
bility upon the slightest provocation. He even murmured,
chafed, and resisted when his royal mistress attempted to
cross his wishes. His condition, in fact, was more like the
state of an Asiatic potentate than the position of a Euro¬
pean subject. The Taurian palace, a superb edifice em¬
bodying the very highest ideas of luxury and magnificence,
was erected for his residence. There he was wont to
dream away his existence, surrounded by every circumstance
of wealth, and pomp, and power. Diamonds were his play¬
things, which he threw aside as soon as he was tired. The
revenues of vast estates were his pocket-money, which he
recklessly squandered on the gratification of his meanest
esire. Crowds of attendants stood by, ready to carry into
execution his every passing whim. Aristocratic courtiers
iuc ed before him, craving his interest for some high ap-
P O T
pointment. There was scarcely an honour in Europe which Potential
was not lavished upon him. Crowned potentates in dif- ||
ferent countries ennobled him with every kind of dignity Pothier.
and honour. His own sovereign often paid him a visit,
adding new lustre to his gorgeous halls by the beauty and
effulgence of her court. He was, in fine, the possessor
of every gift that the world could bestow, when Fate,
as if envious of such an unclouded prosperity, interposed
to lure him on to his destruction. It was in 1787 that
Prince Potemkin, bent upon achieving some military feat,
and thus winning the ribbon of St George, undertook the
command of an unfortunate war against the Turks. Suc¬
cess, it is true, attended him at first. His energy was as
resistless in battle as it had been in politics; Oczakow was
taken by a terrific storming in 1788; and in 1791 he re¬
turned to St Petersburg to be honoured, enriched, and
feted in a manner worthy of an emperor. But after his
return to the scene of war, a deadly epidemic seized upon
him at Jassy in 1792. In vain did the robust giant laugh
at it, eat and drink more voraciously to show his contempt
for it, and think to shake it off by setting out to Nicolaieff.
The disease only fixed its fangs the deeper. On the road
he became alarmingly sensible that it was mastering him.
He alighted in terror, fell down upon the grass by the
wayside, and immediately expired. (See Biog. Univ.;
Tooke's, Reign of Catherine II., 3 vols., 1799; and Memoires
de Catherine II., ecrits par elle-meme, 1859.)
POTENTIAL, in grammar, an epithet applied to one
of the moods of verbs. The potential is the same in form
with the subjunctive, and is, according to some, implied in
that mood; but others consider that it differs from the
subjunctive by always implying in it either possum, volo, or
debeo. It is also called the permissive mood, because it
often implies a permission or concession to do a thing, and
is denoted in English by the auxiliary verb may or might.
POTENZA, a fortified town of Naples, capital of the
province of Basilicata, on the summit of a hill in a wild
region of the Apennines, 85 miles E. by S. of Naples. It
is for the most part meanly built, but contains several
handsome buildings. The cathedral is a fine Doric edifice ;
and there are two other churches, an ecclesiastical college,
and several monasteries. Potenza is the seat of the highest
civil and criminal courts of the province. The ancient
Potentia stood at a place called Murata, in the piain below
the modern town. Some ruins of it have been discovered.
Cloth, leather, and earthenware are manufactured in Po¬
tenza. Pop. 8900.
POTHIER, Robert Joseph, a celebrated French jurist,
was born at Orleans in 1699, and received his education
in his native town. At an early age he turned the whole
bent of his mind towards the study of law. His ready and
untiring intellect, his tenacious memory, and his upright,
moral character, formed a good basis for a legal reputation.
Accordingly, his Pandectce Justiniance, which began to be
published in 1748, and which was afterwards finished in 3
vols. in 1752, introduced him to a distinguished career.
He was appointed professor of law in the university of his
native city in 1749, and became an earnest and popular
teacher. Pothier died in 1772.
There also issued from his pen the following series of learned
works:—TraitS des Obligations, in 2 vols., 1761; Traiti du Contrat
de Vente, in 3 vols., 1762; Trait4 du Contrat du Constitution de
Rente, 1763; Traiti du Contrat de Change et Billets de Commerce,
1763; Traiti du Contrat de Louage, 1764; Traiti du Contrat de
Bail d rente, 1764:', Traiti des Cheptels, 1765; Trait# des Contrats
de Bienfaisance, in 2 vols., 1766-67 ; Trait# des Contrats AUatoires,
in 2 vols., 1766-67 ; Trait#du Contrat de Mariage, in 2 vols., 1768;
Trait#de la Communaut#, in 2 vols., 1769; Trait#du Douaire, 1770;
Trait#du Droit d)Habitation, des Donations, et du Don Mutuel, 1771;
and Trait#s du Domains de Propri#t#, de la Possession et de la Pre¬
scription, in 2 vols., 1772. After his death all his publications,
with the exception of the Pandectoe Justiniance, were published in
a collected form in 4 vols. 4to, 1781. His posthumous works had
POT
'Potomac a^so been published in 8 vols. 12mo, Orleans, 1776-78. All his
productions, with the exception of the Pandectce, are included in
Potsdam, the edition of Siffrein, 20 vols. 8vo, Paris, 1820-24. The latest
v ap ^ > edition is that of Bagnet, in 10 vols. 8vo, 1845-48.
POTOMAC, a river of the United States of North
America, formed by the confluence of the north and south
branches, both of which take their rise in the Alleghanies,
and unite on the northern frontier of Virginia. Through
the whole of its course it separates that state from Mary¬
land and the district of Columbia, flowing E. and S.E. till
it falls into Chesapeake Bay. Its length from the junction
of the two branches is about 350 miles; and its breadth at
its mouth 6 or 8 miles. Its largest affluent is the Shenan¬
doah, which has a volume of water little inferior to the
main river. It is navigable for ships of the line to Wash¬
ington, the capital of the United States, 120 miles above
its mouth; but above this its course is interrupted by
numerous falls and rapids.
POIOSI, a town of Bolivia, capital of a department of
the same name, stands in a bleak and barren country, on
the northern slope of the Cerro de Potosi, S. Eat. 19* 36.,
W. Long. 65. 20. It is one of the highest inhabited places
in the world, being about 13,500 feet above the sea. On
account of the unevenness of the site, the town is irregularly
built; the houses are substantial, but not more than one
storey high in general. In the middle of the town is a large
public square, with an obelisk in honour of Bolivar. Here
also stand the large granite cathedral, and the long, low
range of government buildings. The town has also nu¬
merous churches, a large mint, and a college. The tem¬
perature is very hot in the sunshine, but in the shade the
cold is extreme. The place is, however, healthy, notwith¬
standing the difficulty of respiration at such an elevation.
The silver mines of Potosi, for which the place is chiefly
famous, are described under Bolivia. Those parts of the
town that were inhabited by Indians are now almost all in
ruins, and the population has dwindled down from 100,000,
which it is said to have contained in the seventeenth cen¬
tury, to 15,000.
The department of Potosi, which is bounded on the N.
by that of Oruro, N.E. and E. by the department of Chu-
quicaca and province of Tarija, S. by La Plata, and W. by
the province of Cobija and by Peru, has an area of 37,227
square miles. It is a mountainous table-land, and many of
the heights rise above the limits of vegetation. Its chief
production is the silver obtained from the mines of Potosi.
Pop. 297,000.
POTSCHINKI, a town of European Russia, in the
government, and 120 miles S.S.E. ofNijni Novgorod, on the
Rudnia. It has manufactures of linen, some trade in cattle,
and a large stud. Pop. 5000.
POTSDAM, a town, and the second royal residence of
Prussia, in the province of Brandenburg, stands on the
Havel, which here forms a small lake, 17 miles S.W. of
Beilin. It occupies one of the most beautiful situations in
the province. The banks of the Havel are beautifully
wooded, while here and there in the vicinity are seen
hills covered with vines. The river is crossed by several
budges, the finest of which is that of I eltow, consisting of
eight iron arches reposing on massive stone piers. Pots¬
dam is, next to Berlin, the finest town in Prussia. It has
broad, well-paved streets, handsome houses, and fine squares ;
but presents in general a lifeless and deserted aspect. It
consists of the old and the new town,—the former on an
island formed by the Havel on one side and by a canal on
the other ; and there are also several suburbs. The market¬
place, a large and handsome square, contains an obelisk
adorned with busts of Frederick William, the great elector,
and of the first three kings of Prussia. In the neighbour¬
hood stands the royal palace, a fine old building begun in
1673, and completed in the reign of Frederick the Great.
POT 429
It contains in the interior the rooms occupied by Ere- Pott
denck, preserved in the same state as he left them. Here - ,
are also the apartments of Frederick William Ilf. and of "
the piesent king. In front of the palace there are exten¬
sive pleasure gardens, containing an artificial pond, several
pieces of sculpture, and statues. The church of St Nicholas
is a Grecian building, containing in the interior, which is
very fine, several beautiful paintings and frescoes. The
council-house, built in 1754 after the model of that of Am¬
sterdam, has a cupola surmounted bya colossal figure of Atlas
bearing the globe. The garrison church, near the west end
of the town, contains the tombs of Frederick William L, the
founder, and of Frederick the Great. Outside of the town
lies Sans Souci, the favourite residence of Frederick the Great.
I he grounds are laid out in a formal style, and adorned with
fountains and numerous statues. On a height, ascended
by six terraces, stands the palace, a long building of one
storey, built by Frederick 1745-47. It "is chiefly remark¬
able for its historical interest; the bedroom of the great
king and the apartment of Voltaire are still to be seen, as
well as a clock which Frederick used to wind up himself,
and which stopped at the moment of his death. The new
palace, which is also within the grounds of Sans Souci, was
built by Frederick after the Seven Years’ War, to show that
his resources were not exhausted. Near these grounds is
Charlottenhof, a beautiful villa in the Italian style. Another
royal residence in the vicinity of Potsdam is the Marble
Palace, a building at once splendid and tasteful, both in the
interior and the exterior. The Peacocks Island {Pfauen-
insel), in the Havel, is occupied by a beautiful park con¬
taining many fine large oak trees and a royal villa. The
town of Potsdam has, besides the buildings already men¬
tioned, several schools and benevolent institutions. Among
the former are a gymnasium, a normal seminary, military,
industrial, and other schools. Of the latter, the most im¬
portant are the infirmary, the military orphan hospital,
poor s-house, and an asylum for the widows of clergymen
and schoolmasters of the Established Church. There are
also extensive barracks, a guard-house, theatre, &c. The
manufactures of Potsdam are numerous and important. The
chief is that of arms, of which about 800 are produced
weekly. Chocolate, sugar, silk, cotton, linen, leather, ho¬
siery, hats, porcelain, musical instruments, and carriages
are also made here. The trade is of very little importance.
Potsdam stands on the railway between Berlin and Magde¬
burg. I he celebrated Alexander von Humboldt was born
here in 1767. Pop. (1849) 39,864.
PO I r, Percival, one of the most eminent surgeons of
his day, was born in London in 1713, and received his edu¬
cation at Darne in Kent. His friends wished him to enter
the church; but a decided bias led him to devote himself
to surgery. Apprenticed in 1729, to Mr Nourse of St
Bartholomew’s Hospital, he learned the first principles of his
profession. Appointed in 1749 as one of the principal sur¬
geons of the same institution, he had abundant scope for
testing and correcting these principles. His knowledge
became so great that, in 1756, on being laid aside from
practice in consequence of a severe compound fracture of
the leg, he appeared in print as a great surgical reformer.
As his various works came out, they promulgated many new
and valuable opinions, the results of extensive experience,
unwearied zeal, and skilful observation. His Treatise on
Ruptures, 8vo, London, 1756, soon became a standard
work. His dissertation On Injuries in the Head, 8vo,
1760, was unrivalled for its originality and methodical per¬
spicuity. His paper On Amputation, 8vo, 1778, clearly
determined and specified those cases in which that method
of cure was proper and necessary. In fact, he greatly sim¬
plified the art of surgery by limiting the employment of
severe and extreme operations, and by trusting more to the
healing virtue of nature. Before his death in 1788 he saw
430 POT
Potter the old savage plan of surgical treatment discontinued, and
Potter 0wn ne" anc^ humane method introduced. The latest
and°Force- e^lt'on ^le works of Percival Pott is that by Sir James
lain. Earle, in 3 vols 8vo., 1808. One of Pott’s pupils was the
celebrated John Hunter.
POTTER, John, Archbishop of Canterbury, was the
son of a linen-draper at Wakefield in Yorkshire, and was
born about 1674. Having attained to great proficiency in
Greek while at school, he entered University College, Ox¬
ford, at the age of fourteen. He was induced to publish,
at the suggestion of the master of his college, Variantes
Lectiones et Notce ad Plutarchi librum de Audiendis Poet is
cum Interpretatione Latina Hugonis Grotii; item Vari¬
antes Lectiones et Notce ad Basilii Magni Orationem ad
Juvenes quomodo cum fructu legere possint Grcecorum
libros, 1693, 8vo, when only in his nineteenth year. He
shortly after became master of arts, was chosen a fellow of
Lincoln College, and took orders. In 1697 he edited the
Alexandra of Lycophron ; and his Archceologice Grcecce
appearing soon after, at once established his fame as a
scholar. He became bachelor of divinity in July 8, 1704,
and was appointed chaplain to Archbishop Tenison, when
he required to exchange Oxford for Lambeth. He became
doctor of divinity in 1706, and soon after was made chaplain
in ordinary to her Majesty Queen Anne. He published
during the following year A Discourse of Church Govern¬
ment. In 1708 he was chosen regius professor of divinity,
and canon of Christ Church, Oxford; and in 1715 he was
made bishop of Oxford. An edition of Clemens Alex-
andrinus occupied his attention during the same year; and
shortly afterwards he deemed it necessary to publish against
POT
the doctrines of sincerity as advocated by Hoadly, Bishop Potter
of Bangor. In January 1736-7 be was raised to be Arch- |j
bishop of Canterbury. This arduous and important office Pottery
he filled during ten years with considerable reputation, until and P°rc6-
in 1747 he was cut off by a lingering disease. He was a v ai11, ,
learned and exemplary churchman, but somewhat too
strongly tinctured with the pride of office. His theolo¬
gical works were printed at Oxford in 3 vols. 8vo, 1753.
Potter, Paul, a distinguished animal-painter, was
born at Enkhuysen in 1625. His father, who bore the
same name, was an artist of moderate ability, and from him
he received his instruction. At the age of fifteen he was
considered quite a prodigy in painting ; nature was his sole
instructor, and her works his only models. Landscapes
were the subordinate parts of his pictures; and he chose to
bring into prominence those pastoral scenes where cattle
could be shown browsing or ruminating. The bull and the
cow, the sheep, the ass, and the goat, are rendered with
surprising accuracy and skill. His colouring is clear and
transparent; his execution firm, and finished without the ap¬
pearance of effort. At the age of twenty he removed to the
Hague, married, and remained about six years. He gained
the acquaintance of Maurice, Prince of Orange, who liber¬
ally patronized him. The pressing invitation of Tulk, bur¬
gomaster at Amsterdam, induced him to remove to that city
in 1652. Here he continued with the most untiring devo¬
tion to pursue, regardless of seasons, the study of those ob¬
jects which came within the scope of his profession. He
broke his health, and was attacked by pulmonary disease,
which terminated his life in 1654, in the 29th year of his
age.
POTTERY AND PORCELAIN.
pottery is said to be derived from the low Latin
term potus, a pot, which is from the classical Latin potus,
drink;1 but the etymology of porcelain is more uncer¬
tain. Some writers derive it from porcellana, the Por¬
tuguese for a drinking-cup ; others from a similar word in
Italian, which is applied to a univalve shell of the genus
Cyprceidce, or cowries, having a high arched back resem¬
bling that of a hog {porco, Ital.), and a white, smooth, vitreous
glossiness of surface similar to that of fine porcelain. The
essential ingredients of every article in pottery and porce¬
lain are silica and alumina. The pure chemical compound,
silicate of alumina, must, however, be regarded as an ideal
type, unattainable even in the finest porcelain ; while in the
coarser varieties, and in pottery, impurities, such as iron,
lime, potash, &c., give character to the resulting wares.
Even it it were possible to obtain pure silica and alumina
in sufficient quantities for manufacturing purposes, it would
still be necessary to add certain substances to increase some-
what the fusibility of those refractory materials. Pottery
is also distinguished by being opaque, while porcelain is
translucent. YV ares of either kind are further distinguished
by the terms soft and hard, or, as the French term them,
tendre and distinctions which relate as well to the
composition of the ware as to the temperature at which
it is made solid. Common bricks and earthenware ves¬
sels, pipkins, pans, &c\, are soft; while fire-brick and crock¬
ery, such as queen’s-ware, stone-ware, &c., are hard. Soft
pottery, consisting of silica, alumina, and lime, admits of
being scratched with a knife or file, and is usually fusi¬
ble at the heat required merely for baking porcelain. Stone¬
ware is composed of silica, alumina, and baryta, and may be
regarded as a coarse kind of porcelain. Hard porcelain
contains more of alumina and less of silica than the soft;
it is baked at a stronger heat, and is more dense. Soft
porcelain contains more silica than the hard, and is also
combined with alkaline fluxes, so that its softness is mani¬
fested in being easily scratched and less able to resist a
strong heat.
SECTION I.—HISTORICAL SKETCH.
Articles of fictile ware are at once the most fragile and
the most enduring of human monuments. A piece of com¬
mon pottery, liable to be shivered to pieces by a slight
blow, is more enduring than epitaphs in brass and effigies
in bronze. These yield to the varying action of the wea¬
ther: stone crumbles away, ink fades, and paper decays;
but the earthen vase, deposited in some quiet but forgotten
receptacle, survives the changes of time, and even when
broken at the moment of its discovery by the pick of the
labourer, affords instruction in its fragments. In their power
of traversing accumulated ages, and affording glimpses of
ancient times and people, fictile articles have been com¬
pared to the fossils of animals and plants, which reveal to
the educated eye the former conditions of our globe.
Clay is so generally diffused, and its plastic nature is so
obvious, that the art of working it cannot be considered as
above the intelligence of a savage ; hence the production of
articles in clay may be said to belong to every people and to
all time. The first drinking-vessels would be sun-baked, and
consequently very destructible; so that few articles would
survive a single winter. A considerable period must have
elapsed before the method of giving permanence to these
articles by the action of fire was discovered; but it is chiefly
to this discovery that we owe the preservation of so man
ancient relics of the fictile art. The sun-dried bricks of
1 is said by Tooke to be the past tense of the verb {o pit,—i.e., to excavate or sink into a hollow.
POTTERY AND PORCELAIN.
History. Egypt, Assyria, and Babylonia, have, however, been pre-
served to this day, and “ not only afford testimony to the
truth of Scripture by their composition of straw and clay, but
also by the hieroglyphs impressed upon them, transmit the
names of a series of kings, and testify the existence of edifices,
all knowledge of which, except for these relics, would have
utterly perished. Those of Assyria and Babylon, in addi¬
tion to the same information, have, by their cuneiform in¬
scriptions, which mention the locality of the edifices for
which they were made, afforded the means of tracing the
sites of ancient Mesopotamia and Assyria with an accuracy
unattainable by any other means. When the brick was
ornamented, as in Assyria, with glazed representations, this
apparently insignificant but imperishable object has con¬
firmed the descriptions of the walls of Babylon, which cri¬
tical scepticism had denounced as fabulous'. The Roman
bricks have also borne their testimony to history. A large
number of them present a series of the names of con¬
suls of imperial Rome; while others show that the proud
nobility of the Eternal City partly derived their revenues
from the kilns of their Campanian and Sabine farms.”1
1 he excellent authority just quoted refers to the next
step in the progress of manufacture, namely, that of model¬
ling in clay the forms of the physical world, the origin of
the plastic art, “ to which the symbolical pantheism of the
old world gave an extension almost universal.” When stone
and metal came to be used as materials for sculpture, clay
was still employed for the elaboration of the model, and also
foi the multiplication of copies for popular use of celebrated
pieces of sculpture. The invention of the mould caused
the terra cottas of antiquity to be as widely diffused as the
plaster casts of modern times. Among the Assyrians and
Babylonians clay was used as a material for writing on.
The traveller Layard discovered in the palace of Senna¬
cherib a whole library of clay books, consisting of histories,
deeds, almanacs, spelling-books, vocabularies, inventories,
horoscopes, receipts, letters, &c. About 2000 of these clay
books of the Assyrians have been discovered: they are in the
form of tablets, cylinders, and hexagonal prisms of terra cotta.
Before the invention of the potter’s wheel, clay vessels
could have had but little symmetry of shape. The neces¬
sity for some such contrivance must have been early felt,
and it was probably invented by several nations. It is re¬
presented on the Egyptian sculptures; it is mentioned in
Holy Scripture; and was in use at an early period in As-
syiia. Mr Birch states, that “the very oldest vases of
Greece, some of which are supposed to have been made in
the heroic ages, bear marks of having been turned upon
the wheel.” The art of firing the ware is also of the high¬
est antiquity. Remains of baked earthenware are common
in .Egypt in the tombs of the first dynasties, and the oldest
bricks and tablets of Assyria and Babylon bear evidence of
having passed through the fire. The oldest remains of
Hellenic pottery owe their preservation to their having
been fired. As the clay by this process is rendered porous
and incapable of holding liquids, the necessity for some
kind of glaze must have been early felt. Opaque glasses
or enamels have been found in Egypt as old as the fourth
dynasty, and both the Egyptians and the Assyrians seem to
have preferred an opaque enamel to a transparent glaze,
somewhat after the fashion of the modern faie?ice. Nu¬
merous fragments testify to the use of glazing amongst the
ancient Greeks and Romans. With respect to form, the
Greek jases, by their beauty and simplicity, have become
models* for various kinds of earthenware; while the ap¬
plication of painting to vases has transmitted to us much
information respecting the mythology, manners, cus-
43 i
toms, and literature of ancient Greece. Even the Roman History,
lamps and red ware illustrate in their ornaments many cus- v—^
toms, manners, and historical events.
As the pottery of different modern nations has its cha¬
racteristic features, so the ancient pottery has its distinc¬
tions of time and place. It is impossible not to distinguish
between the rude and simple urns fashioned by the early
inhabitants of Great Britain and the more carefully finished
specimens of the Roman conquerors of these islands. Then,
again, the simple unglazed earthenware of Greece contrasts
with the more elaborate Etruscan forms, the finest of
which, however, are probably by Greek artists. Then,
again, the red and black potteries of India contrast with
the black and white potteries of North America, the latter
being interspersed with fragments of bivalve shells. On
the discovery of the extraordinary ruins in Central America,
specimens of pottery were found which showed consider¬
able advance in the art compared with the date assigned to
diese ruins, namely, 1000 b.c. The specimens had been
formed without the assistance of the potter’s wheel; but
they are well baked, the ornaments are in different colours,
and they are coated with a fine vitreous glaze, such as was
unknown in Europe until within about ten centuries. The
leligious employment of earthen vessels in early times, and
the custom of placing them in tombs as receptacles for
medals, trophies, insignia, money, charms, rings, and votive
offerings, has greatly assisted the studies of archaeologists
in modern times, and we can do no more in this brief sketch
than refer to their useful labours.
Porcelain is of modern introduction into Europe, but it
was known in China more than a century before the Chris¬
tian era. I he Chinese appear to have improved their art
during four or five centuries, and then, supposing them¬
selves to have attained perfection, they allowed the art to
remain stationary. So completely was the manufacture
identified with that nation, that on the introduction of porce¬
lain into Europe by the Portuguese in 1518, it received the
name of c/iina, which it still partially retains. The Chinese
continued to supply us with porcelain during many years.
It was supposed that the fine clay or kaolin used in its
production was peculiar to China, and that it was conse¬
quently hopeless to attempt to manufacture porcelain in
Europe. The porcelain of Japan is only a variety of the
Chinese.
While the Chinese were improving their manufacture,
the art of making decorative pottery became lost in Europe
amid the darkness which followed the overthrow of the
Western Empire. The first symptoms of revival were due
to the Mohammedan invaders of Spain, whose tiles of en¬
amelled earthenware are to be seen in the Moorish build¬
ings of Seville, Toledo, Granada, and the Alhambra.
They are of a pale clay, “ the surface of which is coated
over with a white opaque enamel, upon which the elaborate
designs are executed in colours.”2 The Spaniards acquired
from the Moors the art of manufacturing enamelled tiles,
or azulegos as they are called, and they still continue to be
made in Valencia. The Moors also adorned their pottery
with Arabic inscriptions, and with arabesque patterns re¬
sembling a lace veil in richness. The vase known as that
of the Alhambra is of earthenware; the ground is white,
the ornaments are either blue of two shades, or of gold or
copper lustre.3 The Moors continued to manufacture or¬
namental pottery until the time of their final expulsion
from Spain at the beginning of the seventeenth century.
This Hispano-Arabic pottery, as it is called, is the proto¬
type of the Italian majolica, and was long confounded with
it. Specimens of it are to be seen in several celebrated
i History of Ancient Pottery, by Samuel Birch, F.S.A., London, 1858.
t ,4 history of Pottery and Porcelain, medicKVal and modern, by Joseph Marryat, 2d edition, London, 1857.
J This vase is figured in Owen Jones’ work on the Alhambra.
432 POTTERY AND PORCELAIN.
History, collections. The majolica, or enamelled ware of Italy, pro-
bably dates from the twelfth century. It is related that a
pirate king of Majorca, about the year 1115, was besieged
in his stronghold by an armament from Pisa, and being
vanquished, the expedition returned to Italy laden with
spoil, among which, it is supposed, were a number of plates
of painted Moorish pottery, such specimens being found
encrusted in the walls of the most ancient churches of Pisa.
They appear to have been regarded as religious trophies.
No attempt, however, was made to imitate them until the
fourteenth century, when specimens ol majolica, so called
from the island of Majorca, were produced ; they resemble
the Moorish examples in having arabesque patterns in yel¬
low and green, upon a blue ground. About the year 1451
the manufacture had become celebrated at Pesaio, the
birthplace of Luca della Robbia, who is regarded by per¬
sons who set aside the foregoing origin of majolica as the
inventor of this ware. He appears to have ear ned distinc¬
tion as a sculptor when he took to working in terra cotta,
and gave permanence to his productions by the invention
of a white enamel. His Madonnas, Scripture subjects,
figures, and architectural pieces are still prized by collec¬
tors. Mr Marryat refers to them as “ by far the finest
works of art ever executed in pottery.” He is also “ the
founder of a school which produced works not much in¬
ferior to his own.” Existing specimens are of a dazzling
whiteness, and the glaze, after so great a lapse of time,
continues to be quite perfect. The manufacture of ma¬
jolica flourished during two centuries under the patronage
of the House of Urbino. The first duke, Frederick of
Montefeltro (1444) took a lively interest in the manufac¬
ture ; his son established a manufacture at Pesaro, and
the most eminent artists were employed in furnishing de¬
signs, a svstem of patronage which was maintained by suc¬
ceeding dukes. There is a tradition that Raffaelle was
employed in furnishing designs; whence majolica sometimes
passes by the name of Rajfaelle ware. But as the finest
specimens do not date earlier than 1540, or twenty years
after the death of that great artist, he was probably not
directly concerned in the manufacture. But it is admitted
that his scholars used his drawings in composing designs
for the finest specimens. In the middle of the fifteenth and
during part of the sixteenth century, many towns of Italy
had become renowned for their majolica ware, of which the
coarser specimens were named mezza-majolica, and the
finer, however inappropriately, porcelana. The manufac¬
ture had attained its greatest celebrity between 1540 and
1560. After the last-named date the art began to decline,
and the introduction of porcelain, properly so called, helped
to complete its downfall. The caprices of fashion cannot
be alone charged with the destruction of this beautiful art,
since, so far as utility is concerned, a hard paste covered
with a vitreous glaze, as in porcelain, must be very supe¬
rior to a soft paste coated with a metallic glaze, as in the
case of majolica. The best examples of mezza-majolica are
distinguished by the beauty of their colour, and the perfec¬
tion of their enamel glaze ; the latter imparting to the yellow
and white tints the metallic lustre of gold and silver. There
is also a remarkable mother-of-pearl lustre, together with
an iridescent ruby, peculiar to Pesaro and Gubbio. The
most general colours used in the painting were blue and
yellow, with their mixtures. The drawing is not so good
as the colouring, until the so-called porcelana raised the art
to its zenith. After the year 1560 the designs became
more fanciful and grotesque, and the colours inferior. It
must not, however, be supposed that the articles manufac¬
tured were ornamental only. During the whole reign of
majolica ware, all kinds of common articles were produced,
such as pilgrim’s bottles, with holes in the bottom rim for History,
the strap or cord by which the vessel was carried; various
forms of vases, adorned with paintings, with handles in the
form of serpents, and rims surmounted by grotesque figures
of animals and fishes; fruit dishes, with embossed patterns
in hhdi relief; small plates for ices and sweetmeats ; vases,
for holding different kinds of wine, which could be poured
out from one spout; small flasks, in the shape of lemons
and apples ; cups covered with tendrils or quaint devices ;
small figures of saints ; jocose figures; birds, coloured after
nature; painted tiles for walls and floors, &c. Some of
the most interesting specimens of majolica are known as
amatorii, and consist of vessels, plates, or deep saucers,
containing the portrait and name of a lady ; these were
filled with fruits or sweetmeats, and presented as pledges
of affection. The portraits not only perpetuate the female
beauty of a former age, but also the costume by which it
was sought to make that beauty more attractive. Some of
the amatorii represent hands united, hearts a-flame, or
pierced with darts, after the fashion of the modern Valen¬
tine. The painters who executed the designs were usually
copyists, the design itself being furnished by an eminent
artist. In some cases, however, the painters themselves
were the artists, and are known by certain monograms and
marks. Occasionally the painters bought the pieces ready
prepared for painting, executed them at home, and took
them to the kiln to be fired. In such cases, the piece is
often marked with the name of the potter, as well as that
of the artist. The custom of attaching signatures to the
pieces is peculiar to some manufactories ; those with names
and monograms for the most part belong to Gubbio and
Albino. Different towns had their distinguishing marks,
and it was common to mark in blue characters on the back
of the dish the subject of the design ; but when a complete
service was painted, only the principal piece was marked:
it was also customary to introduce the arms of the family
for whom the service was prepared.
Majolica was introduced into Germany in 1507 by
Hirschvogel of Nuremberg, but the manufacture does not
appear to have survived him. It prospered better in
France, where, under the name faience? it flourished
under the patronage of Catherine de’ Medici and her kins¬
man Louis Gonzaga. The latter established Italian artists
in his dukedom of Nevers, and they were successful in
producing enamelled pottery from native materials. Gra¬
dually as native artists succeeded the Italian ones, the
classical designs of the latter were degraded, and the ena¬
melled ware of Italy was represented only by the common
faience of France. In the eighteenth century Nevers re¬
covered her reputation, and became celebrated for the bril¬
liancy of a dark blue enamel with white patterns upon
common ware. A variety of enamelled pottery was also
produced at Rouen: this attracted some notice ; but the
kind of ware which may be said to be peculiar to France is
that known as Palissy ware. There is a good deal of
romance mixed up with the life of the inventor of this ware.
Bernard Palissy and his adventures, real or imaginary, have
assisted in multiplying the number of those dangerous
books which ascribe imaginary events to real characters.
Palissy was born at the commencement of the sixteenth
century, of poor parents ; but nature had implanted within
him a love of the beautiful, which became his teacher. He
managed to acquire a knowledge of reading, writing, and
land-surveying, by which last-named art he earned his live¬
lihood. In the intervals of employment he was much given
to the study of the Italian masters, and he was delighted
to obtain work in painting images and designs on glass.
This enabled him to gratify his taste for travel, and for
+V.1 term is suPP0Se(i to 1)6 derived from the small town, now a village, of Faience, in the department of Var, which, as early as
e sixth century, appears to have been celebrated for glazed pottery.
POTTERY AND PORCELAIN.
History, studying natural objects. He became master of the che-
mistry and mineralogy of his day, such as it was. In 1539
he settled at Saintes as an artist, where he married. His
attention was first directed to pottery by being shown a
beautiful enamelled cup, and on proceeding to inquire into
its mode of manufacture, he found that there were secrets
connected with it, and especially with the composition of
the enamel. He at once undertook a course of experi¬
ments on the subject, but without success. The desire to
master the subject had, however, taken such possession of
him, that during several years he devoted nearly all his
time and means to this pursuit, in spite of the claims of his
wife and family and the remonstrances of his friends. He
borrowed money to enable him to construct a new furnace;
and when too poor to buy fuel, he used his furniture in¬
stead. When unable to pay his assistant’s wages, he gave
him the coat from off his back. Thus, becoming every
year more wretched than the preceding, the folly of six¬
teen years (as it would have been called had he failed) ended
in a triumph. Yiis figulines or rustic pottery became the
fashion of the day, and his beautiful patterns were every¬
where admired. The general style of his ware is marked
by quaintness and singularity; his figures are usually chaste
in form : the ornaments and subjects of a historical,"mytho¬
logical, and allegorical character are in relief, and coloured.
His natural objects, with the exception of certain leaves,
were all moulded from nature. His shells are those of the
tertiary formation of the Paris basin ; his fish are those of
the Seine ; the reptiles and plants are from the neighbour¬
hood of Paris; and he made use of no foreign natural pro¬
duction. The colours are usually bright, and mostly con¬
fined to yellows, blues, and grays ; sometimes extending to
green, violet, and brown. Mr Marryat says that Palissy
I never succeeded in attaining the purity of the white
enamel of Luca della Robbia, or even that of the faience of
Nevers.” The pieces rustiques of this artist, intended to
adorn the large sideboards of the dining-rooms of the period,
are loaded with objects in relief. A favourite subject with
him was a flat kind of basin or dish, representing the bot¬
tom of the sea, covered with fishes, shells, sea-weeds,
pebbles, snakes, &c. We have also from the hand of this
artist, ewers and vases with grotesque ornaments, boars’
heads, curiously-formed salt-cellars, figures of saints, wall
and floor tiles, &c. Mr Baring Wall speaks of Palissy as
“a great master of the power and effect of neutral tints.”1
France is also celebrated for a fine ware known as faience
fine and gres cerame. Some of the earliest specimens are
known under the name of renaissance, or fine faience of
Henri II. There are only thirty-seven pieces of this
manufacture extant; and as twenty-seven of them have
been traced to Touraine and La Vendee, it has been con¬
jectured that the manufactory was at dhouars in Touraine.
The material is a fine white pipe-clay, the texture of which
is seen through the thin transparent vellow varnish. The
patterns are engraved on the paste, and the hollows filled
up with coloured pastes, so as to resemble fine inlaying or
chiselled silver works in niello; whence this ware has°also
been texmeU faience a niello. I here are also beautifully-
modelled raised ornaments: the articles are for the most
part small and light, consisting of cups, ewers, and a vase
with a spoilt for pouring, called a biberon. A single candle¬
stick of this ware was sold a few years ago for L.220.
Germany had its enamelled wares as early as the thir¬
teenth century, the secret of success being of course the
discovery of a fine glaze. Ratisbon, Landschut, and
Nuremberg thus became formidable rivals of the Arabs
and the Italians. The distinctive characters of this ware
are the fine green glaze, the complex form, the number
and variety of ornaments, lightness, and good workmanship.
433
Nuremberg also became famous for its lame rr ,
tiles used for covering stoves. g enamelled History.
Holland, from its exclusive trade with Japan, was in¬
duced to imitate the Japanese porcelain. The chief
of the manufacture was Delft; and the ware was known
and esteemed in the sixteenth century by its fantastic de¬
sign, good colour, and beautiful enamel—the latter bein<r
smooth and even, and slightly tinged with blue. The
Japanese origin was seen in the monstrous animals of the
chimera class the three-ringed bottle, the tall shapeless
beaker, and the large circular dish, which were lono- re¬
garded in Europe as favourite ornaments; while the com¬
mon articles were so generally distributed as to obtain for
Delft the title of the “ parent of pottery.” The fine English
wares introduced by Wedgwood and others were the means
of injuring the trade of Delft.
In England, the first manufactory of fine earthenware is
smd to have been erected in the reign of Elizabeth at
Stratford-le-Bow. The well-known Shakspeare iu"- is
cited as a good specimen of Elizabethan pottery. It is of
cream-coloured earthenware, about 9 inches in height and
16 in circumference in the largest part. Its shape resem¬
bles that of a modern coffee-pot. It is divided lengthwise
into eight compartments, each containing a mytholoo-ical
subject in high relief and of considerable merit. 'The
silver top is a modern addition. The Elizabethan pottery
nearly approaches in hardness that of fine stoneware ; it
is of a dingy white, and its ornaments in relief consist
mostly of quaint figures and foliage. In the reign of Eliza¬
beth the Staffordshire potteries came into notice, of which
some of the earliest specimens consist of butter-pots of
native brick earth, glazed with powdered lead-ore, which
was dusted on while the ware was in a green state; the tiq
or drinking-cup, with three handles; and the parting-cup
with two handles. In 1684 a manufactory of earthenware
was established at Fulham, some of the products of which,
under the name of Fulham-icare, are still valued by col¬
lectors. Ihey consist of white gorges or pitchers, marbled
porcelain vessels, statues, and figures. The proprietor, Mr
John Dwight, attempted to produce the transparent porce¬
lain of China, but his success was not such as to turn him
from the more profitable manufacture of earthenware.
About the time of the Revolution, ale-jugs of native marl,
ornamented with figures in white pipe-clay, were intro¬
duced. During the reigns of Anne and George I. an
improved ware was made of sand and pipe-clay coloured
with oxide of copper and manganese, forming the well-
known agate-ware and tortoiseshell-ware, conferring on the
pottery the character of a hard paste, which was subse¬
quently so much improved by Wedgwood, and introduced
under the name of Queen's ware.
The proceedings of Wedgwood form an epoch in the
history of the art. Josiah Wedgwood was the son of a
potter at Burslem in Staffordshire. He was born about
the year 1730, and can scarcely be sa&l to have received
any formal education. At the age of eleven he entered
his brother’s pottery as a thrower; but he had not been
long so engaged before he was attacked by small-pox, which
left him with a lame leg, and rendered amputation necessary.
His first attempts to settle in life were not fortunate; he
became partner for a short time in 1752 with a man named
Harrison, at Stoke, where he is said to have first felt a
strong desire to manufacture ornamental pottery. His next
partner was named Wheildon, and his employment con¬
sisted in manufacturing knife-handles in imitation of agate
and tortoiseshell, melon table-plates, green pickle-leaves,
&c.; but he could not induce his partner to embark largely
in the production of ornamental wares, nor was there much
encouragement to do so. The upper classes of Great
1 Lecture delivered before the Literary and Scientific Society of Salisbury. January 1853
VOL. XVIII. :
Printed for private circulation.
3 i
r
484 POTTERY AND PORCELAIN.
History. Britain obtained their porcelain from China; the great bulk
of the earthenware in domestic use was supplied by F ranee,
Germany, and Holland; and even the trade in tobacco-
pipes, in which this country had attained some success, was
becoming monopolized by the Dutch. To compete with
these formidable rivals required the courage and persist¬
ence of genius ; and Wedgwood was not slow in bringing
them to bear upon the native materials which surrounded
him. Accordingly, in 1759 he established a small factory
on his own account at Burslem. Here he must have been
successful, for he soon undertook a second manufactory,
where he produced a white stone-ware, and afterwards a
third, where he manufactured his celebrated cream-coloured
ware. Some specimens of the latter having been shown to
Queen Charlotte, her Majesty was so pleased with them
that she appointed Wedgwood the royal potter, and gave
permission for calling the ware “ Queen’s ware. W edg-
wood had now no longer reason to complain of want of
taste or of patronage on the part of the public, and nobly
did he use his best exertions to encourage the one and
respond worthily to the other. He studied the chemistry
of his day, and courted the society of scientific men, with a
view to improve the composition, glaze, and colour of his
wares. He invited good artists to furnish him with de¬
signs, among whom was the celebrated Flaxman. Among
Wedgwood’s inventions may be mentioned a terra cotta,
resembling porphyry ; basalts, or black ware, which would
strike sparks like a flint; white porcelain biscuit, with
properties similar to basalt; bamboo or cane-coloured
biscuit ; jasper, a white biscuit, of exquisite delicacy and
beauty, well adapted for cameos, portraits, &c.; also blue
jasper and green jasper, and a porcelain biscuit little in¬
ferior to agate in hardness, and used for pestles and mortars
in the laboratories of chemists. He also succeeded in im¬
parting to hard pottery the vivid colours and brilliant glaze
of porcelain. About the year 1762 Wedgwood opened a
warehouse in London, and entrusted it to the care of Mr
Bentley, a gentleman of recognised taste, who succeeded in
attracting attention to the rising Staffordshire works,and also
in obtaining the loan of vases, cameos, oriental porcelain,
&c., which at that time were difficult to procure, especially
for the purposes of the manufacturer; but such was the
sympathy of persons of taste with Wedgwood’s pursuits,
that they freely lent their fictile treasures either to be
copied or to suggest new designs. Even the Barbarini
vase, which was purchased by the Duchess of Portland for
1800 guineas, was lent to Wedgwood, who, after executing
fifty copies, destroyed the mould. Wedgwood’s wares now
became so deservedly popular that the extension of his
works in Staffordshire led to the formation of a new village
near Newcastle-under-Lyne, which was named “Etruria,”
from the resemblance which the clay dug there had to the
ancient Etrurian earth, and also probably to mark the suc¬
cess with which Wedgwood had imitated the ancient Etrus¬
can ware. This village long continued to be a centre of at¬
traction for travellers from all parts of Europe, and we may
still trace that celebrity in many noted collections of the
ceramic art, Wedgwood’s finest productions taking rank
with the choicest specimens of Dresden and Sevres. Wedg¬
wood died at his mansion in Etruria in 1795.
The stone-ware which Wedgwood so greatly improved
had long existed under various forms in different potteries
of the world. In some cases it was common, and in others
fine—the difference consisting in the composition of the
paste. The Chinese were acquainted with this ware, and
were accustomed to use it as the basis for a surface of por¬
celain paste. The stone pottery of the Rhine of the six¬
teenth century is esteemed by collectors for its quaintness
of form, richness of ornament, and the colour of its enamel.
Gres Flamand, or Flemish stone-ware, of the period be¬
tween 1540 and 1620 is remarkable for its beautiful blue
colour, quaint forms, and rich ornaments. France also ap- History,
pears to have manufactured stone-ware before the sixteenth
century. In England, Dutch and German workmen were
engaged in the manufacture at an early period. In 1690
the mode of glazing by means of common salt enabled the
stone-ware manufacturers to compete successfully with delft
and soft paste fabrics. Towards the end of the seventeenth
century a very fine unglazed stone-ware, with raised orna¬
ments, known as red Japan ware, was made in England,
after the failure of many previous attempts. It appears
that two brothers named Elers, from Nuremberg, disco¬
vered at Bradwell, about 2 miles from Burslem, a bed of
fine red clay, which they worked at a small factory erected
on the bed itself. They endeavoured to conceal their dis¬
covery, as well as their mode of working, for which purpose
they employed the most ignorant assistants that they could
meet with; but no sooner did their ware attract attention
than a potter named Astbury, feigning to be an idiot, entered
the service of the two brothers, and, having learnt all their
secrets, established a factory for himself: the processes soon
became known, and others followed the example. In 1720
the two brothers closed their establishment, and entered the
porcelain manufactory at Chelsea. Mr Marryat charac¬
terizes their ware as being fine in material and sharp in
execution, the ornaments being formed in copper moulds.
Regarding stone-ware as a connecting-link between
earthen-ware and porcelain, we come now to the history of
the latter article. China, Japan, and Persia are the earliest
nations which produced this beautiful material. Bottles of
Chinese manufacture have been found in the tombs of
Thebes; and from an inscription on one of them, the date
of the manufacture would appear to be between 1575 b.c.
and 1289 B.C. The workmanship, however, is inferior.
Porcelain seems to have been common in the Chinese
empire in the year 163 b.c., and to have attained its greatest
perfection in the year 1000 a.d. The porcelain tower near
Nankin was erected in 1277. Marco Polo describes the
manufacture in China during the thirteenth century. Speci¬
mens of the ware had gradually found their way to Europe,
but were not generally known until the Cape of Good
Hope had been doubled by the Portuguese. The latter
were so struck with the resemblance between the texture
of this fine ware and that of cowrie-shells or “ porcellana, ’
as they were called, that they imagined that the ware
might be made of such shells, or of a composition resem¬
bling them, and named it accordingly. They imported
numerous and splendid collections of the ware into Europe,
where it was also named from the country which produced
it; and, from its ringing sound, “ China metal.” It was
also called “China earth.” On the expulsion of the Por¬
tuguese, the Dutch succeeded in establishing a traffic with
India and Japan; and Europe was for a long time supplied
with porcelain through Holland. The English shared in
the trade somewhat later, through the medium of the East
India Company ; but the taste for collecting china had be¬
come very general, and about the middle of the seven
teenth century had amounted to a passion. 1 he writer.,
of the day frequently refer to it, especially in Queen Anne s
reign. The French, who had established missions in China,
succeeded in obtaining, from time to time, information re¬
specting the manufacture. Fokien was represented as the
seat of manufacture of the pure white porcelain of China,
some of which consists of small cups and similar articles,
with inscriptions, devices, &c., under the glaze, so that
they can only be seen by holding the article up to the
light. Nankin produced the blue and white porcelain, as
also the pale buff on the necks of bottles and backs of
plates. King-te-tching was named as the origin of the
old sea-green and crackle porcelain. To the former the
term celadon has been applied; but the French extend
the term to porcelain of any tint in which the colours are
POTTERY AND PORCELAIN.
History
mixed with the glaze, and burnt in at the first firing. In
some cases two or more colours are blended so as to give
the appearance of shot-silk ; a variety, known as marbled,
belongs to this class, and resembles marble in its colouring
and veining. Crackle china, in which an immense num¬
ber of cracks occur on the surface in small regular figures,
is due to the unequal expansion of the glaze on the paste.
The crackled “ tsoui'-khi” are produced by combining
steatite with the glaze; and this when fired, splits into a
net-work over the surface. A similar effect can be pro¬
duced by plunging the heated porcelain into cold water;
the cracks are then filled in with a thick ink or red-ochre.
The ancient crackle is so much esteemed in Japan that as
much as L.300 has been paid for a single specimen. The
Chinese call this ware snake-porcelain ; and the French
apply to it the term porcelaine truitee. But the perfection
of the ceramic art among the Chinese is exhibited in their
egg-shell porcelain, which is thin and transparent, and re¬
sembles an egg-shell in appearance. This ware is coloured
citron-yellow for the exclusive use of the emperor, and
ruby for the use of the imperial family. The porcelain in
common use in China is brown, the inside being white, and
white medallions outside. 1 here is also an inferior and
more modern porcelain, manufactured at Canton, and known
as Indian china. But in all the specimens of Chinese por¬
celain, however beautiful may be the material and delicate
the texture, however brilliant the colour and pure the glaze,
the form and the design are hideous. It has been remarked
that the vase of the humblest Greek potter of the best
period has an aesthetic value far surpassing the most costly
productions of the Celestial Empire. The porcelain of
Japan is in better taste than that of China, the dragons
being less monstrous and the flowers more natural. B
After the introduction of Chinese porcelain into Europe,
many attempts were made during two centuries to imitate
it. The first successful experiment was the result of one
of those accidents which are doubtless of frequent occur¬
rence, although the quality of mind required to take ad¬
vantage of them is rare. John Frederick Bbttcher was an
apothecary s assistant at Berlin : he was fond of chemistry,
and conducted his experiments with so much ardour that
the authorities could not resist the conclusion that he was
practising the black art. He found it convenient to make
his escape from Berlin and to visit Dresden, where the
Electoi of Saxony, Augustus II., patronized chemistry, not
from the love of science, but from that of gold. Bbttcher
claimed the protection of the elector, who eagerly inquired
of him respecting the transmutation of the baser metals.
With the natural frankness of his character, Bbttcher con¬
fessed his ignorance, but was disbelieved. Why should a man
study chemistry except to enrich himself? it was argued;
and as the elector was already patronizing the alchemist
1 schirnhaus in his endeavours to discover the art of trans¬
muting old age into youth, by means of the elixir vitce, he
associated Bbttcher with him, with strict orders not to let
him out of his sight. Bbttcher was employed to seek after
the philosopher’s stone; and in the course of his experi¬
ments he made some crucibles, which, on being fired, pos¬
sessed many of the characters of oriental porcelain. ’ The
vessels were made from a brown clay found near Meissen
and they were of a reddish tint. When the result was
brought before the elector he appreciated its importance;
and in order that Bbttcher might pursue the inquiry in
seciet, he sent him to the castle of Albrechtsburg, near
Meissen, where he was magnificently entertained, but re¬
strained in his personal liberty. So much importance was
attached to the secret, that during the troubles consequent
on the invasion of Saxony by Charles XII. of Sweden,
Bbttcher, Tschirnhaus, and three workmen, were sent to
the fortress of Kbnigstein on the Elbe, where a laboratory
was prepared for them. Bbttcher’s fellow-prisoners formed
a plan of escape, which he communicated to the com¬
mandant, whereby he gained favour and a little more per¬
sonal liberty. In 1707 he returned to Meissen, where he
continued to prosecute his experiments, delighting every
one around him with his active cheerfulness, and keenine
up the spirits of the workmen during the furnace opera¬
tions, which sometimes lasted sixty hours consecutively
1 schirnhaus died in the following year, and Bbttcher en¬
larged the scale of his operations ; he caused a new furnace
to be erected, and^ extended the time of firing to five days
and five nights. The elector was present at the opening
of the furnace, and expressed his satisfaction at the pro¬
gress which was being made. Up to this time, however
the only result was a kind of red and white stone-ware;
and when, in 1709, Bbttcher succeeded in producing a
white porcelain, it became bent, and cracked in the fire.
The progress, however, was deemed to be sufficient to
determine Augustine to establish a manufactory at Meissen
and to appoint Bbttcher the director. In 1715 the new
factory produced a beautiful description of porcelain by
means of the kaolin of Aue in the Erzgebirge, the discovery
of which was made by an ironmaster of the district named
Schnorr. This man had observed, while riding near the
place, that his horse’s feet stuck in a soft white tenacious
earth, and it occurred to him that if this earth were dried
and reduced to powder, it would make a good substitute
for hair-powder, which the fashion of the day required, all
except the poor, to use. Accordingly he manufactured the
powder in large quantities, and found a ready sale for it in
Dresden and elsewhere. Bbttcher’s valet used it, and so
increased the weight of his master’s wig as to lead to in¬
quiry ; and finding that the new hair-powder was of mineral
origin, the idea flashed across his mind that this white
powder might be useful in his experiments. He made the
attempt, and was delighted to find that he had at length
discovered the long wished-for material for making white
porcelain. The secret so curiously obtained was for a
long time as carefully guarded. The powder was made to
retain its commercial name of “ Schnorr’s white earth”
{Snorrische weisse Erde), its export was forbidden, and it
was introduced into the factory in sealed barrels by per¬
sons sworn to secresy. All persons connected with the
factory were obliged to take a similar oath : no visitor was
admitted; and the factory was regulated after the manner
of a fortress. The motto in large letters, “ Be secret unto
death” {Geheim bis ins Grab), was set up in each room;
the oath to the workmen was renewed every month; and
when the king or any distinguished visitor was allowed to
enter the factory, a similar obligation was imposed on him.
But all this parade of secresy would make it clear to the
most ill-informed workmen that the secret had a high
marketable value, and we cannot wonder that it should
have been sold to one or other of the monarchs of Europe,
most of whom were ambitious to manufacture oriental por¬
celain. Bbttcher died in 1719, at the age of thirty-seven,
but before his premature death, a foreman had escaped
from the factory, and proceeding to Vienna, submitted to
be bribed, and it was not long before rival factories sprang
up in different parts of Germany. A few years ago the
writer visited the Meissen factory, which is pleasantly situ¬
ated on the banks of the Elbe: it still retains something of
its fortress character, although the workshops are light and
cheerful. The principal room is adorned with the bust of
Bbttcher. The factory, however, has lost its former vigour:
an air of lassitude seems to pervade the place, and neither
here nor at Sevres are we impressed with the idea that the
work is being done in earnest, as it is at such an establish¬
ment as Minton’s at Stoke-upon-Trent. There can be no
doubt that private enterprise, unshackled by state restric¬
tions, is the only healthy condition of the useful arts. A
royal factory, which can neither become bankrupt nor meet
436
POTTERY AND PORCELAIN.
History, with the wholesome stimulus of competition, is not likely to
be worked at a profit, nor to inspire activity in its attendants.
The temporary success of the Meissen factory depended
on the singularity of its position. There was a great de¬
mand in Europe for fine porcelain, and Meissen was in a
condition to supply it. The first productions of the factory
were mostly imitations of oriental patterns, but they were
deficient in grace and lightness. There was a marked im¬
provement when Kandler, a professional sculptor, was ap¬
pointed in 1731 to superintend the modelling. He intro¬
duced wreaths and bouquets, animals and groups of figures,
with the feeling of an artist. The works were arrested by
the Seven Years’ War; but after this calamity Meissen be¬
came celebrated for its exquisite miniature copies of the
best works of the Flemish school, together with birds and
insects, painted by Lindenir, and flowers and animals by
the best artists. In 1745, when Frederick of Prussia took
possession of Dresden, he obtained among the spoils of war
enormous quantities of porcelain. He also removed to
Berlin some of the workmen, together with the models and
moulds of the finest pieces. Again, in 1759, the factory
was plundered and its archives destroyed : it revived some¬
what under Dietrich the painter, Liich the modeller,
Breicheisen, and the sculptor Francois Acier. Gradually,
however, the factory ceased to be profitable, and was for
many years maintained at a loss; when some years ago the
king gave it up to the finance department of the state.
The finest works of art are no longer produced; and it is
also stated that the beds of fine clay in the neighbourhood
are nearly exhausted, and that an inferior material from
Zittau is used instead.1 Various marks were placed on the
wares at different periods : the first mark consisted of the
letters A. R. (Augustus Rex), and was placed on all pieces
not intended for sale. The well-known mark of the elec¬
toral ^ swords, crossed, also distinguishes Dresden china.
Fac-similes of these marks, and of the marks and mono¬
grams of other celebrated European potteries, are given in
Mr Marryat’s work.
Among the best of the Dresden works are groups from
antique models; lace figures, so called from the fineness of
the lace-work in the dress; flowers, evidently studied from
nature; and vases richly adorned and encrusted, forming
what is called honey-comb china. But even during the
palmy time of this manufacture, namely, from 1731 to 1756,
the productions were sometimes disfigured by the highly
artificial taste of the age. Thus, in the Ceramic Court of
the Crystal Palace, we have lately examined some curious
specimens of basket-ware, resembling large wicker baskets,
with numerous handles and small wicker doors opening at
the side and moving on hinges. We may perhaps be al¬
lowed to repeat in this place some observations which we
have made on one of these productions elsewhere:—“ A
certain ideal finish is given to the work by resting it, as it
were, upon a bed of flags, whose lanceolated foliage rises
up gracefully, and constitutes indeed the only pleasing part
of the production, affording as it does a refreshing glimpse
of nature amidst the embarrassments of art. Those only
who are acquainted with the practical details of this manu¬
facture can be at all aware of the enormous difficulties of
forming one of these baskets, and passing it successfully
through the furnace ; and when the results have been suc¬
cessful, as in the cases before us, we have an infringement
of one of the soundest canons of art,—namely, not to imi¬
tate an inferior material in a superior.”
The first rival of Meissen w-as the porcelain factory of
Vienna, which originated in 1720, in consequence of the
perjury of a Meissen workman, as already noticed. The
factory does not, however, appear to have flourished until
w'armed into life by the patronizing smiles of Maria Theresa
in 1744, and of the Emperor Joseph. The porcelain of
Vienna holds a lower rank than that of Dresden or of Ber¬
lin. It is not so light as that of Dresden, and the glazing
has a grayish tint. Its chief feature is its raised and gilded
work, which are in good taste, and of late years the appli¬
cation in relief of solid platinum and gold. The works are
now in private hands, and the chief markets for the sale of
the ware are in Turkey, Russia, and Italy.
As the Vienna works were based on treachery, so was
the next important establishment based on the defection of
a Viennese workman. A celebrated pottery was already
in existence at the village of Hbchst on the Nidda, when
in 1740 a man named Ringler undertook to superintend
the manufacture of porcelain if the proprietors would intro¬
duce it. This man appears to have been simply a knave
without skill or invention : he had committed to writing
the various processes of the Vienna establishment, and con¬
cealing his manuscript about his person, consulted it every
time he had to give out materials to the workmen. As
knavery propagates itself, the workmen, taking advantage
of Ringler’s fondness for wine, invited him to a feast, where
they made him helplessly drunk,—when they robbed him
of his papers, carefully copied his recipes, and then de¬
camped to other parts of Germany, where they sold the
secrets to those who wrere anxious for their possession.
Hence originated from one source the porcelain factories
of Switzerland, of the Lower Rhine, of Cassel, and even of
Berlin. The Fiirstenburg works, in the duchy of Bruns¬
wick, originated in a bribe offered by one of the dukes to
a Hbchst workman. The works at Frankenthal in Bavaria
originated in a pottery which was visited by Ringler after
he had been plundered of his papers. The factory of
Nymphenburg in Bavaria had a similar origin. The por¬
celain of this factory is much esteemed, many of the de¬
signs having been furnished by the celebrated picture
gallery of Munich. A factory at Baden was conducted
by some of the Hbchst workmen until 1778. The factory
of Ludwigsburg, begun in 1758 under the patronage of
the Duke of Wirtemberg, has executed some beautiful
works, which are known as Cronenburg porcelain, from
the town of that name, and the mark CC on its wares.
The distance from which the clay and the fuel had to be
procured prevented the success of this establishment. The
porcelain factory of Berlin was first undertaken in conse¬
quence of the information supplied by the men who robbed
Ringler; but it was not very successful until a more mag¬
nificent fraud had been perpetrated, namely, the transfer¬
ence of the best of the work-people, and the material of
the Meissen factory, as already referred to. T he Berlin
porcelain was, of course, only an imitation of the Dresden,
but the factory was carried on with such vigour as to yield
to the king an annual revenue of 200,000 crowns. In 1790
a second royal porcelain factory was established about 2
miles from Berlin. To one of Ringler’s fraudulent com¬
rades is also due the factory established at Fulda, about
1763. The prince-bishop of Fulda established another
factory in a house adjoining the episcopal palace; but it
is said to have failed in consequence of the taste for por¬
celain extending to the dignitaries of the church, who
claimed the privilege of carrying off specimens without
paying for them. The porcelain factories of Thuringia
History,
1 This statement is made on the authority of Mr Marryat; but at the time we are writing an account is given in the German papers
of an order from Paris having been executed at Meissen, consisting of portraits of the Emperor and Empress of the French, of a medal¬
lion shape, and inclosed in a rich porcelain frame. According to the German critics, “these are the finest works of a,rt which porce¬
lain painting has yet produced.” If this criticism be true, or even partially true, the Meissen works must have experienced an extra¬
ordinary revival.
POTTERY AND PORCELAIN.
History, originated about 1758, when an old woman having sold
V'*"'’ some sand at the house of the chemist Macheleid, his son,
struck by its appearance, experimented on it, and obtained
by its means a porcelain-looking substance, whereupon the
Prince of Schwartzburg sanctioned the erection of a factory
at Sitzerode, which was afterwards removed to Volkstadt.
The abundance of fuel supplied by the Thuringian forest
led to the erection of other factories, such as that of Wal-
lendorf in Saxe-Coburg, Limbach in Saxe-Meinengen, the
director of which succeeded so well as to be able to purchase
the factory at Grosbreitenbach in Rudelstadt, and also
that of Kloster Veilsdorf. Factories were also founded at
Gotha in 1780, at Hildburghaus, at Anspach, at Ilmenau,
at Breitenbach, and at Gera. All these factories had their
periods of prosperity, and produced porcelain which is still
esteemed by collectors. Some of them have degenerated
into potteries, and some produce pipe-bowls as their only
article in porcelain. Nor will our list approach complete¬
ness without mentioning a factory established by the Em¬
press Elizabeth in 1756, near St Petersburg, which still
continues to produce good porcelain from native materials,
Denmark has a factory at Copenhagen; it is supported by
the government, but is said to be, commercially, a failure.
The factory at Zurich in Switzerland was established on
the information supplied by one of Ringler’s workmen. A
factory at Nyons, in the Canton de Vaud, has also pro¬
duced some good porcelain.
During all this active rivalry on the Continent it will
not be supposed that England had escaped the porcelain¬
making mania. Bow and Chelsea produced the first por¬
celain works. They made a soft ware from a mixture of
white clay, white sand from Alum Bay, and pounded glass.
The Chelsea works do not appear to have been in a very
flourishing condition until George II. imported workmen,
models, and materials from Brunswick and Saxony. Chel¬
sea porcelain then became the rage, and such was the
eagerness to obtain it, that it was sold by auction to the
highest bidders, the dealers rushing in crowds to compete
for it. Some of the best works were produced between
1750 and 1755 r^hey are in the style of the best German ;
the colours are fine and vivid, and the claret colour is peculiar.
Bow china, made at Stratford-le-Bow, has some resemblance
to that of Chelsea, but the material is not so good. Its
principal productions were tea-services and dessert-sets. In
1750 was established the factory at Derby, which became
important in consequence of the introduction of the Chelsea
artists, workmen, and models, the junction of the two fac¬
tories being notified by the anchor and the letter D, the
monograms of each manufacture. Flaxman furnished de¬
signs for the establishment; but the union did not continue
long; the partners quarrelled, and one of them destroyed
the models. Mr Marryat describes the Derby procelain
as being very transparent, of fine quality, and distinguished
by a beautiful bright blue, often introduced on the border
or edge of the tea-services, the ground being generally
plain; the white-biscuit figures are said to equal those of
Sevres. The Worcester works were established in 1751
by Dr Wall and some others, under the name of the Wor¬
cester Porcelain Company. The company first imitated
the blue and white Nankin china; they afterwards adopted
the Sevres style, with the Dresden method of painting.
These works are remarkable as being the first to make
use of the Cornish stone or kaolin, discovered by Cook¬
worthy in 1768. They are still carried on with distin¬
guished success by Messrs Kerr and Binns. In 1772 a
factory was established at Caughley, near Broseley, Cole-
brook Dale, the productions of which are known as Salo¬
pian ware. Early in the present century some good
porcelain was made at Nantgarrow and Swansea; it is also
stated that the Bristol china, a white ware formerly common
in the west of England, was made in Wales, and sold in Bris¬
tol. We cannot conclude this bare mention of Eno-fish
porcelain without naming such firms as Minton & Yo
Copeland & Co., at Stoke-upon-Trent. We have referred
elsewhere to their works (in reviewing the collections in
the Ceramic Court of the Crystal Palace), in the followino-
terms“ The tea-services of Messrs Minton are beautiful
and delicate in form, exquisite in device, and rich in colour
and contrasting with their porcelain vases, flower vases*
and enormous majolica vases, would seem to illustrate the
beautiful and the sublime in the fictile art. We have also
some exquisite busts manufactered by Copeland from por¬
celain earth, such as the bust of Clytie, reduced from the
original in the British Museum, a form of art which cannot
be too highly commended, since there is nothing more
touching to the thoughtful mind than to be brought face
to face with the worthies and celebrities of the past.”
France regarded with impatience during sixty years the
progress of porcelain in Europe, and although eminently
qualified in point of taste, skill, and science to contribute
to the ceramic treasures of the world, she was unable to
compete with other nations for want of a suitable raw
material. It is true that as early as 1695 a soft porcelain
had been manufactured at St Cloud, and that some of the
scientific men of France had endeavoured, under royal pa¬
tronage, to discover the secrets of the art, but no great suc¬
cess was attained. The company had been established at
Vincennes, but in 1756 they removed to a large building
which they had erected at Sevres. In 1760 Louis XW
bought up the establishment, probably at the instigation
of Madame de Pompadour, who seems to have shared with
her sex the passion for china. The factory became cele¬
brated for its soft porcelain or pate tendre, but the great
point aimed at was to produce the hard porcelain which
had rendered Saxony the envy of Europe. But kaolin was
not known in France, nor was its presence even suspected,
until about 1768, when the wife of a surgeon named Darnet
of St Yrieix, near Limoges, having noticed in a ravine near
the town a white unctuous earth, thought that she might
relieve her husband’s poverty somewhat by using it in her
house instead of soap. The surgeon showed a portion of
the substance to an apothecary of Bordeaux, who being
aware of the search that was being made for porcelain earth,
forwarded a specimen to the chemist Macquer, who recog¬
nised it as the much-desired kaolin. Assuring himself
that an abundant supply could be had, he established the
manufacture of hard porcelain at Sevres in 1769. At first
some difficulty was experienced in managing the colours
upon the more compact and less absorbent material, so that
the soft porcelain continued to be made until the year 1804.
Such, in few words, is the origin of the hard porcelain
of Sevres. The pdte tendre was not considered as real
porcelain, but the taste and skill of the French are remark¬
able in carrying it to the highest pitch of perfection under
many difficulties, arising from its complicated and expensive
composition, and from its liability to collapse during the firing.
Mr Marryat speaks of it as being “ remarkable for its creamy
and pearly softness of colour, the beauty of its painting,
and its depth of glaze.” The ware for common or domestic
use had generally a plain ground, painted with flowers in
patterns or medallions; articles de luxe, and pieces intended
for royal use, had commonly grounds of various colours,
such as bleu de roi, bleu turquoise, jonquille, or yellow, vert-
pres, or green, and a lively pink or rose colour, named after
Madame Dubarry. Skilful artists were employed upon the
finest porcelain, which is adorned with landscapes, flowers,
birds, boys, and Cupids gracefully arranged in medallions.
Some of the specimens are painted with subjects after
Watteau, and other known masters. The jewelled cups,
with the bleu de roi ground are celebrated. The best pe¬
riod of the soft porcelain was from 1740 to 1769, and the
tests which Mr Marryat gives to distinguish it form its
437
History.
n
438
History, highest praise, namely, “ the beauty of the painting, the
richness of the gilding, and the depth of colour.” In point
of form the Sevres china is not equal to that of Dresden.
A law was passed in 1766, and renewed in 1784, limiting
the use of gold in the decoration of porcelain to the royal
manufactory of Sevres, which accounts for the rarity of
old French gilded porcelain.
At the time of the Revolution many fine specimens of
Sevres porcelain in the royal palaces and mansions of the
nobility were destroyed. The establishment of Sevres,
however, was supported by the revolutionary government,
who appointed three commissioners to manage it. In the
year 1800 the first consul appointed M. Brongniart as
director. He held the appointment during forty-seven
years, and originated the celebrated Musee Ceramique,
consisting of a historical series of specimens illustrative of
the ceramic art in all times and among all people, together
with a collection of raw materials, tools, implements, trial-
pieces, models of furnaces, &c. On our visit to this museum,
we were particularly struck with a collection ot failures, or
specimens showing what had been done to overcome faulty
results, and what it was hopeless to attempt. M. Brongniart
is also the author of a classical work on the art to which he
devoted his life with such distinguished success.1 M. Ebel-
man succeeded Brongniart as director, and held the ap¬
pointment for a year or two. The present director, M.
Regnault, was appointed by the Emperor Napoleon III.
The following is a list of the more celebrated porcelain
manufactures of France :—Chantilly, which owed its origin
in 1735 to a workman from St Cloud; Menecy, founded
in 1735 under the patronage of the Due de Villeroi;
Sceaux-penthievre, established in 1751 ; Clignancourt,
1750, under the patronage of the Duke of Orleans; Etiolles,
near Corbeii, 1766; Bourg la Reine, Paris, 1733. Lille,
established, it is supposed, in 1708, when the Dutch were
masters of the town; Arras, 1782; Tournay, 1750. At
St Amand les Eaux, near Valenciennes, and at Tournay in
Belgium, are two factories, the only two in Europe where
the old pate tendre of Sevres is still produced.
As respects Italy, a factory was established at Doccia,
near Florence, at the beginning of the eighteenth century.
Venice also manufactured porcelain until 1812. There
was also a factory at Vineuf, near Turin ; but the most
famous factory in Italy is the Capo di Monti at Naples,
founded by Charles III. in 1736. This sovereign appears
to have excelled the other royal amateurs of Europe in the
ardour with which he cultivated the ceramic art, and he
even surpassed Augustus III., who was nicknamed by
Frederick of Prussia “ the Porcelain King,” and who ex¬
changed a whole regiment of dragoons for some huge use¬
less china vases. Charles III. even worked in the factory
with his own hands, and held an annual fair in front of the
royal palace at Naples, where there was a shop for the sale
ot the royal productions; and there was no more certain
road to the king’s favour than to become a purchaser.
When Charles became king of Spain he founded a fac¬
tory a,t Madrid, and that at Naples declined. His succes¬
sor Ferdinand sanctioned the erection of other porcelain
works, and allowed the royal workmen to assist in their
formation ; and they appear not only to have assisted but to
have robbed the parent factory of its gold and silver models
and other valuables. The royal factory was closed in 1821.
1 he porcelain of Capo di Monti is not, as is commonly the
case, an imitation of that of some rival factory. Its beauty
and excellence are due to the design from shells, corals,
embossed figures, &c., artistically moulded in high relief.
r larryat regards the tea and coffee services of this ware
POTTERY AND PORCELAIN.
as perhaps the most beautiful porcelain articles ever produced Materials,
in Europe, for transparency, thinness of the paste, elegance
of form, and gracefully-twisted serpent handles, as also for the
delicate modelling of the ornamental groups in high relief,
painted and gilt, contrasting well with the plain ground. The
factory at Madrid was conducted with the utmost secresy
during several reigns, but was destroyed by the French in
1812. Portugal has a factory of hard porcelain near Oporto.
The prices paid for porcelain are high. As much as
L.150 has been paid for a single specimen of majolica; while
a service of Chelsea ware has cost L.1200. One of Sevres,
of a good period, 30,000 livres; while the Dresden ware
was equally costly. Although our modern manufacturers
have produced porcelain rivalling that of the best periods
of celebrated works, the price still continues to be neces¬
sarily high, where the materials require to be treated with
the precision of a chemical process, and the design and
ornamentation require high artistic skill. Mr Minton re¬
ceived L.1000 for his service of turquoise and Parian ;
Lord Hertford gave L.1000 for two vases; Mr Mills the
same ; one of the Queen’s vases has been valued at L.1000,
and Lord Ward gave L.1500fora dessert service of Sevres.
Such works as these, however, belong rather to the fine
arts than the useful arts, to be preserved in cabinets and
museums. Formerly it was customary on great occasions
to serve the guests on porcelain, which gave to wealth
a real distinction. In those days the transition from por¬
celain to earthenware was abrupt; but through the exer¬
tions of Wedgwood and others, porcelain now descends
through numerous varieties of material, style, taste, and
decoration ; so that every class of consumer may suit his own
taste and means. Our trade in earthenware has of late years
gone on increasing. In the year 1835 the declared value
of earthenware exported from the United Kingdom was
L.540,421 ; in the year 1857 it amounted to L.1,488,668.
Our exports extend to most parts of the world, including
Russia, Austria, Turkey, and even France. The United
States of America take nearly the half of our exports in
earthenware, so little has the potter’s art been encouraged
in the New World. Our exports to foreign countries
would doubtless be larger if the restrictions were fewer
and less clumsy. In Germany and Italy the duty is levied
on the weight; so that Wedgwood, on account of the
lightness of his ware, was long able to command the market
in those states. In France the duty on common English
china of one colour, without gilding or ornament, is 164
francs per 1000 kilogrammes (200 lb.); for fine china, 327
francs for the same quantity. The most whimsical of all
tariffs is that of Portugal, where the charge is according
to the number of colours; so that, as Mr Wall remarks,
k< no man’s pocket could stand the choice of a rainbow
pattern.”
SECT. n.—THE MATERIALS.
Clay, which forms the basis of pottery and earthenware,
is not only abundant and widely diffused, but presents so
many varieties that much experience and judgment are
required in adapting the kind of clay to the article to be
manufactured. Brongniart enumerates 167 varieties of
clay, and states their physical and chemical characters,
composition, locality, and application.2 Some of the com¬
monest varieties of clay consist of—1. Pipe-clay. It has a
grayish-white colour, a smooth greasy feel, an earthy frac¬
ture ; it adheres to the tongue, and is plastic, tenacious,
and infusible. It becomes of a cream colour when fired ;
and is used for tobacco-pipes and white pottery. It is found
near Poole in Dorsetshire.—2. Potteds-clay. This is of
2 ^ lmV hist0ire> leur Prati?ue>et I*™ tteorie, par Alexandre Brongniart, &c., &c.,
Under the article Brick will be found a notice of the various coarse clays employed.
POTTERY AND PORCELAIN.
Materials, various colours; those used in the Staffordshire potteries
are the brotvn and blue clays from Dorsetshire,1 and black
and cracking clays from Devonshire. The colour of the
black clay is due to bitumen or coaly matter, which disap¬
pears in passing through the kiln; so that the wares formed of
it are almost white. Cracking clay is esteemed on account
of its whiteness, but as it is liable to crack during the firing,
it must be mixed with other clays which are free from this
defect. Brown clay when passed through the gloss oven
sometimes causes the glaze to crack, or craze, as it is called.
For ordinary purposes blue clay is preferred; it can be
mixed with a larger proportion of flint than the other va¬
rieties, and thus produces a white ware. Potter’s clay, mixed
with sand, is formed into bricks and tiles.—3. Stourbridge
clay. This is of a dark colour, from the presence of car¬
bonaceous matter, and from its being more refractory than
potter’s clay, it is largely employed for glass pots, crucibles,
&c.—4. Brick clay or loam is abundantly met with on
the London clay, and is often found on an interposed bed
of sand. Its appearance, texture, and composition vary
greatly; and the colour depends on the proportion of oxide
of iron contained in it.—5. London clay. This is an ex¬
tensive deposit of bluish clay: although near the surface, it
frequently has the usual clay colour. It extends over the
greater part of Middlesex, a portion of Norfolk, and the
whole of Essex and Suffolk. It is often found near the sur¬
face ; but the lower beds are sometimes yellowish, white, or
variegated. Organic remains are found in it.—6. Plastic
clay. This skirts the London clay within the London chalk
basin, and is also found in the Isle of Wight. This formation
comprises a number of sand, clay, and pebble beds, alter¬
nating irregularly, and lying immediately on the chalk.
The above varieties of clay are mixed with such sub¬
stances as carbonate of lime, magnesia, protoxide of iron,
manganese, finely-divided quartz, felspar, mica, organic
matter, &c., which greatly modify its properties and appli¬
cations. Pure clay is soft, more or less unctuous to the
touch, white and opaque, and has a characteristic odour
when breathed upon. It is a compound, or perhaps only
a mixture, of the two earths, alumina and silica, with water.
Silicate of alumina enters largely into the composition of
many crystallized minerals, among which is felspar, so
abundant an ingredient in granite, porphyry, and other
ancient unstratified rocks. Under certain circumstances
the felspar undergoes decomposition, and is converted into
a soft friable mass. In certain districts of Devonshire and
Cornwall the felspar of the white granite is often disin¬
tegrated to a great depth, and the rock becomes converted
into a substance resembling soft mortar. This being col¬
lected, is thrown into a stream of running water, which
washes off the argillaceous portions, and holds them sus¬
pended while the heavier quartz and mica subside. At
the extremity of these streams the water is dammed up,
forming catch-pools, where the pure clay sinks and forms a
solid mass, which, when the water has been drawn off, is
dug out in blocks, and placed on shelves called linnees to
dry. It is next stove-dried, crushed, packed in casks, and
sent to the potteries, under the name of china clay, or
kaolin. It consists of 80 parts alumina and 20 silica;
a proportion of undecomposed felspar, under the name of
china-stone, is sometimes added to the ingredients for por¬
celain. In the year 1855 as much as 60,188 tons of china
clay was shipped from Cornwall, and 19,961 of china-stone;
while Devonshire shipped 20,000 tons of pipe-clay, and'
1100 of china-clay. Of late years improved methods have
been adopted for getting out the china clay in Cornwall.
At the Lee Moor clay-works, for example, Mr Phillips,
the managing director, has introduced the following ar-
rangeinents;-—! he decomposed felspar is transferred di¬
rectly from the quarry to the works, where it is thrown into
hoppers, and passes into a trough under the action of a
tull stream of water, encountering on its way a series of
knives and iron arms furnished with teeth, which thorouMilv
beat up the clay in its passage along the trough. Pure
spring water is used in the operation, and great care is taken
to exclude the surface drainage from the peat soil of Dart¬
moor. As the water leaves the trough it flows through
sieves, which separate the coarser fragments of quartz
and the fluid, charged with clay and mica, passes on ; the
mica breaking up into thin scales, has a tendency to float, but
being heavier than the suspended alumina, it gradually
subsides under the regulation of the current, which is now
not sufficiently rapid to carry on the mica, nor sufficiently
sluggish to allow of the deposition of the clay. When at
length the stream holds nothing but pure clay, it is allowed
to flow into deep V-shaped channels, which terminate in
large covered reservoirs, in which the clay is deposited.
Warm-air pipes circulate beneath the reservoirs, so as to
produce a temperature of about 90°. The fine clay soon
subsides, so as to allow of the clear water above it being
drawn off. The mineral pegmatite is also valuable, as con¬
taining all the ingredients for hard porcelain. It consists
of felspar kaolin, and a small proportion of prismatic
quartz. The mineral must, however, be in the state of
decomposition already referred to. T. he quartz gives white¬
ness and transparency to hard ware ; but for soft porcelain
bones are substituted. These melt into a kind of semi-trans¬
parent enamel, which imparts transparency to the ware.
Steatite, or soap-stone, is also an ingredient in porcelain.
Ihe statuary porcelain known as Parian or Carrara,
fiom its similarity to those beautiful marbles, owes its effect
chiefly to the use of a soft felspar instead of Cornish stone;
while its agreeable yellowish-white tint is due to the presence
of a small portion of oxide of iron contained in the clays
and the felspar.
The property possessed by clay of forming a perfectly
plastic mass with water, and of being permanently fixed
by heat, has led to its employment in the manufacture of
bricks and vessels of various kinds, but it undergoes a large
amount of contraction in drying and burning, to diminish
which the clay is usually mixed with a considerable pro¬
portion of quartz-sand, or with the powder of previously-
burnt clay. The quartz in pottery ware is in the form of
flints; these are obtained from the chalk districts of
Gravesend and Newhaven; they are white outside, but
dark and clear within. Such flints should be selected the
fracture of which is free from yellow or iron stains.
The preparation of the clay for such coarse articles as
tiles consists first in iveathering, or spreading it out to the
action of the air, so that by absorbing water the particles
may separate, and the clay work freely. It should be ex¬
posed to at least one night’s frost, or to one day’s sun, be¬
fore a second layer is added to the first. The weather-clay
is cast into pits, and left for some time covered with water
to mellow or ripen. Before being used it is tempered by
grinding in a pug-mill. This differs somewhat from that
described under Brick, it being tapered at both ends, and
the hole is at the bottom instead of in front. If the clay
be fold, or contain many stones, it is slung, or cut into
lengths of about 2 feet with a sling or wire-knife, and then
further divided into slices of three-quarters of an inch in
thickness, during which operation the stones fall out, or are
picked out. The clay goes once more through the pug-
mill, and is then ready for the moulder. For chimney-pots
and such articles the clay is slung once or twice, and pugged
or ground two or three times.
439
Materials.
railway ^ year 1855 there Were exPorted from Poole in Dorsetshire 53,702 tons of Poole clay, and 682 tons were sent to London by
440 POTTERY AND POECELAIN.
Materials. The clay for fine pottery undergoes a number of pre-
paratory processes. Two or more kinds of clay being put
together in proportions according to the judgment of the
manufacturer, they are thrown into a trough with water and
left for some hours. They are then well worked with a long
blade of ash furnished with a cross-handle, named a Hun¬
ger, until a smooth pulp is formed, a pint of which weighs
24 ounces, or, in the case of china clay, 26 ounces. 1 he
operation of blunging, as it is called, may be assisted by
pugging the clay in an iron cylinder furnished with knives
on the inside, and a moving vertical axis also containing
knives, which by their joint action divide the clay, and by
their position force it downwards, and out through an open¬
ing at the bottom. It is then removed to a vat, mixed
with water, and blunged by means of cross-arms attached
to a perpendicular shaft. In this operation stony particles
sink to the bottom.
The flints having been heated in a kiln, and plunged in
cold water to increase their brittleness, are crushed into
fragments by means of stampers, and are next reduced to
powder in & flint-pan. This is a circular vat 10 or 12 feet
in diameter," the bottom of which consists of masonry of
quartz or felspar. In the centre is a vertical axis, from
which radiate four arms for moving the runners: these are
masses of chert, a hard siliceous stone found near Bake-
well in Derbyshire. The broken flints are thus ground
with water, and in the course of some hours are reduced to
powder, which forms with the w^ater a creamy mixture.
Felspar, broken porcelain, &c., is sometimes ground up in
the same manner in smaller vats. The creamy mixture is
transferred to another vat furnished with a vertical shaft
and arms, and being diluted with wTater, the arms are set
rotating, the effect of which is to keep the finer siliceous
particles suspended, while the coarser ones sink to the
bottom. The former are drawn off with the water, and the
latter are sent back to the flint-pan. The water thus drawn
off is received into a reservoir, in which the finer particles
subside. The creamy mixture of flint and water is fit to
mix with the clay when a wane pint of it weighs 32 ounces.
The proportions, however, in which the clay and the flint
are mingled vary greatly with the kind of ware intended to
be made, and the experience of the manufacturer.
These proportions being determined, the ingredients are
first mingled by being agitated together, after which the
mixture is passed through sieves of fine hard-spun silk, ar¬
ranged on different levels, so as to run through compara¬
tively coarse into finer sieves, and produce a smooth, uni¬
form mixture of slip, as it is called. To assist the easy
passage of the mixture a jigging motion is given to the
sieves. The water which has thus far served as a vehicle
for the ingredients, is next got rid of by evaporation in the
slip-kiln. This is a long brick trough, heated by flues
underneath, and capable of raising the water to the boiling
point. During the heating the slip is diligently stirred to
prevent the heavier flint from subsiding, and also to pre¬
vent the flint and clay from forming a kind of mortar with
the water. When bubbles of steam cease to form, the
operation is at an end. In countries where fuel is not so
abundant as in England, the water is got rid of by filtra¬
tion, assisted by mechanical pressure, or by rarefying the
air beneath the filter by atmospheric pressure.
When the stuff is of uniform texture and sufficiently
hard, it is cut up into wedges which are dashed down upon
each other, in order to get rid of vesicles and air-bubbles,
which might afterwards form blisters in the ware. To ob¬
tain a fine grain the clay should be wedged at intervals
during several months. It is stated that in China the stuff
is prepared many years in advance. The French mission-
anes were informed that it was customary to prepare the
f hundred years {pour cent annees), whence arose
a anciful derivation of the word porcelain. However this
may be, there is no doubt that newly-made stuff produces Manufac-
bad ware, and that ageing greatly improves it. During the tare,
last-named process a kind of fermentation sets in, carbonic
acid and sulphide of hydrogen are liberated, and the mass
improves in texture and colour. These gases are doubtless
formed at the expense of the carbonaceous and organic im¬
purities of the clay or of the water, whence the improve¬
ment in colour; while the disengagement of the gas ac¬
counts for the improvement in texture. The next process
is slapping, in which the workman takes up a mass of the
paste and dashes it down with violence, then dividing the
mass with a wire, he dashes the top portion on the lower;
this is done many times, care being taken to preserve the
grain,—that is, to slap the layers parallel to each other, and
not obliquely, otherwise the paste would be liable to fall
apart during the firing.
SECT. III.—THE MANUFACTURE.
There are three processes by which fictile articles are
shaped,—namely, throwing, pressing, and casting. Of
these, throwing is the most common, and by far the most
ancient. It is performed by means of the potter’s wheel or
lathe, which is a disc of wood fastened to the top of a ver¬
tical spindle, and made to rotate by being connected by
means of a strap with a multiplying wheel driven by an at¬
tendant. The paste, as it is received from the slapper, is of
the consistence of dough. The thrower’s attendant cuts it
up into portions, weighs each, according to the quantity re¬
quired for the intended article, and rolls each portion up into
a ball. The thrower, seated before his lathe, dashes one of
the balls down upon the rotating board, and with the fingers,
which are frequently dipped in water, raises the lump into
a conical form, presses down the mass to get rid of air-
bubbles, and with one hand, or finger and thumb, in the
mass, gives shape to the intended article ; he is also fur¬
nished with a piece of horn or porcelain called a rib, the
edge of which accurately represents the curve of the vessel.
With this he smooths the inner surface, and gives it shape.
During this operation the assistant turns the wheel with
varying rates of speed, so that the centrifugal force may act
differently in different conditions of the growing vessel. The
thrower is furnished with a rude kind of fixed gauge, consist¬
ing of an upright stick, from which projects a horizontal rod
at such a height above the whirling table as to enable the
thrower to make all the articles of one kind very nearly of
the same size. When one article is finished, it is removed
by passing a wire beneath it, and is set aside in an airy or
a warm room until sufficiently consolidated for the next
operation, which is turning. As it would not be possible
for the thrower to produce articles sufficiently thin, they are
reduced in size by being put on the chuck of a lathe, and
turned to shape by means of cutting tools, the material fly¬
ing off in long, broad shavings just as if it were wood.
When it has thus been properly thinned and brought to
shape, the vessel is smoothed and solidified by the pressure
of a broad tool upon its surface. Handles, spouts, &c., are
formed separately, and are attached to the articles by means
of slips. Flowers, leaves, &c., are formed partly in moulds
and partly by hand, and are stuck on separately. The ar¬
ticle is lastly trimmed with a knife, and cleaned with a damp
sponge, and is ready for the kiln.
By the process of pressing, such articles as plates, dishes,
saucers, &c., are formed. The exact pattern, say of a plate,
having been determined by means of a model, a number ot
plaster casts are taken, one of which the plate-maker places
on a whirling table, bats out a sufficient quantity of paste
by means of a plaster mallet, and when sufficiently extend¬
ed, places it on the mould, much in the same way as a
housewife would cover a pie with paste. The table is then
set whirling, and a profile or shape in earthenware being
brought down upon the paste, gives the required form to
POTTERY AND PORCELAIN.
Manufac- the bottom of the intended plate. When the plate-maker
ture. is satisfied with his work, the mould, with the plate in its
green state, as it is called, upon it, is conveyed by a boy to
a warm room, and he brings back an empty mould, which
has been drying, for another plate. In about two hours the
plate is sufficiently dry to be removed from the mould, but.
the mould itself is left to dry before it is used again. One
man and two boys can produce from sixty to seventy dozen
of common plates in a day of ten hours, the same mould
being used some five or six times during the day.
The above operation is ca\\ed flat-ware pressing. Deep
vessels are formed by what is called hollow-ware pressing
or squeezing, for which purpose the mould consists of se¬
veral parts, which fit accurately together by means of pro¬
jecting pins and cavities. The clay having been batted
out, the several parts of the mould carefully lined with it,
and the points of junction well worked and wetted with
slip, are brought together and secured by a cord, when the
joints are further well worked and pressed, thin rolls of
clay being sometimes inserted, and the whole worked and
smoothed with moist leather and a cow’s lip. The interior
is then washed with a sponge, set aside for a time, and,
when somewhat solidified, is worked or polished with a
flexible plate of horn ; it is next put into a warm room, and
when the plaster has absorbed sufficient moisture, the article
is removed from the mould and fettled or trimmed with pro¬
per tools to get rid of seam marks. The outside is also cleaned
with a moist sponge, and the handles, &c., having been
added, and the horn again used, it is set aside for baking.
For elaborate works, models are first formed by experienced
artists in clay, and the moulds for the separate parts may be
numerous. Works of a comparatively simple character are
formed by the united agency of throwing and moulding.
By the third process, called casting, such delicate ar¬
ticles as egg-shell china are formed. The paste having been
reduced to a creamy state, is poured into a plaster-mould,
which, absorbing water from that portion of the paste which
comes in contact with it, fixes it, so as to allow the remain¬
ing fluid portion to be poured off. A very thin coating of
paste is thus left attached to the mould; when this is suffi¬
ciently dry, the mould is again filled for a short time with
the creamy mixture, when a second thin deposit is formed
upon the first. The mould having been dried in a warm
room, the cast is taken out, examined, and touched upon
by the modeller. Busts and statuettes are also formed in
this way; but as they shrink as much as one-fourth during
the firing, considerable dexterity is required to preserve
their shape. The lace which is sometimes seen on these
figures is real lace, dipped into slip, when the heat of the
kiln destroys the thread, and solidifies the paste, which
takes its place.
Encaustic tiles are made by what may be called a fourth
piocess, veneering. They consist, as we saw them
made at the works of Mr Minton (to whom this branch, as
well as other branches of the ceramic art is so deeply in¬
debted), of a body of red clay, faced with a finer clay for
the pattern, and strengthened at the bottom with another
clay, the junction of these layers apparently preventing
warping. After the usual preparatory processes, the red
clay is slapped into the form of a quadrangular block, from
which the tile-maker cuts off a slab with a wire, and upon
this the facing of finer clay, coloured to the required tint,
is batted out and slapped down. The bottom facing is
added in a similar manner. The tile is then put into a
box-press, when a plaster of Paris slab, with the pattern in
relief, is brought down on the face of the tile, and impresses
in the soft tinted clay the design, the hollow being after¬
wards filled up with clay of another colour. At the same¬
time, the maker’s name is stamped at the back, together
with a few holes to make the mortar adhere. The coloured
clay, in a creamy state, is next poured over the face of the
VOL. xvm.
441
tile, so as completely to conceal it, and when, in the course Manufac-
of twenty-four hours, this coloured slip has become hard ture*
the superfluous clay is scraped away, the coloured clay be-
ing left only in the hollows formed by the pattern-mould
The tile having been finished off with a knife, and defects
corrected, is kept during a week in a warm room, called
the green-house, and the drying is finished in a warmer
room, called the hot-house, preparatory to firing.
I he various articles of pottery, stone-ware, or porcelain
having, by one or other of the processes named, been per¬
fected as to form, and handles and other appendages, and
solid ornaments added, are now in what is called the green
state. The next process is to fix them, and deprive them
of their plastic nature by the action of heat. The potter’s
kiln consists of a massive domed cylinder of brick-work
bound with iron, and protected from the weather by an
outer conical hood or casing. The dome contains openings
for the exit of the smoke, which escapes into the air through
a chimney in the hood. Heat is supplied by means of six
or eight fire-places fixed round the cylinder, with proper
circulating flues and dampers for regulating the draught.
During the firing, the ware (unless of the commonest kind)
is not exposed to the direct action of the fire, but is care¬
fully packed in strong vessels, shaped very much like band-
boxes ; they are made of Staffordshire marl, and are called
seggars. The pieces must be packed in the seggars in
such a way as to economize space, and yet give them
the full benefit of the heat; at the same time, they must
be arranged according to their size and solidity, so that
small and delicate articles may not vitrify under too strong
a heat, and large ones have heat enough. Some articles
admit of being placed in contact, so as to support each
other and prevent distortion. When the pieces are large
or complicated in shape, they may require special supports
to prevent warping; these supports are of fire-clay, and
nicely fit the parts supported. Articles in porcelain are
sometimes separated during the firing by means of sand or
powdered flint; but the contrivances of this kind are nu¬
merous. When the seggars are filled, they are conveyed
to the furnace, and piled up so that the flat bottom of one
seggar may form a cover to the open mouth of the seggar
immediately beneath it, the surfaces being separated by a
ring of soft clay, which forms a tight joint. As many as
30,000 pieces of ware may be included in one baking. When
the seggars are properly arranged in piles, or bungs, as they
are called, and steadied by means of short struts, the door
of the kiln is closed with brick-work, the fires are lighted,
usually in the evening, and are urged during the whole of
the night, so that flame may be seen issuing ifom the chim¬
ney. Early in the morning the man draws his first ivatch.
Watches or trial-pieces are small rings of fire-clay, which
vary in colour with the temperature ; a number of these are
placed within the kiln in such positions that the man can
withdraw them at pleasure by inserting a long iron rod
through holes in the side of the kiln. The heat is regu¬
lated according to the aspect of these watches, and when,
after thirty or forty hours, the firing appears to have been
satisfactory, no more fuel is added, the fires are left to go
out, and the kiln gradually cools during the next twenty or
thirty hours. As much as fourteen tons of coal may be con¬
sumed in one firing. There can be no doubt that a very
large proportion of this fuel is wastefully expended: our
present abundant native store of coal leads to much extra¬
vagance in our various factories ; and it has been suggested
by M. Arnaux, a competent authority, to fire the ware by
means of gas, which, he thinks, can be done with an ease
and precision unattainable by the present system.
When the ware is removed from the kiln, its characters
are found to have undergone a remarkable change. In¬
stead of a soft, dull, friable or plastic material, we have a
hard, brittle, resonant, light-coloured, porous bodv. In this
3 k
442
POTTERY AND PORCELAIN.
Manufac- state it is called biscuit, from its resemblance to well-baked
tare. ^ip bread. Wine-coolers and similar porous articles, when
brought to this state, are finished; but most articles, espe¬
cially of earthenware, must be covered with some kind of
vitreous glaze, to remove their porosity and liability to tar¬
nish, and to render them fit for use. If coloured ornaments
have to be added, these are first put upon the biscuit, and
the glaze, in the form of a white powder, is then made to
cover the whole article, which, being passed a second time
through the fire, the powder melts into a glass, which
forms the ordinary surface of common wares. 1 he firing
is a costly process, from the great expenditure of time and
fuel, and this second firing still further increases the cost of
the ware. It thus became a great improvement when
Wedgwood was able so to compound the ingredients of his
ware that partial vitrification took place at the first firing,
thereby depriving the ware of its porous character, and ren¬
dering a second firing unnecessary. So also, in the com¬
monest kind of stone-ware, such as is made at the Lambeth
potteries, the glazing is, by an ingenious device, effected
simultaneously with the baking. When the ware has attain¬
ed a very high temperature in the kiln, a quantity of moist
salt (chloride of sodium) is thrown in ; the salt is volatilized
and decomposed in the presence of moisture, and by con¬
tact with the heated surfaces of the clay, hydrochloric acid
is disengaged, and the ware becomes covered with silicate
of soda, which, combining with the silicate of alumina of
the ware, forms a fusible double alkaline silicate or glaze on
the surface.
The object of the glaze being to render the article im¬
permeable by water, attempts have been made to accom¬
plish that end in various ways. Certain rude nations ren¬
der their wares impermeable by rubbing them while hot
with tallow, which, becoming partially decomposed, fills up
the pores, and imparts a black colour. Even the vases of
the artistic Etruscans and Greeks have not a vitreous but a
carbonaceous glaze, which wears off in the handling. The
wine and oil jars of Spain and Italy are made watertight by
the ancient method of rubbing them over with wax. The
most common description of glaze is, as its name glaze or
glass implies, vitreous. It is of two kinds, transparent and
opaque. When the ware is of good colour, and the orna¬
ments are impressed upon it, the glaze may be transparent;
but where the clay, otherwise good in quality, is bad in
colour, an opaque glaze, or enamel, as it is then called, is
used. In some cases, articles made of a good clay, of a
bad colour, may, before firing, be dipped into a slip of
white clay, and being thus veneered, admit of taking a
transparent glaze. Glazes coloured by means of a metallic
oxide are also sometimes used. The glaze should not have
too strong an affinity for the paste, or during the second
firing it may be absorbed into the ware instead of remain¬
ing at the surface, to which it should adhere firmly, and
expand and contract equally with the ware, so as not to be
liable to craze or crack. Numerous substances are em¬
ployed in the composition of glaze. For very hard ware,
in which the point of fusion is high, the felspars anti
certain volcanic scoriae are used; in other cases, common
salt, potash, boracic acid, phosphate of lime, and sulphate
of baryta, are the ingredients. Another class of glazes con¬
tains earthy and metallic substances, mixed or fritted into
a glass; such are silica and lead, or enamels of silica, tin,
and lead. Some glazes contain metallic oxides, such as
those of manganese, lead, and copper. Metallic and earthy
substances, if not previously fritted, form a glaze with the
si ica ol the paste in the gloss oven. Such glazes, how-
evei, are commonly soft, and liable to be acted on by acid
ant atty substances; so that lead glazes should be avoided
or ai tic es intended to receive food. In such cases, borax
ay be advantageously substituted for lead. A pure white
P e is improved by a transparent glaze, but if of bad
colour, it may be dipped into opaque glazes even before Ornamen.
the first firing. Glazes are made opaque by means of tation.
oxide of tin ; colour is given by the oxides of manganese,
copper, and iron ; while, by introducing these, together with
the oxides of cobalt and of chromium, into opaque and trans¬
parent glazes, an agreeable variety is produced. Pegma¬
tite forms a good glaze for hard porcelain; but for soft
porcelain a glass is fritted and mixed with oxide of lead, or
with earthy substances. 4
In applying the glaze to the biscuit, it is reduced to a
fine powder, and mixed with water. When the biscuit is
plunged into this mixture, the porous material immediately
absorbs a quantity of the water, and leaves the powder
equally distributed over its surface. When articles are glazed
and fired at one operation, the ware in its green state is
not absorbent, so that the glazing has to be put on with a
brush. For articles which are glazed on the inside only,
such as pipkins, the glaze is made creamy with water, arid
poured into the vessel and then out again, a sufficient quan¬
tity adhering to the surface by this means. Custom re¬
quires that jars shall have a portion of their surface of a
deeper brown than the natural colour of the material; they
are therefore dipped to a certain height in a mixture of red
ochre and clay slip. The glazing is completed during the
firing by means of common salt, as already noticed.
The pieces having been covered with white powder, are
arranged in seggars to protect them from the direct action
of the fire in the gloss oven. They are separated from
each other by means of supports, which present the smallest
possible surface of contact. These supports, known as
cockspurs, triangles, stilts, &c., have points projecting from
them above and below, which serve to separate, while they
support, the articles as they are piled up in the seggars.
The seggars are piled up in the glaze-kiln in the same
manner as in the biscuit-kiln, and the temperature is raised
to a point sufficient to fuse the glaze into a transparent
glass, and to unite it perfectly with the surfaces of the
ware. To enable the workmen to determine when the
proper temperature has been reached, watches, or rings of
clay, covered with glaze, are placed in the oven, and drawn
out from time to time.
SECTION IY.—THE ORNAMENTATION.
The love of ornament, which forms part of that higher
sense of beauty common to our nature, requires the addi¬
tion of some kind of adornment to articles in common use.
The rude pottery of savage nations is relieved in this way,
and often with considerable taste. It may admit of ques¬
tion whether our own taste is equally correct in the elabo¬
rate decorations which we bestow upon articles intended for
everyday use. Plates of Sevres porcelain, richly decorated
with landscapes, or portraits of distinguished individuals,
may have a high artistic value, but are certainly not adapted
to be placed before the company at a dinner table. A
dessert or dinner plate is not in itself remarkable for beauty
of form ; but its effect is absolutely hideous when it is made
to take a prominent part in decoration. In the palace at
bontainebleau we were introduced to a room, the walls of
which were decorated with plates of Sevres china, arranged
in horizontal lines. In such an example, the costliness of
the material and the skill of the artists were rendered
simply ridiculous. So also the rich blue and gold of a tea-
service have too heavy an effect, when the feeling of grace
and lightness ought to be inspired. The leading idea
in ceramic ware should be that of purity. The white
colour would sufficiently suggest this if it were not con¬
cealed by ornament, just as that pure material glass, when
not spoilt by the glass-cutter, reveals the unsullied trans¬
parency of the water or of the wine contained in it.
I he artist may exercise his taste in producing beauty of
form, but the ornamentation of that form should be of the
POTTERY AND PORCELAIN.
Ornamen
tation.
simplest character, only just calculated to relieve the beauty
of the material. Our limited space will not allow us to en¬
large on this subject, so that we at once proceed to a
brief notice of the mechanical and chemical means by which
ornaments are applied to pottery and porcelain.
When common ware is to be ornamented with a pattern,
it is put on before the glazing. The blue pattern of an
ordinary plate is printed on the biscuit with an ink com¬
posed of boiled linseed oil, resin, tar, and oil of amber,
coloured by means of a mixture of oxide of cobalt, ground
flint, and sulphate of baryta (fritted and ground), and
blended with a flux of ground flint and thick glass powder,
which serves to fix the colour. The ink is made fluid by
spreading it. on a hot iron plate. It is taken up by means
of a leathern dubber, and transferred to engraved copper¬
plates, also heated, and the superfluous colour is scraped
off with a palette-knife, and the surface of the plate is
cleaned with a dossil. A sheet of yellow unsized paper is
next dipped into soapy water, and placed on the copper¬
plate, which is thus passed through a cylinder press. The
pattern is thus transferred to the paper, which is taken by
a girl called the cutter, who cuts away the unprinted por¬
tions, and leaves the pattern in separate parts. These are
taken by a woman called the transferrer, who places each
portion with its printed side next the biscuit, and rubs it
with a flannel rubber, until the ink is properly absorbed.
I he pattern-papers are subsequently removed by placing
the biscuit in water, and gently washing it with a brush.
The biscuit is next dried in an oven, and is then ready for
glazing; the heat of the gloss oven vitrifies the glaze, and
allows the pattern to be seen through it. Instead of paper,
a flexible sheet of glue, called a paper or bat, is in some
cases used for transferring the design. The impression is
taken in oil from the engraved plate, and after it has been
transferred to the biscuit, the required colour is dusted
oyer it in a dry state. The sheet of glue can be cleaned
with a sponge, and can be used over and over again.
When the pattern is required to produce high artistic
effects of form and colour, the work is performed by hand
with a camel-hair pencil. The colours consist of metallic
oxides ground up with such vitrifiable substances as glass,
mtie, and borax, oil of turpentine or of lavender bein^ the
usual vehicle. The greatest difficulty which the artisl has
to contend with arises from the fact, that the colours are
for the most part dingy and unpleasing, and give no idea
to an inexperienced eye of the intended effect.1 It is not
until the heat of the furnace has driven off the oil, and
chemically combined the ingredients of the colours/that
the effect can be judged of. The artist has thus to work,
as it were, in the dark : he is not cheered with the idea of
progress, as in ordinary oil-painting, where the work seems
to grow into life, and to develop new details of beauty at
every touch. Even after the first firing, it by no means
follows that success has been attained. The work may
have to he re-touched, and again passed through the fire
or it may be injured by one or other of the numerous
accidents to which a work is liable which has to pass
through the fire. r
The colours used are formed by the combination of cer¬
tain metallic oxides and salts with certain fluxes, by means
of heat, which enables them to fuse into coloured glasses.
. e oxides are usually those of chromium, of iron, of ura¬
nium, of manganese, of zinc, of cobalt, of antimony, of
copper, of tin, and of iridium. The salts and other bodies
used for imparting colour are the chromates of iron, of
443
baryta, and of lead, the chloride of silver, the purple preci- Ornamen
p. ate of cassms, burnt umber and burnt sienna red and tation
yellow ocbres, &c. Some of these develop their colours W-
under the mfluence of the highest temperature of the Z-
celain fui nace, and are hence called by the French chemists
coiueurs de grand feu; others, and by far the larger num.
her, are termed muffle-colours, inasmuch as they becomo
developed under the more moderate heat of the muffle
which is a kind of seggar, in which the painted ware is
inclosed, to protect it from the fuel. The first class of
colours is limited to the blue produced by oxide of cobalt
tie gieen of oxide of chromium, the brown produced by
iron, manganese, and chromate of iron, the yellows from
oxide of titanium, and the uranium blacks. Those colours
form the grounds of hard porcelain, and as the heat em¬
ployed in firing it is capable of fusing felspar, that substance
is used as the flux. For an indigo blue, four parts oxide
of cobalt and seven parts felspar, or fora pale blue, one
part oxide of cobalt and thirty parts felspar, are well
pounded, mixed by repeated siftings, and vitrified in a
crucible in the porcelain furnace. The resulting glass is
reduced to powder, ground up with a volatile oil, and ap¬
plied to the surface of the biscuit, which, being again raised
to the high temperature of the porcelain furnace, the colour
fuses, and becomes incorporated with the substance of the
ware. The high temperature required for cobalt has, how¬
ever, this inconvenience, that a portion of it becomes
volatile, so as to affect objects placed near it. In this way
a white vase in the same furnace may derive a blue tint
from the vapour of the cobalt. This colour is also uncer¬
tain m its results: it sometimes leaves white uncoloured
patches, or forms a dull granular surface. Oxide of chro¬
mium may be employed without a flux to give a green
colour to hard porcelain; but as it does not, under&such
circumstances, penetrate the ware, it is liable to scale off.
A bluish-green is produced from three parts oxide of
cobalt, one part oxide of chromium, and one-tenth of fel¬
spar, without fritting. Mixtures of the oxides of iron,
manganese, and cobalt, produce a fine black, and by omit¬
ting^ the cobalt, various shades of brown.
The muffle colours are too numerous to be stated here;
they are fired at a temperature equal to about the fusing
point of silver. Many of them would become more bril-
liant and solid under a greater heat, but this would be in¬
jurious to those colours which are obtained from the purple
piecipitate of cassius,2 on which the artist relies for some of
his finest effects, such as fine purple, violet, and carmine
tints.
In preparing metallic oxides and their fluxes sound che¬
mical knowledge is required, otherwise the results cannot be
depended on. The chemist relies on the stability of nature,
as revealed to him by his science; lie reduces his materials
to a state of chemical purity, and compounds them accord¬
ing to the law of definite proportions. In order, for example,
that the yellow colour imparted by chromate of lead shall
be identical at all times, the compound must obviously
consist of nothing but equal equivalents of oxide of lead
and chromic acid. In such case, if the pigment be applied
at different times under the same circumstances, it will
produce precisely similar results ; but if either of the proxi¬
mate elements of the salt be impure, no reliance can be
placed on the compound. Different specimens will produce
different results, although the same mode of applying them
be always observed. In some cases, however, not even the
chemical purity of the ingredients will insure harmonious
a duiln/sTto^creamfflesTof t/xturf^A cas/of^thD COlOUrS Wh'Ch d° n0t Change COl°Ur in the flrinS’ but onIy change from
Dihl was onlv mrtiii . • '+• . CaS6 tlnS jln<* 18 mentloned by Brongniart, but the success attained by the inventor M
inis pigment is formed by adding a solution of gold in apia regia to one of chloride of tin.
444
POTTERY AND PORCELAIN.
1
Ornamen¬
tation.
' . - „ r wfttrhps consisting of small slabs of porcelain smeared with Ornamen-
results. The physical cohd,(.on of one of the .ugredie ^ ^ tl carmine produced by the tation.
may be of importance, as in the case of oxide ot zinc, an
ingredient in.some of the enamel greens, yellows, yellow-
browns, and blues. If the oxide be himpy, granular, dense,
and friable, it will produce a dull pigment, although che¬
mically pure, while a light flocculent impalpable oxide,
chemically identical with the former, will give satistac.tory
results. It is further necessary that solutions of a metal be
made at the same temperature, that the acids which dis¬
solve it be of the same strength, that the precipitate be
neither more nor less rapid on one occasion than on another.
Such conditions as these require to be carefully studied
and noted, as, indeed, has been done m the laboratory at
Sevres, where minute' records are kept of the processes
required for compounding the colouis.
but even when such conditions as the above are known
and observed, there' are others so slight as scarcely to be
appreciable, hut which, nevertheless, have an influence on
the colour. With certain delicate pigments, the porphyn-
zatiori or grinding with water or oil a little more oi less,
the difference of touch of different artists in laying on the
same pigment, will produce differences in tone, although all
the other conditions be strictly observed.
Dumas defines the process of painting on haid poicelam
to be the art of soldering by heat to a layer of the glaze a
layer of fusible colour, the dilatation of which shall be the
same as that of the glaze and the body of the waie. 1 he
function of the flux is to envelop the colour and attach it
to the glaze. In most cases it has no action on the colour,
but is simply mechanically mixed with it: the flux, how¬
ever, must mix with the glaze. 1 hat muffle colours do not
penetrate the porcelain, may be proved by boiling in nitric
acid a piece of painted ware after it has been fired, when
the colours will disappear. As the flux is only a mecha¬
nical vehicle for the colour, it must vary with the colour;
but the necessity for mixing or blending colours greatly
limits the range of fluxes. A common flux is the silicate
of lead, or a mixture of this with borax. Now the borax
cannot be replaced by the fixed alkalies, on account of the
readiness with which soda or potash becomes displaced in
order to form other compounds. They have also a ten¬
dency to make the colours scale off. The mode of using
the fluxes varies with the colour: in some cases it may be
ground up in proper proportions with the colour; in others
it must be previously fritted with the colour. The first
mode is adopted when the colouring oxide is readily altered
by heat; but when the oxide requires a high temperature
to bring out its characteristic colour, the second method is
adopted.
Not the least among the difficulties of enamel-painting
is the high temperature required for the vitrification of the
colours. The lowest heat of the muffle is about 1100°
Fahrenheit; while some oxides do not develop their colour
below 1850°. In the regulation of the furnace, the most
some trial colour, usually the carmine produced by the
purple precipitate of cassius. This forms a useful exponent "
of all the other pigments: it varies greatly in tint accord¬
ing to the temperature ; so that, by arranging a scale of
corresponding with a scale of tint&, a tolerably
accurate thermoscope may be formed. Brongniart invented
a pyrometer for estimating the temperature of the interior of
the muffle; its action depends on the expansion of a bar of
fine silver, nearly eight inches long, introduced into the
muffle and connected with a graduated scale on the out-
side. -
The kind of fuel used for heating the muffle has an in¬
fluence on the colours; for although the muffle may consist
of an iron box heated only on the outside, it is almost im¬
possible to prevent some of the products of combustion
from entering it. The smoke of ordinary coal is especially
injurious to the colours, from the presence of sulphurous
acid, which is also given off from coke. Wood has its py¬
roligneous acids, and even charcoal gives off carbonic acid.
The presence of an acid is so injurious in the muffle, that
the reds produced from green vitriol, before being used,
must be thoroughly washed, to get rid of the last traces of
acid. It is also stated that a muffle in which cuperose has
been calcined, cannot be used for the firing of colours.
There is also a difficulty connected with the use of oxide
of lead, which is required in the preparation of certain
colours, but is injurious to the development of some others.
Again, the fixed alkalies used in the composition of the
glaze may re-act on the colouring oxides, especially at the
maximum temperature. In this way, the oxide of chrome
will produce yellow instead of green. The oxide of lead,
the potash, and the soda, may not only act injuriously by
contact, but, by becoming volatilized, they may injure
every colour in the muffle. Moreover, the oxide of tin,
used in certain glazes, may impart its own opacity to the
colours. It is also a curious fact, that different kinds of
kaolin are not all equally favourable to the development of
the colours put upon the ware; and we are informed that
the kaolin of Ebreuil will not allow of the development of
any colour derived from gold.
In close relationship with painting on porcelain stand the
sister arts of enamel-painting1 and painting on glass. It
does not belong to our subject to enter into any details
respecting them, but we must notice one or two more pro¬
cesses connected with the ornamentation of porcelain.
The metals used for imparting colour, hitherto referred
to, have been in the form ot oxides, &c., and used with a
flux. The gold used in gilding porcelain is first dissolved
in aqua regia; the acid is driven off by heat, when the
gold remains in a state of minute division. It may also be
precipitated by means of sulphate ot iron. In this minutely-
divided state it is mixed with one-twelfth of its weight of
oxide of bismuth, together with a small quantity of borax
neiow i»ou . in tne regulation ot tne rurnace, me most umuc ui uismuui, lugcwci <vini <*  :
successful method is to begin with a low heat, and urge it and gum-water, and applied to the ware by means of a hair
rar\i/ll,r nr, fr, ifo onrl oc ranWtKj tr, Inwpi’ tlif* opncib Tf the article is to have only a cii culai line of gold,
rapidly up to its maximum, and as rapidly to lower the
heat. A moderate heat, long continued, may produce de¬
vitrification,—that is, the elements of the flux may sepa¬
rate, and combine again in a different manner, so as to
produce an opaque substance known as Reaumur's por¬
celain. There is danger in the opposite extreme; for if
the temperature be carried too high, some of the more
pencil. If the article is to have only a circular line of gold,
it is placed upon a small table or whirler, and the artist,
steadying his hand on a rest, applies the pencil to the
article, while with the other hand he causes the table
slowly to revolve. The gold ornaments come out ot the
fire with a wretched dingy hue; but the lustre ot the gold
is brought out by burnishing with agate and blood-stone,
me temperature oe earned too mgn, some oi me more is uruugm out uy uuniismug wiui
delicate tints, such as the roses and the grays, become faint and the gilding is cleaned with vinegar or white lead
nr* ^ 1 <■ ^-v ^ 4-1. ! 1 „ 1.1—. .-3 i ^ <-» v-» n Vvl. I /-»n 4- o 1 xiirrrmrr lilro rml/i fin Tlflf” l
 _    
or vanish altogether, while the hardier greens, blues, and
blacks remain. On the other hand, if the maximum tem¬
perature be not quite reached, the colours do not present
that peculiar creaminess and glossiness which is character¬
istic of the art. The temperature is regulated by means of
Other metals which, like gold, do not become readily
oxidized, are applied to stone-ware, and form what are
called metallic lustres. The silver-white hue known as
silver-lustre is obtained from platinum by dissolving the
metal in aqua regia, and pouring the saturated solution into
1 JJ1.6 wrfter has some observations on vitrifiable colours in three articles entitled “ On Enamel-Painting,” contained in the Art-Journal
for 1857.
POT
Pottinger. boiling water. This is poured into a warm solution of sal
ammoniac, when the metal forms a yellow precipitate,
which, after having been washed and dried, is applied to
the ware by means of a flat brush, and the article is then
passed through the muffle-kiln. A sufficient body of
lustre may be obtained by repeating the operation; and
should the articles come out of the muffle black, friction
with cotton will give the required lustre. A platinum
lustre resembling that of polished steel is obtained by
dropping a solution of equal parts of tar and sulphur in hot
linseed oil, known as spirit of tar, into the acid solution of
platinum. The mixture is spread over the ware, and passed
through the muffle as before. Gold lustre is obtained by
precipitating a solution of gold in aqua regia by means of
ammonia: it has fulminating properties, and must therefore
be mixed with the essential oil of turpentine while moist, and
in this state applied to the ware. After the firing, the lustre
will be brought out by friction with linen. The lustre can-
tharideoWhe French, which is remarkable for its iridescence,
is obtained from chloride of silver, partly decomposed by
means of combustible vapours. For this purpose a mixture
of a lead glass, oxide of bismuth, and chloride of silver, is
applied to the ware. This is then raised to a red heat in
the muffle, when a fuliginous smoke is introduced, which
effects the partial decomposition required. An iron lustre
is obtained by mixing a solution of iron or steel in hydro¬
chloric acid with spirit of tar, and applying it to the ware.
Silver and platinum lustres are usually laid upon a white
ground ; gold and copper lustres have the best effect on
coloured grounds. The paste body for lustrous ware is
usually made for the purpose, of four parts clay, four of
flint, four of kaolin, and six of felspar. Its colour is brown,
but it is coated with a lead glaze composed of sixty parts
litharge, thirty-six of felspar, and fifteen of flint.
In the Great Exhibition of 1851, some cheap articles,
producing a novel and agreeable effect, were shown in the
French department. They consisted of what is called
email om,brant, and the process of their manufacture is to
stamp the designs in the body of the ware, and to flood
them with coloured transparent glazes. In this way a plane
surface is produced, in which the hollows of the stamped
design appear as shadows of various depths, while the parts
in highest relief, coming nearest the surface of the glaze,
have the effect of lights in the picture.
In the volume containing the Jury Reports of the Great
Exhibition is a “ Supplementary Report on Design,” by
Mr Redgrave, in which, among a number of judicious re-
P O T 445
marks on the ornamentation of ceramic wares, he gives his Pottsville.
opinion as to the present artistic position of the factories of
Europe. He places Sevres at the head of the list, and
refeis to the waies exhibited as illustrating the wisdom of a
judicious application of the best art to manufactures. “ Here
we find the taste of the first artists, assisted by the science
of able chemists, and under a judicious direction, united to
the most skilful workmanship and manufacture; and the
result is, that the fabrication of porcelain is carried to the
highest state of excellence.” Most of the works exhibited
must be classed as ornaments, such as vases, tazzas, &c.
The forms were pure, and rarely interfered with by reliefs.
The modelling and the painting were of rare excellence,
and it was deemed to be scarcely possible to produce such
works without exercising an important influence on the
other manufactures of the country, and a general cultiva¬
tion of the public taste. The exhibition of Dresden ware
was not remarkable for purity of form or appropriateness of
decoration. “ I he surface is often covered with purely
imitative flowers in high relief, glowing and brilliant as the
tints of nature, yet looking gaudy as ornament, and, from
their filmy projections, liable to injury with every touch.
. . . . Even the May-flower pattern, a production of
great beauty, on the principle of a diaper of form and
colour, from its minute hollows, is quite incapable of. being
cleansed ; and from the thickness which it adds to the form,
contradicts the true effect of porcelain, which should unite
lightness with capacity.’ Where these works were not
purely imitative, they partook of the extravagant prettiness
of style of Louis Quinze, when the Dresden manufacture
was enjoying its most prosperous days.
The works both of Sevres and Meissen have had con¬
siderable effect on the progress of our own manufactures;
but while on the Continent decoration has been, for more
than a century, cultivated as a branch of the fine arts, our
painters on china have been mere copyists, who, until the
establishment of schools of design, had no opportunity of
obtaining artistic education. Our modellers have hitherto
been deficient in knowledge of the human figure, but an
improvement in both respects has for some time set in, and
will doubtless be fostered by the many facilities of the
day.
The royal manufactories of Berlin and Bavaria, in their
specimens forwarded to the Great Exhibition, seem to have
followed classic models, and although free from some ot
the faults of Dresden, they committed the great fault ot
overloading ornament. (c. T.)
POTTINGER, Sir Henry, was descended from an
English family which had been long settled in Ireland, and
was born at Mount Pottinger, in the county of Down, in
1 /89. His rise in life was slow but steady. Having gone
out to India in 1804 as a cadet in the Bombay service, he
recommended himself for promotion by his energy and sa¬
gacity in practical affairs. He was employed for more than
seven years as judge and collector at Ahmednugger in the
Deccan. The following fifteen years were passed in the
post of political resident at Cutch and Scinde. At length
in 1840 he returned to England, dignified with a baronet¬
age, and possessing a high reputation. Sir Henry Pottin¬
ger soon proved himself worthy of the high consideration
in which he was held. Despatched to China in 1841 as
ambassador extraordinary and minister plenipotentiary to
adjust the differences relating to the opium trade, he set
himself to this arduous task with vigour and address. On
his arrival at the scene of war, he took the most decisive
measures to drive the Chinese loan honourable and lasting
peace. Nor after he had succeeded in 1842 in bringing
the enemy to terms, did he lay down his commission until
he had taken strong precautions to prevent future abuses.
The eminent services of Sir Henry Pottinger were rewarded
with a series of honours and appointments, which continued
over the rest of his life. In 1843 he was promoted to the
office of governor and commander-in-chief of the island of
Hong Kong. On his return to England in the following
year the office of a privy councillor and a pension of L. 1500
were conferred upon him. He then held the governorship
of the Cape of Good Hope from 1846 to 1847. His last
appointment was that of governor and commander-in-chief
of Madras, an office which he held till 1854. The death
of Pottinger took place at Malta in March 1856.
POTTSVILLE, a town of the United States of North
America, Pennsylvania, occupies a picturesque situation on
the Schuylkill, 93 miles N.W. of Philadelphia. It stands
on uneven ground in a very narrow valley, and is in gene¬
ral well built, chiefly of brick. The chief public edifices
are the court-house, town-hall, jail, and numerous churches.
There are also an academy, several other schools, and
five or six newspaper offices. Among the manufactories
of the place are iron-works, machine-shops, woollen and car-
446
P O U
P 0 Z
Pough¬
keepsie
II
Poussin,
pet factories, tanneries, and breweries. The surrounding
country, though barren and rugged, is very rich in mine¬
rals, especially in coal; and is densely inhabited, containing
numerous towns and villages. The coal trade in Potts-
ville is extensive, and rapidly increasing. The coal is brought
here from the various mines in the vicinity, and conveyed
by railway or river to Philadelphia and other places. The
town has entirely risen up since 1825. Pop. (1850) 7515 ;
(1853) about 10,000.
POUGHKEEPSIE, a town of the United States of
North America, in the state of New York, on a plain on
the left bank of the Hudson, 75 miles N. of New York, and
70 S. of Albany. It is regularly built, and contains nume¬
rous churches belonging to Presbyterians, Episcopalians,
Methodists, Baptists, Roman Catholics, and other denomi¬
nations ; a collegiate school, occupying a large and hand¬
some building, on an eminence; an academy; several girls’
schools ; and three or four newspaper offices. The principal
manufactures of the town are machinery, farm implements,
guns, ironware, leather, carpets, cotton goods, flour, and
beer. Here is the largest brewery in the United States,
producing annually 36,000 barrels of ale ; and many of the
other establishments are among the most extensive in the
country. Many steamers and sailing-vessels are owned at
Poughkeepsie. Pop. (1850) 13,944.
POULTRY. See Agriculture.
POUND, applied to a measure of weight, of which the
pound avoirdupois, weighing 7000 grains troy, and the
pound troy, weighing 5760 grains, are used in England.
The former is divided into 16 ounces and the latter Jinto
12 ounces. (See Weights anh Measures.)
Pound is also a denomination of money, being equal in
value to 20 shillings or 240 pence. Anciently 240 pence
were equivalent to a pound weight of silver. Hence the
origin of the term.
POUNDAGE, a subsidy of twelve pence in the pound,
granted to the crown on all goods and merchandises ex¬
ported or imported ; and if by aliens, one penny more.
' POURCAIN, St, a town of France, in the department
of Allier, in a beautiful valley at the confluence of the
Limon and Sioule, 18 miles S. of Moulins. There are
here a parish church of the tenth century, an hospital, a
theatre, and several flour-mills. Some trade is carried on
in the excellent wines raised in the vicinity, as well as in
cattle, poultry, and fish. Pop. 4636.
POUSSIN, Gaspar, whose real name was Dughet,
was born at Rome in 1613. His father, who was French,
had settled in Rome sometime before his birth, and Nicolas
Poussin having married his sister, he acquired the appella¬
tion by which he is ordinarily known. He studied under
his brother-in-law, by whose advice he adopted landscape¬
painting, in which he attained to a great celebrity. His
passion for grace and beauty was extreme: he selected in
all his pieces the most enchanting views of nature, and “in
the opinion of many,” says Lanzi, “ there is not a greater
name among landscape-painters.” He is said to have ac¬
quired singular facility ; and, like Rosa, could finish a land¬
scape and decorate it with figures in a day. He painted all
sorts of landscapes, and in everything he did, he displays
elegance and erudition. Nicholas Poussin occasionally
embellished Caspar’s pictures with figures representative
of some portion of history or of fable. Gaspar has left
behind him a few masterly etchings, consisting of four cir¬
cular landscapes and a set of four landscapes lengthways.
He died at Rome in 1675. A considerable number of
pieces from this excellent artist’s pencil are to be seen in
the National Gallery, London.
Poussin, Nicolas, a celebrated painter, called the “ Ra¬
phael of France,” was born at Andely in Normandy, on
July 19, 1594. He was sprung from a noble but very poor
family, who had been much reduced by the part they had
taken in the civil wars. Having obtained his father’s con- p0wnall
sent to become a painter, and having made a beginning in
his native village, he, at the age of eighteen, visited Paris, Pozzodi
where he placed himself under the instruction of Ferdi- B°rgo.
nand Elle, a Flemish portrait-painter. He did not remain
long with Elle, but applied himself to composition from
casts and prints after Raffaelle andGiulio Romano. Some
of his earliest attempts were the paintings in the church of
the Capuchins at Blois, and some Bacchanalian pieces for
the Chateau of Chiverny. He was now invited to Rome by
Marino, the Italian poet, whom he met at Paris; but the
“ Death of the Virgin,” a painting on which he was then
engaged, compelled him to decline. He was enabled, how¬
ever, to undertake the journey in 1624, when his friend re¬
ceived him with great kindness. Marino soon after died,
and Poussin was tor some time reduced to paint for almost
nothing. He lodged with the eminent sculptor, Francis du
Quesnoy, called “ II Fiamingo,” and studied the works of
Raffaelle with untiring devotion. Cardinal Barberini return¬
ing to Rome, to whom he had been introduced by Marino,
liberally patronized him. He painted for him his celebrated
pictures of the “ Death of Germanicus,” and the “ Taking
of Jerusalem by the Emperor Titus ;” and he procured
for him a commission to paint the “ Martyrdom of St Eras¬
mus” for St Peter’s. The first series of his “ Seven Sacra¬
ments of the Church of Rome,” were painted for the Cava-
liere del Pozzo, and are now in the collection of the Duke
of Rutland. He subsequently painted another set of “ Sa¬
craments,” which wTere purchased by the Duke of Bridge-
water for 4000 guineas, and now occupy a place in the
gallery of the Earl of Ellesmere. On his return to France
in 1639, at the request of Louis XIII., he was made
painter to the king, with apartments in the Tuileries.
Here he produced his admirable work of the “ Last Sup¬
per,” and was engaged to decorate the gallery of the
Louvre, when the criticisms of his brother artists determined
him to return to Rome. He quitted France for ever in
1642, and after many years spent in the diligent practice
of his art, he died on November 19, 1665.
Eight of his pictures are in the National Gallery :—“ The
Nursing of Bacchus;” “A Bacchanalian Festival;” “A Bac¬
chanalian Dance ;” “ Phineas and his followers turned into
stone at the sight of the Gorgon’s head ;” “ Cephalus and
Aurora;” “Venus Sleeping surprised by Satyrs;” “ Pho-
cion : a Landscape with Figures;” “The Plague among
the Philistines at Ashdod.” {Memoirs of Nicolas Poussin,
by Maria Graham, 8vo, London, 1820.)
POWNALL, Thomas, an able politician and antiquary,
was born at Lincoln in 1722. The first part of his career
was occupied with civil duties. Having repaired to Ame¬
rica in 1 753, he was appointed in succession governor of
the colonies of Massachusetts, New Jersey, and South Ca¬
rolina. After his return to England in 1761 he obtained a
seat in Parliament, and wrote several pamphlets on the
topics of the day. The latter part of Pownali’s life, how¬
ever, was more particularly engrossed with antiquarian
studies. He contributed many papers on the antiquities of
Great Britain and Ireland to the Archceologia. He also
published Notices and Descriptions of the Antiquities of
Provincia Romana of Gaul, 4to, London, 1788. The
death of Governor Pownall took place at Bath in 1805.
For a complete list of his works, see Watt’s Bibliotheca
Britannica.
POZO-BLANCO, a town of Spain, Andalusia, in the
province, and 32 miles N.E. of Cordova. It stands among
the hills of the Sierra Morena, and is regularly built, con¬
taining a church, two hospitals, a town-hall, several schools
and hermitages. The chief manufactures are dyeing and
the weaving of woollen fabrics. Pop. 6748.
POZZO DI BORGO, Carlo Andrea, a celebrated
diplomatist, was descended from an illustrious Corsican
Prado
II
Praed.
P K A
family, and was born in 1764 at Ajaccio, the town which
four years afterwards became the birth-place of Napoleon
Bonaparte. His first appearance before the public was
the character of the right hand man of the great
Paoli. That patriotic chief sent him in 1791 to thank the
constituent assembly of Paris for having recognised the
island to be an integral part of the French dominions.
After his return in the following year he employed his aid
m the attempt to liberate the country from the jurisdiction
of France, and to place it under the protection of Great
Britain. When that effort was eventually successful in
1794, he recommended him to the presidentship of the
newly-instituted council of state under the English viceroy.
But it was not until Pozzohad been expelled from Corsica
along with the British in 1797, and after being a so¬
journer in London and Vienna, had entered into the diplo¬
matic service of Russia in 1803, that his real ability began
to appear. An inveterate enmity which he w'as then cher¬
ishing against his former friend and fellow-townsman Na¬
poleon, roused all his faculties into activity. Wherever any
plan was in the act of being concerted or executed for the
purpose of checking the French potentate, there was he,
eloquent in council, far-sighted in policy, and unwearied in
action. The year 1804 saw him in the character of Rus¬
sian commissioner, with the allied forces in the north of
Italy. In 1806 he was ready, as a colonel in the suite of
the emperor, to march against the French, when the intel¬
ligence of the battle of Jena checked the enterprise. He
then repaired to Vienna to try to rekindle the spirit of re¬
sistance in Austria. It is true that all these efforts proved
unsuccessful; that his master was forced to agree to an
armistice with Napoleon in 1807; and that he himself was
obliged to be absent for some time from Russia. Yet
the spirit of opposition within him did not bate one jot of
its intensity. The interval of absence was spent in re¬
arranging his plans, in concerting fresh measures along with
the English government, and in mustering all his strength
for another onset. Accordingly, no sooner had he been
recalled by the Russian emperor in 1812, than he com¬
menced a series of diplomatic strokes which effectually
aided in overthrowing the power of Napoleon. It was he
who prevailed upon the Swedish crown prince, Bernadette,
to join the confederacy against the French—he who coun¬
selled the allies to bring the contest to a crisis by marchino-
upon Paris—he who warned the congress of Vienna of the
possibility of Bonaparte returning from Elba. Nor when his
diplomacy had done everything that it could, did his master
passion become less active. He shed his blood at Water¬
loo to foil the last struggle of his great countryman ; and
when he heard that his vanquished adversary had died in
St Helena, he exclaimed, with vindictive exultation, “ I
have not killed Napoleon, but I have thrown the last shovel¬
ful of earth upon him.” After this great struggle, the re¬
mainder of Pozzo’s life was chiefly occupied with the duties
of Russian ambassador at the French court; and he died
at Paris in February 1842. (See Biographic Universelle,
and Gregorovius Wanderings in Corsica, translated into
English by Alexander Muir, Edinburgh 1855.)
PRADO, a town of Portugal, in the province of Minho,
on the Cavado, 3 miles N.W. of Braga. The situation is
unhealthy though beautiful; and the chief manufacture of
the town is that of earthenware. Ihere is salmon and
trout fishing in the river. Pop. 6500.
PRAED, Winthrop Mackworth, a talented writer
and politician, was the son of Mr Serjeant Praed, and was
born in 1802. His educational career from the very first
was full of the richest promise. At Eton he wrote preco¬
cious essays in a magazine called The Etonian. At Trinity
College, Cambridge, his genius continued to develop itself,
and there was scarcely a learned accomplishment in which
he did not outstrip his rivals. He carried off four prizes for
P R
447
classical odes and epigrams, and three prizes for Enelish Prafect
fiT !• *e lei,dersIliP of tl>o Union Debasing II
Club with Ihomas Babington Macaulay (now Lord Mac- Piaineste-
aulay); and before he left the university he had produced
poems in Knight s Quarterly Magazine which placed him
among the very first of the rising literary men of that age
After practising for a short time at the bar, Praed bepan
his parliamentary career by taking his seat in 1830 for St
Germans. It is true that he failed to secure his return in
,7 i?ut lle entere(1 Parliament again in 1835 as mem¬
ber for Great Yarmouth, and proved himself a great acqui¬
sition to the lory party. Industrious in collecting his own
arguments, wonderfully rapid in demolishing those of his
opponents, and fervidly eloquent in enforcing his views, he
became a very effective debater. A standing of great re¬
putation and influence was already within his reach, when
consumption cut him off in 1839.
PRA2IEC1 (Pr&fectus urbi) was originally warden
of the city of Rome, and received the name of Gustos
Urbis. 4 he title of praefect does not seem to have been
used till after the time of the Decemvirs. On the absence
of the king from Rome, the custos urbis acted as his repre¬
sentative; and exercised all the powers of the consuls if
they were absent. Persons of consular rank were alone
eligible for this office ; and, down to the time of the De-
cemvirate every praefect had previously been consul.
On the institution of the office of praetor urbanus, the
wardenship of the city became a mere name. In’ the
reign of Augustus, at the suggestion of Maecenas, an office
bearing this designation was instituted, but widely different
fiom the oiiginal. 1 his new prcefectus urbi was a perma¬
nent magistrate, with the superintendence of butchers,
bankers, theatres, &c.; and to enable him the better to exer¬
cise his authority, he had distributed throughout the city a
number oimilites stationarii, a sort of modern police. G ra-
dually his office extended, until he in turn swallowed up the
office of praetor urbanus. On Constantinople becoming
the second capital of the empire, it had its prafectus urbi ;
who were the direct representatives of the emperor. All
the officers of the administration of the city—all corpora¬
tions and public institutions were under their supervision.
They received the petitions of the people addressed to the
emperor; and when the capital deigned to present the
emperor with an expression of their loyalty, it was through
the praefect they had to approach him. (Smith’s Diction¬
ary of Greek and Roman Antiquities.)
PILLM UNIRE (used for preemonere, to forewarn),
is the first word of an ancient writ, whereby a party was
summoned before the crown to answer a charge of con¬
tempt of the sovereign. The writ commenced—“Prae¬
munire facias A. B., quod sit coram nobis,” &c. The con¬
tempt consisted in the doing of some act derogatory of the
allegiance due to the sovereign. The term has now the
two meanings of the writ itself' and the offence to which
the writ is applied.
PRJENESTE (the modern Palestrina), one of the
most important cities of ancient Latium, was situated about
2400 feet above the level of the sea, on the south-west¬
ern side of a bastion-like projection of the Apennines.
This favourable position rendered it a place of great
strength and power from the earliest times. Accordingly
we find the Praenestines offering a formidable opposition
to the might of the Romans. In 380 b.c., taking advan¬
tage of the civil dissensions among their enemies, they
marched up to the very gates of Rome. A severe defeat
which Cincinnatus gave them immediately afterwards on
the banks of the Allia, did not break their power. In the
very next year they were again in the field, summoning
the rest of the states of Latium to come to their aid against
the common aggressors on the banks of the Tiber. It is
true that in the great Latin war which began in 340 b.c.,
448 P B ^
Praetor, they were forced to submit, and become allies of tbe Ro-
 > mans. Yet, in 82 b a, the city is found in greater strength
than ever, sustaining a close blockade from tbe forces of
Sylla. It was not until that general, after receiving its
surrender, had razed its fortifications, and butchered all
its inhabitants, that the power of the town received its
death-blow. After this period Praeneste was famous as a
place of resort. People repaired from all parts of Italy,
and even from foreign countries, to consult at the shiine
of Fortune which overlooked the city. I he wealthy and
the noble came from Rome to pass the hot summer
months on the breezy terraces which, rose upon the hill¬
side. There, too, amid the roses for which the town was
celebrated, might be seen such a poet as Horace, sitting
over the famous nuts and wine which were grown in the
neighbourhood, luxuriating in the cool zephyr which blew
from the Tyrrhene sea, and looking down upon the plain
which swept away, in wooded undulations, to the foot of
* the Alban -hills.
The modern Palestrina is chiefly known on account of
the remains of the. ancient Praeneste,_ wdiich still exist.
Many of the large irregular blocks of limestone which
formed the wall of the citadel are to be seen at the pre¬
sent day. An exquisite piece of mosaic, which was dug
up From among the ruins of the temple of Fortune in the
seventeenth century, and which has been considered the
finest specimen of its kind, is still preserved in the family
of Barberini.
PRiETOR (for praitor from proeire), a title of office
among the Romans. The consuls were called praetors, as
leaders of the armies of the state; but the term was espe¬
cially appropriated to the prcetor urbanus, first appointed
in the year b.c. 366. He was at first chosen from the
Patricians, who created this office as a sort of indemnifica¬
tion for being compelled to share the consulship with the
plebeians. (Liv. vi. 42 ; vii. 1.) The plebeians, however,
soon had a hand in the office; and in b.c. 337 the patri¬
cians were left to mourn the appointment of a plebeian
praetor. The praetors were called colleagues to the con¬
suls, and were created with the same auspices.
The praetorship was originally a sort of third consulship.
The praetor occasionally commanded the armies of the
state, instead of the consul; and when the consul was
absent with the army he exercised his function within the
city. The praetor was one of the magistratus majorcs ; he
went attended by six lictors (latterly by two), and owed
respect and obedience to the consuls. A second praetor
was appointed b.c. 246, to administer justice between the
peregrin!, or the peregrin! and the citizens; and hence he
received the name of prcetor peregrinus. It was deter¬
mined by lot what functions these praetors should fulfil;
and when the one was at the head of the army, the other
performed the duties of both within the city. On the
extension of the state beyond the bounds of Italy,
new praetors wrere chosen. Sulla increased their number
to eight; Julius Caesar raised them successively to ten,
twelve, fourteen, and sixteen; and Pomponius says of
his own time, “ eighteen praetors administer justice in the
state.”
The praetor urbanus seems to have held the first rank;
and as his name implied, his duties confined him to Rome.
He was the chief magistrate for the administration of jus¬
tice, and to him Roman law owes much of its development
and improvement. The chief judicial function of the
praetor consisted in giving a and cases before the
praetor were said to be injure. They presided at criminal
trials {([ucestiones perpetuce); and a body of judices deter¬
mined by a majority of votes the condemnation or the ac¬
quittal ol the party accused.
r I he praetors existed till a late period in the Roman em¬
pire, and seem to have held still their original right of
P K, A
jurisdiction. Praetors were usually appointed governors of Praetorianj
provinces on the expiration of then official yeai, with the ||
title of proprcetor. (See Die Prritorishen Edicte der Prague.
Romer, &c., von D. Ed. Schrader, Weimar, 1815.) ^
PRAETORIANS was, during the Roman republic, a
select cohort that attended the praetor or commander of an
army. They frequently decided the fate of battles. After
the overthrow of the republic, Augustus formed them into
nine cohorts, and fixed their station in the capital as body¬
guards. They became, in short, under the emperors, what
“ the guards” are to the monarchies of Europe. They, in
addition to their military duties, frequently had the charge
of state prisoners, and often acted the part of executioners.
They were all picked men, chosen for the most part from
Italy. Their power increased greatly under the empire
until they frequently determined the fate of an emperor.
Diocletian reduced their number, and Constantine disbanded
them.
PRAGA, a town of Poland, in the government of War
saw, forming a suburb of the capital, on the opposite or
right bank of the Vistula. It was at one time strongly for¬
tified ; but having been stormed by the Russians in 1794,
it. was reduced to ruins. Since that time it has been re¬
built, and it now contains many good streets and squares.
Pop. 7500.
.PRAGMATIC SANCTION is a solemn ordinance or
decree of the head of a legislature on some matter of im¬
portance. The term is of Byzantine origin, and was used
early in the French monarchy. Perhaps the most celebrated
pragmatic sanction is that of Charles VII. of France in
1438, caused by the schism in the church between the
Council of Basle and Pope Eugenius IV. One of the
decisions of the king was the supremacy of the general
council over the Pope. Twenty-three articles were signed
by the king for the regulation of the Gallican Church,
constituting the pragmatic sanction of Charles VII. Some
twenty years afterwards, Louis XL, anxious to please' Pope
Pius II., gave up this pragmatic sanction of Charles VlL,
and it was ignominiously dragged through the streets of
Rome. Some years afterwards Louis quarrelled with the
Pope, and the pragmatic sanction again became law. 1 he
last pragmatic sanction which has attained historical cele¬
brity is that of Charles VI., Emperor of .Germany-, who,
in the year 1722, failing male issue, settled' his dominions
on his daughter, the Archduchess Maria Theresa, which
was confirmed by the diet of the empire, and guaranteed
by Great Britain, France, the States-General, and most of
the European powers.
PRAGUE (Bohem. Praha, Germ. Prag), a fortified
town of the Austrian empire’, capital of the kingdom of
Bohemia, stands on both sides of the Moldau, 160 miles
N.N.W. of Vienna, and 75 S.S.E. of Dresden. No town
of Germany has a greater charm for the spectator than that
which Prague derives, not less from the beauty of its situ¬
ation than from the many historical associations with which
it is connected. In a valley surrounded on all sides by
hills, and divided into two parts by the Moldau, the city
rises from the river’s edge, tier above tier, palace above
palace, spire above spire, to the encircling heights, which
are crowned by fortifications 12 miles in circumference.
It consists of five portions,—The Hradschin, on the hill
called the Schlossberg, to the left of the river; the Klein-
seite, to the south of the former, in a semicircular valley
between it and the hill called Laurenzberg ; and on the
right bank of the river the Judenstadt, or Jews’ Town,
which is inclosed by the Altstadt, or Old Town, and that
again by the Neustadt, or New Town. To the extreme
south of the New Town stands the citadel of Wysschrad,
on black cliffs overhanging the Moldau, and connected
with the fortifications which inclose the whole of the five
quarters. Communication is kept up between the opposite
Prague, sides of the river by two bridges; the older of these
called the Carlsbriicke, is 1850 feet long, and rests on 16
arches. It was begun in 1358, and finished in 1507. At
each end stands a tower for the purpose of defence ; and
along the bridge there are on either side statues of saints
among which is that of St John Nepomuk, who is said to
have been drowned from this very bridge. Farther up the
river is an iron suspension-bridge resting on a small island
in the centre. This bridge was completed in 1841. Each
portion of Prague has its own distinct character. The
Hradschin is remarkable for its numerous splendid edifices
many of them possessing great historical interest; the
Kleinseite is the residence of the aristocracy of Bohemia
and contains many palatial mansions, with gardens stretch-
ing up to the heights above ; the Jewish quarter, or as it
has been called since 1850, Josephstadt, is densely peopled
and contains low, mean dwellings, and narrow, crooked’
dirty streets. The Old Town is occupied by lofty old-
fashioned houses, and it is here that most of the business
is carried on; while the New Town, once separated from
the former by a ditch that is now filled up, has many
handsome convents, hospitals, &c., though the houses are
generally low and small, inhabited chiefly by artisans. The
Hradschiner Platz, the chief public square in that part of
the city, is of an oblong shape, having on its north side the
archiepiscopal palace and the residences of the prebendaries
of the cathedral; on the west an imperial, on the south the
ochwarzenberg palace; while on the east it is separated by
: a railing from the court of the castle, which includes within
its units the cathedral and buildings connected with it.
1 he castle is an immense pile of buildings, containing, it
is said, 440 apartments, but not in any way remarkable for
architecture. It was from the diet chamber in this build¬
ing that the nobles and deputies of Bohemia threw out of
• W? WW(i™l ^ imperial commissioners, Martinitz and
Slavata, 23d May 1618, and thus gave rise to the Thirty
Years VV ar. Two stone pillars mark the place where they
fel! qn a dunghill that saved their lives. The cathedral of
bt Vitus„ begun in 1343 by Matthias of Arras, and carried
on by Peter Arler till 1385, bears a considerable resem-
blance to that of Cologne. It is unfinished: the tower
onginally 506/eet high, was reduced to its present height
of 314 feet by irgreat fire in 1541 ; and the whole budd¬
ing and many of its monuments suffered severely from the
artillery of the Prussians in 1757. In the interior stands
a splendid mausoleum over the vault of the Bohemian
mgs. It is of marble and alabaster, and has many effhries
and sculptures. The shrine of St John Nepomuk in this
church is remarkable for the immense amount of silver
with which ,t is decorated. The large and splendid palace
ot Count Czermn is now used for barracks. Opposite to
wTrthe Loretto chapel, an exact copy of the famous
ta Casa m Italy. Of the numerous palaces in the
Kleinseite, the most remarkable is that of Wallenstein, or,
as he is called here, Waldstein, where that general resided
in almost regal magnificence. It still belongs to the family
and remains almost unaltered, containing a portrait of the
great duke, and the horse stuffed on which he rode at the
battle of Lutzen. On the highest point of the Laurenz-
berg, and of the whole of Prague, stands the Strahow
monastery, contaming a library of 50,000 volumes in a
splendid hall, a portrait of Ziska the blind Hussite leader
and an autograph of Tycho Brahe. A magnificent view
is obtained from the height of the city of Prague and
the whole country eastwards, as far as the Riesengebir^e
I he churches in this quarter of the town are not very
remarkable, the chief being that of St Nicholas, which is
nch in marble and gilding. In the Jewish town of Prague
the most remarkable building is the old synagogue, a small
and gloomy edifice, said to have been built by the earliest
fugitives from the fall of Jerusalem. The old Jewish
VOL. xvm.
PRAGUE,
449
burial-place is a remarkable inclosure in the centrp nf
Judenstadt, crowded-with thousands of gravestones r! ^ Prflgue-
with Hebrew characters, and covered wirii darkCai Ved ^
it has not been used for about a century Thf ay.moss1;
square in the Altstadt is called the Grosse Rhig wMch hal
on one side the town-hall, in the Gothic stvde „
re-bui“ in 1840, though ,’he tower and
the ancient edifice still remains. Opposite to this hnil/f
stands the Teynkirche, a Gothic edifice with two LLin!
towers. It was at one time the church of the Hussites^
and the service is still performed here in the Bohemian
tongue. In this church is the grave of Tycho Brahe
The university of Prague is the oldest in Germany, bavin*’
thaTnf0 P ini ? by CJar'eS 1V-’ after the of
that of 1 ans. The fame of the university, and the privi-
wfS Tr t0 US mTbers’ attracted students from all
paits of Germany ; so that in 1409 there are said to have
wasnaff0’000HStUde!JtS here* In that year John Huss> "'ho
m as after wards made rector, proposed measures for. abrid*-
n the privileges of the foreign students, which caused
the secession of a very large number. These, scattering ' -
themselves throughout Germany, founded the universities
cen^eTtheTr’ ^ ,That °f PragUe then became
school h f Reformed doctri™s taught by Huss and his
W aa b c neVer agiVn rose t0 its fbrmer celebrity. It
Has 44 professors, and was attended in 1851 bv 1390
students. In the university building, or Carolinum, only
the law and some of the medical classes are held; the
philosophical and theological faculties occupying the Clem-
entmum, an immense range of buildings, originally a
Jesuits college. Here also are the library (containing
nearly 130,000 volumes and numerous MSS.),Ythe museum
of natural history, the observatory, several churches and
cnapels, a gymnasium, and an episcopal seminary. In
connection with the university there is also a large and
valuable botanic garden in one of the suburbs. Among
the other buildings in this part of the town is a lar4
theatre. Here also is a monument to Francis I. of Austria
on Jhe quay between the two bridges, somewhat resembling
that of Sir Walter Scott in Edinburgh. In the Neustadn
one of the finest streets is the Ross Markt, or horse-mar¬
ket nearly half a mile in length, and in breadth 150 feet
at the foot and 192 at the head. At the foot is a statue of
St Wenceslaus, and at the head one of St Nepomuk. At
one corner of the large square, called the Vieh Markt
(cattle-market), stands the town-hall, almost entirely re-
built in 1806. In the same square stands the large and
splendid building (originally a Jesuits’ college), now used
as a military hospital. The Neustadt contains also a
general hospital, a public garden, and the Bohemian
museum, which includes a library, collections of antiquities
and of natural history. Prague contains in all 50 Roman
Catholic and 2 Protestant churches, 9 synagogues, 11
monasteries, 4 nunneries, and many schools and academies,
among which are 1 Protestant and 1 Jewish school. Be¬
sides the hospitals already mentioned, there are many
admirably-managed benevolent'institutions, including asy¬
lums for lunatics, the blind, and the deaf-and-dumb.C The
manufactures of the town are numerous and varied, com¬
prising cotton, linen, silk and woollen fabrics ; hosiery, hats,
leather, paper, jewellery, musical and mathematical instru¬
ments, earthenware, sugar, beer, vinegar, &c. It is the
centre of the whole trade of Bohemia, and derives great
advantages in this respect from the means of communica¬
tion afforded by the Moldau, and by the railways which
connect it with Dresden on the one hand, and with Olmiitz
and Vienna on the other. Although the precise date of
its origin is not known, there is no doubt that Pra*ue is
one of the most ancient cities of Bohemia. The Klein¬
seite is said to have been founded early in the eighth
century, and the Altstadt, the next to it in antiquity,
3 L
450 P R A
Pram, towards its close. From the earliest period Prague suffered
v 0 j very much from the ravages of war ; but its greatest cala-
mities were connected with the religious contests of the
Hussite period. In the reign of Charles IV. the city had
risen to such a degree of prosperity that it was not only
the most populous in Germany, but a principal seat of the
arts and sciences. The first rising of the Hussites took
place under Zisca in 1419; it was caused by the mart)i-
dom of John Huss and Jerome of Prague at Constance,
and by the treacherous conduct of the Emperor Sigismund
on that occasion. Zisca and his followers entrenched
themselves on a hill which still bears his name, about halt
a mile E. of the walls of the city, and there they not only
resisted the attacks of the emperor with 150,000 men, but
totally defeated him. The Hussites, who obtained com¬
pletely the upper hand in Bohemia, and made hostile
inroads into the neighbouring countries, would not ac¬
knowledge Sigismund as king of Bohemia until a diet,
held at Prague in 1435, when they obtained from the
Roman Catholic Church the freedom to teach publicly
their doctrines, and the use of the sacramental cup for the
laity. During the disturbances that preceded this settle¬
ment most of the churches and convents in Prague had
been dismantled or destroyed. The religious privileges
thus obtained by the Bohemians remained undisturbed
until the beginning of the seventeenth century, when the
attempts of the emperors to invade them caused the out¬
break at Prague which began the Thirty Years’ War in 1618.
Refusing to acknowledge Ferdinand II., they elected
Frederick of the palatinate to the crown ; but he was
totally defeated in 1620, at the Weissenberg, near Prague.
By this battle, and the persecutions which followed it, the
Protestantism of Bohemia was entirely subverted. In
1631 the city was taken by the Elector of Saxony, but
re-taken the next year by the imperialists under Wallen¬
stein. In 1648 the Swedes gained possession of the
Kleinseite, which they evacuated on the peace of West¬
phalia in the same year. At the beginning of the war of
the succession in 1741, Prague was taken by the French
and Bavarians ; and in the following year it was blockaded
by the Austrians under Charles of Lorraine. In 1744 it
was taken by Frederick the Great, but restored by the
peace of Dresden in the following year. In 1757
Frederick defeated the Austrians in the battle of Prague,
and besieged the city, but was compelled to raise the
siege by his defeat at Kollin. Since that period Prague
has once again suffered from the devastations of war. In
1848 the Czechs, or Bohemian party, rose against the
Austrians, and a desperate contest ensued between them.
The military, under Prince Windischgratz, having gained
possession of the Hradschin, bombarded from thence the
rest of the city on the 17th of June, and on the 19th the
insurrection was entirely put down. Pop. (1851), ex¬
clusive of military, 118,405.
PRAM, Christian Henriksen, an eminent Danish
poet, was born in 1756, and was educated at the university
of Copenhagen. A comfortable situation which he ob¬
tained in the Chamber of Commerce enabled him to devote
a considerable portion of his time and energy to literature.
His Stoerkoddei', a narrative poem in fifteen cantos, founded
on some of the old Scandinavian legends, introduced him
to the notice of the public. He then commenced a perio¬
dical called the Minerva, and contributed to its pages many
pieces both in prose and verse. He also wrote two trage¬
dies, entitled Damon and Pythias, and Frode and Fingal,
several comedies, and some smaller plays. In spite of the
success of all these productions, the close of Pram’s life was
rather melancholy. He was deprived of his post in the
Chamber of Commerce in 1816; his wife died in 1819;
and in 1820 he emigrated to the island of St Thomas, only
to expire there in the following year. A collection of
P R A
Pram’s works was published by his friend Rahbek, in 4 Prato
vols., 1824-26. , , , „ ^ . II
PRATO, a town of the grand duchy of luscany, in a Pratt,
fertile plain near the foot of the Apennines, 11 miles v—-v,-*-
N. W. of Florence. Containing well-built houses and re¬
gular streets, and surrounded by old walls and ditches, the
appearance of the town is cheerful and pleasant. In the
principal square stands the cathedral, with its campanile or
bell-tower; and several other buildings. The most striking
feature of the cathedral is the alternate stripes of black and
green serpentine with which the grey limestone of this fine
edifice is inlaid, both outside and inside. It contains a
beautiful painted window, and some of the best pictures of
Filippo Lippi. Among the other buildings of Prato are the
church of La Madonna delle Carceri, with a beautiful cu¬
pola ; the Palazzo Pretorio, now used as a prison; and a
college that once belonged to the Jesuits. There are also
a theatre, public library, and several hospitals. Coarse
woollen cloth is made here in large quantities; also red Turk¬
ish caps, ropes, paper, glass, hardware, &c. From Prato
London derives supplies of straw plait, which is made by
the peasantry in the adjacent country. Pop. 12,000.
PRATT, Charles, Viscount Bayham and Earl Camden,
was the third son of Sir John Pratt, chief-justice of the
King’s Bench under George L, by his second wife Eliza¬
beth, daughter of the Rev. Hugh Wilson, canon of Bangor,
and was born in 1713, the last year of the reign of Queen
Anne. He had the misfortune to lose his father when
only ten years old; and from the reduced circumstances of
his family, he was placed upon the foundation at Eton.
Here he had the good fortune to form a lasting friendship
with William Pitt, afterwards the “ Great Commoner,” one
of the noblest spirits of the place. He went to Cambridge
in October 1731, where he began that course of juridical
and constitutional study which afterwai'ds rendered his name
so illustrious. In 1735 he took B.A., and was called to the
bar in Trinity term 1738. He rode the Western Circuit
for the following eight or nine years without receiving fees
sufficient to pay the tolls. Disgusted with this sort of life,
he resolved to enter the church, when Henley, afterwards
Lord Northington, ridiculed the idea with his accustomed
raillery, and from that day Pratt’s progress was determined.
At the next assize town, “it so happened” that Pratt was
called to fill the leader’s place, when he made a most ani¬
mated and eloquent reply, obtained the verdict, was com¬
plimented by the judge, and received several retainers
before he left the hall. He was made a king’s counsel in
1755; and in 1757 he was appointed attorney-general by
his old friend Pitt, who was at the head of affairs. He
received the honour of knighthood shortly afterwards, and
was returned to Parliament for the close borough of Down-
ton. He subsequently married Elizabeth, daughter and
co-heir of Nicolas Jefferys, Esq. of Brecknock Place. V bile
attorney-general he had ample opportunity ot acting upon
those great principles of justice for which he had contended
so long. When John Wilkes was seized and committed
to the Tower on a charge of publishing, in the Forth Bri¬
ton, No. xlv., a paper calculated to inflame the minds ot
the populace against the government, his lordship granted
him a habeas corpus; and on being brought before the
Court of Common Pleas, discharged him from his confine¬
ment, amid the shouts of the people, which were heard with
dismay at St James’s. After the liberation of Wilkes, he
condemned successively “ general warrants” and “ search
warrants for papers,” which rendered him the idol of the
nation. Busts and prints of him were hawked through re¬
mote villages; a Reynolds portrait of him was hung up in
Guildhall; he had the freedom of London presented to him
in a gold box; he grimly laid down the law from sign-posts;
and English journals and travellers carried his fame over
Europe. A peerage wras inevitable; and a peerage came.
P It A
Praxiteles. He was styled “ Baron Camden, of Camden Place, in the
county of Kent,” on the 16th July 1765; and next year,
by the resignation of Lord Northington, he was made lord
high chancellor of Great Britain. His attitude of opposition
to the American taxation cost him his office in 1770. On the
fall of Lord North he was again taken into the administra¬
tion ; and on the 27th of March 1782 appointed president
of the Council, and so important were the lord president’s
services esteemed, that he was raised in the peerage by be¬
ing created “ Viscount Bayham, of Bayham Abbey, in the
county of Kent, and Earl Camden,” on the 13th May 1786.
The last occasion upon which he took part in the debates
was upon the discussion of Mr Fox’s celebrated Libel Act
in 1792. He died in April 13, 1794, in his eightieth year.
(See Lord Campbell’s Lives of the Lord Chancellors,
vol. v.)
PRAXITELES, a very distinguished artist of ancient
Greece, who wrought both in bronze and marble. Hardly
anything is known of his personal history. Pliny alludes
to him {Hist. Nat., xxxiv. 8, § 19) as contemporary with
Luphranor, b.c. 364, a date which probably determines the
beginning of his artistic career. Judging from an inscrip¬
tion still extant, in which Praxiteles is called an Athenian,
he must either have been a native, or at least a citizen of
Athens. His position as an artist can be ascertained with
more definiteness. He stands with Scopas at the head of
the later Attic school, so called in contradistinction to the
earlier Attic school of Phidias. If Phidias exceeded all
men in his idealization of divine majesty and sublimity,
Praxiteles was unsurpassed in his exhibition of the softer
beauties of the human form, and especially of female
grace. He is reported by Pliny to have made two
statues of the goddess Aphrodite, the one draped and the
other not. The inhabitants of Cos, of severe virtue, bought
the draped statue; while the inhabitants of Cnidus, of
less rigid tastes, chose the naked figure. The choice of the
Cnidians entirely eclipsed its rival. According to Pliny, it
surpassed all other works, not only of Praxiteles, but in the
whole world; and all who had leisure voyaged to Cnidus
expressly to behold it. King Nicomedes offered to pay off’
the whole of the heavy public debt of the Cnidians if they
would let him have it, but to no purpose. It was after¬
wards borne to Constantinople, where it was destroyed by
fire. Of the numerous descriptions of this masterpiece,
the most satisfactory is that of Lucian. The material was
Parian marble of the most brilliant character; the form was
in all respects perfect; the right hand held some drapery,
which fell over a vase standing by the goddess ; and her face
wore a gentle smile. This was the first instance in which
any artist had ventured to represent this divinity entirely
divested of drapery. Tl he artist modelled it after a favourite
courtezan named Phryne, who became possessed of his
statue of Eros in the following manner :—Praxiteles, in his
fondness for the courtezan, had promised to give her which¬
ever of his works she might choose. She was anxious to
learn which of them, in his own opinion, was the best; but
this was precisely what the artist was unwilling to disclose.
Not to be baffied, Phryne sent a slave to inform Praxiteles
PEE 451
that a fire had broken out in his house, and that nearly all Prebend
his works had perished. On hearing this, the artist rushed II
out, exclaiming frantically that all his toil was lost if the PrecedencB
fire had reached his Satyr or his Eros. Phryne lost no
time in confessing the stratagem, and claimed the Eros
which Praxiteles, however unwillingly, allowed her to
carry off.
Of his statuary in bronze, the most noted was the Diony¬
sus which stood at Elis. It represented the god, clad in
ivy, girt with a faun’s skin, bearing the lyre and the thyrsus.
Of his subjects from the mythology of Apollo, the most
celebrated statue was the bronze figure of Apollo the
lizard-slayer. A full enumeration of the works of Praxi¬
teles are to be found in Sillig {Cat. Artif.)
PREBEND, the maintenance a prebendary receives out
of the estate of a cathedral or collegiate church. Pre¬
bends are distinguished into simple and dignitary. A sim¬
ple prebend has no more than the revenue for its support;
but a prebend with dignity has always a jurisdiction annexed
to it.
PRECEDENCE, a place of honour to which a person
is entitled either by courtesy or by right. The former is
that which is due to age, estate, or the like, and is regu¬
lated by custom and civility ; the latter is settled by autho¬
rity, and when broken in upon, gives an action at law.
In Great Britain, the order of precedency is as follows:—
(1) The sovereign, (2) the queen’s consort, (3) the princes
of the blood, (4) the archbishop of Canterbury, (5) the lord
high chancellor, (6) the archbishop of York, (7) the arch¬
bishop of Armagh, (8) the archbishop of Dublin, (9) the
lord treasurer of England, (10) the lord president of the
council, (11) the lord privy seal, (12) dukes, (13) the eldest
sons of dukes of the blood royal, (14) marquises, (15)
dukes’eldest sons, (16) earls, (17) marquises’ eldest sons, (18)
dukes’ younger sons, (19) viscounts, (20) earls’ eldest sons,
(21) marquises’ younger sons, (22) bishops, (23) barons,
(24) speaker of the House of Commons, (25) lord com¬
missioner of the great seal, (26) viscounts’ eldest sons, (27)
earls’ younger sons, (28) barons’ eldest sons, (29) knights
of the Garter, (30) privy councillors, (31) chancellor of the
exchequer, (32) chancellor of the duchy, (33) lord chief
justice of the Queen’s Bench, (34) master of the Rolls, (35)
lord chief justice of the Common Pleas, (36) lord chief
baron of the Exchequer, (37) puisne judges and barons,
(38) knights banneret if made in the field, (39) masters in
Chancery, (40) viscounts’ younger sons, (41) barons’ younger
sons, (42) baronets, (43) knight banneret, (44) knights of
the Bath, (45) knights bachelors, (46) baronets’ eldest sons,
(47) knights’ eldest sons, (48) baronets’ younger sons, (49)
field and flag officers, (50) serjeants at law, ’(51) doctors
graduate, (52) esquires, (53) knights’ younger sons, (54)
clergymen, (55) gentlemen bearing coat armour, (56)
citizens and burgesses of towns corporate, (57) yeomen,
(58) tradesmen, (59) artificers, (60) labourers. It is to be
observed, that ladies, except those of archbishops, bishops,
and judges, take place according to the degree of quality of
their husbands; and unmarried ladies take place according
to that of their fathers.
452
PRECESSION OF THE EQUINOXES.
Precession jN article Astronomy (vol iv. 14), the phenomenon of
of the j.jie annua] precession of the equinoxes has been described,
^giiinoxesy p^ygigai cause stated to be the attraction of the sun
^ and moon upon the protuberant mass of matter accumulated
about the earth’s equator, combined with the diurnal rota¬
tion. We shall here discuss the subject more particularly,
and shew in what manner the different forces which tend to
displace the plane of the earth’s equator give rise to the
phenomenon in question, and how their effects are computed
from the fundamental principles of dynamics. The general
problem, which is that of determining the perturbations of
the earth’s axis of rotation, embraces the Nutation of the
axis, as well as the precessional motion of the equinoctial
points, and is one of the most important and interesting in
physical astronomy.
If the earth were a perfect sphere, the attraction of the
sun or moon would have no tendency to communicate to it
any motion about its centre of gravity. In this case, all
the particles being symmetrically disposed with reference
to every plane passing through its centre, the forces acting
on opposite sides of any plane passing through its centre
and the centre of the attracting body, would exactly balance
each other, and consequently would have no tendency to
produce a rotatory motion. But by reason of the spheroidal
form of the earth, and the intensity of the force of attrac¬
tion varying with the distance, the action of a distant body
which is not situated either in the plane of the equator, or in
the prolongation of the axis of rotation, produces an unequal
effect on the opposite sides of every plane passing through the
earth’s centre (excepting the meridian in which the body
is situated), and tends to generate a rotatory motion about
that diameter of the equator which is perpendicular to the
line which joins the centre of the earth with the centre of
the attracting body. Hence the sun exerts a force, which
at every instant has a tendency to bring the plane of the
earth’s equator towards the plane of the ecliptic; and if the
earth had no motion of rotation about its axis, the two planes
would at length be brought to coincide. In consequence,
however, of the rotatory motion, the inclination of the two
planes, as we shall shew, undergoes no permanent alteration;
but a motion is given to the earth’s axis, such that the
pole of the equator constantly revolves about the pole of
the ecliptic in the direction opposite to that of the diurnal
rotation, and the intersection of the equator and ecliptic,
following the motion of the pole, is carried backwards along
the ecliptic. The moon produces a similar effect in refe¬
rence to the plane of the lunar orbit; and the motion pro¬
duced by the combined action of the sun and moon, which
is the phenomenon observed, is the luni-solar precession of
the equinoxes.
As the efficacy of the disturbing force to turn the earth
about an axis varies with the distance of the attracting body
from the plane of the equator, the precessional motion of
the equinoxes is not uniform. The efficacy of the sun’s
force continues to increase, whilst the sun passes from either
equinox to the solstice, and to diminish while it passes from
the solstice to the equinox. The period of the inequality
is consequently half a-year. The period in which the ac¬
tion of the moon passes through all its degrees of intensity
is about nine years, being that in which the nodes of the
lunar orbit accomplish half a revolution on the ecliptic.
The apparent effect of this irregular action, is an alternate
mcrease and diminution of the declinations of the fixed stars,
most sensible for those nearest the pole, which is character¬
istically called the nutation of the earth’s axis. The solar
nutation, however, is so small as to be insensible to obser- Precession
vation ; the lunar nutation is sufficiently sensible, amounting of the
to about 18" between the extreme positions of the pole. Equinoxes.
Before proceeding with the investigation of the problem, v'—v-"-'
it will be convenient to premise the two following elemen¬
tary theorems respecting the composition of rotatory mo¬
tion, referring the reader for their demonstration to the
article Rotation.
Theorem 1. If a rigid body revolving about an axis Aa,
which passes through its centre
of gravity O, with an angular ve¬
locity —v, receive an impulse
which alone would cause it to
revolve about an axis B5, also
passing through its centre of ^
gravity, with a velocity zzcf), the
body will now revolve about a
third axis C.c, passing through
its centre of gravity, and lying
in the plane of the two axes Aa and B6, and so situated that
the sine of its inclination to the axis Aa will be to the sine
of its inclination to the axis B6, as the velocity about B6 to
the velocity about Aa ; that is, the new axis will divide the
angle AOB, so that sin AOC : sin BOC :: <p : v.
In order to determine whether the pole C of the new axis
lies between A and B, or between A and b, it is only ne¬
cessary to consider that the new axis must evidently be that
line in the body in which every point is at rest in respect
of both motions. If, therefore, we suppose the original mo¬
tion about Aa, to be in the direction which would raise the
point B above the plane of the paper, and to depress b be¬
low it, and the new impulse to be given in the direction
which would depress the point A below the plane of the
paper, and raise a above it, then C will lie between A and
B; but if the new impulse tends to raise A above the plane
of the paper, then C will lie between A and b.
Corollary 1. If the two axes Aa and B6 are at right
angles, then sin BOC=cos AOC, and we have
= , that is, tan AOC=
v
<P
sin AOC
cos AOC
Cor. 2. If the impulse is renewed at every instant of
time, the axis about which the body actually revolves must
have a uniform motion in space from OA towards OB.
Theorem*!. If the force which tends to give the body a mo¬
tion of rotation about an axis which is always perpendicular
to the axis about which it is already revolving, and situated
in the plane AOB, be uniform, the angular velocity of rota¬
tion remains unaltered, or r is a constant quantity.
These theorems, which are true of bodies in general,
whatever be their figure, were first demonstrated byFrisi.
Proposition 1. To determine the efficacy of the sun’s at¬
traction to turn the spheroid about its centre, the earth being
supposed homogeneous.
Let P/> be the axis of rotation, Qtq the projection of the
equator, S the sun, C the centre of the spheroid, and D
PRECESSION.
Precession the projection of a point in the interior of the spheroid on
of the the plane VQipq Join gC} gDj DC; and draw CG
^jjuinoxes^ pendicular to SC, and DE, DF respectively perpendicular
' to SC, CG.
Let/represent the force of the sun’s attraction on a par¬
ticle at the centre C, and f' the force of its attraction on a
particle at D, then the attraction being inversely as the
SC2
square of the distance, we have f'=f. Now the
force f, which acts on D in the direction SD, may be
resolved into two; one in the direction CD, which has no
tendency to turn the spheroid about its centre, and the
other in the direction FD parallel to SC, which tends to
turn the spheroid in the direction PQ about an axis pass¬
ing through C, and perpendicular to the plane VQpq.
The resolved part of the force /', in the direction FD is
, SC2 SC . ^ . , '
J • gjp * gjy smce k.D is the diagonal of a parallelogram
of which SC and CD are the sides. Now, if the resolved
force in the direction FD parallel to SC were the same on
every particle, and equal to f, it would have no tendency
to produce rotation in the spheroid ; we may therefore con¬
ceive the force on any particle which tends to produce ro¬
tation to be the difference between the part of the force
acting on that particle in the direction parallel to SC, and
the force/acting on the particle at C. Hence the force on
D tending to impress a rotatory motion on the spheroid is
^ ^scs _ sc \ .f SC3-SD3 / (SC—SD) (SC2+SC • SD4-SDS)
J Vsm SD-1;--' • “ SD3  srn '•
453
"K7_ S.m SD JSD3,. ^ SD3 wiLu icspeei 10 y, we snail nave me sum ot
IN ow, by reason of the greatdistance of the sun in comparison of kx*dm for the slice, the distance of which from the plane
the radius nf flip parth Sn vpr,7 nporl.r on j I ^
for every particle in the spheroid, let z be the co-ordinate Precession
perpendicular to the plane of the figure, and conceive the of the
whole spheroid to be divided into an infinite number of thin Equinoxes.
slices parallel to the plane of ?/z, the thickness of each slice'  
being dx- suppose, again, each slice to be divided into an
infinity of parallelepipeds, parallel to the axis z, and termi¬
nated by the surface of the spheroid, the breadth of each
being dy; and, lastly, let each parallelepiped be divided in¬
to an infinite number of lengths, each -=dz. The element
of the volume, dm, then becomes dxdydz; and consequently
the sum of fix2dm in respect of every particle is expressed
by the triple integral //f kx2dxdydz.
Assuming x*, dx and dy to be constant, and integrating
with respect to z, we obtain kxsdxdyz-\.const. Let a~
the semi-diameter of the equator, b= the polar semi-axis,
and the equation of the spheroid is ^ ^ = 1, from
which the limits of z must be found. This equation gives
for a point at the surface, i ^ andbe-
v a* b2
tween those values of z the definite integral becomes
'Zkax*dxdi/ */ 1 — 
u * a* b*
This expresses the sum oUix^dm for the parallelepiped cor¬
responding to a given value of x.
If we next suppose x1 and dx to be constant, and integrate
this expression with respect to y, we shall have the sum of
the radius of the earth, SD is very nearly parallel to SC, and
equal to SC—CE. Substituting therefore SC—CE for Vz is x
SD, and neglecting terms divided by SC2 which are so small
as to be altogether insensible, the factor ^ +SC SD-fSD
SD3
3
becomes -. ^ •, and consequently the above expression is
Make or -
=b2-
b*x*
and the
expression becomes
Zkax^dv
& f — ——
u‘2—y2- dy. In integrat-
SD
reduced to 3/
CE
, or to 3/.
CE
SD   J ' SC
between 1-4-SD and 1-j-SC is a quantity divided by SC2,
and therefore insensible. This is the part of the force on D
which tends to turn the spheroid about the diameter of the
equator which is perpendicular to Qq ; and by the principles
of mechanics, its efficacy in communicating a rotatory mo¬
tion to the spheroid is proportional to the distance of its line
of direction from the axis, that is, proportional to CF;
whence the moment of the force at the point D becomes
,, CE-CF
*'* SC *
Assume r:=SC, and let S denote the absolute force of
the sun, then/=S-r-r2 ; and if k— the density at D, then
kdm is the quantity of matter in the particle dm at D, and the
moment of the force on that particle tending to produce in
the spheroid a motion about its centre in the direction QP
(which is the general direction of the motion produced by
3S J
the forces on all the particles) is . CE.CF. k.dm
ing this expression, the limits of y, in respect of any given
value ofz, are obtained from the equation of the section of
2
since the difference ^ie ellipsoid in the plane xy, namely -^--4- — — 1. This
b2x*
; whence, at thelimitsy2=M2,
Now, by a known formula, the
equation gives y2 z=b2—
and therefore y= z±zu.
integralJ'Ju2—y*.dy from y — — u to y — + uis^nu*
(it being the ratio of the circumference to the diameter) ;
therefore the integral of x2dm for the slice corresponding to a
, „ . TvkaiPx^dx ,. ,
given value of x is    ; which, on substituting for
b2
m2, its value b2— x2, becomes
irk—(a2x2—j?4 )dx.
a x
We have, lastly, to integrate this expression from x=—a
to x— a. The integral between those limits is
the integral of which must be taken for the whole spheroid. (a 5 ; whence we have ultimately, in respect of the
Draw DM parallel to Pp, and MN perpendicular to DF, ' ^ ^ /
meeting SC in O, and make
CM=X, DM=y, SCP=6,
(t being the complement of the sun’s declination) then
CE=DN+NF=y cos 0+z sin 6, and CF = MN—MO
rrysinfl—x cos 9, whence the moment of the force impress¬
ed on D becomes
kdm —y2) sin 6 cos 9-\-xy (cos26—sin20) j-
rs
In order to find the integrals/kx2dm)fky2dm,Jkxydm
whole spheroid,
Jff kx2 dxdydz—^Trka^b.
On going through the same process for y2dm, or y2dxdydz,
and observing that the integral J'y2/Ju2—y2.dy from
y=—u to y=-\-u is £ 7m4, there results for the whole
spheroid
fffky2dxdydz—irka2b5.
With respect to the remaining integral fxydm, it is easy
to see that its value in respect of the whole spheroid must
PRECESSION.
454
Precession be q, for on integrating kxydxdydx with respect to x, there
of the results Lkxh/dydz, which vanishes on giving x all values
Equinoxes. between _t and t being any definite quantity. _
^ From these values off>fdm, fxydm, we obtain the
following expression for the moment of all the forces im
pressed on the spheroid,
— ka2b(a2—b2) sin 0 cos 6.
t3 15
Prop. 2. To determine the efficacy of the sun s attraction
to turn the spheroid about its centre, the earth being sup-
POConceive°theenspheroid to be composed of infinitely thin
concentric layers, bounded by spheroidal surfaces, and sup¬
pose the ellipticity and densityto be different for each layer
but both to be functions of the distance from the centre of the
spheroid. Let a and /3 be respectively the equatorial and po¬
lar semi-diameters of the layer which contains a particle dm,
e= its ellipticity, and k its density. In order to find the
moment of all the forces impressed on the spheroid, we must
first find an expression in terms of fi, for their moment on
the elementary layer containing dm, and then integrate this
expression from /3=0 to /8=&. Now, suppose all the mat¬
ter of the spheroid exterior to the layer in question to be
removed, and suppose also for a moment the matter m the
interior of the spheroidal surface passing through am to be
all of the same density, k, then the moment of the impressed
forces on the spheroid whose surface passes through dm, is
by the last proposition
— Aa2/3(a2—/32) sin 0 cos 6.
r3 15
The variable part of this expression is£a2/3(a2-/32). Now, since
a=/3(l +e), we have, on neglecting terms multiplied by e2,
which, by reason of the smallness of the earth s ellipticity are
altogether insensible, «2=/32 + 2/32eanda2—/32 = 2/32e, whence
ka? /3 (o2 (Z2)=2kp5e. Suppose now the semi-axis p to re¬
ceive an infinitely small increment, and to become P+d.3 ;
then since k and e are both functions of p, the expression
2kp5e will become 2kp5e -{-■—- "^is is the va¬
riable part of the moment of the forces on the spheroid
whose semiaxis is /3-}-d/3 ; consequently, in respect of the
spheroidal layer which remains on subtracting the spheroid
2d{kpie)
whose semiaxis is p, it becomes —dp. Let the inte¬
gral of this expression between the limits /3=0 and p=b be
denoted by 2 F (p); then the moment of all the forces im¬
pressed on the spheroid supposed heterogeneous is
3S Stt ^ , . . . .
—. — F (p) sin 0 cos 0.
r3 15
Prop. 3. To determine the angular velocity <p generated
by the sun’s force, and the position of the equator after the
infinitely small time dt.
By dynamics, the angular velocity of rotation is equal to
the moment of the impressed forces divided by the mo¬
ment of inertia of the mass to be moved. Now, the mo¬
ment of inertia of a body, with respect to a given axis of
rotation, is the sum of the products obtained by multiplying
each particle of the body into the square of its distance from
the axis ; that is, in respect of the axis z, about which the
impressed forces tend to turn the spheroid, the moment of
inertia is /{tf+y^dm, supposing the spheroid homogene¬
ous, and the density &=1. But it has been shewn that in
this case Jx^dm— ^znaAb, and fy2dm—y^7ru2b3 ; therefore
the moment of inertia of the spheroid is ^va2b(a2 -\-b2).
And by prop. 1, the moment of the impressed forces is
3S
• \5*a2b(a2—62) sin 0 cos 0, therefore
3S a2—b2 . „ '
$>=—. — sin 0 cos 0.
r5 a2-t-62
In the case of the heterogeneous spheroid the moment Precession
of inertia is thus found. As before, let a and p be the equa- of the
torial and polar semiaxes of the spheroidal surface passing Moinoxes.
through the particle dm, then if the matter within this sur-
face be supposed of uniform density —k, the moment of
inertia of this spheroid, by what is already shewn, is
r\irJca2p(a2 + /32)- But «2 +^2=2^2 + and a2p=P3 +
2/33e, therefore a2/3(a2 +/32)=2/35 + 6/35e ; and since e is a
very small quantity, the second term of this expression is
very small, and may be neglected in comparison of the first;
therefore ka2p(a2+Pis)—2kp5. For the spheroid whose
.. . , , 2d(kp5)
semiaxis is /3 + dp, this quantity becomes 2kp5 -j 
and therefore in respect of the elementary spheroidal layer
the semiaxes of whose interior and exterior surfaces are p
2d(kp5>)
and p + dp, it is - ^ - dp. Let 2F\p) denote the integral
pdf kp5)
of this quantity from p=0 to p=b, that is, let / - ^ —r7/3
=2F/(/3), and the moment of inertia of the heterogeneous
But the moment of the im¬
Stt
spheroid becomes — F^/S).
3S Stt
pressed fortes is by prop. 2, ^j.j^F(p) sin 0 cos 0, there¬
fore in the case of the heterogeneous spheroid,
<P=
3S F(p)
sin 0 cos 0.
r3 'F(/3)
Let us assume K= „ . -tj in the case of the homoge-
a2-|-o'i
Ffp)
neous spheroid, and K= in the case of the heteroge¬
neous spheroid, and we have for both cases
^ 3S'K • , ,
cb— sm 6 cos 0.
*
Now to find the place of the pole, and the position of the
equator after the small interval of time dt, we must apply the
first of the two theorems above premised. If the earth had
no diurnal rotation, the sun’s force would cause it to revolve
about an axis passing through C perpendicular to the meri¬
dian P Qpq, or perpendicular to the plane of the paper, so
as to bring the point Q nearer to the line SC, with a velo¬
city =0. But the earth is already revolving about the
axis Fp, with a velocity =.v, and in the direction which raises
the point q above the plane of the paper. Hence, by theorem
1, the new axis of rotation will be in the plane passing
through Fp, perpendicular to the plane of the paper, and
after the time dt will make with Fp an angle whose tangent
— —, the pole P rising above the plane of the paper; and
v
the new equator will intersect the former in the line Qx],
and make with it an angle whose tangent is also 1 he
effect of the compound motion is thus to twist as it were the
equator about the line Q# as an axis, or about that diame¬
ter of the equator which lies in the same meridian with the
sun, instead of twisting it about the diameter perpendicular
to that meridian, as would be the case if the earth had no
diurnal motion.
Prop. 4. To find the amount of the solar precession after
any given time.
Let AB be the intersection of the plane of the ecliptic,
with the surface of sphere whose centre is at the centre of
Profession ^le earth ; let ACB be the equator, and S the projection
Equinoxes. t^e sun,s place in the ecliptic. Now, the plane of the
PRECESSION.
portion gives dt-=.
Tr*dl
sin & cos 0=
cos AC
we have tan AC=cos SAC tan AS, whence sin AC=cos AC
sin AC
cos I tan l, and (dividing by sin SAC= sin I)
cos AC cos I sin l
sin SAC
sin I cos l * Substituting these values of sin 0 cos 9
and
sin AC
in the above value of AA', we get
AA'=
3S.K
vrs
cos I sin2/.
1 his is the solar precession in the element of time dt;
consequently for a given time T we have
solar precession =
3S.K cos I
i2/
dt,
1-
455
. . Precession
i>ut it is shewn in the of the
Equinoxes.
equator being always perpendicular to the axis of rotation,
when the axis changes its position the equator will also
change its position, and the new equator will intersect the
former in an angle equal to the deviation of the axis. Let
A'CB' be the new position of the equator, after the infi¬
nitely small time dt, intersecting the former in C, then the
angle ACA' is the measure of the momentary deviation of
the axis, and AA', which is the amount of variation in the
place of the node, is the precession in the time dt.
From the known properties of spherical triangles we have
sin SAC : sin AC A' :: sin A'C : sin AA'. But because
ACA' is a very small angle, and AA' a very small arc, the
arcs may be taken instead of the sines; whence, since
A'C = AC, the proportion gives AA' = ACA' ——
sin SAC
A OQ1 TT-
But by the last proposition tan ACA'= — — -——sin 6 cos L
v vr5
therefore, as the small arc may be substituted for its tangent,
. . . 3S.K sin AC . . .
AA = —-—;——— sin 9 cos 9.
vr5 sin SAC
It will now be convenient to express this value of AA'
in terms of the sun’s longitude and the obliquity of the eclip¬
tic. Since the equator, as was shewn in the last proposi¬
tion, is twisted about the diameter which is in the same me¬
ridian with the sun, it follows that the line joining S and C
is a part of the meridian ; whence ACS is a right angle,
and^ SC (the sun’s declination)=90°—9. Let /=AS, (the
sun’s longitude), and I=SAC, (the obliquity of the eclip¬
tic), then, in the right angled spherical triangle SAC, we
have cos SC . cos AC=:cos AS, or sin 9 cos AC=cos /; and
sin SC=r sin SAC sin AS, or cos 9— sin I sin /, therefore
sin I sin / cos Z , ,
Again, in the same triangle
article Astronomy, part iii. art. 10, that
where F is the attracting force at the mean distance a
But we have assumed S to denote the sun’s force at the unit
of distance; therefore, the forces being inversely as the
squares of the distances, F=S-*-a2, whence
T =
From this formula we get S=~^-,
and therefore
2nc$
Ts*
S.efe
eliradl
Again, assuming X= longitude of sun’s
T/Vl—e2
perigee, the polar equation of the ellipse gives
«(1—e2) _ whence "l"* cos(^—X)j dl
1 -f e cos (/—X) ’
the above expression becomes
, . 6wK cos I
solar precession =
T(1—e2)^
, and
Tv(l-
sin 2/[l-f ecos(X—/}<//.
The expression under the sign of integration consists of
two parts, of which the first/sin 2/d,/=l(C + Z— cos / sin /).
(See Fluxions, art. 153.) The second part, namely
Je 2/cos(Z—\)dl, when integrated becomes e sin(Z X) 
- sin (Z+X)— — sin (3Z—X), but by reason of the smallness
of e these terms are insensible, and are therefore neglected.
Rejecting also the terms in the divisor of the coefficient
which are multiplied by e2, and observing that cos / sin /= 1
sin 21, we obtain, finally,
solar precession rr
3»-K cos I
Tv
(C+Z-
sin 2Z).
the integral being taken from £=0 to t=T.
To prepare this expression for integration, r3 and dt
must be expressed in terms of Z and known quantities. Let
a=semiaxis major of the earth’s orbit, e—its eccentricity,
T=a sidereal year, then r being the radius vector, and dl
the angle described in the time dt, \r2dl is the space passed
over by the radius vector in the element of the time, and
by Kepler’s law of the equable description of areas, we have
dt'.T \rCIdl: area of orbit.
The first term of this expression, which depends upon
C -j- Z, or on the sun’s longitude, is the constant or uniform
precession. Its amount in one year is found by supposing
Z to be increased by 2n, and is consequently -7r2^cosI.
The second is periodic, and being proportional to twice the
sine of the sun’s longitude, it runs through its changes in half
a-year. It is usually regarded as a part of solar nutation, and
called the solar equation of the equinoxes in longitude.
Prop. 5. To find the diminution of the obliquity of the
ecliptic produced by the sun’s attraction.
Referring to the last diagram, make AE=EB=90°, and
let ED be perpendicular to AB the ecliptic, and meet
A'CB' in E', then EE' is the small change in the inclina¬
tion in the time dt. In the triangle ECE', we have sin EE'
= sin CE sin ECE'. But EE' being very small, the arc may
be taken for the sine, and therefore EE'= sin CE sin ECE'.
COS l
Now sin CE= cosAC= and it has been already
seen thatsinECE'= ACA'=— = sintfcos^: therefore
v r5v
3S.K
EE'= —y cos 9 cos Z, or since cos 9 = sin I sin l, EE'=
sin I sin Z cos Z. Multiplying by dt, and making the
3S.K
r3v
same substitutions as in the last proposition, we have
67tK
aZ: i :: ^t’2(ZZ : area of orbit. p fin-K r
Now the area of the orbit is therefore this pro- Tv(l e2)2 ^ J*™1 C°S ^ +ecos^_A) )dt*
456
Precession whence neglecting as before terms multiplied by e, and in-
of the tegrating, there results
Equinoxes. * Q TT
jEE!dt=— Sin 1 C°S 21,
for the solar nutation in obliquity. This expression, de¬
pending on twice the cosine ot the sun’s longitude, runs
through all its changes in half a year ; but its greatest value
amounts to scarcely half a second, and is consequently al¬
together insensible to observation.
Prop* 6. To investigate the precessional motion of the
equinoxes produced by the moon. Let
M ~ moon’s mass,
E = earth’s mass,
r inclination of moon’s orbit to the equator,
V = moon’s distance from the intersection of her orbit with
the equator,
r' — radius vector of the moon’s orbit,
a' — semitransverse axis of moon’s orbit,
e' = eccentricity of the lunar orbit,
T'lrr sidereal time of revolution.
Then, by following exactly the same reasoning as was pur¬
sued in prop. 4, there results for the retrograde motion of
the points in which the plane of the lunar orbit intersects
the plane of the equator (corresponding to the solar pre¬
cession in prop. 4.), the expression
3M.K cos Vjsvo Ql'dt
PRECESSION.
orbit, causing it to revolve about the line of its intersection Precession
with the lunar orbit; therefore by Theorem L, the momen- of the
tary axis of rotation lies in the plane passing through that
line and the pole of the equator, and the equator is conse-
quently twisted about the equatorial diameter which is per¬
pendicular to the intersection of the equator and lunar orbit.
Hence,FC=CHandF'C=:CH'; and since FC-fCH==l 80°,
therefore FC and F'C are quadrantal arcs, and the two tri¬
angles CFF and CHH' are in all respects equal. Now
-- vr ; CFF :: sin FF' :: ACA',
sin F :: FF':: ACA',
sin AC :: sin ACA':: sin A A',
cos AF :: ACA':: AA',
sin FC
that is, 1
and sin CA'A
that is, sin I
therefore,
sin I ;
and consequently,
F cos AF :: FF': AA',
AA'=
F'F sin F cos AF
sin I
But AA' represents the velocity along the ecliptic, and
FF' the velocity along the plane of the moon’s orbit,
and we have seen that the motion along this plane is
6w2K.M cos F . . .
——-,m the time I', or a sidereal revolution. Dl¬
l'^ L-j-M)
viding this by T', we get the mean velocity in the plane of
the orbit in the unit of time; whence FF'z:^ C0S ^
, T'r'2dl' A , a'(l—e'2) For the sake of brevity let Q=-
Now, we have d,= “d ' = l+AoS(X'-0
dt T' f 1 + f7 cos(A'-/') | dl' t, . ,
therefore ^ ^• But in the Pre-
^ a 2wa'3 1 —€/2)2
2K.M
cos F, and we have
T'2?;(E+M)
T'^E + M) ‘
,thenFF'=Q
AA'=
Q, cos F sin F cos AF
sin I
sent case T'=
(for the mass of the moon cannot
V(E + M)
be neglected in comparison of that of the earth, as the mass
of the earth is neglected in comparison of that of the sun),
1 * 4?r2
hence-7- = , wvr- The above expression therefore
a'3 i'2(E-t-Mj
becomes
BrrM.K cos F
- f sin 2/'{ 1 + Fcos (x—V)dV,\,
ft/
T'v(E+M) (1—e'2)^'
the integral of which (rejecting, as before, terms multiplied
by e') gives
3?rM. K cos F
(C-f-/'—L sin 2?).
T'®(E+M)
for the regression of the equator on the plane of the lunar
orbit. Suppose V to be increased by 2?r, or a whole circum¬
ference, the regression caused by the moon’s action in a
sidereal revolution becomes C0S ^-.
T'r(E-fM)
It is now necessary to reduce this retrograde motion to
the plane of the ecliptic.
Let AB be the ecliptic, ACB the equator, A'CB' the
b' n
new position of the equator, and FH the plane of the lunar
orbit intersecting the new equator in F' and H', and the
ec ip ic in N. The mean effect of the moon’s action in the
r,Sf ? a ^onths if the earth had no motion of rotation,
woma be to bring the equator nearer the plane of the lunar
We must now express cos F sin F cos AF, in terms of
the obliquity and inclination of the lunar orbit to the eclip¬
tic. Let «=:ANF= inclination of moon’s orbit to the
ecliptic, w=NA, the longitude of the node; then in the
triangle ANF, we have by spherical trigonometry,
cos ANF= cos NAF cos NFA-f- sin NAF sin NFAcosAF,
that is, since NAF=I, NFA=F,
cos i=cos I cos F+sin I sin F cos AF,
In like manner, in the same triangle,
cos I'= cos I cos isin I sin i cos n.
From these two equations we obtain this other,
cos F sin F cos AFzzcos I sin I cos 2*
—(cos 21—sin 21) cos i sin i cos n
—cos I sin I sin zi cos 2n,
which, on substituting in it cos 21 for cos 2I—sin fiI,
£ sin 22 for cos« sin i, and ^ + 2 cos f°r cos 9n> becomes
cos I' sin F cos AF =cos I sin I (cos 2 2—sin 22)
—^ cos 21 sin 22 cos n
—1 cos I sin I sin 22 cos 2«.
Assuming 2'(the inclination of the moon’s orbit) to be con¬
stant, which may be done in the present case without sen¬
sible error, the only variable in this expression is n, (the
longitude of the node), which, on the supposition of i con¬
stant, is proportional to the time. Let t denote the time
of a revolution of the node, then for any time t, we have
27t£
n— — • On making this substitution in the last equation,
we obtain by means of it
AA'=Q, cos I (cos H
£ cos 21
sin I
sm
sm 22 cos —
r
cos I sin 22 cos
Airt
}
Now, if we assume y=the regression of the equinoctial
points on the ecliptic caused by the lunar action, and sup-
Precession
of the pose y a function of t, then AA'=
PRECESSION.
Equinoxes.
and the amount of
457
lunar nutation in obliquity =—Q. -7- cos I sin 2i
4w
2*t
Precession
4a- “ of the
this regression in a given time =J~dt. Multiplying pr^gfi0n' T° COmpute the numerical value of the annual
By prop. 4. the solar precession in one year =6^K C0SI
therefore the right hand side of the last equation by dt,
and integrating, ^observing that^cos dt= ~ sin —
4cr# 7 t . 4a-^\
 dt — — sin I
_ t da-
regression of the equinoctial points, or the precessional mo- therefore becomes 3?rK CQS (23° 280 ,
tion of the equinoxes, produced by the moon in the time t, expressed
and
A
Now Tw is the angle which any point of the earth describes
\ wrr\ • c ii c , ab(^ut lts axis of rotation in a sidereal year, or 366-26 davs
■J, we obtain, finally, for the and consequently = 2*- x 366-26. The solar precession
Q
{
in parts o.
cos I (cos 2i
r cos 21 sin 2i
4a- sin I
sin 2i
2vt
T t . o • • lirt)
— 8^ C°S 1 Sm * sin — C + const.
The first term of this expression increases uniformly with
the time, and is called the lunar precession. The second
term, being multiplied by sin ——, is periodic, and depends
on the mean longitude of the moon’s ascending node. It
is called the lunar equation of the equinoxes in longitude.
The third term is also periodic, but its numerical value is
so small as to be insensible, and it is therefore omitted in
the calculation. The lunar precession in a sidereal year is
found by substituting T for t in the first term, and we have,
therefore,
lunar annual precession =Q cos I (cos
'i—\ sin H)T.
Prop. 7. To find the diminution in the inclination of the
equator to the ecliptic produced by the moon’s action.
Let AB be bisected in D, and let DE be an arc perpen-
dicular to AB, and meeting A'B' in F; then the alteration
of obliquity produced by the moon in the time dt is repre¬
sented by EE'. Now in the triangle CFF' we have
sin CF': sin CFF':: sin FF': sin FCF',
that is, 1 : sin I':: FF': FCF';
and in the triangle CEE',
Sin CE'E : sin CE :: sin ECE': sin EE'
ECE'-FCF'eaS°n °fCE=:AF (since fC=AE=90°) and
1 : sin AF:: FCF': EE';
whence EE'=FF' sin I' sin AF. Now it was shewn in the
last proposition that FF'=QcosI', therefore
EE'= Q cos I' sin I' sin AF.
To refer this to the ecliptic we have in the triangle NAF
sin NFA : sin ANF :: sin AN: sin AF
which gives the equation
sin I' sin AFrrsin i sin n;
and, as before we have
cos I'= cos I cos i -f- sin I sin i cos n;
whence multiplying the two equations together, and sub¬
stituting £ sin 2i for cos i sin i, and | sin 2rc for cos n sin rc,
we get ’
cos 1' sin I' sin AF=1 cos I sin 2i sinn+1 sin I sin *i sin 2rc,
and, consequently, writing for n its value —,
the radius. To reduce it to seconds, we have, assuming radius
“ ’ 80°—180 X 60 X 60=648000 seconds. Substitut¬
ing is for tt, and computing the above expression by the
logarithmic tables we get *
solar annual precession =Kx4869".
By prop. 6, the lunar precession in a sidereal year (on sub-
stituting for Q its value) is ^ r ^
^ sin 2i) T. But T'v is the angle described by the diurnal
rotation oi the earth in one sidereal revolution of the moon
^Qo32xxraySu(ASTI?ONOMr’ vo1' iv')> and therefore = 2r x
laa ok alS0 * = 5. 8' 47"‘9’ and’ as before, T =
366 26 days. Now assuming the moon’s mass = 1-70th
maS\ M-(E + M) = *- By the substi¬
tution of these numbers, the lunar annual precession be¬
comes r
3ir. K x 366-26 x cos (23° 28') x {1—f sin2 (5° 8'50")?
^27-32x27-32x71 ’
the calculation of which, reduced to seconds as before, gives
lunar annual precession =Kx 12176".
Adding this to the solar annual precession, we obtain the
effect produced by the joint action of the sun and moon, or
luni-solar annual precession =K X 17045".
It is now necessary to assign avalue to the quantity K which
depends on the law of the density of the earth. Supposing
the earth homogeneous, we have K=
2—52
a2+52 1—g’
the elipticity ~3of ’ (Figure OE THE Earth, ^
ebeing
whence K= .
300
This value of K gives
17045"
300
=56"-82.
EE'=q|
^ cos I sin 22 sin
27rt
+ ^ sin I sin 2i sin \ .
Multiplying this by and integrating, we obtain for the di¬
minution of the inclination, or lunar nutation in obliquity
(£r C0S1 sin 27 cos sin 1 sin 2*cos — j.
Both terms of this expression are periodic; but the second
k omitted in the calculation, as being too small to be sen¬
sible. Hence we have
VOL. XVIII.
luni-solar annual precession =
The observed quantity is only 50"-4; the difference being
occasioned chiefly by the erroneous assumption of the ho¬
mogeneity of the earth. If the earth be denser towards the
centre, (and it is known to be so from other phenomena),
the momentum of the protuberant parts will not be so great
as if it were equally dense with the interior parts, and the
precession will be less. From Cavendish’s experiment, and
experiments on the attraction of mountains, it has been as¬
certained that the mean density of the whole earth is about
five times greater than that of water, and twice as great as
that of the solid substances composing its exterior crust. But
we are entirely ignorant of the law according to which the
density varies from the surface towards the centre; and an
infinity of hypotheses may be made which would give the
observed precession, and at the same time satisfy the con¬
dition of a superficial density equal to half the mean density.
Prop. 9. To compute the numerical value of the solar
and lunar nutation.
The solar nutation consists of two parts. The first is the
solar equation of the equinoxes in longitude, or the second
term of the expression for the solar precession in prop. 4,
3 M
458
Precession
of the
Equinoxes.
its value is
3*rK
cos IX i Sin 2/. Substituting 2sr x 366-26
PRECESSION.
(23° 28'). The mean velocity corresponding to the regres- Precession
for Tv, and multiplying by  —^ — t0 reduce to se¬
conds, the computation gives
1st part of solar nutation =K X X sin 2/.
The second part is the nutation in obliquity, found by prop.
q-TT
5, the value of which is -=—sin Ix^ cos^^ This being
Iv
computed in the same manner as the last gives
2d part of solar nutation =Kx l68//-3 X cos 2/.
Assuming the earth to be homogeneous, and consequently
K — . ^ - we have for the sum of the two parts
300’
solar nutation =l//-29 sin 2/+0"'56 cos 2/,
both terms being so small as to be insensible to observation.
The lunar nutation is also composed of two parts; the
first being the lunar equation of the equinoxes in longitude,
or the second term of the expression in prop. 6; and the
second the nutation in obliquity found in prop. 7. By
prop. 6, the first of these parts is
3-rK . M . t cos 21 sin 2* . Swtf
 —— .  ;—=— sin—>
2T/2v(E + M) sin I r
which, since t=18-6 X 366-26 days, becomes, on substitut¬
ing for the different quantities their numerical values, and
reducing to seconds,
1^- _ 3x64800x18-6x366•26xcos(46° 56) sin (10° 17'36)
X 2a-x(27-32)2x2x71 sin (23°-28) ^ ’
whence there is found from computation,
gw
lunar nutation in longitude =Kx 6093" Xsin —.
T
By prop. 7. the lunar nutation in obliquity becomes, on
substituting for Q, its value, and neglecting the sign,
3*K.M.t t . 2*tf
-rr.,--r=—. cos IX sm 2i X COS .
2T/2v(E + M) r
Comparing the coefficient of cos —in this expression with
that of sin — in the above, it is obvious that the latter
T
cos I sin I sin 21
is found by multiplying the former by
tan 21=^ tan (46° 56').
cos 21 2 cos 21
The multiplication gives
lunar nutation in obliquity =K X 3260" cos-^-.
Assuming that the earth is homogeneous, and conse¬
quently K= , these two parts added together give
lunar nutation =:20//-31 sin -f- 10"-88 cos —
t r
The observed values of the coefficients are 18"-36 and
9//-239, the differences between the observed and comput-
sion of the equinoctial points, is 50".4 in a year, and conse- of ^
quently the period of a revolution is about 25900 years. Now^"noxes>
in order to take account of the lunar nutation (the solar, as ~*~Y^w
has already been remarked, is scarcely sensible), it is only
necessary to remark that the absolute velocity of the pole
in its small circle, is to the velocity with which the equinoc¬
tial points regress in the ecliptic, as the radius of the small
circle to the radius of the ecliptic, or as sin 1:1. Hence
the motion of the pole in the plane of the small circle, is ob¬
tained by multiplying the expression in prop. 6, by sin I ;
and therefore the correction to be applied to the uniform
motion of the pole, is the second term of that expression,
multiplied by sin I, or sin I x lunar equation of the equinoxes
in longitude. But by prop. 9, this term = K X 6093"
sin therefore the corresponding motion of the pole =
T
K x 6093" sin (23° 28') sin — = K x 2427" sin —.
r t
With respect to the second part of the nutation, it is
obvious that any change of obliquity produces an equal
change in the place of the pole on the meridian, and there¬
fore, by the last proposition, the motion of the pole in this
direction is K X 3260" cos —. Now let K x 2427"=a,
T
and Kx3260"=i, and let the motion of the pole in the
two directions be respectively denoted by x and ]/, we have
then x—a sin cos ; and consequently the equa-
T T
tion
which is the equation to an ellipse, and shews that the pole
describes a small ellipse about its mean place in the course
of a revolution of the nodes, as was discovered by Bradley
from observation.
Prop. 11. From the observed values of the precession and
nutation, to determine the ratio of the moon’s mass to the
mass of the earth.
The quantities most accurately determined from obser¬
vation, from which the moon’s mass can be found, are the
whole annual precession/) (=50"-4), and the coefficient ot
the lunar nutation in obliquity q (=9"'239). Let s = the
solar annual precession, and m = the lunar annual preces-
sion, then s=p—m. Now,by prop.7, cos I sin 2i,
and, by prop. 6, m=Q, cos I (cos 12 i—^sin 20T, whence by
eliminating Q, cos I, we get
q. 47t . T(cos —|sin 2 A
m=i v .■
t sm 2*
and on computing m from the values of T, t and i above
given, we find mzzqx 3"*735 = 34"-51 ; therefore, also,
szzp—m=l5"-89.
. . . , St2 . K cos I , r
Again, from prop. 4, we have sz=  — ,andtrom
Tv
e^.K.Mcosl
fences oeiween u.e uustu vou aim coinput- 6 (on substituti for Qits value) _
ed values, as in the case of the precession, arising from 11 ’ v ® y T/2v(E+M)
the assumption of the uniform density of the earth.
Prop. 10. To determine the motion of the pole of the
earth’s axis of rotation.
As the inclination of the equator to the ecliptic under¬
goes no permanent alteration in consequence of the action
of the sun and moon, and as the precessional motion of the
equinoxes is proportional to the time, it follows that, abstract¬
ing the effects of lunar and solar nutation, the pole of the
equator must describe a circle about the pole of the ecliptic,
the plane of which is parallel to the ecliptic, and of which
the radius is equal to the sine of the obliquity, or = sin
(cos 2«-
sin 2e)T ; whence
5 T'2
T2(cos qi—^ sin2*)
E + M
M ’
By computing the coefficient of (E+M)-4-M, and by means
of the values s and m now found, this equation gives
E + M
M
= 81-755,
whence it follows that the mass of the moon is to the mass
of the earth in the ratio of 1 to 80-755.
The phenomena of the precession and nutation, and those
P R E
Precious of the tides, are the only astronomical facts which enable
Metals, us to determine the moon’s mass. From a long series of
observations on the tides at the harbour of Brest, Laplace
found the ratio of the masses of the moon and earth to be
1 : 75-77.
The regression of the equinoctial points amongst the fixed
stars, and consequent precession of the equinoxes, being a
motion which, though extremely slow (amounting only to a
degree in about seventy-two years), increases constantly
with the time, was detected at an early period in the history
of astronomy, and its rate was determined with considerable
accuracy by Hipparchus. Its physical cause was of course
not suspected until after the discovery of gravitation ; but
Newton himself, by a process of reasoning, which, although
not quite accurate, affords some of the most remarkable in¬
stances ofhis extraordinary sagacity {Principia, lib. iii., prop.
39), showed it to be a necessary consequence of the flat¬
tened form of the earth. D’Alembert was the first who gave
a general and accurate solution of the problem, in his
Recherches sur la Precession des Equinoxes (1749) ; and
Euler also treated the subject in the Berlin Memoirs for
the same year. Various solutions of the problem have since
been given, amongst which may be mentioned those of
Sylvabella and Walmesley in the Philosophical Transac¬
tions (vols. xlviii. and xlix.) ; that of Simson {Miscellane¬
ous Tracts, 1751); that of Frisiin his Theoria Qeometrica
Diurni Motus {Opera, tom. iii.) ; that of Lagrange in his
Memoir on the Libration of the Moon, which obtained the
prize of the Academy of Sciences of Paris for ] 769; that
of Landen {Mathematical Memoirs, 1780) ; and that of
Vince {Philosophical Transactions, 1787). Of these so¬
lutions, that ofFrisi deserves to be noticed as perhaps the
most perspicuous and elegant. An excellent elementary
demonstration is given by Mr Airy, the present astronomer-
royal, in his Mathematical Tracts (1826 and 1831), of
which we have freely availed ourselves in the present
article ; but for a complete investigation of the question in
all its generality, we must refer the reader to the Mecanique
Celeste, and still more particularly to a Memoir of Poisson,
“ Sur le Mouvement de la Terre autour de son Centre de
Gravite,” in the Memoir es de V Academic Roy ale des
Sciences, tomevii., 1829.
The nutation, as has already been remarked (see also
Astronomy, vol. iv., p. 13), was detected by Bradley, from
a comparison of observations which were undertaken with
a view to determine the parallax of the fixed stars. Brad-
P R E
Jey assigned to the co-efficient or constant of nutation the
value 9 , which till a late period was adopted by most as-
tronomers Laplace computed its value from theory to be
9 63 ; but as this result could only be obtained by bavins-
recourse to hypotheses respecting the ellipticity and density
of the earth, and also the mass of the moon, which may
possibly differ considerably from the truth, it cannot be re¬
garded as of much weight. There are,- however, three
other determinations of the constant (besides that of Brad-
ey)> from observation, which may be supposed to give its
value with all the precision that is capable of being attained.
I he first is that of Von Lindenau, from about 800 obser¬
vations of Polaris made between the years 1750 and 1815
and consequently including three revolutions of the moon’s
node; as well as from those made by Bradley, Maskelyne
Bessel, Carlini, Piazzi, and Von Lindenau himself. From
these observations he found the value of the constant of
nutatmn to be 8"-977l8. The second determination is that
of Dr Brinkley {Philosophical Transactions, 1821), de¬
duced from his own observations with the Dublin Mural
Circle ; and the value which he found was 9"-25. The
third determination, and that which has the greatest pro¬
bability in its favour, is a very recent one by Dr Robinson
of Armagh, undertaken at the instance of the British Asso¬
ciation. It is deduced from 11,000 observations made at
Greenwich with the mural circle, between the years 1812
and 1834, and embraces more than a complete revolution
SoonVo /oThe reSult givesthe constant of nutation =
9 -23913. (See the Monthly Notices of the Royal Astro¬
nomical Society for May 1838.) (T. G.)
Since the above was written M. Poinsot, member of the
Institute of France, has proved (1858) from mathematical
calculations, founded on his theory of couples, that by the law
of gravitation, the earth’s axis must describe an oscillation
of 1-08 seconds in virtue of the attraction of the sun, and
16 9 seconds in virtue of that of the moon, or about 18
seconds in all in the course of nine years and three months,
aftei which a similar oscillation takes place in a contrary
direction. This quantity of 18 seconds all but exactly coin¬
cides with the results of observation ; and his determina¬
tion of the precession is equally exact, since he finds it to be
50 4 seconds. He has likewise proved that the precession
would be the same if the earth, instead of being a solid
spheroid, were hollow, or if its mass or volume were
changed, provided its momentum of inertia remained the
same.
459
Precious
Metals.
PBECIOUS METALS.
Precious Metals, a designation given to gold and silver.
1 hese, though not the most useful of the metals, having
been converted into coin and used from a remote period
to perform the functions of money, have in consequence
been generally regarded as of peculiar importance, and
dignified with the epithet “ precious.”
The reader will find in the articles Gold and Silver
m this work descriptive notices of these metals; and the
mode in which they are obtained is explained in the article
Mining. In this article we mean to confine ourselves to
an inquiry into the magnitude of their supply, their con¬
sumption, and their probable future value in exchange.
And as these metals serve as standards by which to mea¬
sure the values of other things, and as the equivalents for
which they are most commonly exchanged, it is plain that
these inquiries involve considerations of the highest import¬
ance, and which deeply affect the interests of all classes.
Unluckily, however, the difficulty of such investigations is
at least as great as their importance. They are not, in
truth, of a kind to afford any certain conclusions, and we
must be contented with those that seem to present on the
whole the greatest amount of probability.
Jacob,1 and others who have engaged in inquiries relative
to this subject, have carried their researches to a very
remote epoch, and have tried to amuse their readers with
estimates of the quantities of gold and silver in existence at
different epochs, such as the commencement of the Chris¬
tian aera, the year 1492, when America was discovered, and
so forth. But though these estimates, and the researches
which serve as their basis, may illustrate the learning and
industry of their authors, no reliance can be safely placed
on their accuracy. Even at present, when most matters
that have reference to currency and commerce are the
objects of study and research, and many of them are em¬
bodied in official returns, the difficulties in the way of
accurate investigation are often all but insuperable. And
The author of an Historical Inquiry into the Production and Consumption of the Precious Metals, 8vo, 2 vols., London, 1831.
460
Supply of
Precious
Metals.
Supply of
precious
metals.
Estimates
of Hum¬
boldt.
PRECIOUS METALS.
when such is now the case, what must be the chance of
our coming to anything like correct conclusions in regard
to the like subjects at remote periods, when these inquiries
were almost entirely neglected, and when, in the lapse o
ages, the few records that might have originally existed
have either been much mutilated or wholly destroyed.
The truth is, that the estimates of the amount of the pre¬
cious metals extant in the world at the epochs referred to,
are not worth the ink with which they are written. 1 hey
may chance not to be wide of the mark, but there are
no means of judging whether such is or is not the case.
The investigations which they involve are buried in an
obscurity which most likely will never be dispelled.
Dismissing, therefore, such unfruitful inquiries, we shall
notin this article carry our researches farther back than
the discovery of America, and shall principally confine
ourselves to a consideration of the events of the last twelve
or twenty years. Those, indeed, that belong to previous
periods are principally interesting as they may serve to
throw light on the latter.
Part I.— Supply of the Precious Metals.
Since the discovery of America, by far the greatest
supplies of gold and silver have been derived from that
continent. Previously to the publication of Humboldt s
Essai Politique sur la Nouvelle Espagne, several estimates,
some of which were framed by individuals of great intel¬
ligence, had been given of the quantities of gold and silver
imported from America. They, however, differed widely
from each other, and were all deduced from comparatively
limited sources of information. When brought together,
they exhibit the following results:—
Estimates of the Imports of the Precious Metals from
America into Europe since 1492.
Authorities.
Ustariz   
Solorzano 
Moncada    
Navarete   
Kaynal 
Robertson 
Necker  
Gerboux 
The Author of Res¬
eller dies sur le Com¬
merce, Amst. 1776
Periods.
1492-
1492-
1492-
1519-
1492
1492-
1763
1724-
-1724
-1628
1595
-1617
-1780
-1775
-1777
-1800
1492-1775
Total Estimated
Influx.
Dollars.
3,536,000,000
1,500,000,000
2,000,000,000
1,536,000,000
5,154,000,000
8,800,000.000
304,000,000
1,600,000,000
5,072,000,000
Annual
Estimated
Influx.
Dollars.
15,241,379
11,029,411
19,417,475
15,673,469
17,895,833
31,095,406
21,714,285
21,052,631
17,922,261
believing that this charge is in some measure well founded, Supply 0f
particularly as respects the accounts of the profits made by Precious
mining, and of the extent to which the supplies of the Metals,
precious metals may be increased. But this ciiticism ap- " v-*-’
plies, if at all, in a very inferior degree to the accounts
Humboldt has given of the total produce of the mines, and
the exports to Europe. And making every allowance for
the imperfection inseparable from such investigations, it is
still true that the statements in question, and the inquiries
on which they are founded, are among the most valuable
contributions that have been made to statistical science.
According to Humboldt, the annual average supplies of
the precious metals derived from America have been as
follows:—
Dollars a Dollars a
Year at Year at
an Average. an Average.
.. 250,000 From 1600 to 1700...16,000,000
.3,000,000 „ 1700 to 1750...25,500,000
1545 to 1600...11,000,000 „ 1750 to 1803...35,300,000
{Essai sur la Nouvelle Espagne, iii. 428, 2d ed.) The
following is Humboldt’s estimate of the annual produce of
the mines of the New World at the beginning of the
present century:—
Annual Produce of the Mines of America at the Com¬
mencement of the Nineteenth Century.
From 1492 to 1500.
„ 1500 to 1545.
Political Divisions.
Marcs
of
Castile.
Viceroyalty of \
New Spain... J
Viceroyalty of 1
Peru j
Captain - Gene-1
ralship of Chili J
Viceroyalty of 1
Buenos Ayres j
Viceroyalty of 1
New Granada J
Brazil  
Total.
7,000
3,400
12,212
2,200
20,505
29,900
75,217
Kilogs.
1,609
782
2,807
506
4,714
6,573
17,291
Silver,
Marcs of
Castile.
2,338,220
611,090
29,700
481,830
3,460,840
Kilogs.
537,512
140,470
6,827
110,764
795,581
Value of the
Gold and
Silver, in
Dollars.
23,000,000
6,240,000
2,060,000
4,850,000
2,990,000
4,360,000
43,500,000
Of these estimates, that which bears the name of Robertson
is very greatly in excess of the others, and is certainly the
widest of the mark. But in looking into the work of that
judicious and excellent historian, he hardly seems to be
responsible for the computation. It is, in truth, the estimate
of the Spanish authorities to which he refers, and is not
founded upon any investigations or inquiries of his own.
{History of America, iii., p. 389, ed. 1778.)
But all previous estimates have been wholly superseded
by those founded on the more extensive and laborious in¬
vestigations of Humboldt. Besides being acquainted
with all that had been written on the subject, and having
ready access to sources of information unknown to the
writers already alluded to, this illustrious traveller was well
versed in the theory and practice of mining, and critically
examined several of the most celebrated mines. He was
therefore incomparably better qualified for forming correct
conclusions as to the past and present productiveness of
the mines than any of those who had previously speculated
on the subject. His statements have indeed been accused
oi exaggeration, and there seem to be good grounds for
Taking the dollar at 4s. 6d., this would give L.9,666,000
for the total annual produce of the American mines. Hum¬
boldt further estimated the annual produce of the European
mines of Hungary, Saxony, &c., and those of Northern
Asia, at the same period, at about L.1,000,000 more;
making, in round numbers, their entire production nearly
L.11,000,000.
The quantity of gold produced in America at the begin¬
ning of the century was to the quantity of silver as 1 to 46 ;
in Europe the proportions were as 1 to 40. The value of
equal quantities of gold and silver were then in the propor¬
tion of 15 or 15£ to 1.
From 1800 to 1809 the yield of the American mines Estimates
continued to increase, and their produce, and that of the of Jacob.
European and Russian mines, was then probably rather
above than below L. 12,500,000. But in the last-mentioned
year the contest began, which terminated in the dissolution
of the connection between Spain and her American colonies.
The convulsions and insecurity arising out of this struggle,
the proscription of the old Spanish families, to whom the
mines principally belonged, who repaired with the wrecks
of their fortunes, some to Cuba, some to Spain, and some
to Bordeaux and the south of France, caused the abandon¬
ment of several of the mines, and an extraordinary falling
off in the amount of their produce. There are no means
of estimating the precise extent of this decline; but, ac¬
cording to Jacob, who collected and compared the existing
information on the subject, the total average produce of
PKECIOUS METALS.
Supply of the American mines, inclusive of Brazil, during the twenty
Precious years ending with 1829, may be estimated at L.4,036,838
' Meta s. ^ a yearj being less than half their produce at the beginning
of the century ! (Jacob, i. 267.)
It has, however, been supposed that Jacob rather exag¬
gerated the falling off. And, at all events, the supplies of
bullion obtained from Mexico and South America began
soon after the publication of his work (1831) to increase;
and notwithstanding the anarchy to which they have con¬
tinued to be a prey, that increase has been maintained
down to the present time (1858).
It appears, from the returns sent home by the British
consuls, that the coinage of gold and silver in the Mexican
mints amounted in 1847 to 16,923,948 dols., and in 1848
to 19,506,754 dols. But it is well known that consider¬
able quantities of these metals are raised and exported from
Mexico without being brought to the mints to be coined.
And, taking this item into account, we shall not perhaps
be very wide of the mark if we estimate the entire produce
of the Mexican mines in 1847 and 1848 at about 19,000,000
and 21,500,000 dols.,of which from 17,000,000 to 20,500,000
dols. were in silver.
The discovery of new mines, and the greater cheapness
® ,.rmoye ^un^ant supplies of quicksilver obtained from
California, have conspired to increase the produce of the
Mexican mines during the last half-dozen years. And
though these circumstances have been to a considerable
extent countervailed by the unsettled state of public affairs
and the greater insecurity that has prevailed during the
period referred to, yet, on the whole, it appears to be p°retty
well established that there has been a material increase.
In 1850 the produce of the Peruvian mines was estimated
at about 6,000,000 dols., and it is not supposed to have
varied much in the interval.
The produce of the Bolivian mines is usually estimated
at about a third part of the produce of those of Peru.
In 1857 the value of the gold and silver in coin, bars,
and ore exported from Chili amounted, according to the
custom-house returns, to 4,185,284 dols.; and we are as¬
sured that we shall not be far wrong if we estimate the
total produce of the Chilian mines at about 5,000,000 dols.
The elaborate estimates of Birkmyre,2 Chevallier (Mon-
iiaie, p. 228), and other authorities, in regard to the pro¬
duce of the mines of Brazil, New Granada, and other parts
461
Supply of
Precious
Metals.
Supplies of
gold and
silver in
1857 and
1858 in
America.
„ 1J\rk™>rre,S esti“ate of the production of the precious metals in 1846 and 1850, the most elaborate and valuable of any hitherto
published, appeared m the Times of the 19th May 1851. We subjoin some of its principal portions :  ^
Comparative Table, showing the Annual Produce (approximate Calculation) in value of fine Gold and Silver for 1846 and 1850 the first
being Two Years before the Discovery of the rich deposits of Gold in California ; the latter, Two Years after the Discovery. ^
Countries.
1846.
Gold.
California 
United States
Mexico  
New Grenada
Peru  
Bolivia  
Chili  
Brazil 
Total of North and South America.
Russia  
Norway 
North Germany 
Saxony  
Austria  
Piedmont  
Spain 
United Kingdom ...
Africa  
Borneo  
Ava  
Malacca   
Sumatra 
Annam or Tonquin
Various countries*
Total of Europe, Africa, and Asia ..
Total of North and South America,.
Total.
237,336
249,753
252,407
96,241
60,337
145,585
259,871
Silver.
1,301,560
3,414,427
357
282,750
17,841
2,498
203.900
305.900
100,000
72,240
63,719
30,585
50,975
4,545,192
1,301,560
5,846,752
L.
U864
3,457,020
42,929
1,000,583
460,191
297,029
2,003
5,261,619
167,831
32,346
138,022
198,200
282,654
7,444
227,499
109,989
1,056
1,584
517
374
330
53,460
33,000
1,254,306
5,261,619
6,515,925
Total.
1850.
L.
239j230
3,706,773
295,336
1,096,824
520,548
442,614
261,874
6,563,179
3,582,258
32,346
138,379
198,200
565,404
25,285
229,997
109,989
204,956
307,484
100,517
72,614
64,049
84,045
83,975
5,799,498
6,563,179
12,362,677
Gold.
L.
12,000,000
115,430
382,901
252,407
96,241
60,357
145,585
289,068
288,708
17,841
2,498
203,*900
305,850
100,000
72,240
63,719
30,585
50,975
5,312,533
13,341,989
18,654,522
Silver.
L.
62,088
11,444
5,383,333
42,929
1,000,583
460,191
297,029
2,227
Total.
7,259,824
171,817
35,607
138,022
198,200
286,971
7,444
440,210
160,000
1,056
1,584
517
374
330
53,460
33,000
1,528,592
7,259,824
8,788,416
L.
12,062,088
126,874
5,766,234
295,336
1,096,824
520,548
442,614
291,295
20,601,813
4,347,477
35,607
138,379
198,200
575,679
25,285
442,708
160,000
204,956
307,484
100,517
72,614
64,049
84,045
83,975
6,840,975
20,601,813
27,442,788
* Exclusive of China and Japan, which produce large quantities of gold and silver, the amount of which is quite unknown to Europeans.
The quantities of gold and silver produced at the under-mentioned epochs were :—In 1801, the quantity of pure gold produced in
merica was 46,331 lb.; in Europe and Northern Asia (exclusive of China and Japan), 4,916 lb.; total produce, 51,247 lb. = 55,910 lb.
ritish standard gold = L.2,612,200. In 1846 the quantity of pure gold produced in America was 25,503 lb.; in Europe, Africa and
sia (exclusive of China and Japan), 89,171 lb ; total produce, 114,674 lb. = 125,108 lb. British standard gold = L.5,846,772. In 1850
e quantity of pure gold produced in America was 261,731 lb.; in Europe, Africa, and Asia (exclusive of China and Japan), 104 219 lb •
0 al produce, 365,950 lb. = 399,247 lb. British standard gold = L.18,654,322. The above quantities are probably less than the actual
pro uction. The duties on gold in Russia on the produce of the private mines are heavy, varying from 12 to 24 per cent. • in Austria
al?0lyn^ Per cenk> in Brazil to 5 per cent., and are understood to lead to a great deal of smuggling. In other countries such
as t e United States, where there are no duties, the gold and silver stated in the table are only the quantities brought to the mints*to be
coined, there being no means of determining the quantity used in jewellery and other arts and manufactures.”
462
PRECIOUS
Supply of of America, differ very widely; and there is, in truth, little
Precious besides conjecture on which to form an estimate. Pro-
Metals. bably, however, it may amount, excluding California, to about
4,000,000 dols. The above results, when brought together,
give for the estimated produce of the American mines:
dollars.
Mexico 
Peru  
Bolivia ....
Chili  
Other parts.
23,000,000
, 6,000,000
. 2,000,000
. 5,000,000
. 4,000,000
Total  40,000,000
This sum is equivalent, at 4s. 6d. per dol., to nearly
L.9,000,000; the value of the silver produced being from
five to six times greater than that of the gold.
It is perhaps needless to observe that all investigations
into matters of this sort are liable to be affected by so many
sources of error that, even when they are most skilfully and
cautiously conducted, their results are not always to be de¬
pended upon. But, speaking generally, we are disposed to
think that the previous estimates are rather within than
beyond the mark. It is worthy of remark that they do not
differ much from Humboldt’s estimate (43,500,000 dols.) of
the produce of the American mines in the early part of the
century.
In Russia. Russian Small supplies of the precious metals
have been for a lengthened period obtained from Russia.
But since 1830, and more especially since 1840, the pro¬
duce of the Russian mines and washings, but principally
the latter, has been rapidly and largely increased. Thus
the produce of gold from the Siberian washings and the
mines of the Ural, which amounted (according to the offi¬
cial returns) to 3875 kilog. in 1826, had increased in 1840
to 8736 kilog., and in 1847 to 27,362 kilog. Since then,
however, the produce has rather fallen off; and during the
three years ended with 1854, their average yield amounted
to only 22,768 kilog. a year.1 Formerly the value of the
silver supplied by Russia greatly exceeded that of the gold ;
but since 1830 this has not been the case; for, while the
produce of gold has been so very greatly increased, that of
silver has varied but little (from 17,000 to 18,000 kilog.
a year), so that, the value of the former is now about twenty
times that of the latter. The following table, extracted
from the work of M. Otreschkoff, is founded on official
returns, and gives a view of the production of the precious
metals in Russia down to 1855 :—
Account of the Quantit// and Value of the Precious
Metals produced in Russia from 1810 to 1855.
Years.
1810 to 1825...
1825 „ 1848...
1848 „ 1851...
1851 „ 1855...
Totals.
Gold.
Kilog.
16,485
231,543
75,547
92,085
415,610
Francs,
54,830,448
772,445,780
252,034,380
307,206,156
1,386,516,764
Silver.
Kilog.
189,189
443,262
53,959
68,426
754,836
Francs
42,067,480
98,563,008
11,998,348
15,215,200
167,844,036
Annual
Average of
Total Prod.
Francs,
6,459,856
37,869,948
88,000,908
80,605,339
The Russian authorities have ascribed the falling off in the
produce of the mines and washings since 1847 to the
exhaustion of the deposits and the unskilfulness of those
engaged in the business. But though this be most pro¬
bably the case to some extent, it is believed that it has
been in part also occasioned by the heavy taxes imposed
on the gold raised by private parties. These vary in
METALS.
amount according to the productiveness of the mines and Supply of
washings, from about 12 to 24 or 25 per cent., and are Precious
most oppressive. i J
While however, it may be fairly assumed that these
heavy duties have tended to lessen the produce of gold,
there can be little doubt that their principal effect has been
to defeat themselves by tempting the parties concerned to
adopt every means for their evasion, which the notorious
corruption of the revenue officers renders an easy matter.
And in addition to the influence of these circumstances over
the private mines, the depredations and carelessness of the
parties employed to work the crown mines tells quite as
much over their produce: so that we need not be sur¬
prised that it has been doubted whether from a third to a
half, or more, of the gold furnished by the Russian mines
and washings be not omitted in the official returns. But,
taking the deficit at a fourth part only, and supposing the
official produce of the washings and mines to amount at
present (1858) to about 70,000,000 fr. a year, the real
produce would be equal to 87,500,000 fr., or L.3,500,000
sterling. It is said that the Russian government intend to
throw open the crown mines and washings to the public,
and at the same time to make a large reduction in the
duties on the produce obtained from the private mines.
This would be sound policy ; and if it be adopted, a con¬
siderable increase in the supplies of gold and silver may be
anticipated.
Produce of Gold and Silver in other parts of Europe. In Europe.
—It might have been supposed that the late extraordinary
influx of the precious metals from California and Australia
would have given a serious check to their production in
Europe; such, however, has not been the case, but on the
contrary it has considerably increased within the last ten
or twelve years.
Our readers are aware that lead ore always contains a
greater or less quantity of silver; and when the value of
the latter is sufficient to repay the expense, it is usual to
extract it by means of the process of “ refining.” This
process has latterly been much improved, and is now profit¬
ably applied to ores to which it was formerly unsuitable.
And as silver in Europe is mostly obtained from lead, this
has been a principal source of its late increase.
In 1845 some rich mines of argentiferous lead were dis¬
covered in the provinces of Murcia and Granada in Spain,
not far from Alicant; the yield of silver from which, and
the mines in other parts of the peninsula, is believed to
amount to L.500,000 or L.600,000 a year. The produce
of the Austrian and German gold and silver mines has also
increased, and small quantities are furnished by Piedmont,
France, and other parts of the Continent.
The reader may perhaps be surprised to learn that, in
consequence principally of the improved process of refining
already referred to, no fewer than 532,866 oz. of silver
were obtained from lead in the United Kingdom in 1857,
which, at 5s. an oz., was worth L. 133,216, 10s.2
The total annual production of the precious metals in
Europe, exclusive of Russia, may be roughly estimated to
have amounted in 1857 and 1858 to L.1,500,000 or
L. 1,600,000 a year.
On the whole, therefore, it may reasonably be concluded Total sup-
that the aggregate production of the precious metals (ex- Pb
eluding the produce of the Californian and Australian gold ^57ef
fields) in America, Asiatic Russia, and Europe in 1857, or froin ^
rather in each of the three years ending with 1857, gources.
amounted to about L.14,050,000, viz.:—
1 Otreschkoff, Be VOr et de VArgent, &c., i. 179. The author is a councillor of state in the service of the Czar.
2 During the year 1857, 5190 tons argentiferous ores were imported, mostly from Chili, which produced 846,569 oz. of silver, worth,
at 5s. an oz., L.211,642. This, however, is to he reckoned in the produce of Chili rather than of England. (Hunt’s Mining Records for
1858, p, 30.
PRECIOUS METALS.
Supply of America    L.9,000,000
Precious Asiatic Russia  3,500,000
Metals. Europe  1,550,000
Total  L.14,050,000
And deducting from this sum the total estimated produce of
the same countries in 1809, when the American mines had
attained the maximum of their productiveness previously to
the revolutionary disturbances (L.12,500,000), there is an
increase of L. 1,550,000.
But though, compared with its former amount, this may
appear to be a considerable increase, yet, if we compare it
with the vast increase that has taken place since 1809 in the
population, commerce, and wealth of Europe and America,
it will at once be seen to be quite inconsiderable. We be¬
lieve, indeed, that no small portion of the extraordinary pro¬
gress that has taken place of late years has been owing
to the impulse given to emigration, and to most sorts of in¬
dustrial undertakings, by the discovery of the precious metals
in California and Australia. But if we suppose that the ad¬
vances we have witnessed might have been effected with¬
out this impulse, it is quite obvious that the increased sup¬
ply of the precious metals from the old sources would not
have sufficed to meet the additional demands for coin and
for the bullion which is required in the arts. And though
the greater scarcity and value of the precious metals would,
under the supposed circumstances, have led to the em¬
ployment of various substitutes in their stead, their in¬
creased price, as compared with the mass of ordinary pro¬
ducts, would have been too manifest to escape general
notice, and would have had a most injurious influence.
But the fortunate discovery of the Californian and Aus¬
tralian gold-fields have prevented these results from being
realized; and while there is no longer any fear of injury
from a rise in the value of gold and silver, many evil results
are anticipated from that fall in their value which is said to
be imminent. Probably, however, this apprehension may
also turn out to be ill-founded.
In addition to the supplies of the precious metals already
specified, further quantities are supplied by China and other
parts of Asia, Japan, the Eastern Archipelago, &c., and
also by various parts of Africa. There is, however, no
authentic information in regard to this produce; and ex¬
cepting small supplies of gold dust brought from some parts
of the African coast, the bullion of the countries referred to
has but little influence in the markets of the civilized
world. M. OtreschkofF estimates, or rather conjectures,
that the produce of gold and silver in Asia (exclu¬
sive of Russia), the Eastern Archipelago, Oceanica, &c.,
amounted, at an average of the four years ending with 1854,
to 114,527,820 fr. (L.4,581,000) a year, and that of Africa
to 13,980,672 fr. (L.560,000) a year. {Be VOr et de VAr¬
gent, &c., i. 287, 293.)
Supplies of Gold from California and Australia.—The
gold in these regions is found in the debris of the quartz
rocks in which it has been imbedded, and in the rocks
themselves. In the former case it is found in the hollows
to which it has been carried down by rains or streams, at
different depths, sometimes in grains or flakes, and some¬
times in lumps or nuggets, of varying but occasionally of
very considerable magnitude. Gold may be sought or dug
for (hence diggings) either by single or associated indivi¬
duals ; but when quartz rock is crushed to obtain gold, ex¬
pensive machinery is usually employed, and the work is
for the most part carried on by companies. The business
of the diggings has very much of the character of a lottery,
with many blanks and a few large prizes; but in the crush¬
ing of quartz the returns are less irregular, and the business
partakes more of the character of an ordinary branch of
industry.
The Californian deposits were discovered late in May or
463
Supplies
from Cali¬
fornia and
Australia.
Metals.
fhp^n ^Une 5 Tdn0iwithttanding the remoteness of Supply of
the country, and the fact of its being almost destitute of Precious
inhabitants, above 5000 persons were attracted to the spot
by the end of the season, who are said to have realized
above L 1,000,000 sterling. The news of the discovery
and of the unexampled richness of the gold-fields havino-
spread on all sides with electrical rapidity, occasioned an
extraordinary influx of immigrants from most parts of the
world into California. The supplies of gold attained to an
unexampled magnitude; cities rose in the wilderness as if
k ^eu-C^an^ment ’ £rea*' baY San Francisco, which
had hitherto been entirely deserted, was crowded with ships
and steamers from the most distant countries; and Cali¬
fornia speedily became one of the states of the Union, and
has now a large population.
But here, as elsewhere, we have to regret the want of
accurate information in regard to the production of gold. It
appears, however, from the custom-house returns that during
the years 1856 and 1857, gold of the value of 51,142,269
and 49,340,186 dols. was shipped from San Francisco.
And, in addition to these quantities, large amounts, of which
no account is taken, are conveyed away by parties returning
to Mexico, to the Eastern States, Europe, and China. Of
these various estimates have been made. But the prevalent
opinion in the best-informed quarters seems to be that,
when they are included, and allowance is also made for
the quantity retained at home, the total yield of gold in
California in 1856 and 1857 may be moderately reckoned
at from 60,000,000 to 65,000,000 dols., or from L.13,300,000
to L.14,400,000, or nearly L.14,000,000 at an average.
But vast as it certainly is, this production has been
equalled and sometimes surpassed by that of Australia. The
deposits in the latter were not discovered till 1851, and
they were so very rich, and the influx of immigrants so
extraordinary, that the gold-fields of Victoria only are
estimated to have produced in 1852 no fewer than
4,247,152 oz.; which, at the then price of 70s. an oz.,
gives a gross amount of L.14,866,799. This, however, has
been the maximum amount of production hitherto attained.
In 1857 the same gold-fields furnished only 2,606,040 oz.
According to the carefully-compiled and valuable returns
of Mr Khull of Melbourne, the yield of gold in Victoria
since 1852 has been as follows, viz.:—
Tear.
1852
1853
1854
1855
1856
1857
Ascertained
Ounces.
3,159,322
2,274,152
1,831,434
2,234,296
2,530,383
2,341,147
Unrecorded
Ounces.
1,088,325
816,199
361,264
729,864
1,003,144
264,893
Total
Ounces.
4,247,152
3,090,342
2,192,699
2,964,073
3,533,527
2,606,040
Price
per Oz.
70s.
75
80
80
80
80
Value.
L.14,866,799
11,588,782
8,770,796
11,856,292
14,134,108
10,424,160
In addition to the gold obtained from Victoria, a sup¬
ply which in 1852 amounted to nearly L.3,000,000 was
obtained from the Sydney or New South Wales district.
The produce from this source has, however, rapidly de¬
clined, and is now (1858) so inconsiderable as hardly to be
worth notice.
It would therefore appear that the entire annual pro- Total sup-
duce of the precious metals in different parts of the civil- ply of
ized world might, in 1857, be estimated as follows, gold and
viz.:—
America, excluding California  L.9,000,000
Asiatic Russia   3,500,000
Europe   1,550,000
California    14,000,000
Australia  11,000,000
Total L.39,050,000
The question in regard to the probable continuation,
increase, or diminution of this supply is of the greatest in¬
silver in
1857.
464 PRECIOUS
Supply of terest. Unfortunately, however, nothing but the vaguest
Precious conjectures can be offered with respect to it. Those who
Metals. that the supplies of the precious metals are likely to
increase may allege that, being very widely diffused, fiesh
Probable deposits will be successively brought to light; that the pio-
continu- cesses followed in the diggings, in the crushing of quartz
rocks, and in the smelting and refining of the metals, wi
PP y‘ be further improved ; and that the increase of population
will make a still greater amount of labour be devoted to
the search after these metals. But while we admit that
there is a good deal of probability in these statements, still
we question whether the result which they point at will be
realized. Though gold be very generally distributed, it is
extremely doubtful whether there be many places m which
the deposits are so rich and so extensive as in California
and Australia; and even in these the produce, as already
seen, is either stationary or has begun to decline. I he
myriads of adventurers that are attracted to prolific diggings
being all animated by the “ auri sacra fames, and putting
forth° their entire energies, can hardly fail, in no very
lengthened period, to rifle the richest beds. And when
this is done,—when the excitement inspired by the original
discovery is worn off, and the great prizes in the gigantic
lottery recur only at distant intervals,—then, unless new
and equally promising discoveries should be made, a serious
check will be given to the gold-seeking mania. The pro¬
cess of quartz-crushing is believed to produce only mode¬
rate profits, and is not of a kind to collect crowds of
competitors. The few fortunes that have been realized
in California and Australia have not been made by the
miners, but by the merchants and others who have supplied
their real or imaginary wants, and bought their gold-dust
and nuggets on advantageous terms. Of those engaged
on their own account in the search for gold, very few
have retired from the pursuit with anything like a com¬
petence. The great majority have hardly realized the
wages current in the districts before the deposits were dis¬
covered; and the conviction seems to be everywhere gain-
ing ground that more is to be made by cultivating the sur¬
face of the earth than by digging in its bowels or crushing
its rocks.
Earnings We have already seen that in 1856, when the produce
of the gold- 0f the gold-fields of Victoria was greater than it has been
seekers. since 1852, it amounted to L.14,134,000. By far the
largest portion of this immense sum is to be regarded as
wages, or as belonging to the diggers and other adventurers
engaged in its production. But a considerable portion
must also be considered as the profit upon or return to
the capital employed in the diggings, in crushing quartz
rocks, in defraying the export duty (L.375,426 in 1856),
with the expense of conveying the gold to Melbourne, and
so on. It is not possible to say what these various items
may amount to; but taking them at the low estimate of
one million only, we have a sum of L.13,134,000 to be
divided among those engaged in the gold-fields. Now, it
appears from the official return that the population of the
latter amounted, on the 26th December 1856, to no fewer
than 115,343 men (including 18,104 Chinese), and 65,667
women and children.1 And dividing the produce (under
deduction of profits, &c.), or L.13,134,000, among the men
employed, it gives a sum of nearly L.114 for the average
wages of each. And this, considering the hardships and
privations to which they are exposed, and the high price of
most articles, is in truth but a poor remuneration. Inas¬
much, however, as those employed were mostly adventurers,
a few of whom made comparatively large sums, it follows
that the earnings of the majority must have been propor¬
tionally reduced. It is, indeed, well known that a great
many made, if anything, only the merest trifle. And no-
METALS.
thing but the spirit of gambling, or the hope by which Supply of
every one is inspired, that eventually he will stumble upon Precious
a nugget or a rich deposit, could induce them to continue ^ Metals.
in so poor a business. —
The vield of the gold-fields fell off, as previously seen,
from L. 14,134,000 in 1856 to L. 10,424,000 in 1857; and
deducting ’ from the latter one million for profits and ex¬
penses of all sorts, we have L.9,424,000 to be divided
among the diggers and others employed in its production.
And as the population of the gold-fields amounted, on the
28th February 1857, to 175,585, of whom 111,425 were
men, and the residue women and children, it follows, sup¬
posing it to have continued at about the same level through¬
out the year, that the average earnings of the men would
amount to L.84, 10s. each, which is less than the wages of
most sorts of skilled labour in this country. The earnings
of the Californian gold-seekers have not been greater.
These facts have told already, and will tell more, the more
they become known, on the European population of the
gold-fields. The spirit of adventure and gambling is no
doubt very powerful, but the knowledge of the vast pre¬
ponderance of blanks in the gold-digging lottery cannot
fail to reduce the numbers of those who embark in it. Im¬
migration has already sustained a severe check; and it is
not improbable that in the end the gold-fields will be prin¬
cipally wrought by Chinese labourers for such capitalists as
may carry on the business as an ordinary and not very
productive branch of industry. The general poverty of
the soil of Victoria, and the injurious regulations which
prevent its settlement, will tend to retard this result. But
unless some new and more productive deposits, something
to whet and excite the spirit of adventure, should be dis¬
covered, it is not easy to see how the depopulation of the
gold-fields should be prevented.
It may be said perhaps that we have omitted in the
previous statements to notice the supplies of gold that may
be expected to be derived from the newly-discovered de¬
posits along the Fraser River, in British Columbia, adjoin¬
ing Vancouver’s Island. Hitherto, however, no means have
been afforded by which to form any estimate of the pro¬
ductiveness of these deposits. And independent of this
circumstance, we do not think that we should be warranted
in laying much stress on their discovery. To whatever
extent they may be wrought, it seems most likely that
those of California will be neglected in a corresponding
degree. Except from the latter, there has been as yet no
considerable influx of immigrants into British Columbia.
And unless in the improbable event of the gold-fields in
the latter being decidedly more productive than those in
the former, there are but slender grounds for thinking that
their aggregate produce will be materially increased. On
the contrary, the better opinion seems to be, that it will be
reduced by'the population resorting in preference to agri¬
culture, for which California is extremely well fitted, and
the ordinary pursuits of industry.
We are therefore inclined to anticipate a falling-off
rather than an increase in the supply of gold. But no great
stress can reasonably be laid on any conclusion, whether
on one side or another, in regard to matters which are
liable to be affected by an infinite variety of circumstances
which can neither be foreseen nor appreciated before¬
hand.
In all speculations in regard to the probable future sup¬
ply of gold, it should be carefully borne in mind that any
considerable fall in its value would certainly check its
production, and consequently tend to lessen or prevent its
further fall. It is plain, for example, that a decline of 10
per cent, in the value of gold would, cceteris paribus, occa¬
sion the abandonment of all those mines, diggings, washings,
1 Papers relating to the Discovery of Gold in Australia, printed by order of the House of Commons, 25th August 1857, p. 68.
PRECIOUS METALS.
Consump- crushings, &c., which yield only a nett profit of that amount,
tion of the It is true, indeed, that the production of gold, as at present
Precious carried on, having far more of a gamblingcharacter than per-
Metals. tains to most branches of industry, the principle now stated
would not operate so speedily as might perhaps be anti¬
cipated. But of its ultimate operation there can be no
question; and it may therefore be laid down, that any re¬
duction in the value of gold, which is not accompanied by
a corresponding improvement in the method of its produc¬
tion, inevitably tends to correct itself, or to check or hinder
its further reduction.
In the event, however, of an increase being destined to
take place in the produce of the precious metals, we are
disposed to believe that it will take place in silver rather
than in gold. The disturbances that have so long prevailed
in Mexico, and the other ci-devant colonies of Spain,
cannot be perpetual. And when the reign of good order
and security has been once more established in them,
whether it be by the efforts of the inhabitants themselves, or,
which is most probable, by their absorption into the United
States, industry will again revive. And under such circum¬
stances, and considering the extent and riches of the silver
mines of these countries, the fair presumption is, that the
supplies of silver would be largely increased. We should
not, indeed, be at all surprised if, in the course of some
twenty years or less, a cry were to be set up in regard to the
fall of silver as compared with gold; and that the govern¬
ments of such countries as may have a silver standard should
be called upon to abandon it for one of gold.
But these are events of which it is not possible to cast
the horoscope. They will gradually manifest themselves,
but not to d priori inquirers.
Part II.—Consumption of the Precious Metals.
Consump- In order to form a reasonable conjecture in regard to the
tion of pre- probable influence of this vast supply of the precious
metals metals, it is necessary to inquire into their uses and pro¬
bable consumption. And this inquiry, we regret to say,
is still more difficult, and more likely to be infected with
errors, than the inquiry in regard to their production.
The precious metals are used as coin or currency to
facilitate exchanges ; as wealth which may be conveniently
kept or hoarded; and they are used in the arts in the
shape of plate, and in gilding, and so on.
The quantities employed in these functions are very
large indeed. They vary, however, in different countries
and periods with the circumstances peculiar to each ; such,
for example, as the greater or less abundance of paper
money, and the degree in which the use of coins is lessened
by the various devices resorted to for economizing cur-
rency ; the fashion as to plate and furniture; the feeling
of security at the time; and a number of other cir¬
cumstances all liable to great and sometimes sudden
changes.
■'lum em- I he gold and silver employed in this country as currency,
ployed as and in the customary reserves in the hands of the bankers,
moiiey- is supposed to amount tofromL.TO^OO^OOtoL.To.OOO^OO.1
In Fiance the precious metals employed in the same way pro¬
bably amount to nearly double the sum now mentioned,
465
^w;1,30’00?,”0'' L■140’?00•000■, And « believe Co„u„p-
that we may safely estimate the entiB j sum employed as tion of the
currency in Europe, America (North and South), Australia, Scions
tne Uape of (xood Hope, and Algeria, at from L.490 000 000 Metals.
to L.510,000,000, or L.500,000,000 at a medium.’3 Now V   '
supposing this sum to be employed as above stated as
currency, we have first to inquire into its probable wear and
tear and loss, and then into the probable rate of its increase.
And taking into account the extraordinary extension of
navigation and emigration, and the proportional risk of loss
from shipwreck and other casualties, we are disposed to
think that the annual wear and tear and loss of coin may
be estimated at about 1^ per cent, of the entire mass of the
currency ; which, taking the latter at L.500,000,000, would
amount to L.7,500,000 a year.
It is difficult to form any probable estimate of the rate at
which the bullion used as currency may be likely to in¬
crease, supposing its value not to fall off. The extremely
rapid increase of refinement and population in most parts
of the civilized world, and especially in America and
Australia, is known to every one. And it seems pretty
certain that some important countries which have hitherto
made comparatively little progress, are about to enter on a
new career of industry and enterprise. In Russia, for example,
the measures that are in progress for the construction of
railways and the emancipation of the peasantry can hardly
fail to awaken the dormant energies of the latter, and give
new vigour to their exertions. And the capacities of that
country are so very great that it is not easy to imagine,
were its resources at all developed, to what an extent its
wealth and population might be increased.
At present some of the finest, best situated, most exten¬
sive, and of old the most populous and flourishing countries
in the world, groan under the deadly influence of the su¬
perannuated but destructive despotism of the Turks. It
is difficult, however, to suppose, despite the efforts that
may be made to bolster it up, that this miserable fabric
of superstition and tyranny should hold together much
longer. And were it overthrown, and anything like
an efficient government established in its stead, a fruit¬
ful and all but boundless field would be laid open to in¬
dustry and enterprise.
But without insisting on such prospective considerations,
and looking only to the advances that are now being made,
we do not think that we shall exaggerate if we estimate the
increase of currency that is now going on at 2 per cent, on
its gross amount (L.500,000,000), or at L.10,000,000 a
year.
It is impossible, however, supposing this estimate not to
be very wide of the mark at present, to conjecture how long
the currency will go on increasing in this ratio. It may, as we
have seen, be safely taken for granted that the sphere of
civilization and commerce is destined rapidly to extend.
But its expansion will no doubt be accompanied with
various contrivances for economizing the use of metallic
money; so that the quantity of it in circulation may not
increase for any very lengthened period at the rate above
stated. If it did, it would absorb an immense supply
of gold. In barbarous countries, and in those which are
entering on the career of civilization, the coins afloat may
2 l!as keen estimated as high as L.90,000,000; hut the best authorities look upon this estimate as greatly beyond the mark.
^ as ^een estimated by Levasseur (p. 106) and others at no less than L.160,000,000 ! But this includes a portion of the coins that
nave been hoarded, and which can no longer be reckoned in the currency.
• IVr,d ^nconSds*:en* with the objects of this article, and with the limits within which it must be confined, to engage in a discus¬
sion o the numerous and often conflicting statements and details on which this estimate has been founded. Some information with
respect to it may be found in Chevalier’s valuable treatise Z>e Za Afonnaie (p. 326, &c.), Paris, 1850; in Stirling’s Gold Discoveries, p.
; in the learned and excellent tract of Tegoborski, Essai de la Ddcouverte des Giles Auriferes en Californie et en Australie, &c., p 65;
evasseur, De la Question de. I Or, p. 106; in the work of Otreschkoff, De VOret de VArgent; and a host of other publications. The
'n Cdrcu^a*ion dn Russia in the early part of 1851 were estimated in the Petersburg Gazette (October 12, 1852) at
gold ’ ^ roukles> equal, at 40d. per rouble, to L.53,800,000. The greater part (190,000,000 roubles) of this currency consisted of
VOL. XVIII. 2 N
466
PRECIOUS METALS.
Precious
Metals.
Sum em¬
ployed in
the arts.
Consump- increase at the rate of 3 or 5 per cent., or more. But in
tion of the countries which are more advanced their increase may be
or ]ess perhaps than even 1 per cent.
It is equally difficult to acquire any satisfactory informa¬
tion in regard to the quantity of bullion consumed in the
arts. Jacob estimated its amount in Europe and America
in 1830 at about L.5,900,000 a year. But it has since
been repeatedly shown by various intelligent writers that
this estimate was in many respects wide ot the mark, and
that on the whole it was a good deal under-rated. And
supposing the consumption of the precious metals in the
arts to have amounted to L.6,500,000 or L.7,000,000 in
1830, it must now be very much greater. Everywhere,
indeed, but more especially in England, America, Germany,^
and Russia, there has been an extraordinary increase of
population and wrealth during the last eight-and-twenty
years. Plate and plated articles for use and ornamental
purposes are now in extensive demand among all but the
very lowest orders. Vastly more persons are raising them¬
selves from poverty to competence and affluence than at
any former period ; and these are universally large buyers
of plate and other costly articles. Horace, were he now
amongst us, would not venture to repeat his boast, that—
“ Non cbur, neque aureum
Mea renidet in domo lacunar.” Lib. ii., Od. 18.
A taste for gilded saloons, magnificent glasses, and the
gorgeous furniture of the age of Louis XIV., is at pre¬
sent all but universally diffused, and must have added
greatly to the consumption of gold, which has been still
further augmented by its increased outlay on the gilding of
earthenware and china, harness, books, &C.1 At the first
blush of the matter, some of these items may not appear to
the careless observer to be of much importance ; but those
who reflect a little on the subject, and who consider the
immense and rapidly-increasing demand for the articles
referred to in this country and Europe generally, and in
America and Australia, will be satisfied that the total
consumption of the precious metals, and especially of gold,
in the way now mentioned, must be quite immense.
We incline to think that the value of the precious metals
in Great Britain in 1857, in the shape of plate, watches,
jewels, and trinkets of all descriptions, may be safely esti¬
mated at about L.4 to each individual of the entire
population, making in the aggregate a sum of about
L.88,000,000, to which, if we add L. 12,000,000 for Ireland,
the whole will amount to L. 100,000,000. And vast as
this sum may appear, wre believe it is inside the mark.
Silver spoons and forks, silver tea-services, with trays, &c.,
are now universally met with throughout the middle as
■well as the upper classes; while most families, of any anti¬
quity or consideration of any kind, possess large quantities of
ornamental as well as useful plate. In the Continent and
the United States the bullion invested in the wray now
stated is very great indeed. In Italy and some other
countries the lower classes, especially the women, though
not generally so well off as in England, spend more
money upon massive rings, chains, brooches, and such like
articles, which they regard much as girls in England do their
deposits in the savings-bank, as a reserve fund or capital.
We are aware that Jacob says, that “In the present day
in this country the quantity of gold and silver in actual ex¬
istence, including utensils, ornaments, jewelry, trinkets, and
watches, is three or four times as great as the value of those
metals which exists in the form of money.” {Historical
Inquiry, i. 210.) And as the value of the precious metals
m Great Britain, in the shape of coin, is certainly not less
at present (1858) than L.70,000,000 or L.75,000,000, the
value of the bullion in plate, jewellery, &c., ought, on this Consnmp.
hypothesis, to amount to at least L.210,000,000 or tion of the
L.280,000,000! But there can be no manner of doubt lJrecions
that the lowest of these sums would be far beyond the ^ Metals-
mark. Tegoborski, indeed {Giles Anriferes, &c., p. 66),
who is supported by Humboldt {Nouvelle Espagne, hi., p.
465, ed. 1827), estimates the value of the bullion vested in
plate, watches, jewellery, &c., at only half the amount
vested in coin. But this estimate, though not perhaps
very far wrong if applied to the poorer countries of Europe,
would undoubtedly, if applied to Great Britain, be as much
under as that of Jacob is above the mark.
But, without pretending to an accuracy which, on such
subjects, is unattainable, we run little risk in concluding
that the expenditure of bullion in the arts—that is, in
plate, jewellery, gilding, &c.—in Europe, America, and
Australia, cannot at present (1858) be under, if it do not
exceed, L.l5,000,000 or L.16,000,000 a year. But of this
a portion, estimated at about one-fifth, or 20 per cent., is
supposed to be obtained from the fusion of old plate, the
burning of lace, picture-frames, &c. And hence, if we de¬
duct from the L.15,000,000 used in the arts 20 per cent
for the old bullion, we have L.12,000,000 for the tota
quantity of the supplies from the mines annually disposed
of in this way; a considerable portion of which, includ¬
ing that used in the gilding of rooms, earthenware, books,
harness, buttons, &c., cannot be again recovered or ap¬
plied to any useful purpose.
And however great it may appear to be, this amount will
be largely increased with the increase of population and
the spread of refinement in the arts, and still more by any¬
thing like a considerable fall in the value of bullion.
Hence it would appear, putting these items together, Total con-
that the annual consumption of bullion as currency, and in sumption
the arts, amounts to about L.29,500,000, viz.:— sflyer*1 and
Wear and tear and loss of coin, L.7,500,000
Increase of currency  10,000,000
Used in the arts  12,000,000
Total L.29,500,000
It will be difficult to show that these estimates are be¬
yond the mark ; and supposing them to be nearly correct,
it follows, deducting the above sum from the previously esti¬
mated produce of the mines (L.39,050,000 — L.29,500,000),
that we have a surplus of L.9,550,000 to defray the sums
required for hoarding, for exportation to the East, &c. And
there certainly seems to be little reason for thinking that a
supply of this amount will do more than meet the demands
upon it.
It may be said, perhaps, that we must have exaggerated
the consumption of the precious metals, inasmuch as the
sum which we suppose is annually consumed considerably
exceeds the entire produce of the mines previously to the
supplies from California and Australia. But, while we ad¬
mit the fact to be as stated, we deny the inference which
is attempted to be drawn from it. The truth is, that while
the discovery of the Californian and Australian deposits has
added in so great a degree to the supply of bullion, it has
also added very largely to its consumption. It has given
an unparalleled stimulus to emigration and commerce. The
population of California and Victoria has increased in a
ratio hitherto unheard of, or from next to nothing a dozen
years ago, the former to 507,000 in 1856 (American Al¬
manac for 1858), and the latter to 463,000 on the 31st
December 1857. But despite this increase, wages, owing
to the general desire to speculate on one’s own account,
continue to be extravagantly high. In California in 1856
miners readily obtained from 10s. to 25s. a day, according
Estimates have been made of the expenditure upon some of these items, but the data on which
entitle them to much attention.
they are founded are too vague to
PRECIOUS
Consump- to their skill and capacity for enduring fatigue; common
tionofthe labourers from 8s. to 12s. a day; and house-servants from
L-5 to L.6 a month. For a while most articles were
i ' ProPoltionally high, so that these extravagant wages were
not so advantageous to the parties receiving them as might
have been supposed. But there has latterly been a great
fall in the price of manufactured goods and colonial pro¬
duce ; while, owing to the progress of agriculture, provi¬
sions have also been greatly reduced. Lodgings are still
very dear, but not so exorbitant as formerly. In Australia,
the state of things for a while after the discovery of the
gold-fields, was not very dissimilar ; wages, however, though
still very high, are now (1858) a good deal lower there
than in California; while in other respects there is but
little difference between the two. And if, in addition
to these unprecedented circumstances, we take into
account the unsettled character of the population, with
the absorbing pursuit of wealth on the one hand, and
the utter recklessness of expenditure on the other, we
must be satisfied that the currency of these countries can¬
not be otherwise than excessive as compared with their
population. *
J he powerful influence of the late gold discoveries is not,
however, confined to California and Australia. The emi¬
gration to these countries, and the new and rapidly-increas¬
ing markets which they afford, have told effectually here,
and indeed in every commercial country. In England the
rise of wages cannot be estimated at less than from 10 to
30 per cent., while in Ireland it has been a good deal
more. And though the rise of wrages in the latter be in
part ascribable to the famine of 1846-47, and in a still
greater degree to the emigration to the United States, yet,
as this emigration has been powerfully promoted by the
efflux of emigrants from the Atlantic states to California,
it is clear that the gold of the latter has been at bottom a
prominent cause of the improvement in the condition of
the Ii ish peasantry. The same may be said of the emigra-
gration from Germany, which has latterly become of first-
late importance. At an average of the seven years ended
with 1852, it amounted to 103,591 individuals a year; the
numbers in 1851 and 1852 being respectively 120,708 and
lo5,730, of which by far the greater portion was destined for
the United States. (Report of Emig. Com. for 1853, p.
104.) In 1854 the emigrants to the latter from Germany
only, amounted to no fewer than 223,862; and though
not so great since, they are still very numerous, having
amounted in 1857 to 91,781. (Hunt’s Com. Mag., June
1858, p. 768.) y ’
The lise of wages consequent on these extraordinary
mutations, and the increased exports of produce which they
have occasioned, have exercised a powerful influence in the
United States as well as in Europe. And there, consequently,
as well as here, a greater supply of bullion is required to
serve as currency. And while this influence is operating
on the one hand, on the other the swarms of parvenus who
are every day rising to opulence, contribute to swell the
demand for all sorts of things, but especially for plate and
plated goods, jewellery, and such like articles. And what
is probably of still greater importance, the metallic basis of
the currency is everywhere being enlarged ; and the con¬
viction is rapidly gaining ground in the United States as
well as in Europe, that no paper currency can be safe unless
effectual measures be taken to maintain such a supply of
the precious metals in the countries in which it circulates
as may be necessary to ensure its immediate conversion
into coin.
467
METALS.
Burying of Gold and Silver.—-It is singular tW u, n
not Take^ U,e 1<;0nSumPtion of Sold and silver, Jacob’did tion oTthe
not make any a lusion to the practice which has uniformly Precious
prevailed in all countries harassed by intestine commo- Metals‘
t.ons or exposed to foreign invasions, of burying treasure
in the earth. Of the sums so deposited a very considerable Bui7ing of
proportion has been altogether lost, and this has no doubtgold and
been one of the principal means by which the stock of the ST,llver ia
precious metals has been kept down to its present level Pe-
Every one is aware that during the middle ages treasure
trove, or money dug from the ground, formed no inconsider-
able part o the revenues of this and most other countries.1
And though the burying of money has long ceased in Great
ritaui, such has not been the case among our neighbours.
Wakefield tells us that down to 1812 the practice was
common m Ireland ;2 and though much fallen off in the
interval, it continues to this day to be occasionally re¬
sorted to in that part of the kingdom. It has always pre¬
vailed, sometimes to a less and sometimes to a greater
extent, m almost every part of the Continent.3 The anarchy
and brigandage that accompanied the revolution of 1789
made the practice be carried to an extraordinary extent in
U ranee; and there owing to various causes, which are too
obvious to require being pointed out, it still maintains a
broad and hrm footing. So much so is this the case that,
to use tiie words of a distinguished authority, “ En France
nous enfouissons notre argent dans nos coffres, ou nous le
cachons dans les murs de nos maisans et les sillons de nos
champs, selon les vieilles coutumes de V Orient. 11 y a
peut etre un milliard (forty millions sterling) de notre
numeraire rendu ainsi sterile!^ And yet we doubt
whether the burying of treasure be at present as prevalent
in France as in many parts of Germany, and in Hungary,
ivussia, Italy, Spain, and European Turkey. The feel-
ing of msecuiity that has prevailed in all these countries
especially since 1848, has given a stimulus to this practice
which nothing can countervail. Of the many millions that
were distributed among the countries round the Black Sea
during the recent campaigns in that quarter, the greater
portion is believed to be as much withdrawn from circula¬
tion as if it had never been dug from the mine.
It is impossible, of course, to form any estimate of the
sums that aie thus annually placed as it were in mortmain.
I hey vary from year to year, and are always greatest when
uars or revolutionary disturbances are in progress, or when
their occurrence is anticipated, or but little confidence is
placed in the permanence of existing institutions. There
can, at all events, be no question that the sums which have
been disposed of in the way now stated in the different
continental countries of late years have been quite enor¬
mous-greater, perhaps, than those absorbed by any of the
other channels of expenditure.
Besides the countries already mentioned, there is a vast Exporta-
portion of the earth’s surface, including Turkey in Asia, °f the
Arabia, Persia, India, China, and other eastern territories, Preci°u8
into which bullion has been largely imported from the re- ™et^810
motest aera. During the intercourse of the Phoenicians, * 6 JljaSt'
Greeks, and Romans, with the East, gold and silver, ob¬
tained from the mines of Spain and other European coun¬
tries, always formed important articles of export to Arabia
and India. The same notions of the mischievous influence
of the exportation of these metals that have prevailed
in modern times were also prevalent in antiquity; and
various efforts were in consequence made to hinder its
taking place. That such had been the practice in the
earlier periods of Roman history, is evident from the state-
2 Account of Ireland, i., p. 593.
1 Blackstone, Com., b. i., cap. 8, § 13.
3 Storch, Economic Politique, i., p. 222, 1823.
• JuD.7S0h t;freM,""””™’ ^ 182’ P“1”’1853; °f ‘1*!»« of “>• ^ate pobUction. on th, important tab-
468 PRECIOUS
Consump- ment of Cicero,1 and the prohibition was repeatedly
tion of the renewed, though with very little effect, by the emperors.
Precious 'j’j^erius complained to the Senate that the wealth (mean-
v Metals- , ing gold and silver), of the state was irrecoverably con-
signed to foreign and hostile nations in exchange for
luxuries and female ornaments.2 Pliny computed the an¬
nual drain of cash to India only for these objects at
fifty million sesterces, or L.400,000;3 4 and to India, China,
and Arabia, at double that sum, or L.800,000. And tie
drain thus early commenced, though varying in intensity,
has continued, with but little interruption, down to the
present times. Since the establishment of the East India
Company in 1600, gold and silver have usually been among
the best and safest articles of export to the East. And de¬
spite the vast quantities of these metals, but more especially
of silver, that have thus been poured into India, they appear
of late years to be in greater request than ever in that and
the adjacent countries. The supplies thrown upon their
markets, like the water poured into the sieves of the Danaids,
completely disappear, or are so absorbed that the demand
for fresh supplies continues without any abatement.
Humboldt estimated that, of the entire produce of the
American mines at the commencement of this century,
amounting, as already seen, to 43,500,000 dols., no less
than 25,500,000 were sent to Asia,—17,500,000 by the
Cape of Good Hope, 4,000,000 by the Levant, and 4,000,000
through the Russian frontier. And though it be generally
believed by later authorities that this estimate was beyond
the mark,5 still there is no manner of doubt that the drain
METALS.
qP the East was then, and for several years before Consump-
and after, of the most formidable dimensions. Gradually, tion of the
however, it began to diminish, partly in consequence of the
decrease in the supplies of bullion from America subse-
quently to 1808, and partly, and we believe principally,
from the great and sudden increase in the exports of cot¬
tons and other manufactured goods to India which followed
the opening of the trade in 1813. Such, indeed, was the
influence of these and other concurring causes, that in 1832
and 1833 the export of bullion from England to India had
not merely ceased, but the tide had actually begun to set
in the opposite direction. This abnormal state of things
did not, however, continue for any very lengthened period.
For a few years there was no very decided movement of
bullion either from Europe to the East, or from the East
to Europe. But this approach to an equilibrium has
wholly passed away. Within the last dozen years the drain
of bullion from Europe to the East has again set in with
renewed force, and is become deeper and broader than at
any former period. And yet, despite their continued influx,
there is no general rise of prices nor anything to show that
India is becoming saturated with the precious metals, or
even with silver. On the contrary, the supply appears to
be as deficient as ever; and it is doubtful whether this
apparently bottomless abyss be not of itself sufficient to
swallow up the largest portion, if not the whole, of the late
extraordinary additions to the supply of bullion. The follow¬
ing returns supply the latest and most authentic informa¬
tion in regard to the exportation of bullion to the East:—
I. An Account of the Quantities of Gold and Silver respectively exported to Lidia, China, and Egypt, during each of
the Ten Years ending with 1852, distinguishing between British and Foreign Coin, and between Coin and Bullion.
Countries.
Years.
843
1844
1845
1846
To the British Posses- / 1847
sions in India.
To China.
To Egypt.
U8 r
.51
British Gold Foreign
Coin. Gold Coin.
Ounces.
7,877
5,944
115
2,518
2,014
1,208
651
9,628
5,155
16,356
1,917
34
2,500
40
250
3,186
12546
2420
921
13,919
70,437
62,341
Ounces.
Gold
Bullion.
200
152
Ounces.
Total of
Gold.
Ounces.
7,877
5,944
115
2,518
2,014
1,208
651
9,628
5,155
16,356
1,917
34
2,500
40
250
3,186
12,746
2,420
921
13,919
70,437
62,493
British
Silver Coin.
Ounces.
18,180
1,287
920
77,000
60
800
40*000
4,200
2,500
14,000
105,280
126,420
140,783
Foreign
Silver Coin.
Ounces.
122,450
800
359
12,850
193,826
137,620
626,864
661,297
263,828
187,614
26,406
62,000
38,800
15,000
600
7,000
*9,000
40,000
141,177
2,319,688
8,850,613
Silver Bullion.
Ounces.
333,779
134,000
145,833
379,893
8,500
145,488
3,808,289
2,580,240
Total
of Silver.
Ounces.
494,409
800
359
14,137
328,746
283,453
1,083,757
661,297
263,828
187,614
26,406
62,060
47,300
800
15,000
40,600
11,200
11,500
54,000
391,945
6,254,397
11,571,636
1 “ Exportari aurum non oportere, cum saepe antea Senatus, turn me consule gravissime judicavit.” (Oratio pro L. Flacco, cap. 28.)
2 Taciti, Annal., lib. iii., cap. 53.
3 “ Digna res, nullo anno imperii nostri minus H. S. quingenties exhauriente India, et merces remittente.” (Hist. Nat., lib. vi., cap. 23.)
4 “ Minimaque computatione millies centena millia sestertium India et Seres, peninsulaque ilia (Arabia) imperio nostro adimunt.
Tanto nobis deliciae et foeminse constant.” (Ibid., lib. xii., cap. 18.)
5 “ Humboldt, cela n’est plus douteux, estimait trop haut la valeur de I’or et de I’argent, qui s’ecoulaient au commencement de ce
siecle d'Europe en Asie, et portaient trop has la deperdition qu’ils eprouvaient, dans la meme temps, par le frottement et leur conversion
en objets d’orfevrerie et de bijouterie.” (Dupuynode, I)e la Monnaie, &c., i., p. 35.) There is no longer any doubt in regard to the accu¬
racy of the latter part of this statement; and it is pretty generally supposed that the first part is also well founded.
PRECIOUS METALS.
Consump- Total Exports of Bullion from Great Britain to the East for each
tion of the °f ^te Seven Years ending 1857 (from Tables compiled by James
Precious Lowe, Esq., of Austin-Friars).
Metals.
469
Tears.
1851.
1852.
1853.
1854.
1855.
1856.
1857.
Total for seven years.,
Annual average... 
Gold.
L.
102,280
921,739
880,202
1,174,299
948,272
404,749
269,275
4,700,816
671,545
Silver.
L.
1,716,100
2,630,238
4,710,665
3,132,003
6,409,889
12,118,985
16,795,232
47,513,112
6,787,587
It is of importance to observe that, of the silver exported from Consump-
England in 1857, nearly a third part, or L.5,451,698 went to China, tion of the
III. Account of the Imports and Exports of-Treasure into and from Precious
India, during each of the Twenty-three Years ending with 1856-7. Metals.
Total Exports of Bullion from the Mediterranean Ports to the East,
for each of the Five Years ending with 1857.
Tears.
1853.
1854.
1855.
1856.
1857.
Total for five years....,
Annual averages  
Total annual averages.,
Gold.
L.
93,528
48,456
243,239
74,039
259,986
Silver.
719,248
143,849
815,394
L.
848,362
1,451,014
1,524,240
1,988,916
3,350,689
9,164.221
1,832,844
8,620,431
Total annual average of gold and silver, L.9,435,825.
Tears.
1834- 35 
1835- 36 
1836- 37 
1837- 38 
1838- 39 
1839- 40 
1840- 41 
1841- 42 
1842- 43 
1843- 44 
1844- 45 
1845- 46 
1846- 47 
1847- 48  
1848- 49 
1849- 50 
1850- 51 
1851- 52 
1852- 53 
1853- 54  
1854- 55 
1855- 56  
1856- 57  
Imports.
L.1,893,023
2,146,465
2,036,167
2,610,101
3,010,920
1,945,264
1,786,253
1,841,335
3,443,292
4,794,678
3,752,472
2,495,959
2,939,922
1,973,391
4,204,503
3,396,807
3,811,809
5,052,059
6,831,377
4,871,956
2,028,258
11,301,288
14,413,699
Exports.
L.194,741
108,109
263,934
340,656
347,906
470,523
366,486
515,076
215,797
746,076
1,106,840
816,028
713,870
1,426,038
2,539,743
971,244
541,289
919,089
1,055,230
1,483,296
1,267,035
601,177
1,253,428
Total excess of imports 
Average annual excess of imports.
Excess of Imports.
L.1,698,282
2,038,356
1,772,233
2,299,445
2,663,014
1,474,741
1,419,767
1,326,259
3,227,495
4,048,602
2,645,532
1,679,931
2,226,052
547,353
1,664,760
2,425,563
3,270,520
4,132,970
5,776,147
3,388,660
761,223
10,700,111
13,160,271
L.74,347,287
3,232,490
To which have to be added the exports by the Black Sea, the Rus¬
sian and Turkish frontiers, &c. But the exports of bullion to the East
in the current year (1858) have greatly fallen off; and will not
exceed L.5,700,000. (See post.)
The following table, which has been obligingly furnished to us
by the statistical department of the East India House, shows the
countries from which the bullion (distinguishing between gold and
silver), imported into India duringthe six years ended with 1855-56,
was derived, and those to which the bullion exported was sent:—
IV. Imports into the whole of India (Bengal, Madras, and Bombay), distinguishing between Gold and Silver, and distinguishing
also the Countries and Regions with which the Trade has taken place, from 1850-51 to 1855-56.
Tear.
1850-51
1851-52
1852-53
1853-54
1854-55
1855-56
Presidency.
Bengal...
Madras.
Bombay.
Totals
Bengal...
Madras.
Bombay
Totals
Bengal..
Madras..
Bombay.
Totals
Bengal..
Madras...
Bombay.
Totals
Bengal...
Madras..
Bombay.
Totals
Bengal..,
Madras...
Bombay.
Totals
United Kingdom.
Gold.
L.
14,649
4,626
3,085
22,360
45,080
26,654
71,734
117.865
11,088
1,500
130,373
6,645
17,488
28,385
52,518
1,700
7,219
8,919
10,400
59,069
170
Silver.
L.
356,974
98,962
24,734
480,670
870,194
70,102
28,985
969,281
1,569,041
353,574
287,959
2210,574
890,283
367,834
335,001
1,593,111
9,449
68,503
1,026
78,978
69,639
2,612,814
654,491
360,008
3,627,313
Foreign Europe.
Gold.
59,357
59,357
975
Silver.
L.
16,253
2,124
18,377
47,505
11,128
58,633
675
17,400
3,640
21,715
147,686
3,521
4,411
155,618
975
92,112
100
92,212
24,279
4,815
29,094
374,145
24,235
17,943
416,323
America.
Gold.
L.
4739
4739
5950
5950
Silver.
L.
3556
3556
13,104
13,104
1,179
1,179
614
614
3,395
3,395
China.
Gold. Silver.
L.
153,203
541,847
695,050
233,408
460,’318
693,726
235,359
333,300
568,659
L.
288,426
861,807
1,150,233
654,910
953,155
All other Places.
Gold. Silver.
L.
151,083
28,847
257,970
437,900
1,608,065
954,122
908,027
91,504
166,*482
257,986
150,916
174,253
325,169
634,221
874,320
1,508,541
1,862,149
576,775
57,371
336,408
387,889
69,526
333,217
393,779
40,366
7,094
47,460
173,227
58,578
231,805
192,835
49,915
330,568
573,318
308,248
38,413
230,114
790,632
160,274
52,305
330,541
543,120
393,930
70,447
375,070
839,447
L.
205,338
125,546
672,778
1,003,662
249,435
139,599
675,163
Gold.
l:
318,935
33,473
802,902
1,155,310
Silver.
L.
870,547
226,632
1,559,319
1,064,197
148,141
156,461
1,095,995
1,400,597
503,994
119,122
1,004,576
1,627,692
252,426
66,193
671,183
989,802
1,185,607
38,192
3,282,856
4,506,655
471,323
76,569
790,886
1,338,778
720,829
49,421
564,914
1,335,164
486,038
87,014
528,084
1,101,136
318,604
59,524
504,794
882,922
1,130,663
135,566
1,249,560
2,515,789
2,656,498
1,835,147
220,829
1,657,304
Total Gold
and Silver.
L.
1,189,482
260,105
2,362,221
3,811,808
3,713,280
2,673,158
527,435
2,295,621
5,496,214
1,599,948
490,477
1,680,396
3,778,281
326,520
134,696
684,118
1,145,334
4,349,188
716,918
3,719,385
8,785,491
2,306,470
297,398
2,448,190
Nett Imports
of Treasure
into India,
Deducting
Exports.
3,270,519
5,052,058
3,393,987
576,856
2,860,535
6,831,376
2,085,986
577,491
2,208,480
4,871,957
645,124
194,220
1,188,912
2,028,256
5,479,851
852,484
4,968,945
4,132,970
5,776,149
3,388,662
761,224
11,301,280
10,700,107
470
PRECIOUS METALS.
Consump¬
tion of the
Precious
Metals.
IV. Exports of Treasure from India {Bengal, Madras, and Bombay), distinguishing between Gold and Silver and
distinguishing also the Countries and Regions with which the Trade has taken p ace,fiom o o o
Year.
1850-51
1851-52
1852-53
1853-54
1854-55
1855-56
Presidency.
Bengal,
Madras ....
Bombay
Totals
Bengal....
Madras....
Bombay..
Totals
Bengal 
Madras 
Bombay...
Totals
Bengal 
Madras....
Bombay...
Totals
Bengal 
Madras 
Bombay
Totals
Bengal...
Madras..,
Bombay.
Totals
United Kingdom.
L.
160
Silver.
Foreign Europe
Gold.
L.
10,000
164
430
430
128,494
300
128,794
10,587
935,531
24,700
128,818
10,000
6,375
”246
6,621
125
125
7,151
7,151
28,818
7,244
36,062
37
37
Silver.
Gold.
2,004
2,004
10,000
10,000
Silver.
700
700
China.
Gold.
L. *
20,000
20,000
195
195
4,600
5,330
9,930
1,836
20
10,229
12,085
17,545
17,515
Silver.
L.
1,000
1,000
3,380
3,380
675
20,921
21,596
258,863
449,096
707,959
35,706
120
135,451
171,277
837
69,207
70,044
All other Places.
Gold.
L.
777
605
470
1,852
69,650
500
390
70,540
12,384
17,697
30,081
2,446
275
2,459
5,180
625
3,255
1,190
5,070
100
2,097
2,197
Silver.
L.
255,392
93,536
158,645
507,573
174,133
215,268
448,521
837,922
330,097
36,082
498,524
864,703
167,617
115,362
465,937
748,916
315,830
424,907
167,523
908,260
101,599
70,687
346,598
518,884
Gold.
L.
937
605
474
2,016
70,080
500
585
71,165
145,478
300
23,027
168,805
4,282
295
12,688
17,265
11,212
96,786
43,435
151,433
100
5
2,103
2,208
Silver.
L.
275,393
103,535
160,345
539,273
180,508
215,268
452,147
847,923
330,897
36,082
519,445
886,424
433,631
115,362
917,037
1,466,030
380,354
425,027
310,218
1,115,599
112,436
70,724
415,805
598,965
Total Gold
and Silver.
L.
276,330
104,140
160,819
541,289
250,588
215,768
452,732
919,088
476,375
36,382
542,472
1,055,229
437,913
115,657
929,725
1,483,295
391,566
521,813
353,653
1,267,032
112,536
70,729
417,908
601,173
* Not stated whether gold or silver*
Consump.
tion of the
Precious
Metals.
thTd*59 It is difficult to account for the long-continued and
e ram ]ieaVy (Jrain 0f’ bullion to India. It would seem, however,
to India. t0 be principally owing to the following circumstances,
viz.:—1. To the country having no mines of its own j1 2.
To the great amount of the population, their early civiliza¬
tion and poverty, and their habit of wearing ornaments of
silver and gold ; and, 3. To that burying and hoarding of
the precious metals which is perhaps more prevalent in
India than anywhere else.
1. The influence of the first of these causes of the im¬
portation of the precious metals into India is too obvious to
require any illustration.
2. The influence of the second cause of the importation
referred to is of the most powerful kind. From the remotest
period the people of India have been in a considerably ad¬
vanced state of civilization, which, owing to the early insti¬
tution of castes and other circumstances, has continued in
a comparatively stationary state. Owing also to the econo¬
mical habits of the people, and the facility with which they
have obtained subsistence, their wages have always been,
and continue to be, extremely low. And from the com¬
bination of these and other causes, the businesses carried
on in India have, with few exceptions, been generally on
a petty scale ; and while comparatively few large pay¬
ments have to be made, the everyday transactions of an
immense population, though individually small, amount in
the aggregate to a very great sum. And hence the extra¬
ordinary demand for silver to serve as coin in retail transac¬
tions, and for cowries, inferior in value even to the smallest
coins.
And in addition to the very great sums required for
currency, another, and also a very large sum, is absorbed in
jewellery or trinkets. The habit of wearing rings, brace¬
lets, brooches, hair-pins, and such like personal ornaments
of gold and silver, but generally the latter, is universal in
India, and cannot fail to occasion a very large expenditure.
There are no data on which to build up an approximate
estimate of the gross amount of the sums invested in the
coin in circulation and in trinkets in India. It has, how¬
ever, been said that it is quite conceivable it should come
up to 400,000,000 sterling;2 and to those who bear in mind
that the population is not less perhaps than from 150,000,000
to 160,000,000, and that metallic ornaments are worn by
all but the most degraded persons, this conjectural estimate
may not appear to be in any degree extravagant.
But if it be not very far from the mark, the wear and
tear or abrasion and loss upon so great a sum, being taken
at only 1 per cent., would require an influx of bullion to
the extent of L.4,000,000 a year. And as this source of
loss may be regarded, so to speak, as a constant quantity,
it is plain that if, owing to circumstances affecting the com¬
merce of the Peninsula, or any other cause, this supply
is statement may not, perhaps, he strictly correct. It is affirmed that gold and silver have been produced in India; but if so, it
muted on all hands that the production has been so inconsiderable as to be unworthy of notice,
rfewmarch m Tooke on Prices, vi., p. 723. J
Consump- should be diminished for a few years, the demand for bul-
tionof the lion would be proportionally increased as soon as the dis-
MetaliT force had ceased to operate.
'j 3. We have already noticed the burying or hoarding
of treasure in Europe. But the practice has been carried
to a still greater extent in India, Persia, Turkey in Asia,
and other eastern countries, than anywhere in the western
world. Despotism and a want of security have always pre¬
vailed in these countries. The inhabitants have in conse¬
quence been accustomed to regard the money they have
committed to the earth as their only real wealth, and have
availed themselves of every opportunity to place portions
of their means beyond the grasp of their avaricious and
tyrannical masters. And as many of the hoards so depo¬
sited will never be brought to light, the practice has un¬
doubtedly been a principal cause of the constant flow of
bullion to the East.1
Bernier, “ that most curious traveller,” as he is called by
Gibbon,2 remarks on this subject as follows, viz.:—“Avant
que de finir, je dirai d’ou peut venir que cet empire du
Mogol etant ainsi une abyme d’or et d’argent, comme jai
dit dans le commencement, on ne voit neanmoins pas
qu’entre le peuple il y en ait davantage qu’ailleurs, au con-
tiaiie le peuple y paroit moins pecuniex et 1’argent s’y
trouvent plus rare qu’en beaucoup d’autres endroits.
La premiere raison est qu’il s’en consomme beaucoup a
fondre et refondre tous ces anneaux de nez et d’oreilles,
chaines, bagues, et brasselets des pieds et des mains que
portent les femmes; et principalement dans cette incroy-
able quantite de manufactures ou il en entre tant, que se
peid, et qu on ne sgait ce qu’il devient, comme dans toutes
ces broderies, alachas ou etoffes de soye rayes, &c. &c.”
And then, having adverted to the injustice and exactions
to which the mass of the people are exposed, he goes on to
state, “ D ou vient qu’un chacun est dans une crainte per-
petuelle de ces sortes de gens, et surtout des Gouverneurs,
plus qu une esclave de son maitre. Que pour 1’ordinaire
ils affectent de paroitre gueux et sans argent, tres-simples
dans le vestement, logement, ameublement, et encore plus
dans le boire et le manger. Qu’ils apprehendent meme
sou vent de se mesler trop avant dans le negoce, dans la
crainte^ qu’ils ont qu’on ne les croye riches et qu’on ne
leur trame quelque piece pour les ruiner; si bien qu’enfin
ils ne trouvent point de meilleur remede que de cacher et en-
fouir leur argent bien secretement et bien profondement en
tene, sortant ainsi hors du commerce ordinaire des hommes,
et perissant enfin la dedans, sans que le Roy ni 1’etat, ni
que ce soit en profite. Ce qui arrive non seulement entre
les pa'isans et artisans, mais ce qui est plus considerable
entre toutes sortes de marchands, soit Mahometans soit
Gentils; mais principalment entre les Gentils qui sont
presque seuls les maitres du negoce et de 1’argent, infatuez
qu ils sontde cette croyance, que 1’or et 1’argent qu’ils cachent
durant leur vie leur servira apres la mort; et c’est a mon
avis la veritable raison pourquoi il paroit, si peu d’argent
en commerce parmi le peuple.” (Bernier, Voyage dans
les Etats du Grand Mogul, i., pp. 306-311, Amst. 1710.)
And at a later date, Mr Luke Scrafton has referred to
the same practice in still stronger terms:—“In India,” says
he, the Hindoos bury their money underground, often
with such secrecy as not to trust their own children with
the knowledge of it; and it is amazing what they will
suffer rather than betray it. When their tyrants have
tried all manner of corporal punishments upon them, they
threaten to defile them ; but even that fails; for, resent¬
ment prevailing over the love of life, they frequently rip
up their bowels or poison themselves, and carry the secret
to their graves. And the sums lost in this manner in some
measure account why the silver of India does not appear to
PRECIOUS METALS.
471
increase, though there are such quantities continually com- Comump¬
ing into it, and none going out.” ( On the Government of of tho
Hmdostan, p. 16.) J Precious
The comparative security that was lately enioved bv the Metals*
natives in most parts of India may have done somethim, to  '
essen this habit. But one so widely diffused and so deeplv
rooted, could not be easily or speedily modified. And thoudi
the illegal exactions of their rulers were curbed andpartiaflv
put down in the countries directly under the Company’s go¬
vernment, there was in Oude and many other parts of India
previously to the late insurrection, a great deal of disorder’
oppression, and robbery. And since that unfortunate out¬
break insecurity and disorders of all sorts have immeasur¬
ably increased, and have proportionally stimulated the prac-
tice of hoarding. The rebellion raging in China has had
similar effects; and we have been assured by those who,
from experience and observation, are well qualified to form
an opinion on such a subject, that it may be moderately esti¬
mated that in India and China, during the half-dozen years
ending with 1857, a sum of not less than L.100,006,000
sterling has been consigned to the earth.
But in addition to those now noticed, which, though Trade of
varying in intensity, may be regarded as being to a consi- the United
derable extent constant in their operation, the state ofKingtlom
the trade between Europe and America and the East has with India
latterly been such as to lead to an unusual increase in the and Chin?'
exports of the precious metals to the latter. This has been
occasioned by the value of the imports of the commodities
ot India and China into this country and the United States
veiY greatly exceeding the value of the manufactured and
other produce exported to them, and leaving a large balance
which could not be cancelled otherwise than by an equi-
va.lent exportation of bullion. This is evident from the
following statement, viz.:—
Countries.
Exports from United}
Kingdom to India, >
incl. Singapore J
Exports from United 1
Kingdom to China, >
incl. Hong Kong... J
Totals.
Imports from India,
incl. Singapore, in¬
to United Kingdom.
Imports from China ]
incl. Hong Kong, >
into U. Kingdom... J
Totals.
Excess of imports 1
over exports f
1854.
9,643,693
1,000,716
10,644,409
1855.
L.
10,622,118
1,277,944
11,900,062
1856.
11,419,004
2,216,123
13,635,127
1857.
L.
12,562,996
2,449,982
15,012,978
11,466,967
9,125,040
13,284,470
8,746,590
18,069,350
9,421,648
20.592,007 22,031,060 27,490,998 31,039,043
19,590,404
11,448,639
9,947,598 10,130,998 13,855,871 16,026,065
A portion amounting to about L.3,000,000 or L.3,500,000
of the excess of imports consists of remittances from India
on account of the home expenses of the East India Com¬
pany. But after this portion is deducted, the excess of im¬
ports is still very great, amounting to about L.6,500,000 or
L.7,000,000 a year in 1854 and 1855, and to no less than
from L. 10,000,000 to L. 13,000,000 a year in 1856andl857.
There has been, during the present year (1858), an in¬
crease to the extent of about L.4,000,000 in the amount of
the exports of British produce to India (L.3,695,000 in the
first ten months). But this increasehas been in great measure,
if not wholly, owing to the military operations now going
on in India, and affords no grounds for estimating what the
exports may amount to after tranquillity has been restored.
The same excess of imports over exports which charac- Trade of
terizes the trade between Great Britain and India and United
'   —                States with
J For accounts of the discovery of concealed treasures see D’Herbelot, Bibliotheque Orientale, i. 206, and ii. 347, ed 1777 India and
2 Decline and Fall, L, p. 267, ed. 1838. * China.
^ ] ' • V
472 PRECIOUS METALS.
Consump- China, distinguishes also, though in a less degree, the trade
tion of the between the United States and these countries. Thus in
Pre.cious tjTe year ent|jng gQth June 1857, the value of the ex-
^ eta ^ j ports of all sorts of produce from the United States to
7 India and China amounted to 5,373,067 dols., and that ot
the imports to 19,123,146 dols.; leaving a balance of no
less than 13,750,079 dols.,1 or about L.3,300,000 to be
provided for by drafts on London and other places in¬
debted to America.
Trade From the period when we have authentic accounts of the
between trade between India and China, it is found that the ex-
India and portg op cotton an(j otber produce from the former to the
latter have usually exceeded the imports; so that China,
which has mines of the precious metals, has been one of the
principal sources from which India had drawn her supplies
of bullion. But down to 1830 the drain from the former
to the latter was confined within reasonable limits. Sub¬
sequently, however, owing to the growing taste for the
opium of India, and its enormously increased consumption
in China, the exports of bullion from the latter to India
were increased to such an extent as to lay the Chinese
under very serious difficulties. It appears, for example, that
at an average of the seventeen years ending with 1850-51,
the annual value of the merchandise exported from India
to China amounted to L.4,564,400 a year, and that of the
merchandise annually imported, to only L.643,210, leaving
a balance of no less than L.3,921,190 a year to be paid in
bullion and in drafts on London and other places indebted
to China; and this balance has increased during the in¬
tervening period, though, owing to the disturbances that
have lately prevailed in India as well as in China, the
recent state of the trade between them affords no just ex¬
ample of its state in ordinary years. We may, however,
mention that in 1856 the imports of opium into China from
India amounted to about 66,500 chests, which, at 420 dols.
per chest, gives a gross sum of about L.6,200,000 for this
item only.2 Under such circumstances, it might have
been supposed that, whether there were or were not a de¬
mand for the bullion of the West in China, India at all
events would be pretty well supplied with bullion brought
from the latter. But, as already seen, this is very far
indeed from being the case. Notwithstanding the great
increase in the exports of British produce to India, the
imports of Indian produce into the United Kingdom are
still greater; while the annexation of the Punjab and
other provinces, and the peculiar state of India, has greatly
increased the internal demand for bullion.
But while China has on the one hand a considerable
balance against her on the trade with India, she has, on
the other, a still larger balance in her favour on the trade
with Europe and America; so that latterly her imports of
bullion have greatly exceeded her exports. This has been
mainly owing to the trifling amount of the exports of Bri¬
tish produce and manufactures to China, which, though much
augmented of late years, did not amount to L.2,500,000
(L,2,449,982) in 1857, being only between one-fourth and
one-fifth part of the value of the imports from China in
that year. The latter, however, were then unusually large,
the imports of silk only having risen from 2,838,047 lb. in
1853, to 6,664,532 lb. in 1857, while the price of the silk
rose at the same time about 50 per cent.; and hence it is
that of the silver exported from England in 1857, the fol¬
lowing amounts went to China, viz :—
Singapore, in transit for China  L.875,583
Hong Kong  2,048,795
Canton  28,592
Shanghai  2,398,728
Total  L.5,451,698
But the importation of Chinese silk having been overdone, Consump.
has sustained so severe a check that the imports in the tion of the
present year (1858) will not probably exceed 2,000,0001b.,3 Precious
obtained* at a greatly reduced price. It is therefore all but Metals.
certain that the late heavy balance against us in the trade
with China has already been very materially reduced ; and
hence the great reduction, already noticed, in the exports
of bullion to the East generally in 1858, and more espe¬
cially in those to China, which will not probably exceed
L.1.500,000. But despite its fluctuations, the drain of
bullion from Europe (or Australia) and America to China
must necessarily continue so long as the immense importa¬
tions of tea, silk, and other Chinese products are not fully
balanced by the exports; and there are various circum¬
stances which make it doubtful whether this will speedily
be the case. The events now (December 1858) in progress
must, however, have a considerable influence, which it is yet
too soon to appreciate. But the increased facilities given
to trade by the late treaty, and more especially the aboli¬
tion of the tolls and duties by which foreign products were
prevented from penetrating into the interior, can hardly
fail, provided they are bona fide carried out, to add consi¬
derably to the imports, and will consequently bring them
nearer to an equality with the exports.
Down to rather a recent period the importation of opium
into China, and its cultivation in the empire, were both
forbidden by law. But as everybody knows, and we have
seen, the prohibition of importation has long ceased to be
of any practical efficiency ; and during the last two or three
years it has been openly admitted at most ports on mode¬
rate payments being made to the authorities. In the arrange¬
ments which have recently been made with the Chinese,
there is one that legalizes the importation of opium at a
duty of 30 taels per picul of 133£ lb.
Whether, however, its free importation will increase the
demand for the opium of India is not so very clear. Opium
is already cultivated to a great extent in China, and its
growth is said to be rapidly increasing. There could not,
indeed, be any conceivable motive after its importation had
been permitted, for attempting to prohibit its being raised
at home. And if, as many anticipate, the native supplies
of opium should, notwithstanding their alleged inferiority
in point of quality, eventually suffice for the consumption,
India will lose her market for opium, and government will
be deprived of the revenue of nearly L.5,000,000 a year
it has latterly yielded, in the most unobjectionable manner,
to the East India Company. The existing drain of bullion
from China to India would, under such circumstances, either
wholly cease, or be greatly reduced.
But it is important to bear in mind that, though changes
in the trade between China and India, and between these
countries and Europe, may lead to changes in the trans¬
mission of bullion from the one to the other, these changes,
in as far as Europe and the East generally are concerned,
can be temporary only. Owing, as already seen, to the
want of mines, and the peculiar and deeply-rooted habits of
its vast population, India must always have a very exten¬
sive demand for bullion, and to it, consequently, it will be
sure to find its way. The supplies sent to it may not be
paid for by shipments of its goods direct to Europe ; but if
not, they will be paid for indirectly by imports from China
and other countries having payments to make to India.
Some of the circumstances peculiar to India to which we impolitic
have previously adverted, are such that by far the larger regulatioi
portion of the currency must necessarily consist of silver in regard
coins; and in 1835 they were made the only legal tender, to^thecur
But though not legal tender, gold coins continued to cir- j^jat
culate in India; and a proclamation issued in 1841 di-
^ eport on the Commerce and Navigation of the United States for the year ended 30th June 1857, printed by order of Congress.
(o a^trs °,w Trade of various Places, &c., 1857, p. 27. In 1857 the imports are said to have amounted to above 76,000 chests.
( raw urd s Lecture at Leeds.) 3 1,849,918 lb. in the first ten months, against 5,270,330 lb. in the same period of last year.
PRECIOUS METALS.
Consump- rected them to be received at the public treasuries. Little
tion of the attention was paid to this measure at the time ; but after
Precious t]ie discovery of the gold deposits in Australia, it became
Metals. proba5]ej jp g0]d cojns continued to be received by the
public departments, that eventually none else would be
paid into them, and that silver would cease to be em¬
ployed except in petty payments. This contingency ap¬
pears to have alarmed the government; and notice was
accordingly given on the 22d December 1852, that from
and after the 1st January next (1853) gold coins would
not be received on account of taxes or other payments due
to the public. Silver has consequently again become in
fact as well as in law the sole legal tender of India. A
good deal of controversy has taken place in regard to this
measure. It is plain that, by continuing to act on the pro¬
clamation of 1841, government would have practically set
aside the law of 1835, which made silver the only legal
tender ; and would thus have made itself responsible for
the losses that might in consequence have resulted to in¬
dividuals, and for the risk of having its own revenues re¬
duced by the anticipated fall in the value of gold.
But these appear to be most" inadequate grounds for the
course that was adopted. There are no sufficient reasons
for supposing that any material, or indeed sensible injury,
would have resulted either to the government or to indi¬
viduals from the contingencies referred to; and there are
at the same time various circumstances which make it
much to be regretted that an attempt should have been
made to exclude gold from the currency of India. Silver
coins, being the only ones fitted to serve the purposes of
the great bulk of the inhabitants, must always be in exten¬
sive demand in all parts of the peninsula. But had gold
also been allowed to circulate as coin, it is most likely
that it would have been extensively employed in making
large payments, and it would also have been extensively
hoarded. Even as it is, leaf and bar gold have been of
late largely imported into India from China, to be used in
the arts or buried. In 1855-6, for example, the imports
in question amounted to no less than L.1,508,541; the fair
presumption being, that but for the suppression of gold as
currency, they would have been very much greater. And
if so, the increased demand for gold would, on the one
hand, have in so far counteracted that fall in its value which
has been so generally apprehended; while, on the other, it
would, by lessening the demand for silver, have checked
any tendency it may have had to rise. And for these, and
other reasons that will readily suggest themselves to the
reader, it would be good policy to re-introduce a gold cur¬
rency. It is contrary to all principle, and indeed to the
plainest dictates of common-sense, to exclude it by forcible
means from a field where it would otherwise be largely
used, the more especially as by doing this we create an
unnatural demand for silver at the very time when it is
supposed to be rising in value as compared with gold.
Besides the powerful influence that the reverting to a
gold currency would have in opening a new demand for
gold, and lessening the existing demand for silver in India,
there can be little doubt that gold will become in greater
request in the latter. It is believed by many that the late
outbreak in India will be the harbinger of a better order of
things throughout that wide region ; and if such should be
the case, and its wealth and civilization be augmented, gold
would be more largely used than at present in the arts or
in the manufacture of jewellery and ornaments of all kinds,
as well as in the effecting of large payments. Hence, on
the whole, we are inclined to anticipate that at no distant
date the exports of silver to the East will be diminished
and those of gold increased. Such a result would be mate¬
rially hastened by any considerable increase in the value of
473
silver as compared with that of gold. But, indeoendentlv r
altogether of a contingency of this sort, which depends on a
great variety of circumstances, it seems fair to infer that- the- Precious
restoration of tranquillity in India will be accompanied bv a Metals-
decrease m the imports of silver and an increase in the im- V   '
ports of gold,—a resultwhich would be furtherand effectually
promoted by government again making and receivino- pay¬
ments in gold. h 1 ■
Hitherto, both gold and silver coins have been Wal « t. ^
tender in the United States, France, and some other cmfm
tries. YY herever such is the case, the value of the coins for silver
in respect of each other has to be fixed by authority; that
is, it has to be enacted that debts may be discharged by
payments either of gold or silver money, at the rate of so
many dollars to the eagle, francs to the Napoleon d’or,
shillings to the sovereign, and so on, as laid down in the
mint regulations of the different countries. But however
correct at the periods when they are made, these valuations
speedily become incorrect; and whenever such is the case
it is for everybody’s advantage to make all his payments in
the metal which happens to be overvalued as compared with
the other. And hence the use of gold as money in pre¬
ference to silver in England, and of silver in preference to
gold in France and the United States.
In the improbable event of the mint valuations of gold
and silver continuing for any considerable period to be
nearly identical with their real values, the former would be
sure to be preferred as money to the latter in all but petty
transactions. Being much more valuable in proportion to
its bulk and weight than silver, gold is more easily con¬
cealed and carried about. Where notes circulate of a
iow value, the. advantage now referred to on the side of
gold is less obvious. But such low notes are in all respects
most objectionable; and where, as in England, there are
no notes in ciidilation for less than L.5, and in France for
less than 50 francs, the use of gold as money is accompanied
with so many advantages that we are disposed to think it
would maintain its place even though it were somewhat
underrated as compared with silver. Inasmuch, however, as
gold has so many natural grounds of preference on its side,
the true plan is to make it the only standard, and to use
silver merely as a subsidiary currency. This plan has been
followed since 1817 in this country with the most complete
success; and there is no reason to doubt that it may be
elsewhere adopted with equal advantage.
The late extraordinary demand for silver in India has in prance
been quite enough to make gold be substituted for it in
those countries in which they are equally legal tender. In
France, for example, where the metallic currency consisted,
down to 1850, almost wholly of silver, it now consists prin¬
cipally of gold. This is evident from the following account
of the gold and silver coined in that empire from 1850
down to 1857, both inclusive:—
Years.
1850.. .
1851.
1852.. .
1853.. .
1854.
1855.. .
1856.. .
1857.. .
Total
Equal
inster
linff to
Er,
85,192,390
269,709,570
27,028,270
312,964,020
526,528,200
447,427,820
508,281,996
572,561,225
Silver.
Fr.
86,458,485
59,327,308
71,918,445
20,099,488
2,123,887
25,500,305
54,422,214
3,809,611
20
90
50
20
20
50
2,749,693,49 323,659,745 50
L.109,987,740
L.12,946,389
Total.
Fr.
171,650,875
329,036,878
98,946,715
333,063,508
528,652,087
472,928,125
562,704.209
576,370'836
20
90
50
20
20
50
3,073,353,235 50 1
L.122,934,129
YOL. XVIII.
L
1 LeVasseur, Question de VOr, 8vo, p. 105, Paris, 1858.
3 o
474 PRECIOUS
Consurap- In the United States the coinage of gold has increased
tion of the jn a somewhat similar ratio, having risen from 9,007,761
Preeioas (]0]]ars in 184910 62,614,492 dollars in 1851, and 59,343,465
Metals. do]]ars in 1856> Hence gold coin is now used in these
two countries, as it is used in England, in all considerable
bubstitu- payments which are not effected by notes or cheques ; while
for^fver^ ^arrle portions of the silver coin that has in consequence
In the er been disengaged have found their way to the East.
United This substitution of gold for silver, while it materially
States. enlarges the field for the employment of the formei, pio-
portionally narrows that for the employment of the lattei.
And hence a very considerable permanent addition may be
made to the comparative supply of gold without its value,
measured in silver, being materially affected. In the end,
no doubt, the values of both metals will be proportioned,
independently of variations of demand, to the icspective
costs of their production. But before this equalization can
take place, they must be distributed among the various
countries of the world according to the circumstances
peculiar to each, including therein their peculiai aptitudes
for different purposes, and the novel conditions of their
supply.
In Holland, as well as India, that substitution of gold for
silver coin which is taking place in the United States and
France has been hindered by the intervention of govern¬
ment, which has declared, in opposition to all sound prin¬
ciple, that silver only shall be legal tender. The value of
the gold that has been consequently liberated in Holland
has been estimated at about 172,000,000 florins, most part
of which has been absorbed in the new gold currency of
France. We may add that the additional quantity of silver
required, through the cessation of gold as currency, for the
supply of the Dutch mints slightly affected the price of
the former, which, however, very soon fell to about its old
level.
It would not be safe to lay much stress on any specula¬
tions that may be formed in regard to the more extensive
employment of gold as money in Austria and Germany.
Much depends on the continuance of tranquillity. But
if it be preserved, and the government, of Austria succeed
in withdrawing any considerable amount of paper from
circulation, gold will, no doubt, be partially substituted in
its stead ; and it is all but certain, supposing no measures
are taken to prevent it, that eventually gold will supersede
silver in all but the smallest payments throughout the great
majority of the German states.
A further substitution of gold for silver may probably be
effected by using gold coins of less value than formerly.
In the United Kingdom, for example, gold might be ad¬
vantageously coined into 5s. pieces. It would be incon¬
venient, perhaps, to have gold coins worth less than this;
but of this value their employment would be beneficial, as
well by economizing the use of silver, as by their being
more convenient and easily carried about.
Supposing that the substitution of gold for silver now
referred to were fully eftected, and that the production of
gold as compared with silver were to go on as it has done
since the discovery of the Californian and Australian gold¬
fields, the value of silver, measured in gold, could hardly
fail to rise. This, however, would in great measure depend
on the demand for silver for the East continuing at about
its late average amount, or on its not falling off. And there
are but slender grounds for thinking that gold and silver
will continue for any considerable period to be produced in
the same proportions that they have been during the last
ten years. As already seen, the presumption appears to
be rather in favour of the future increase of silver than of
gold.
M E T A L S.
We may perhaps, before proceeding further, notice in Consump.
this place the following estimate which the Bank of Eng- tion of the
land aid before the committee of the House of Commons P-r,e^°U8
on banks in 1857-58:-
Estimated Increase of the European Stock of Bullion in
the Seven Years 1851-1857, both inclusive.
Years
1851..
1852..
1853..
1854..
1855..
1856..
1857..
Imports from Producing
Countries.
Gold.
L.8,654,000
15,194,000
22,435,000
22,077,000
19,875,000
21,275,000
21,366,000
L.4,076,000
4,712,000
4,355,000
4,199,000
3,717,000
4,761,000
4,050,000
Total.. L.130,876,000 L.29,870,000 L.5,420,000 L.56,676,000
Exports to the East from
Great Britain and the
Mediterranean.
L.102,000
922,000
974,000
1,222,000
1,192,000
479.000
529,000
Silver.
L.1,716,000
2,630,000
5,559,000
4,583,000
7,934,000
14,108,000
20,146,000
Estimate
6y Bank of
England of
additions
made to the
bullion of
Europe
since 1851.
Gold.
The total import of gold in seven years has been,
  L.130,000,000
The exports of gold bullion and British gold coin to
India, China, Australia, the Cape, Brazils, the
West Indies, United States, &c., may be taken at... 22,500,000
Which would leave as the increase to the European
stock of gold L.107,500,000
Silver.
The exports of silver to India and China
have been L.56,676,000
The imports from the producing countries..29,870,000
Making the amount of silver abstracted from the
European stock   26,800,000
And the estimated increase in the European stock of
bullion  L.80,700,000
In some respects this estimate might be advantageously
modified. But supposing it to be, as it may be presumed
it is, nearly accurate, still it is obvious that, to get the
total addition made to the stock of European bullion dur¬
ing the seven years ending with 1857, we must add to
the addition from importations the bullion produced in
Europe during the above period. And the latter being
taken at L. 1,550,000 a year, makes an aggregate sum of
L. 10,850,000, which, added to the above balance of
L.80,700.000, makes the total increase amount to
L.91,550j000.
But, though immense, the demands this fund has had to
sustain have been equally immense. We have already
seen that the coinage of gold in France during the eight
years ending with 1857, amounted to no less than
L.109,987,740 ; and during the seven years ending with
1857, the period referred to in the Bank of England esti¬
mate, it amounted to L.87,085,201. A portion ot this
gigantic sum was derived from Dutch, English, and other
European coin imported into France, and very considerable
portions have been exported, partly to the Crimea, and thence
to the adjacent Asiatic countries, for supplies for the French
forces in that quarter, and partly to the East by way ot
Egypt, Smyrna, &c. Still, however, we feel satisfied that we
shall be far within the mark if we assume that France has
absorbed L.35,000,000 of new gold, during the period in
question, in the shape of coin, which is partly employed as
currency, and partly hoarded.1 And if we be nearly right
in this assumption, it follows that only L.56,550,000, or
L.8,080,000 a year, remains to supply all Europe,—1^,
1 See in confirmation of the statement now made, Levasseur, La Question del'Or, p. 105.
PRECIOUS METALS.
Consump¬
tion of the
Precious
Metals.
Past and
probable
future in¬
fluence of
the in¬
creased
supply of
bullion on
prices and
on its value
with new coins (ex France), anti to make good the wear
and loss of tlieold coins;1 2d, To supply the sums required
for use in the arts ; and r6d, To supply those that are hoarded
anti carried away in the pockets of emigrants, &c. &c.
The last item now referred to is of much more import¬
ance than is generally supposed. Taking the entire num¬
ber of emigrants from Europe to the United States, Aus¬
tralia, and all other places at 400,000 a year, it is pretty
certain that they do not take with them, at an average, less
than from L.2 to L.3 in coin, besides plate, watches, rings,
&c. Some estimates make the exports of bullion by emi¬
grants much greater than this; but even on this very mo¬
derate hypothesis it will amount to L.1,000,000 a year in
coin only.
Hence, as compared with the outgoings, the supply of
bullion in Europe during the last seven or eight years, far
from being in excess, lias been scanty rather than otherwise.
And without a diminution of the former, or an increase
of the latter, most people amongst us will be but little
sensible of the influence of Calilbrnian and Australian
gold.
The previous statements seem to be sufficient to show
that the present supply of the precious metals is not more
than adequate to meet the existing demand, and thatthere-
fore there is no ground for anticipating a fall in their
value unless the supply should be increased or the de¬
mand diminished.
It is now ten years since the increased supplies of gold
from California, and seven since those from Australia, have
been poured into the markets of Europe and America;
and yet there has not, during that period, been anything
like a general rise of prices. On the contrary, the prices
of most articles are as low at this moment (December
1858) as they were at the same time in 1850, while several
are a good deal lower. And of the few that have risen in
price since the latter epoch, there is not one of which the
rise may not be satisfactorily explained by something
peculiar to itself, and affecting either its demand or the
conditions of its supply, or both. Thus, the rise that has
taken place in the rate of wages in Great Britain and in
Ireland is wholly ascribable, partly to the greater demand
for labour, partly to the extent to which emigration has
been carried, and partly to the potato rot and the conse¬
quent famine in Ireland. There is, in truth, nothing what¬
ever, in comparing the prices of to-day with those of ten
years ago, to entitle any one to affirm that the value of
gold and silver has undergone the smallest change in the
interval.
It has been attempted to show that gold has fallen in
value, by alleging that the value of silver, as compared
with it, has increased. But a rise may take place in the
comparative value of silver without its being occasioned by
a corresponding fall in the value of gold. The value of
silver is affected by a variety of circumstances peculiar to
itself; and if it have really increased during the last half
dozen years, such increase may be satisfactorily accounted
for by the extraordinarily increased demand for it in the
East.. It is, however, very doubtful whether there has been
any rise hi the value of silver as compared with gold.
yVe subjoin an account of the price of silver per oz.
in London, in the months of March, July, and November
annually since 1852, viz.: —
475
Yea-rs. March.
1802  
Price per Ounce.
1853
1854  
1855  
1856  
1857  
1858  
61f
6H-
■60£
, 60
.61f
. 61*
July.
60Jd.
61.V
61J
6H
611-
6U
November.
61 Jd.
61J
6U
60J-
62|-
6U
Consump¬
tion of the
Precious
Metals.
It does not appear from this table that the price of silver
has risen during these seven years. It appears to have
fluctuated much less than might have been anticipated its
extremes being 60 and 62£, making its value, as com¬
pared with that of standard gold (at E.3, 17s. 6d. an oz.)2
as 15-5 to 1, and 14’97 to ] ; but at an average of the en¬
tire period there has been no sensible variation.
Ihat there is but little probability that prices will be
raised by a continuance of the present supplies of gold and
silver, may be inferred from what took place after the dis¬
covery of America in 1492. It appears from the researches
of Adam Smith3 and other authorities, that the influx of the
piecious metals had exerted its full effect upon prices pre¬
viously to or about 1640; and yet this influx was much
greater then and subsequently than it had been at any pre¬
vious period. According to the best information attain¬
able, the average annual importation of the precious metals
from America into Europe, from 1492 down to 1810, may
be estimated as follows:— ’
From 1492 to 1500   L.54,300 a year
„ 1500 „ 1545   651,600 „
„ 1545 „ 1600  2,389,200 „
„ 1600 „ 1700  3,475,200 „
„ 1700 „ 1750  4,887,000
„ 1750 „ 1803  7,667,160 „
» 1803 „ 1810  9,016,920 „
Annual average of the entire period (1492-1810), L.4,109,191.
In 1640 or 1650, when the bullion of America had pro¬
duced its full effect on prices in Europe, its annual influx
amounted to about L.3,000,000. And yet, though its in¬
flux was nearly trebled between that epoch and 1803, it is
admitted on all hands that, down to the last-mentioned
year, there was no general rise of prices.4 The increased
demand of Europe was fully sufficient to take off this great
increase of supply without any fall taking place in the value
of silver. Indeed, it is contended by some high authorities
that, instead of falling, it rose in value during the period
referred to.
There can be no manner of doubt, not merely that the
quantity of the precious metals employed in Europe and
America is incomparably greater now than in the seven¬
teenth and eighteenth centuries, but that the demand for
additional quantities is also incomparably greater. And
when it is seen that their value continued stationary from
1650 to 1800, despite the immense additional supplies that
w^ere thrown upon the market, there is, it is plain, little
ground for wonder that their late increase, great as it has
been, has not affected their values, or for anticipating that
they will materially decline in the course of the next half
century.
Should it, however, turn out that we are mistaken in
these conclusions, and that a considerable fall in the
value of the precious metals is about to commence, it is
satistactory to know that there are no really tenable
A very considerable addition has been made to the metallic currency of the United Kingdom during the last ten years. Owin^
io\\ever, to our gold coins being exempted from seignorage, they have no greater value than an equal weight of standard bullion, and
are exported indifferently with the latter. Hence the accounts of the sums coined throw, if taken by themselves, little or no lio-ht
on tne increase or diminution of the currency. °
2 The price paid by the bank for standard gold. 3 Weahh 0f Nations, M-'Culloch’s edition, 1 vol. 8vo, p. 88
I rices rose in this country subsequently to 1793; but this was entirely owing to the difficulties which the war that was then com¬
mence threw in the way of importation, the waste of capital, and the shock given to industrial undertakings which it occasioned and
the disorders of all sorts incident to national struggles. uneu, ana
A fall in
the value
of the pre¬
cious me¬
tals would,
on the
whole, be
advantage¬
ous.
476
PRECIOUS METALS.
Consump¬
tion of the
Precious
Metals.
grounds for supposing that such fall will be publicly
injurious. It is indeed impossible for any change to
take place in the measure of value without its exercis¬
ing an injurious influence over a greater or less number
of individuals. But if the loss it may inflict on A., B.,
and C. be counteracted by the advantages which it con-^
fers on X., Y., and Z., its effect in a public point of
view, may not be perceptible. It is easy, however, to see
that, in the case now under consideration, the inconveni¬
ences resulting from a fall in the value of gold and silver
would be a good deal more than compensated by the ad¬
vantages of which it would be productive.
1. In the first place, we may observe that the mischievous
influence resulting from a fall in the value of the precious
metals depends in great measure on the rapidity with which
it is brought about. If it were to take effect suddenly, and
without giving any distinct warning of its approach, it would
be much more injurious than if it took effect slowly and
gradually; for, in the former case, it is difficult to take any
measures by which to mitigate or avert the impending evil,
whereas, in the latter, abundant opportunities are afforded
for that being done ; and though these were not availed of,
a change that is brought about by a slow and all but in¬
sensible progress, is but little felt, at least when compared
with one that takes place suddenly or rapidly. Now it is
sufficiently certain, supposing the value of the precious
metals to be in the end reduced, that that reduction will be
a very slow process; and that any one likely to be in¬
juriously affected by its occurrence will have ample time
to concert measures to secure himself, in as far as practi¬
cable, against its operation. That we are warranted in
coming to this conclusion is obvious. When an unprece¬
dented influx of bullion has been going on for ten years
without having had any appreciable influence over its value,
it would be contradictory to suppose that it is at all likely
to be speedily and seriously affected by a continuance of
the influx.
2. But supposing that these anticipations should not be
realized, and that the supplies of the precious metals should
be largely and rapidly increased, and their value reduced,
the results are not of a kind that should be deprecated.
“In every kingdom,” says Hume, “into which money be¬
gins to pour in greater abundance than formerly, every¬
thing takes a new face: labour and industry gain life, the
merchant becomes more enterprising, the manufacturer
more diligent and skilful, and even the farmer follows his
plough with greater alacrity and attention. But when gold
and silver are diminishing, the workman has not the same
employment from the manufacturer and merchant, though
he pays the same price for everything in the market; the
farmer cannot dispose of his corn and cattle, though he
must pay the same rent to the landlord: the poverty, beg¬
gary, and sloth that must ensue are easily foreseen.” {Essay
on Money?)
Hume appears to have supposed that the stimulus he has
so well described, which is given by an influx of money to
industry, is occasioned by the additional money coming
first into the hands of capitalists, and enabling them to ex¬
tend their businesses and employ more work-people. But
though this would have some influence, the philosophical
historian seems to have overlooked the mode in which an
increase in the quantity, and a fall in the value of money,
principally contributes to excite industry and enterprise.
Such fall proportionally diminishes the many fixed money
payments that are borne by the industrious classes. The
puces of commodities vary with variations in the value of
money ; whereas taxes, rents, mortgages, and other pecu-
maiy burdens, continue stationary for longer or shorter
peuo s. I he latter are rated or specified in certain amounts
o money, those to whom these are due being obliged to
iccen e t em in payment, though the value of money should
have fallen 5, 10, or even 50 per cent, since the date of Consump.
the contract or engagement in which the payments ori- tionofthe
ginate; while those" by whom they are due are bound to Precious
pay them, however much the value of money may have v Metals-
risen. Hence the powerful influence of variations in its
value over the different classes of society. WThen it de¬
clines, the debtor portion, or those who have fixed money
payments to make, are benefited at the expense of the
creditor portion, or those who have such payments to re¬
ceive ; and conversely when it rises. Fundholders, annui¬
tants of all sorts, landholders during the currency of the
leases of their estates, mortgagers, the army and navy, &c.,
suffer according to the diminution in the value of money;
for, though their incomes and claims continue nominally
the same, their value is really reduced, and they no longer
have their former command over necessaries and con¬
veniences. But while the farmer pays the same rent for
his farm, and the same taxes to government, he sells his
produce for a price increased proportionally to the reduced
value of money. And while manufacturers, merchants, and
tradesmen pay the same duties on their goods, the same
port and market dues, the same tolls, the same rent for
shops and warehouses, the same rate of interest for capital
borrowed, and so on, they obtain increased prices for what¬
ever they have to sell. In other words, the condition of
these classes is improved at the expense of their landlords
and creditors, and of annuitants, and other receivers of
incomes which are either temporarily or permanently
reduced through the fall in the value of money. The
greater the fall, the more advantageous for them; and
conversely.
Now, as fixed or stationary payments include the interest
of the public debt, as well as the many outgoings of govern¬
ment which do not readily accomodate themselves to
changes in the value of money, with the rents of farms and
houses let on lease, or under equivalent agreements, feu-
duties, the interest of mortgages, and other stationary loans,
the payments to private annuitants and clergymen, the fees
of lawyers, physicians, &c., it is obvious that, in a country
like this, they must amount in the aggregate to a vast
sum. No doubt it sometimes, and indeed not unfrequently
happens, that individuals belong to both classes, or that
they have fixed payments to receive as well as to make,
and that therefore neither the gain to the one party, nor
the loss to the other, from fluctuations in the value of
money, is so great as might be at first supposed. Still,
however, there is no room for doubting that the greater
proportion by far of fixed payments is made to the classes
not engaged in business or in industrial undertakings by
those who are; and hence the advantage which any con¬
siderable fall in the value of money confers on the latter,—
that is, on those whose well-being, and that of the pub¬
lic, are commonly supposed to be identical. Such fall,
by lightening the burden of taxation and of all fixed
charges, increases universally the productiveness of industry
and the rate of profit. And it is hardly necessary to add
that this increased profit operates as a spur to production,
that it quickens all the operations of trade, and occasions
an increased demand for labour.
The opposite effects follow when, instead of falling, the
currency becomes more valuable. Taxes and fixed charges
being then augmented in an equal degree, the profits of
those by whom they are principally borne are proportion¬
ally reduced, industry is depressed, and the situation of
the productive classes changed for the worse. But though
there cannot, as it appears to us, be a doubt that a fall in
the value of money, however injurious to large classes,
is on the whole advantageous, we hope it will not be
thence inferred that we are disposed to approve in any
degree of an intentional reduction of its value. Money
being the standard or measure of value, to interfere with
P R E
Predestina- it, whether in the way of increase or diminution, would
tion. be an act of extreme injustice. Government is bound
to protect, in as far as possible, the rights and interests
of all classes of its subjects; and it cannot, without tramp¬
ling on its most sacred duty, adopt, to benefit one part of
them, any measure which might be injurious to another
part. But a fall in the value of the precious metals caused
by the greater facility of their production, or by the dis¬
covery of new sources of supply, is a wholly different mat¬
ter. It depends in no degree on the theories of philoso¬
phers or the decisions of statesmen or legislators, but is the
result of circumstances that are beyond human control.
And though, like a fall of rain after a long course of dry
P lx E 477
weather, it may be prejudicial to certain classes, it is be- Predestina-
neficial to an incomparably greater number, including all tion.
who are actively engaged in industrial pursuits; and is, ^
speaking-generally, of gieat public or national advantage.
On the whole, therefore, we are warranted in conclud¬
ing—1. That there has been no fall in the value of the
precious metals, and more especially in that of gold, durino-
the ten years ending with 1857; 2. That there do not
appear to be any good grounds for anticipating a speedy
or considerable fall in the value either of gold or silver;
and 3. That supposing a fall in the value of gold were to
take place, its advantageous would much more than coun¬
tervail its disadvantageous influence. (j. r. m.)
PREDESTINATION, the supposed decrees of God
by which he has from all eternity unchangeably appointed
whatsoever comes to pass; and has more especially fore¬
ordained certain individuals of the human race to everlast¬
ing happiness, and passed by the rest, and fore-ordained
them to everlasting misery. The former of these are called
the elect, and the latter are called the reprobate.
This doctrine is the subject of one of the most perplexing
controversies that has occurred amongst mankind. But it is
not altogether peculiar to the Christian faith. The opinion,
that whatever occurs in the world at large, or in the lot
of private individuals, is the result of a previous and un¬
alterable arrangement by that Supreme Power which pre¬
sides over nature, has always been a favourite opinion
amongst the vulgar, and has been believed by many specu¬
lative men. Thus, in that beautiful scene in the sixth book
of the Iliad, Hector, taking leave of his wife and child,
speaks thus:—
“ Andromache, my soul’s far better part,
Why with untimely sorrows heaves thy heart ?
No hostile hand can antedate my doom,
Till fate condemns me to the silent tomb.
Fix’d is the term to all the race of earth.
And such the hard condition of our birth.
No force can then resist, no flight can save;
All sink alike, the fearful and the brave.”
The ancient Stoics, Zeno and Chrysippus, whom the
Jewish Essenes seem to have followed, asserted the exist¬
ence of a Deity, that, acting wisely, but necessarily, con¬
trived the general system of the world; from which, by a
series of causes, whatever is now done in it unavoidably
results. This series, or concatenation of causes, they held
to be necessary in every part; and that God himself is so
much the servant of necessity, and of his own decrees, that
he could not have made the smallest object in the world
otherwise than it now is, much less is he able to alter any
thing.
According to the words of Seneca,—{£ The same chain
of necessity constrains both gods and men. Its unalterable
course regulates divine as well as human things. Even he
who wrote the Fates, the Maker and Governor of all things,
submits to them. He did but once command, but he always
obeys.” The stoical fate, however, differs from the Chris¬
tian predestination in several points. The Stoics regarded
the divine natuie and will as a necessary part of a necessary
chain of causes; whereas the Christians consider the Deity
as the lord and ruler of the Universe, omnipotent and free,
appointing all things according to his pleasure. Being
doubtful of the immortality of the soul, the Stoics could
have no idea of the doctrine of election and reprobation;
nor did they ever doubt their own freedom of will, or power
of doing good as well as evil, as we shall presently see the
Christian predestinarians have done.
Mohammed introduced into his Koran the doctrine of an
absolute predestination of the course of human affairs. He
represented life and death, prosperity and adversity, and
every event that befalls a man in this world, as the result of
a previous determination of the one God who rules over all;
and he found this opinion the best engine for inspiring his
followers with that contempt of danger, which, united to
their zeal, has extended the empire of their faith over the
fairest portion of the habitable globe.
The controversy concerning predestination first made its
appearance in the Christian church about the beginning of
the fifth century. Pelagiusa British, and Coelestius an Irish
monk, both lived at Rome during that period, and possessed
great celebrity on account of their piety and learning.
I hey taught that the opinion is false which asserts, that
human nature is necessarily corrupted by a depravity de¬
rived from our first parents. They contended that men
are born at present in a state as pure as that in which Adam
was originally created; and that they are not less qualified
than he was for fulfilling all righteousness, and for reaching
the most sublime eminence of piety and virtue. They main¬
tained that the external grace of God, which is given unto
all, and attends the preaching of the gospel, is necessary to
call forth the attention and the exertions of men ; but that
we do not want the assistance of any internal grace to purify
the heart, and to give it the first impulse towards what is
good. Having fled into Africa on account of the Goths,
who at that time (a.d. 410) invaded Italy, Ccelestius re¬
mained at Carthage as a presbyter; but Pelagius went into
the East, where he settled, and prospered under the patron¬
age of John, Bishop of Jerusalem, to whom his sentiments
were agreeable. On the contrary, the celebrated Augustin,
Bishop of Hippo, strenuously asserted the depravity of hu¬
man nature since the fall of the first man, the necessity of
a special interposition of divine grace to enable us to do any
one good action ; and consequently, that none could obtain
salvation excepting those whom God has thought fit to elect,
and upon whom he bestows this grace. The dispute wras
carried on with great zeal. Zozimus, Bishop of Rome, de¬
cided at first in favour of Pelagius and Coelestius, whose fol¬
lowers were called Pelagians; but he afterwards altered
his opinion, and by the activity of Augustin, the council of
Ephesus was called, at which the opinion of his antagonists
was formally condemned.
In the course of the same century these opinions as¬
sumed a variety of forms and modifications. One party,
called Predestinarians, carried Augustin’s doctrine fully
farther than he himself had ventured to do in express words;
and asserted that God had not only predestinated the
wicked to punishment, but also that he had decreed that
they should commit those very sins on account of which
they are hereafter to be punished. Another party mode¬
rated the doctrine of Pelagius, and were called Semipela¬
gians. Their peculiar opinion is expressed in a different
manner by different writers ; but all the accounts sufficiently
agree. Thus, some represent them as maintaining that
inward grace is not necessary to the first beginning of re-
\
478
P R E D E S T
rredestina-pentance, but only to our progress ,in virtue. Others say
tion. that they acknowledged the power of grade, but said that
faith depends upon ourselves, and good works upon God ;
and it is agreed upon all hands that these Semipelagians
held that predestination is made upon the foresight of good
works. The assistance of Augustin, though then far ad¬
vanced in life, was called in to combat these tenets, and he
wrote several treatises upon the subject. In all these he
strenuously maintained that the predestination of the elect
was independent of any foresight of their good works, but
was according to the good pleasure of God only ; and that
perseverance comes from God and not from man. Iheie-
after the doctrine of St Augustin, as he is often called, be¬
came gener al. He was the oracle of the schoolmen. They
never ventured to differ from him in sentiment; they only
pretended to dispute about the true sense of his writings.
The whole of the earliest Reformers maintained these
opinions of Augustin. They assumed, under Luther, a
more regular and systematic form than they had ever for¬
merly exhibited. But as the Lutherans afterwards aban¬
doned them, they are now known by the name of Calvinis-
tic Doctrines, from John Calvin of Geneva. This reformer
asserted, that the everlasting condition of mankind in a
future world was determined from all eternity by the un¬
changeable decree of the Deity, arising from his sole good
pleasure or free will. Being a man of great ability, indus¬
try, and eloquence, Geneva, where he taught, and which
was a free state, soon became the resort of a very large
number of the men of letters belonging to the Reformed
churches, and was a kind of seminary from which mission¬
aries issued to propagate the Protestant doctrine through¬
out Europe. Their success was such that, excepting a
small part of Germany, the principles of all the Reformed
churches are professedly Calvinistic or Predestinarian.
The opponents of the doctrine of predestination among
the Protestants usually receive the appellation of Armini-
ans or Remonstrants. They derive the first of these ap¬
pellations from James Arminius, who, in 1602, was appointed
professor of theology at Leyden, (lie/atio Historica de
Origine et Progressu Coniroversiarum in fcederato Bel-
gio de Prcedestinatione Philippi a Limborch.) He was
violently opposed by Gomer his colleague, and he died in
1609. After his death, the controversy was conducted
with great eagerness on both sides. The Calvinists, how¬
ever, gradually prevailed. A synod was called at Dort, in
1618, to which the most celebrated divines of different
countries were invited. There, in a great measure, by the
authority and influence of Maurice, Prince of Orange, the
Arminians were condemned as heretics ; for by this time
ambitious and powerful men found themselves politically
interested in this religious contest. The Arminians pre¬
sented to this synod a remonstrance, containing a state¬
ment of their faith upon the subjects in dispute; and from
this they derived the appellation of Remonstrants. This
statement contained the following five articles :—1. That
God from all eternity predestinated those to everlasting
salvation whom he foresaw would believe in Christ unto
the end of their lives, and predestinated obstinate unbe¬
lievers to everlasting punishment. 2. Jesus Christ died
for the whole human race, and for every individual of it,
but believers alone reap the benefit of his death. 3. No
man can produce faith in his mind by his own free-will, but
it is necessary that man, who is by nature wicked and unfit
for acting or thinking aright, should be regenerated by the
grace of the Holy Spirit, imparted by God for Christ’s sake.
4. 1 his divine grace constitutes the source, the progress, and
the fulfilment, of all that is good in man, but it is not irre¬
sistible in its operation. 5. Believers, by the assistance of
the Holy Spirit, are abundantly fitted for every good work ;
but whether it is possible for those who have once been
truly such to fall away, and to perish finally, is not clear,
I N A T I O N.
and must be better inquired into by searching the sacred Predestina-
Scriptures. tl0n•
In opposition to these, a counter remonstrance was pre- v'*-'
sented, containing the opinions of the Calvinists, which was
approved of by the synod. The substance of it was after¬
wards adopted, and in nearly the same expressions, into the
Confession of Faith compiled by the assembly of divines
which met at Westminster in 1643, and wlfich every clergy¬
man and probationer for the ministry in Scotland is at pre¬
sent required to subscribe previous to his admission. To
give as clear and fair an idea as possible of the Calvinistic
doctrine upon this head we transcribe the following pas¬
sage from that Confession :—“ God from all eternity did,
by the most wise and holy counsel of his own will, freely
and unchangeably ordain whatsoever comes to pass; yet
so, as thereby neither is God the author of sin, nor is
violence offered to the will of the creatures, nor is the
liberty or contingencies of second causes taken away, but
rather established. Although God knows whatsoever may
or can come to pass upon all supposed conditions; yet hath
he not decreed anything because he foresaw it as future,
or that which would come to pass upon such conditions.
By the decree of God, for the manifestation of his glory,
some men and angels are predestinated unto everlasting-
life, and others are foreordained to everlasting death.
These angels and men, thus predestinated and foreor¬
dained, are particularly and unchangeably designed; and
their number is so certain and definite that it cannot be
either increased or diminished. Those of mankind that are
predestinated unto life, God, before the foundation of the
world was laid, according to his eternal and immutable pur¬
pose, and the secret counsel and good pleasure of his will,
hath chosen, in Christ, unto everlasting glory, out of his
mere free grace and love, without any foresight or faith, or
good works, or perseverance in either of them, or any other
thing in the creature, as conditions or causes moving him
thereunto ; and all to the praise of his glorious grace. As
God hath appointed the elect unto glory, so hath he, by
the eternal and most free purpose of his will, foreordained
all the means thereunto. Wherefore, they who are elected,
being fallen in Adam, are redeemed by Christ, are effectu¬
ally called unto faith in Christ, by his spirit working in due
season; are justified, adopted, sanctified, and kept, by his
power through faith unto salvation. Neither are any other
redeemed by Christ effectually called, justified, adopted,
sanctified, and saved, but the elect only. The rest of man¬
kind, God was pleased, according to the unsearchable
counsel of his own will, whereby he extendeth or with-
holdeth mercy as he pleaseth for the glory of his sovereign
power over his creatures, to pass by, and to ordain them to
dishonour and wrath for their sin, to the praise of his
glorious justice.”
There are two kinds of Calvinists or Predestinarians,
viz. :—the Supralapsarians, who maintained that God did
originally and expressly decree the fall of Adam as a
foundation for the display of his justice and mercy ; whilst
they who maintain that God only permitted the fall of
Adam, are called Sublapsarians, their system of decrees
concerning election and reprobation being, as it were, sub¬
sequent to that event. But, as Dr Priestley justly remarks,
if we admit the Divine prescience, there is not, in fact, any
difference betw een the two schemes; and accordingly that
distinction is now seldom mentioned.
Nor was the Church of Rome less agitated by the con¬
test about predestination than were the first Protestants.
The council of Trent was much perplexed how to settle
the matter without giving offence to the Dominicans, who
were much attached to the doctrine of St Augustin, and
possessed great influence in the council. After much dis¬
pute, the main object came to be, how to contrive such a
decree as might give offence to nobody, although it should
PEE
Predestina-decide nothing. Upon the whole, however, they seem to
tion. have favoured the Semipelagian scheme. Amongst other
J things, it was determined that good works are of themselves
meritorious to eternal life; but it is added, by way of
softening, that it is through the goodness of God that He
makes His own gifts to be merits in us. Catarin revived
at that council an opinion of some of the schoolmen, that
God chose a small number of persons, such as the blessed
Virgin, the apostles, and others, whom He was determined
to save without any foresight of their good works ; and
that He also wills that all the rest should be saved, pro¬
viding for them all necessary means, but they are at liberty
to use them or not. ihis is called the Haxterian scheme
in England, from one of its promoters there. But at all
events, the Council of Irent seems to have been extremely
anxious that any opinions entertained amongst them con¬
cerning predestination might have as little influence as
possible upon practical morality. “Let no' man,” say
they, “ whilst he remains in this mortal state, presume
that he is among the number of the elect, and that there¬
fore he cannot sin, or sin without repentance ; for it cannot
be known who are elected without a special revelation from
God.” (Sect, vi., c. 13.)
-The Jesuits at first followed the opinion of St Augustin ;
but they afterwards forsook it. Molina, one of their order,
was the author of what is called the middle scheme, or the
doctrine of a grace sufficient for all men, but subject to
the freedom of the human will. Jansenius, a doctor of
Louvain, opposed the Jesuits with great vigour, and sup¬
ported the doctrine of St Augustin. He wrote in a very
artful manner, declaring that he did not presume to state
his own sentiments upon the subject. He pretended only
to explain and publish the sentiments of that great father
of the church St Augustin. But the Jesuits, in conse¬
quence of that inviolable submission to the authority of
the Pope which they always maintained, had sufficient in¬
terest at Rome to procure the condemnation of the opinion
of Jansenius; with this addition subjoined, however,
that nothing was thereby intended to be done in prejudice
of the doctrine of St Augustin. This produced an absurd
dispute about the Pope’s infallibility in matters of fact.
Lhe Jansenists affirmed that, the Pope had made a mistake
in condemning the opinions of Jansenius as different from
those of St Augustin, whereas in truth they are the same,
and the one cannot be condemned without the other; but
the Jesuits affirmed that the Pope is no less infallible in
points of fact than lie is in questions of faith, and he,
having decided that the opinions of Jansenius are different
from those of St Augustin, every good Catholic is bound
to believe accordingly that they are different. Some of
the ablest supporters of predestination have appeared
amongst the Jansenists, and particularly amongst the
gentlemen of Port-Royal.
With regard to Great Britain, the earliest English
Reformers were in general Sublapsarian, although some of
them were Supralapsarians. But the rigid Predestinarians
have been gradually declining in number in that church,
although they still subscribe the Thirty-Nine Articles of their
faith, which are unquestionably Calvinistic. The celebra¬
ted Scotch Reformer John Knox, having been educated
at Geneva, established in this country the doctrine of pre¬
destination in its strictest form ; and "it has probably been
adhered to with more strictness in Scotland than in any
country in Europe.
Concerning this and many other theological questions
men will continue to vex themselves; and until they will
devise some means of explaining how the finite and the in¬
finite are related, there is positively no hope of a solution
to such difficulties. Such an explanation mav safely be
PEE
asserted to be impossible to man, and hence he must rest
contented with the little knowledge which is within his
reach. Questions such as predestination are entirely out
of the sphere of his faculties of knowing—however vital to
his faith,—because one of the relations of knowledge always
implies an apprehension of the infinite.
PREDICATE. See Logic.
I REEZ, or I REE I Z, a market-town of Denmark, in
the duchy of Holstein, on the Schwentine, at the foot of a
small lake 8 miles E.S.E. of Kiel. Its principal buildin"-
is the convent, founded in 1216, to which the town owes
its origin, and which is now an establishment for unmarried
ladies of noble birth. It is connected with the town by a
shady walk, and contains a fine church and cloisters.
Pop. 4750.
PRE-EXISTENCE. See Metempsychosis.
PREMIUM. See Insurance.
PREMONS1RATENSIANS, a religious order of
regular canons instituted in 1120 by St Norbcrt, and
thence called Norbertines. The first monastery of this
order was built by Norbert in the Isle of France, three
leagues to the west of Laon, which he called Prcemon-
stratum ; and hence the order itself derived its name,
though as to the occasion of the name the writers of the
order are divided. At first the religious of this order were
so very poor that they had only a single ass, which served
to carry the wood they cut down every morning, and was
sent to Laon for the bread purchased. But”they soon
received so many donations, and built so many monasteries,
that in 30 years after the foundation of the order, they
had above 100 abbeys in France and Germany ; and in
process of time the order so increased that it had mona¬
steries in all parts of Christendom, amounting to 1000
abbeys, 300 provostships, a vast number of priories, and
500 nunneries; but they are now greatly diminished.
The rule they followed was that of St Augustin, with some
slight alterations, and an addition of certain severe laws,
the authority of which did not long survive their founder,
The order was approved by Honorius II. in 1126, and
again by several succeeding Popes. At first the abstinence
from flesh was rigidly observed. In 1245 Innocent VI.
complained of its being neglected to a general chapter.
In 1288 their general, William, procured leave of Pope
Nicholas IV. for those of the order- to eat flesh upon
journeys. In 1460 Pius II. granted them a general per¬
mission Uo eat meat, excepting from Septuagesima to
Easter. The dress of the religious of this order was white,
with a scapulary before the cassock.
The Praemonstratenses, or monks of Premontre, vulgarly
called white canons, came first into England in the year
1146. Their first monastery, called New-house, "was
erected in Lincolnshire by Peter de Saulia, and dedicated
to St Martial. In the reign of Edward I. this order had
27 monasteries in England, and in Henry VLII.’s time
they had 35.
PRENZLOW, or Pkenzi.au, a town of Prussia, in the
province of Brandenburg, on the Ucker, at the foot of the
lake of the same name, from which it issues, 57 miles
N.N.E. of Berlin. Of its seven churches, the most im¬
portant is that of St Mary, a Gothic building with two
towers, containing a fine altar-piece by Rode. There is
also here a gymnasium, several hospitals, and mineral baths.
Woollen, linen, and cotton fabrics; straw-hats, leather, to¬
bacco, &c., are manufactured here ; and an active trade is
carried on in corn. In 1806, 20,000 Prussians, under the
Prince of Hohenlohe, surrendered to the French at Prenz-
low. The celebrated landscape-painter Philip Hackert was
born here. Pop. 12,973.
PREPOSITION. See Grammar.
479
Predicate
II
Preposi¬
tion.
480
PRESBYTERIANISM.
Definition. Presbyterianism1 is that form of ecclesiastical polity ac-
cording to which the chief power is vested in a couit o
presbyters. A church recognising as its government a body
of presbyters, whose office includes the twofold function of
teaching and ruling, is commonly designated Presbyterian,
although the system which bears this name has been variously
modified in its development according to events in the histoi y
of the nation, or of the religious community adopting it.
But under every form which it has assumed, Presbytery
has its points of vital difference from every other kind of
ecclesiastical rule with which it competes. These by a
common analysis have been reduced to three, if we exclude
the Erastian theory on the one hand, according to which
the state, identifying itself with the church, may avail itself
of any species of government over it; and the Romish sys¬
tem on the other, according to which, as prelates take the
place of the apostles, so the Roman pontiff, succeeding to
Peter in his alleged primacy, becomes the vicar of our Lord
upon the earth. The latter, indeed, if we except the claim
to universal supremacy and infallibility, and if we view
it simply as the subjection of bishops to the jurisdiction of
a superior, is a species of Episcopacy, not without its
analogies beyond the pale of the Romish Church both in
ancient and modern times. But if we regard Episco¬
pacy and Independency as the two other main forms of eccle¬
siastical government, Presbytery differs from the former in
refusing to acknowledge any such succession to the apostle-
ship on the part of bishops as would constitute them an
office separate from and superior to presbyters; and from
Independency, in claiming for presbyters the official au¬
thority which it lodges in the common membership of the
church, and in asserting such a connection between the
different congregations of a church as renders them amen¬
able to a common jurisdiction.
Theory of Presbyterianism.
Three elements exist in the Presbyterian system,—the
authority of the presbyters, more especially as subordinate
to no office-bearer of higher rank in the church; the re¬
presentation of the laity in its government; and the provi¬
sion made for its external unity in courts of review.
The autho- I. In regard to the authority claimed for the presbyter :
rity of the 1. It is of divine appointment, not merely in so far as the
presbyter. 0ffice itself, from the official titles bestowed upon those
exercising it, from the official qualifications demanded of
them, and from the recognition of their official dignity en¬
joined in Scripture, is a divine institute, but inasmuch as
they derive their power, not from the people, but from
Christ as the Head of the church.2 Proceeding upon such
facts as, that the people have received no commission to
exercise ecclesiastical power, but a command to obey it,
and accordingly cannot convey what they themselves have
not received ; and that the rulers of the church are described
as the gift of Christ, and occupy a special relation to him
as his messengers and ambassadors, Presbyterians gene¬
rally maintain that the official authority of the presbyter
directly emanates from Christ, though the call to exercise
it comes through the channel of the people. In this re¬
spect, obedience to ecclesiastical rule is enforced upon the
conscience by the highest spiritual sanctions,—as an ar¬
rangement not springing from mere expediency, but ex¬
pressly appointed by God.
2. The office of the presbyter is distinct and peculiar.
It is not competent for every member of the church to as¬
sume at his pleasure the functions either of teaching or of
ruling in the church. From the peculiar gifts requisite ; from
the special forms by which in the primitive church men
wrere set apart to the office; from the distinction so often
traced between those who bore rule in it and those who
owned subjection to them; from the importance of the work,
as comprehending the preaching of the gospel, the ad¬
ministration of sacraments, and the maintenance of disci¬
pline; and from the names which the rulers of the church
receive in Scripture,—it is argued that the presbyterate is
not a work merely which any man may take upon him to
perform as he deems himself competent for it, but an office
to be exercised only by men specially called and ordained
to it. Presbyterians accordingly agree with Episcopalians
in denying that the private members of the church have
a right to share directly in the government of it. Some
of the arguments employed to this effect are to be found
in the article Episcopacy.
3. The authority of the presbyter is entirely ministerial.
His office, whatever sacredness it may possess as the direct
institute of God, and however clearly discriminated from
the ordinary privileges enjoyed by every member of the
church, is at the same time under restrictions which, fairly
observed, would effectually preclude spiritual despotism.
The administration of elders is only binding so far as it
accords with the rules prescribed in Scripture, which, by
defining, limits their authority, while by the same princi¬
ple it secures the rights of the individual conscience, as sub¬
ject to Christ, its only Lord. The considerations by which
this view of the office is sustained are founded on those
statements of Scripture which expound the duties connected
with it. The apostles, the highest office-bearers ever known
in the Christian church, represent themselves as the ser¬
vants of Christ, entitled to obedience only as they acted
under his instructions, and without any claim to “ domi¬
nion” over the faith of the church. (2 Cor. i. 24.) More
especially in regard to Presbyters, the injunction is given,
that they should act not as “ lords over God’s heritage,
but examples to the flock.” The power to regulate eccle¬
siastical proceedings and religious worship, so as to prevent
confusion on points where no express rule is prescribed,
may be regarded as vouchsafed to them under the general
precept, that all things should be done “decently and in
order.” Presbyterians, however, protest against the notion,
that the church has any authority to institute new rites and
ceremonies for which no warrant from Scripture can be
adduced. Even in the highest exercise of their authority,
when assembled as a judicatory, and called to issue deci¬
sions on matters of faith, the rulers of the church can exer¬
cise only a ministerial function : “ It belonged) to synods
and councils ministerially to determine controversies of
faith and cases of conscience.” (Westminster Confession
of Faith, xxxi. 3.)
4. The duration of the office must correspond with the
existence of the church that needs its services; in other
words, it is perpetual. It is not, like the apostleship of the
new, or the prophetic order under the old dispensation,
article are comprehended notices of the various Presbyterian churches formerly dispersed throughout this work under
e initial letters of their designations. The notice of the United Presbyterian Church is the article Seceders of the last, remodelled
an<> a°rldge<I for the present edition by the author, the Rev. James Taylor, D.D., Glasgow.
“ See Divine Right of Church Government, by London Ministers, chap. x.
PRESBYTERIANISM.
Theory, instituted in provision for a special emergency or condition
of the church. The instructions bequeathed in inspired
epistles for the guidance of presbyters imply the perma¬
nence of their office to the end of time. No intimation
occurs that the presbyterate is ever to cease; whereas the
requirement by which it was essential to the office of an
apostle that he should have “seen the Lord,” involved ob¬
viously its discontinuance when the generation of his con¬
temporaries should have passed away. The very ends for
which the Christian church exists require a commissioned
agency for the due accomplishment of them. The govern¬
ment and spiritual edification of its members, together with
the obligation resting upon it to seek the conversion of all
beyond its pale, involve labours too important to be left
merely to the waywardness of private zeal. A special agency
destined to continue so long as the necessity for it exists, is
required for the work. Directions, moreover, are expressly
given respecting the qualifications which the presbyter must
possess, and the method by which he must be ordained, in
such terms as imply the permanenceof hisoffice inthechurch.
5. Finally, according to the Presbyterian system, the
presbyterate is the highest standing office in the church.
This position, of course, is in collison with the distinctive
principle of Episcopacy, which asserts that the bishop is an
ecclesiastical functionary not merely of a different order,
but of a higher grade as compared with the presbyter, and
that it is exclusively the prerogative of the former to go¬
vern and to ordain. On the contrary, Presbyterians hold
that the distinction between bishop and presbyter is invalid ;
that by their commission all ministers are equal in official
rank and authority, and that the ultimate appeal in cases of
dispute and discipline must be made, not to the single pre¬
sident of a diocese, but to a court of presbyters. In sup¬
port of this view, they have been accustomed to show that
the grounds on which the claim of the bishop to a separate
and superior office is maintained are without weight, that
the identity of the bishop and presbyter is clearly recog¬
nised in Scripture, and that the rise of diocesan Episcopacy
can be historically traced on patristic testimony to no divine
and apostolical appointment, but to usages which were en¬
grafted on the primitive simplicity of the church,
i Noscriptu- There are five leading arguments urged in support of
hal warrant Episcopacy, the cogency of which the Presbyterian feels
| or an epis-that he cannot acknowledge. The appeal made to the
I-opa order anal0gy 0f the Jewish hierarchy in support of a threefold
order in the ministry, may be met by the reply, that the
alleged analogy has no foundation in Scripture ; that the
New Testament never speaks of the rulers of the church as
a priesthood, but as a ministry; and that such predictions
as are contained in Ps. cxxxii. 16, Is. Ixvi. 21, and Jer.
xxxiii. 18, even though proved to intimate the blessings
which the church would enjoy under the Christian dispen¬
sation, come far short of announcing that a threefold hier¬
archy would exist in it. The typical language employed
in such predictions no more proves that priests, in the
proper sense of the term, are to officiate in the new economy,
than that burnt-offerings are to be presented in it; while all
the passages usually quoted from prophecy in support of
the parallel between the temple priesthood and the Chris¬
tian ministry may refer to no office higher than the ordinary
priesthood, the antitype of which may be found in the
presbyter. Moreover, not merely is it destitute of a scrip¬
tural warrant; the analogy fails either by excess or defect.
It proves too much if we assume as true the premises of
the syllogism, as it would involve the supremacy of a single
head in correspondence with the high priest over the whole
church, not a body of prelates enjoying an independent
jurisdiction. But it is in truth extremely defective; for
of the three alleged grades in official dignity, the high priest
did not belong to an order distinct from the priests, while
the Levites, in no sense, were invested with sacred orders.
von. XVIII.
Not more conclusive is the argument founded on the
distinction between the ticelve apostles and seventy disci¬
ples for the latter discharged only a temporary service-
and at the best two orders only would thus be established*
unless, in despair of otherwise vindicating the analogy*
the Episcopalian is prepared to maintain that the Lord
himself represented the episcopal order,—a hypothesis the
reverse of advantage to those who urge it; for if we over¬
come our repugnance to the presumption which it seems
to breathe, and concede for the moment its validity, it
follows that, as our Lord has never abdicated his office, the
Episcopal order must be confined to his own person still.
Nor are the functions exercised by Timothy and Titus as
evangelists any foundation for the belief that a permanent
office superior to presbyters should now be recognised.
I imothy is expressly declared to have been an evangelist,
while d itus, from the analogous work he performed, held the
same status. They are never described as bishops respec¬
tively of Ephesus and Crete; their continual journeyings
from place to place are inconsistent with the idea of a
resident bishopric; they did nothing for which a presbyter,
especially on the high authorization of an apostle, was in¬
competent; the injunction given to ordain elders does not
absolutely imply that they were to do it alone without other
presbyters, while, it they did it alone, because no presby¬
ters previously existed in the place, it was an extraordinary
conjunctuie, yielding no precedent in ordinary circum¬
stances, and but a specimen of the prerogative which a
presbyter in every similar conjuncture may exercise; the
reference that the apostle makes to the gift which Timothy
had received through “the laying on of the hands of the pres¬
bytery,” is inconsistent wdth the belief that he had received
ordination to a higher dignity,—episcopal consecration to
the episcopal order, for in “this case the appeal would
surely have been made, not to the lower, but to the higher
ordination ; and lastly, if it be inferred that he must have
been superior to presbyters in virtue of a permanent office
and not of a special commission, because he was to instruct
presbyters, it would follow that Paul held a higher office than
I imothy, who took instructions from him, and that Timothy
as a bishop was no successor of the apostles, although the
succession of the bishops to the apostleship, in respect of
jurisdiction, is a main plea in favour of Episcopacy. Great
stress cannot be laid on the argument from the apocalyptic
angel. The precise functionary referred to cannot be easily
determined, opinions varying on the point, from that of De
Wette, who understands by the term “the guardian angel
of the community,” down to that of Ewald, who understands
by it an official no higher than a clerk or sexton ; the most
plausible method of fixing the nature of the office intended
is the analogy drawn by Vitringa, Bengel, and Delitzch,
in virtue of the name “ angel,” from the presiding officer in
the Jewish synagogue, whose chief duty was to conduct
public devotion, and whose office, therefore, corresponded
more with that of a presbyter than of a diocesan bishop.
When it is argued that, since the term is singular, and many
churches must have existed in these cities, each church
having its separate presbyter, it must therefore denote an
officer enjoying a common relation to all those churches
and superintendence over all those presbyters; it is urged
in reply, that, even considering an individual to be meant,
we may regard him as the moderator in the court of pres¬
byters; that the word “angel” may refer to a collective
body,—“ the consessus, or order of presbyters,” as even
Stillingfleet supposes,—for since they are declared to be
the “stars” giving light to these churches, surely the presby¬
ters, as well as any diocesan bishop, subserved this purpose,
and the same term “angel” is obviously employed under
a similar collective signification in Rev. xiv. 6, where it
must denote the whole body of officers commissioned to
preach the gospel; and that nothing occurs in all that is
3 p
482
The iden¬
tity of
bishop and
presbyter.
PRESBYTERIANISM.
said of these angels attributing to them a rank and power
above the presbyter. But the defence of Episcopacy is
sometimes chiefly based on an alleged succession from the
apostles. To state the argument fairly, it is not contended
that, in respect of miraculous gifts, bishops could represent
the apostles after the age of miracles had closed, but in
four different respects,—the power of ordination, the exei -
cise of rule, the preaching of the Word, and the admini¬
stration of the sacraments,—the official functions and dignity
of the apostleship might be transmitted to bishops. Now,
in disposing of this crowning plea for Episcopacy, Presby¬
terians submit various considerations which may in sub¬
stance be included under four positions, First, in the
apostleship viewed as a whole, qualifications are discovered
so peculiar as to forbid any reference to it as the prototype
of the episcopal order in "the primitive church, for it was
required of an apostle that he should have seen the Lord,
possess the gift of inspiration, and have power to work
miracles. These qualifications did not constitute him an
apostle, for they might have been predicated respectively
of several private members of the church; as, for instance,
“of the five hundred brethren at once” who saw Christ, of
Philip the evangelist,who wrought miracles, and of Ins daugh¬
ters, who were inspired to prophesy. But without such quali¬
fications he could not be an apostle; and accordingly an
office to which they were essential is absolutely intransmis¬
sible. Secondly, ^en in the functions common to an apostle
with any successor, there was a peculiarity which bars appeal
to the former as a precedent for Episcopacy ; in preaching,
the apostles spoke with the authority of inspiration, in ruling
and ordaining they acted by commandment from the Lord,
and more especially in all they did they sustained a relation,
not to a diocese, but to the world. Thirdly, Separate the
ordinary functions of their office from this peculiar element
attaching to it, and there is nothing in them which a pres¬
byter, according to Scripture, may not perform. Presbyters
preached, governed, dispensed the sacraments, and, as in
the case of Timothy, ordained. Lastly, If bishops are the
substitutes for infallible apostles, submission to their au¬
thority must be essential to salvation. One apostle tell us,
“ He is not of God who heareth not us.” If there be
no salvation beyond the pale of Episcopal jurisdiction,
neither can there be any faith, any holiness, any true religion.
A theory must be erroneous which, by logical necessity,
involves a conclusion at variance with the facts of history
and observation as well as the dictates of Christian charity.
On such grounds, Presbyterians contend that no office
corresponding to a diocesan bishopric has the sanction of
Scripture. They go further, and maintain that there is the
clearest evidence of the identity of the bishop with the
presbyter in the apostolic church. For, in the first place,
the titles of presbyter and bishop are used indiscriminately
and convertibly in reference to the same persons. Thus, in
Acts xx. 17-28, the “ elders” whom Paul sent for to Mile¬
tus, are addressed by him as “bishops;” and among the
qualities required of “the presbyters” whom Titus, under
the instructions of the same apostle, was to ordain, it is said
“a bishop must be blameless.” (Tit. i. 5-7.) This con¬
vertibility of the two terms continued, according to Neander,
till far on in the second century. Reference also is made
(Phil. i. 1) to “ bishops and deacons.” Unless in this saluta¬
tion to the bishops presbyters are addressed, how are we to
explain the omission of the intermediate office, while a
plurality of “ bishops” in one church is incompatible
with the idea that any diocesan jurisdiction belonged to
each? In the epistles of Clemens Romanus, the same
enumeration of but two offices in the church occurs. To
the same effect is another argument, that the office-bearer
who receives the name iirlo-KOTros in Scripture is uniformly
represented as superintending, not presbyters, but the con¬
gregation ; “ take heed to all the flock over which the
Holy Ghost hath made you bishops (eirio-KoVous).” (Acts
xx. 28; 1 Pet. v. 2, 3.) Moreover, the same qualifications are
exacted both of bishops and presbyters. It is only needful
to compare 1 Tim. iii. 2-7 with Tit. i. 6-10, in order to
feel persuaded that the apostle speaks of the same office
under the title bishop in the former case, and presbyter
in the latter; and hence the reasoning of Jerome (Ep. 83,
ad Oceanum) ; “ in both epistles, whether bishops or presby¬
ters (although among the ancients bishops and presbyters
must have been the same, for the one name is expressive
of rank, and the other of age), the husbands of one wife
are required to be chosen to the sacred office.” In the
aposfplic church bishops and presbyters had a common
ordination (Acts xx. 17-28; Tit. i. 5-7). Their duties,
too, are identical; the terms expressive of the highest rule
being applied to the presbyters (Heb. xiii. 7, 17 ; 1 Thess.
v. 12; Acts xx. 28); while not only did they administer
the ordinances of the church, but they occupied a place in
its highest councils (Acts xv. 23). Nor is it difficult to
prove that presbyters in the church of the apostles had full
power to ordain. Nowhere in the manifold directions given
to presbyters does a single inhibition occur against the
exercise of this right. There is nothing in the nature of
it on account of which presbyters should be deprived of it.
The employment of six different terms in the New Testa¬
ment to express ordination is inconsistent with the supposi¬
tion that it denotes anything more than simply setting apart
to official duty, or that it is an act so very peculiar as to re¬
quire a particular and superior office in order to its per¬
formance. To adduce instances in which apostles and
evangelists ordained, is not to prove that presbyters were
prohibited from doing so; while in the case of Apollos
(Acts xviii. 27), and even of Paid himself, whether at Da¬
mascus or at Antioch, no trace whatever of a diocesan bishop
appears as the source of the official commissions which on
these occasions they received. But the ordination of
Timothy is directly traced to the court of the presbyters.
(1 Tim. iv. 14.) Calvin, at first doubtful as to the import
of the term “ presbytery,” and disposed in his Institutions
to leave it uncertain whether it denoted an office or a court,
comes ultimately, in his commentary on the passage, to a
decided conclusion in favour of the latter meaning. Should
it signify an office, and if we are to read in connection “the
gift of the presbyterial office,” it destroys the argument for
Episcopacy from the functions of Timothy. He was after
all a presbyter and no bishop. But it is an admitted canon
in exegesis that we must interpret any term according to
the analogy of the other instances in which it occurs. “Pres¬
bytery” never signifies an office; twice elsewhere it signifies
a council. Its application to presbyters in their associated
capacity is therefore perfectly natural and legitimate. It
might be added that, by several incidental allusions, yielding
inferences not less strong because indirect, the character
and authority of the presbyterial office as supreme and
permanent are strikingly confirmed : no bishops are men¬
tioned in connection with the council at Jerusalem; collec¬
tions for the poor in that city are transmitted not to bishops,
but to “presbyters;” and apostles, when they indicate their
status in regard to the common standing offices of the
church, deem it an honour to be enrolled in the rank of
presbyters. (1 Pet. v. 2.)
Presbyterians do not shrink from the admission, that dio- Rise of
cesan Episcopacy began early, spread rapidly, and seems Episco-
to have obtained general prevalence before the civil esta- Pac7'
blishmentof Christianity in the Roman empire. Before the
expiration of the apostolic period, a much more serioxis
departure from the simple order and purity of the primi¬
tive church was noticed and denounced both by Paul and
John (2 Thess. ii. 7; 1 John iv. 3). It is not so very won¬
derful, therefore, that, as regards this part of ecclesiastical
polity, the craving for pre-eminence, so natural to the hu-
Theory.
i man bosom, should have speedily suggested and intro-
' ^uced innovations upon the original parity of the elder¬
ship. Meeting occasionally for deliberation on the inter¬
ests of the several churches within a city or province, the
presbyters would adopt the mode common to all assemblies
of securing order by appointing a president. Talent, weight
of character, and mature experience, would be the gifts
likely to determine their choice. Successful presidency in
one meeting might establish a claim to re-election in sub¬
sequent meetings, till elevation to the chair on such occa¬
sions become a dignity for a lifetime. Other elements
came into play as the church pursued its course of de¬
generacy: ambition tempted the clergy to swell by adven¬
titious pomp the importance of their office; the claim to
PKESBYTERIANISM.
of his own, but upon facts of which he speaks as univer¬
sally admitted and beyond denial.
To meet this remarkable corroboration of the Presbv
tenan theory respecting the origin of Episcopal jurisdiction,
tinee arguments have been commonly advanced by the
defenders of Episcopacy,—!. That the gradual process of
which Jeiome speaks was coincident with apostolic times
and the change, therefore, had apostolic sanction; 2. That
Jerome elsewhere, in a letter to Evagrius, reserves for
bishops in ancient times the right of ordination, and so con¬
cedes the essential distinction between their office and that
of the presbyter; and 3. That, at the close of the latter pas-
sage he seems to allude to some parallel between the
priesthood was preferred; and ecdesiasdS’a^g^ offices°of ^ *”d the different
Chuich seemed to exhibit, and from the difference of rank
in the cities where a pastorate was exercised, till the whole
system, beginning with parochial episcopacy as the first step,
was completely developed in the spiritual monarchy of Rome.
Noi is this explanation of the rise of Episcopacy reck¬
oned a mere theory by the friends of Presbytery. It rests,
in their judgment, upon authenticated facts arid the testi¬
mony of the early fathers. Passages could be cited from
seveial fathers, and from the decrees of councils, from
which it is undeniable that the episcopate could not have
originally extended beyond one church. In a single terri¬
tory of small extent, so many bishops are represented as
labouring and teaching, that their jurisdiction could not
have exceeded the limits of a parish; for in Africa alone,
according to Du Pin, 690 bishoprics are specified in an-
cient documents; and some bishops had nothing more as
their diocese than a small village, a single fortress, or a
solitary monastery, or cities even where no Christians at
all permanently resided. Upon this humble rudiment of
ecclesiastical authority, the higher pretensions and wider
rule of prelatic supremacy were established. Presbyterians
appeal to Augustine and Hilary in support of their views,
but more especially to Jerome in his commentaries on
litus i. 5. I he following is an analytic review of the con¬
tents of the important statement which that learned father
makes: “ 1. Jerome expressly denies the superiority of
bishops to presbyters by divine right. To prove his asser¬
tion on this head, he goes directly to the Scriptures, and
aigues, as the advocates of parity do, from the interchano-e-
able titles of bishop and presbyter; from the directions
given to them, without the least intimation of difference in
their authority; and from the powers of presbyters, undis¬
puted in his day. 2. Jerome states it as an historical fact,
that this government, by presbyters alone, continued until,
for the avoiding of scandalous quarrels and divisions, it was
thought expedient to alter it. 3. Jerome states it as a his¬
torical fact, that this change in the government of the
church, this creation of a superior order of ministers, took
place not at once, but by degrees—‘ paulatirrf says he,
little by little. 4. Jerome states as historical facts, that
the elevation of one presbyter over the others was a human
contrivance; was not imposed by authority, but crept in
by custom; and that the presbyters of his day knew this
very well. 5. Jerome states it as a historical fact, that the
first bishops were made by the presbyters themselves, and
consequently they could neither have nor communicate any
authority above that of presbyters.” (See Dr Mason’s
orks, vol. iii.) I he words of Jerome are very pointed
when he urges the antithesis between the origin of the epis¬
copate and those ordinances, the divine authority of which
was not questioned; he opposes the “consuetudo ecclesiae”
to “ disposition^ dominicae veritas”—the custom of the
church to a real enactment of our Lord. It is a weighty
circumstance, moreover, not to be overlooked, that in° his
reasoning he does not found upon any individual opinion
denied. Jerome could not mean a process transpiring un¬
der the eye and authority of the apostles. To prove the
original identity of bishops and presbyters, he quotes from
three epistles of the New Testament. The fact of such
identity must have existed in the age when the apostles
wiote them; but the force of his reasoning would have
been thoroughly neutralized if the change bv which the
bishop was advanced above the presbyter took place in the
same age, and claimed as high a sanction as the previous
condition of parity. One of the epistles cited bears a very
late date in the history of Paul. As to the alleged reserva¬
tion by Jerome of the Episcopal prerogative in respect to
ordination, the clause upon which the allegation is founded
occurs in his letter to Evagrius, where he argues the duty
of the deacon to be subject to the presbyter on the hudi
ground that, by express apostolical arrangement and com¬
mission, the presbyter originally had as much power as the
bishop. Even as to the existing usage of the church in his
own day, he affirms that there is no difference between the
offices, except as to the prerogative of ordination. “ Quid
facit, excepta ordinatione, episcopus, quod non faciat pres¬
byter ? I o suppose that the affirmation implied in this
queiy i elates to the primitive church, and not exclusively
to the church of his own day, is inconsistent with the
mere grammar of the words, as well as with the basis of
his whole argument—the complete identity of the two
offices in primitive times. And, lastly, as to the clause in
the same letter, “ Seeing we know that the apostolical
traditions were taken from the Old Testament: what Aaron
and his sons and the Levites were in the temple, that let
bishops and presbyters and deacons claim to be in the
church,”—it is clear that, since the whole drift of the
letter is to prove that bishop and presbyter were the same
originally, and that the distinction arose not as an apostolical
tradition, but from the custom of the church,—the two offices
of presbyter or bishop, and deacon, as a divine institute, are
here represented as corresponding with the offices of the
priesthood and the Levites under the old dispensation. In
any other sense, the statements of the learned father would
embrace an unaccountable contradiction.
II. If, in the office of presbyter, the Head of the church The repre-
has made provision for its due government, in the repre- sentation
sentative element, there is a sure guarantee for its liberty. of th,e .
As the church is not a democratic mob, so it is as remote presbytery
from being a despotic autocracy. It is the remark of Bun- ^
sen, that in all congregational and ecclesiastical consti¬
tutions, Christian freedom, within limits conformable to
Scripture, constitutes the first requisite for a vital restora¬
tion. How far the Presbyterian system embodies the need¬
ful securities for freedom as well as order, must be briefly
indicated.
1. Presbyterians deny that all church power vests ex¬
clusively in the clergy. The clergy exist for the church j
484
Theory.
PRESBYTERIANISM.
the church does not exist for the clergy: “ unto this catho¬
lic visible church Christ hath given the ministry.” (West.
Conf. of Faith, xxv. 3.) While they believe that the pro¬
per and primary subject of church power is the eldership,
and that it comes to them in immediate donation from the
Head of the church, still the power is to be exercised tor
the good of the church ; government is a blessing conferred
upon it as a whole; and in all that relates to the formation
of symbols, liturgical service, the enactment of canons tor
the ends of order and harmony, and the administration of dis¬
cipline the people are entitled to a share in the government,
real and substantive, although indirect, and under the two
formal limitations, that it be in consistency with Scripture,
and exercised through regular office-bearers duly qualified
2. Such a recognition of the people is sanctioned by the
spirit of numerous references to them in Scripture, accord¬
ing to which they, not the clergy, are the church ; the
Spirit dwells in them, as in the clergy, for light and guid¬
ance ; “ the whole church,” as well as the “ apostles and
elders ” is represented as giving certain commissions, and
transmitting certain decrees (Acts xv. 22, 23; 2 Cor. viii.
19); they are held responsible for the teaching to which
they listen (Gal. i. 8), and for the character of the members
admitted to the privileges of the church (1 Cor. v. 4).
3. Provision for the expression of this influence, and the
fulfilment of this responsibility, is made,—in the terms
on which the pastoral tie is formed; and, secondly, in the
existence of a ruling, as distinguished from the teaching
eldership. In regard to the former, the degree of popular
control over the appointment of ministers varies. In all
churches, where the state does not interfere, the privilege
of choosing the minister is left with the people. Even
when election by suffrage has not been the rule, the in¬
trusion of an unal’ceptable minister has been condemned,
as, for instance, in the Second Book of Discipline, prepared
for the Scottish Church in 1581. Such a right in behalf of
the people has been argued from the essential genius of
presbytery, from the general tenor of Scripture in all the
passages which narrate the appointment of ecclesiastical
office-bearers (Acts i. 15-26; vi. 1-6; xiv. 23), as well
as those in which the nature of the bond between the rulers
and the ruled is described; and from the historical fact that,
however rapidly corruption spread in the church, the right
of the people to an effective share in the appointment of
their ministers withstood for ages the swelling tide of cleri¬
cal encroachment. On this last point the best authorities
on ecclesiastical history are quite at one. “ Cyprian,”
Neander tells us, “ conceded to the community the right of
choosing worthy bishops, or of rejecting unworthy ones.
This conceded right of approving or rejecting was not a
mere formality.” Secondly, The existence of the ruling
eldership serves also to elicit the mind of the people in the
practical administration of ecclesiastical affairs. That a
ruling is distinguished from a teaching eldership in Scrip¬
ture, though the distinction involves nothing more than two
functions in the same office, appears from the emphasis with
which the duty of the ruler is particularized (Rom. xii. 6-8);
from the separate place it holds in the inspired enumeration
of gifts and offices in the church (1 Cor. xii. 28); from the
express discrimination instituted in 1 Tim. v. 17; and from
the plurality of elders admitted to have existed in the pri¬
mitive churches. Neander states that, as the faculty of
teaching and the talent for administration are distinct gifts,
“ the function of teaching, and that of church-government,
were originally distinguished and held separate from each
other.” It is added, “ in the first epistle to Timothy (v. 17),
those of the presbyters who, to the talent for government
could unite also that of teaching, are accounted worthy of
double honour, and the prominence given here to each may
be regarded as another proof that the two were not neces^
sarily and always united.” An historical argument for the
ruling eldership is also urged from various statements in
the fathers. Such a class ot functionalies, chosen by the
people, and identified with them in all the affairs of common
life, are an absolute prevention against the rise of a clerical
oligarchy, with supreme and unchecked power over the
church.
Theory,
III. There are-certain rights, in the possession of which Provision
each congregation must not be disturbed. It has the power
of discipline and the right of jurisdiction within itself; sotheCyhurch
that, in the case of a congregation standing alone, where
circumstances do not, admit of connection with other con-
ore^ations in the form of subjection to a common and su¬
perior jurisdiction, it has the free use of all its powers for
the purposes of edification and extension. When united,
too, with other congregations, the authority to which it be¬
comes amenable is not privative in the sense of curtailing
its privileges, but cumulative in the way of increasing them.
In virtue of the spiritual life animating the members of the
church, and just in proportion to the intensity with which
it operates, there will be the instinctive desire of associa¬
tion in common bonds and duties. It is believed that the
general theory of the church to be gathered from all in
Scripture relating to it, leads to the conclusion, that it is
not to be a congeries of separate and detached communities,
but one body, and that certain general principles are indi¬
cated through which the formal exhibition of this unity may
be rendered obvious to the world. As the ethics of Scrip¬
ture supply us only with leading principles for our guidance,
and waive"minute*questions of casuistry; so, in the polity
of the church, the arrangements for the manifestation of its
external unity are indicated by some fundamental con¬
siderations which may require skill and caution in the
proper evolution of them; but, in their generality, leave us
some measure of freedom in the adjustment of ecclesiastical
polity to local wants and temporary exigencies.
Among the arguments adduced in proof of the obliga¬
tion to promote and secure this outward manifestation of
unity, it is common to insist upon the nature of the church.
It is not merely represented as one,—one in creed and
privilege, and hope,—but the oneness attributed to it springs
from the workings of the same Spirit into which all its
members are baptized. As the vital principle seeks at once
embodiment and development in an organism appropriate
to its special ends and instincts; so the saints, as the in¬
stinctive dictate of their spiritual nature, entwine their
affections around each other in a common brotherhood ; and
the same principle which induces them to coalesce in one
locality for public acts of faith, binds them to seek union on
the basis of a more extended confederacy. The principle
is of importance, as tending both to check the pride of sec¬
tarian isolation and to discriminate the true church from
the false. Wherever there is an indisposition to acknow¬
ledge true membership,—real connection wfith the body of
Christ,—in a character rich in the best fruits of faith, because,
in deference to the higher principles of unity, such a Chris¬
tian repudiates some nominal badge of it, imposed merely
by human authority, the first law of Christian order is vio¬
lated which enjoins us to establish Christian fellowship upon
one basis—“ the unity of the Spirit in the bonds of peace.
In other words, the denial of the reality of Christian cha¬
racter, however clearly attested, beyond our own pale, is
schism and something worse. Surely, therefore, some con¬
stitutional provision must exist in the church by which an
isolation, practically tantamount to so great an error, is
avoided, and Christians in other congregations besides our
own may be recognized as such. Secondly, The duties
enjoined upon the members of the church imply reci¬
procal obligations and common action beyond the limits
of a single congregation. In witnessing for the truth.
PRESBYTERIANISM.
History, in the endeavour to secure a well-qualified ministry, in
the jealous vigilance that must be exercised to secure
purity of communion, and in the diffusion of the gospel,
especially among the heathen, the same law which ob¬
liges us, for the sake of combined action, to defer to the
judgment of brethren in one congregation, binds us to the
same exercise of self-control in regard to all the congrega¬
tions which may be willing to associate with us. It is im¬
possible to see how some of these ends can be promoted,
except by subordination to a common jurisdiction, either
permanent and authoritative, or special and by agreement;
but to meet an abiding necessity, it holds to reason that the
constitution of the church should embody a standing pro¬
vision. Thirdly, All the views given us of the primitive church
proceed upon the supposition of a unity pervading it, and
linking its members, not to one congregation in Jerusalem,
but to all congregations on the earth. The apostles exercised
a common authority over them all, and so constituted them
from the first that they were not separate and independent,
but so united as to be capable of being denominated one
church. This, in the judgment of Presbyterians, is obvious,
from the single fact that, though in Jerusalem, Ephesus,
and Corinth, there were several congregations, all believers
in these cities are sometimes spoken of as one church (1 Cor.
i. 2; xiv. 34). Fourthly, The precise form in which this
unity was practically realized was through courts of review
(Acts xv). The main features of the transaction there re¬
corded are,—a reference from a particular church to a
council assembled elsewhere, a decree passed as the result
of consultation, and the obligation asserted of that decree
upon all churches. The inquiry, as indicated by the nar¬
rative and the decision, related not to a matter of fact on
which information was sought, but to a question of principle
on which the council assumed its own authority to pro¬
nounce. Nor is the decree to be explained merely as the
utterance of inspiration; for on this ground the dispute
could have been settled at once by Paul at Antioch. The
transaction is best understood as the warrant by which a
new privilege was conferred on the church, and a new de¬
velopment of its organic power was sanctioned in accord¬
ance with the obvious necessities of its growth,—namely,
unity, in the form of several congregations ranged under a
common jurisdiction.
History of Presbyterianism.
In the belief of Presbyterians, it was only after the lapse
of two centuries that diocesan Episcopacy became the pre¬
vailing form of government in the Christian church. The
instances of the Presbyterian government in succeeding
centuries belong rather to the department of the histo¬
rical •argument in its favour, and involve details, the full
review of which is beyond our limits. On the authority of
Middle Philostorgius, it is alleged that the Gothic churches, till the
ages. time of Ulphilas, were under Presbyterian government.
j. he case of Bavaria has sometimes been adduced as a
decided instance in which this form of government obtained
from the year 540 till the pontificate of Zachary in 740.
In his letter, still extant, to Boniface Moyunt, Zachary
seems to affirm that, before he had imposed Vivilo upon
that province as its bishop, the presbyters in it had not re¬
ceived Episcopal ordination. The expressions of Zachary,
however, may be interpreted as signifying little more than
that it was uncertain by whom the Bavarian presbyters
were ordained. Lechler1 holds that the Presbyterian sys¬
tem was not borrowed by the Reformers from the Waldenses,
inasmuch as no trace of the eldership can be proved to have
existed amongst them in ancient times. This position is
scarcely tenable ; for the essential character of Presbyteri¬
anism is not absolutely dependent upon the existence of
485
History.
this class of functionaries, even on the supposition, which
has been denied, that, as it exists amongst the Waldenses
now, it is an innovation upon their ancient polity ; while,
on the testimony of their own historians, as well as accord¬
ing to the earliest Romish authorities, Reinerus, Seyssel,
JUneas Sylvius, and Bellarmine, it is clear that they dis¬
tinctly repudiated a hierarchy—any grade of office superior
to the presbyter. Seyssel, the first archbishop of Turin,
describes their system in a treatise which he published in
1520, after he had visited that part of his diocese, and his
testimony clearly excludes all higher authority than the
presbyter:—“Those whom they judge to be the best
amongst them, they appoint to be their priests (that is,
presbyters), to whom upon all occasions they have recourse,
as to the vicars and successors of the apostles.” “ They
deny, says ./Eneas Sylvius, “ the hierarchy; maintaining
that there is no difference among the priests bv reason o^
dignity of office.” The letter of Morel, a Waldensian
minister, to CEcolampadius, in 1530, mentions a eoneral
council of these presbyters, by which the ecclesiastical
affairs of the community were regulated.
In the various countries to which the influence of the Germany
Reformation extended, the constitution of the Protestant
churches was modified by the degree of freedom which they
enjoyed. In proportion as they were left free from the con¬
trol of the state in establishing their polity and order, the
tendency m the first instance was to the Presbyterian
model. The Lutheran churches mostly in the end adopted
the consistorial system ; the Reformed churches the Pres¬
byterian system ; but the statement must be qualified by
the admission of some exceptions. At Zurich, the church,
though one of the Reformed, was scarcely Presbyterian ;
while in Saxony the Reformers yielded only to the pressure
of circumstances in accepting the consistorial system. There
is accordingly a difference between the theoretic views of
Luther, and their practical development. Proceeding upon
the principle of the universal priesthood of believers, he
held that ecclesiastical rights and functions pertained pri¬
marily to the church ; in the exercise of discipline, he pro¬
cured the co-operation of lay members as advisers ; and in
1523 he counselled the Bohemians to elect their own pas¬
tors and bishops. Such, however, was the general ignor¬
ance of the times, that his chief object was to institute
meanwhile a system for instruction in sound doctrine. He
derived greater assistance from the princes and the magis¬
trates in settling and governing the church than from "the
people, who as yet were scarcely so enlightened as to be
entrusted with the responsibilities of government. Nothing
can be more emphatic than Luther’s condemnation of ma-
gistratical interference with spiritual affairs; but the arrange¬
ment to which he submitted, as all that was practicable at
first, became the rule for the organization of the church.
The civil authorities were slow to surrender the control they
had thus acquired over it. The consistories, moreover,
though originally church-courts for ecclesiastical affairs,
gradually lost their strictly ecclesiastical character. At
Leipsic, in 1547, it was decreed by an assembly of the estates
that the consistories should administer secular as well as
spiritual matters. The fundamental idea of the consistorial
system is the transference from the Romish bishops to the
civil ruler of all ecclesiastical jurisdiction, so far as consist¬
ent with liberty of conscience, and with the jura ordinis
peculiar to the clerical office. On this principle, the mem¬
bers of consistories are appointed by the state. The con¬
sistorial system, therefore, has simply these two points of
affinity with presbytery ; it embodies indirectly a represen¬
tation of the laity, and it is based upon Luther’s rejection
of any office superior to the presbyter; for, though to the
present day, the Lutheran Church employs the services of
superintendents, their office is based on mere expediency,
1 Geschichte der Presbyterial, und Synodal verfaisung seit der Reformation, Leiden, 1854.
486 PRESBYTERIANISM.
History, not on the authority of Scripture or the precedents of anti-
quity ; they confer only Presbyterian ordination ; they do
not necessarily continue in their position for life; and their
reports as to the spiritual condition of their districts must
be rendered to the consistories, from whom also they receive
directions on all affairs of higher moment.
The consistorial system was modified according to pro¬
vincial exigencies, but we need only glance at those cases
in which a greater approximation was made to the cardinal
principles of Presbytery. Brenz, in 1526, erected in the
free imperial city of Halle in Suabia a form of church-
government, in which an eldership of pious men was con¬
joined with the pastorate in the superintendence of the
congregations, but the right of appointing them to their
office was left with the magistracy, if evangelical, in the
German sense of that term,—in other words, if belonging
to the Protestant church. At the synod of Homberg, in
the same year, Francis Lambert proposed a scheme of pro¬
vincial synods, consisting of the pastors and a deputy from
each congregation. The system was synodal rather than
presbyterial in character, and was never established, as
Luther, on being consulted respecting it, deemed the
people as yet incapable of self-government. In 1539, how¬
ever, the office of elder was introduced into the Hessian
church, but the circumstance did not lead to any represen¬
tation of the popular mind and will in the higher ecclesias¬
tical courts. After a lengthened struggle with the civil
authorities, John a Lasco, in 1544, succeeded in erecting
Presbyterian church-government at Embden, and the
flourishing Reformed church of East Friesland was the re¬
sult of his labours. The substance of his system may be
gathered from the form of government drawn up for the
German congregation in London, with which he was after¬
wards connected. He recognised only two offices, the
eldership and the deacons; but the former comprehended
two classes, the teaching and the ruling elders. From a
leet nominated by the congregation the consistory elected
those whom they regarded as fittest for office. The advance
which it Lasco made upon Calvin’s system, as established
at Geneva three years before the erection of Presbyterian
government at Embden, consists in the identification of the
clerical office with riiat of the eldership, in the recognition
of the consistory as the organ of the whole congregation,
and in the power secured for the people in elections.
The same accomplished Pole was afterwards called to
Frankfort, and under his influence Presbyterianism gained
a footing in that city. In the palatinate the accession of
the elector Frederick III. to the Reformed confession, led
to the introduction of a new ecclesiastical polity about the
close of the sixteenth century. It was a combination of
the consistorial and Presbyterian systems; each congrega¬
tion had over it a presbytery, consisting of the pastor, and
under his presidency, of censors, elected by the ecclesiasti¬
cal authorities for the maintenance of order and discipline;
over the whole national church a council, appointed by the
elector, presided, composed of three divines and three civil
councillors, and holding its meetings at Heidelberg; subor¬
dinate to this council were superintendents in each of the
dioceses, and the clergy, along with the superintendents,
met in conventions. The persecution of Alva drove from
the Netherlands several refugees, who carried with them
into the regions of the Lower Rhine their attachment to
Presbyterianism. In 1566 a conference held at Wesel
issued in the affirmation of the divine right of the eldership
a principle which was more formally enunciated anew by
a great synod at Embden in 1571. Arrangements were
a so made for quarterly meetings of the presbytery, provin-
cia synods annually, and general synods biennially. The
sj stein thus established continues in a great measure to the
present day. To some extent Presbyterianism was intro-
uce into Westphalia in 1588; and ten years earlier, the
province of Nassau enjoyed the full benefit of Presbyterian History
government and discipline. The subsequent history of i
Presbyterianism in the German churches is too complicated
and various to admit of concise explanation and detail. It
is marked by the growing predominance of the consistorial
element rather than by any changes in its territorial influ¬
ence, and the system thus developed has proportionally less
claim to be noticed in any historical review of genuine
Presbytery. Although in 1835 Presbytery was restored to
the churches in WTstphalia and the Rhenish provinces, the
consistory was engrafted upon the ancient constitution.
As monarchy consolidated and extended its influence in
Prussia, supreme power became more and more vested in
the crown, while pure ecclesiastical authority sank into abey¬
ance. To the extent in which it loses its authority, a
church ceases to be representative in government, and by
consequence ceases to be Presbyterian. From time to time
voices have been raised in vigorous advocacy of the rights
and claims of Presbyterianism ; and amongst these defend¬
ers of the system Lechler specifies Spener, Schleiermacher,
and Neander. Excluded from all share in the government
of the church, the laity manifest indifference to its external
interests. Any desire for the revival of the Presbyterian
elements in its constitution has been ascribed more to poli¬
tical motives than to the conviction which chiefly enlisted
the early Reformers in its favour,—namely, that when it was
properly wrought, no system so effectually secured the
church against the admission of the irreligious and un¬
worthy into her communion.
Traces of Presbyterianism are to be found in the history Eastern
of the churches which arose in consequence of the Reforma- Europe,
tion beyond Germany. The Slavic race indicated gene¬
rally a preference for the doctrine and government of the
Reformed rather than of the Lutheran Church. The first
Polish evangelical synod met at Pinkzow in October 1550.
According to the annotations of Comenius on the Book of
Order, adopted by the Bohemian brethren in 1616, presbyter
is a word applied by the apostles “ not only to pastors, but
to their assistants in watching the flock, who do not labour
in word and doctrine; ” while the Book of Order itself
affirms that, according to the apostles, “ presbyter and
bishop are one and the same thing.” On the same model
the Moravian churches were constituted, with a slight ad¬
mixture of Episcopacy, to the extent of preferring ordina¬
tion by bishops, though ordination in the Reformed Church
was deemed equally valid; and the bishops, far from en-
joying the supreme direction of ecclesiastical affairs, were
subordinate to a court of elders. In Hungary every con¬
gregation originally had a pastor and lay inspector, chosen
by the suffrages of the members. There wras a gradation of
courts, senorial meetings, provincial conventions, and a
general assembly. Synodal action of this kind has been in
operation since 1564. But recently, since the abortive
effort at emancipation from Austrian despotism, the liberties
of the Hungarian Church have been suppressed. Its affairs
are administered consistorially ; in other wrords, by men
whom the government nominates to the office.
In Switzerland the system of government, devised by Switzer-
Zvvingle for Zurich, according to which ecclesiastical affairs land,
were entrusted to the care of the magistrate, provided he
was a Christian, so that practically the Council of Two
Hundred, in the name of the church, administered its affairs,
was extended to Berne, St Gall, and Schaffhausen. CEco-
lampadius proposed a scheme for Basle, in which elders,
some of whom w’ere elected by the people, were conjoined
with the ministers for the purposes of discipline. After
certain essential modifications by the state, so as to restrict
still further the independent action of the church, it passed
into a law. But in connection with Switzerland, it is of
chief importance that we attend to the Presbyterian model
as instituted by Calvin at Geneva. And here, too, as in the
PRESBYTERIANISM.
History, case of Luther, the difference must be noted between his
theoryofchurch-governmentasheexpoundedittheoretically,
and as it was actually carried into effect or developed in prac¬
tice. Two leading principles gave shape to the system of
polity instituted by this great Reformer. He founded it upon
a scriptural basis ; and he saw clearly how indispensable a
sound species of government was to the maintenance of
order and purity in the church. Presbytery commended
itself to him as the best form of rule for the preservation of
discipline. His system is sketched in two paragraphs of his
Institutes. Nothing can be more lucid and concise than his
statement (Institut., lib. iv., cap, xi., sect. 11), in which he
unfolds the primary object of ecclesiastical rule, “ ut scan-
dalis obviam eatur,”—in other words, the purity of the
church; the precise character of it as wholly spiritual,
“ut a jure gladii prorsus separetur haec spiritualis potestas;”
and the scriptural mode of it by Presbytery, “ne unins
arbitrio sed per legitimum consessum administretur.” In
reference to the second principle, he states expressly,
“severissima ecclesiae vindicta et quasi ultimum fulmen est
excommunicatio,” — weighty and pregnant words indeed,
as not only claiming independence for the church, but
establishing on a solid ground all that is precious in reli¬
gious liberty! All he asks is the right which must be
conceded to every association established for a religious or
benevolent purpose, that it should be left free to prescribe
its terms of admission, and to enforce compliance with them
in the case of flagrant and persistent contumacy by expul¬
sion. He prohibits the church from resort to “ mulctis,
vel carceribus, vel aliis civilibus poenis.” Still further, to
guard religious liberty, he vests the jurisdiction of the
church not in the clergy alone, but in a presbytery (“sena-
tus presbyterorum ) composed of two classes, the teaching
and the ruling elders: “Alii ad docendum erant ordinati,
alii morum censores duntaxat erant.” These quotations
are enough to fix beyond question what Calvin’s theory of
church-government really wras, while they show the spirit in
which he viewed the whole subject,—as 'involving the only
system on w'hich the seal of divine authority is impressed
for preserving, in consistency with freedom and the rights of
conscience, the interests of true religion and pure morality.
It is of no consequence to affirm that Calvin made no
provision for synodal action. He states the essence of his
theory, which by no means excludes a grade of ecclesiasti¬
cal courts superior to the presbyteries or sessions ; and he
admits that much in the development of his theory must be
left to circumstances. The scheme which he drew up
for the French Church includes courts of review'. Geneva
was too small to require more than a presbytery. Nor is
theie the least ground for the allegation, that because he
used the language of friendly compliment to the church of
England, he ever departed from his own principles as early
recorded in the Institutes. In his commentary upon Acts
xx., one of his latest works, w'ritten not long before his
death, he states that, “ according to Scripture, presbyters
diffeied in no respect from bishops, but that it arose from
corruption and a departure from primitive purity, that those
who held the first seats in particular cities beean to be
called bishops.”
Calvin was sorely thwarted and trammelled in the endea¬
vour to establish his system in Geneva. The civil autho¬
rities were jealous of any rival sway, however carefully
discriminated from their own ; while the spawn of error
and corruption, which the disorders of preceding times
had produced, had given rise to the party of the Libertines,
who were determined to oppose any system which had for
its main object the establishment of better morals. It is
difficult to say what might have been the result had Calvin’s
theory been fully carried out, and had his great principle—■
the spiritual nature of church power—enjoyed full honour
and free scope. The community, under the influence of
487
this truth, would have been trained to feel that civil penal- History
ties are not the weapons by which error is to be met • and v  *
bervetus, in spite of Calvin, if we assume his direct com¬
plicity in the sad transaction, might have been saved from
the flames. As a condition of his return to Geneva Calvin
stipulated for the institution of the eldership. The “ eccle¬
siastical ordinances” which ultimately, in 1541, received the
sanction of the council, recognised the office of the elders,
the nomination of whom lay with the little council and the
pastors, while their appointment to the actual exercise of
the office, if the persons nominated were found worthy
was vested in the Council of Two Hundred. In two
respects the arrangement deviated from the theoretical
convictions of Calvin. There was a confusion of the
civil with spiritual power in the control which the coun¬
cil thus retained over the election of the presbyters;
and another restriction, according to which the members
of the council only were eligible to the sacred office, still
fmther violated the autonomy with which Scripture has
in\ested the church. No claim can be urged for Calvin as
first broaching the theory of Presbyterian rule; but the
twofold merit which Lechler ascribes to him cannot well be
denied. He first unfolded the idea of it as a lucid theory,
or rather a practical system; and secondly, at the cost of a
severe struggle, established it in actual operation in Geneva.
The sphere of its influence in that small community might
not be great; but the reformation of manners, which, by
the verdict of all candid history, it wrought, is the best, tri¬
bute to its praise ; while, as the model upon which the
Reformed Church in France and other countries was formed,
its nature should be clearly understood.
The Reformed Church spread rapidly in France, and France,
from the first it was Presbyterian. So early as 1561 no
fewer than 2150 congregations belonged to it'; and accord¬
ing to L’Hopital, one-fourth of the nation had seceded
from the communion of the Church of Rome. In the year
1555 a meeting of the Protestants in Paris took place;
they agreed to elect a minister, elders, and deacons. The
example was followed in other towns of importance. In
spite of extreme danger, under the very shadow of the gib¬
bets reared for their destruction, deputies belonging to
eleven churches of the Reformed faith met in a general
synod at Paris. They agreed on a Confession of Faith,
and a form of government: the authorship of the latter is
ascribed to Calvin. According to tjais constitution, each
congregation had its consistory of elders, the members of
which were in the first instance elected by the congrega¬
tion. Vacancies, however, were filled up by the consistory
itself, though the approval of the congregation was essential
in every appointment. The election of the pastors was en¬
trusted to the colloquy or provincial synod, subject to a
similar check on the part of the people. “ If any objection
is made,” says De Felice, “it must be laid before the bodies
who are charged with the choice of the pastors. In no case
can an appointment be made in opposition to the vote of
the majority.” Colloquies met twice a year, embracing one
pastor and one elder from each church represented. Pro¬
vincial synods, comprehending the churches of a wuder dis¬
trict, but similarly constituted, assembled once a year. The
national synod was composed of two pastors and two elders
from each of the inferior synods. The first national synod
was held at Paris in 1559 ; the twenty-ninth, or last, at Lou-
dun in 1669. Permission to assemble has never been granted
since. By the law of the 18th Germinal, 1802, five or six
churches were placed in subordination to a consistory, no¬
minated in the first instance by the five-and-twenty Pro¬
testants of the district who contributed most to the public
taxes. No right of election or of veto was reserved for
the people. Instead of provincial synods, synods “ d’arron-
dissement” were established, consisting of deputies from
five of these consistories. One only—at La Drome, in 1850
PRESBYTERIANISM
488
History. —has ever met. Considerable changes were made by the
decree of March 10, 1852. Instead of the consistory pre¬
siding over five or six churches, there is appointed by the
decree a presbyteral council for each parish, consisting
of a pastor as president, and not less than four or more than
seven elders, elected by tbe people. In the principal towns
of a district, general consistories are held, composed ot all
the pastors and a certain number of delegates chosen by
the parishes. Both in regard to the presbyteral councils
and the general consistories, half the members comprising
them are subject to re-election every three years. 1 here
is above all these courts a central Protestant council, com¬
posed of the two senior pastors in Paris, and fifteen mem¬
bers nominated by the state in the first instance. I lie
property qualification previously required is abolished. In
the year 1858 there were 617 pastors of the Reformed
Church in France ; the number adhering to the Confession
of Augsburg was 273. The funds assigned for the support
of the Protestant churches by government amounted to
1,375,936 francs. Besides the churches supported by the
state, there are about 120 pastors of other congregations,
27 of whom are connected with “the Union of Evangelical
Churches,” which are4Presbyterian in their forms of govern¬
ment and discipline.
Holland. The first Dutch provincial synod was held in 1574 at
Dort. It adopted the Embden Articles, which conjoined
elders with pastors in the government of the church. The
state, however, withheld its sanction, and for a long period
there was a struggle between the two; the state seeking
Erastian control, the church intent on acquiring freedom
of action for spiritual ends. The result was, that in despair
of establishing a comprehensive national system, each pro¬
vince erected an ecclesiastical constitution for itself, according
to the influences that chiefly preponderated in it. Presby¬
terianism universally prevailed, but it was Presbyterianism
in express subjection to civil magistracy. The co-ordinate
jurisdiction of the Calvinistic theory was never realized.
The synod of Dort in 1618, among the other questions
which it had been convened to discuss and settle, took up
the point of church government, and emitted astrong declara¬
tion in favour of Presbytery. Down to 1795 there were
seven distinct ecclesiastical republics more or less under
the power of the state, with no organic bond of connection
but correspondence by deputations in the provincial synods.
In 1816, under royahsanction, a constitution for the whole
church was established, embracing provision for a national
synod. Some changes ensued in 1852; but the general
result has been, that the national church is now divided
into forty-three classes, under ten provincial circuits, com¬
prehending in all, according to the census of 1850, 1273
churches, 1508 ministers, and 1,661,661 souls.
England. Presbyterian writers mention a considerable variety of
facts in evidence that their ecclesiastical polity is coeval
with the primitive Christianity of Britain, and they exhibit
a succession of testimonies in its favour, among others that
of WicklifFe, down to the times of the Reformation. No
doubt can be entertained that many of the founders of the
Anglican Church had leanings to it. Cranmer held the
identity of bishop and presbyter, and proposed at one time
the erection of courts corresponding to. the kirk-sessions
and provincial synods afterwards established in Scotland.
Ihe martyr Lambert, in 1538, testified for ministerial
parity. The Institution of a Christian Man, a book pub¬
lished in 1536, and not only recommended but subscribed
by two archbishops and nineteen bishops, declares that there
are “ but two orders of clergy, and no one bishop has autho¬
rity over another, according to the Word of God.” The
testimony ol a Lasco is occasionally cited, in which he affirms
that it was the intention of Edward VI. to alter and re-
model the English Church according to apostolical purity;
while the context clearly shows that, in the judgment of
a Lasco, apostolical purity was substantially Presbyterian- History,
ism. Presbytei'ian ordination was freely acknowledged by C—
the English divines of the period. Archbishop Grindal,
in 1582, appointed Morison, ordained by the Church of
Scotland, to pastoral duties within the diocese of Canter¬
bury. When Bancroft, in 1588, first urged the plea of
divine right for the superiority of bishops to presbyters,
the learned Rainolds, in a letter to Sir F. Knolleys, de¬
clared that the contrary doctrine of their equality was “ the
common judgment of the Reformed churches,” and after
naming them, he adds, “ and our own.” The early
Puritans of England for the most part held Presbyterian
views, though their dispute with the Established Church
turned more upon certain rites and ceremonies in its vvor-
ship. On the accession of Elizabeth, so early as 1566,
several excellent divines, disappointed in their hope of a
more thorough reformation, agreed “ to break off from tbe
public churches, and to assemble as they had opportunity
in private houses and elsewhere, to worship God in a
manner that might not offend against the light of their
consciences.” In the preamble to this conclusion, they
allude, in evident concurrence with its principles, to “ the
book and order of preaching, administration of the sacra¬
ment, and discipline, that the great Mr Calvin had approved
of.” At length, in 1572, resolved on a more complete
organization of their party, fifteen divines, with several in¬
fluential laymen, met at Wandsworth, a village on the
Thames, about four miles from London. Eleven elders
were chosen, and their offices described in a register which
is commonly known as “ the orders of Wandsworth.” In
spite of the secresy observed, the meeting of this presby¬
tery came to be known. The members of it, however,
could not be discovered. Associations on the same model
were formed elsewhere. The clergy also, who were
inclined to Presbyterian sentiments within the church,
held voluntary meetings foi mutual advice in associations
perfectly akin to presbyteries and synods. The number
pursuing this course amounted in 1586 to 500. There is
less difficulty in determining the form of Presbyterian
sentiment which at this time prevailed than its relative
strength in the British community. A book, high in
esteem among the Puritans, drawn up by Travers, printed
at Geneva in 1574, and entitled Disciplina Ecclesice sacra
ex Dei verbo descripta, affords a clear and full exposition
of their views. It suggests the erection of sessions com¬
posed of ministers and elders chosen by the people, and
upon this inferior court is based a provision for provincial
and national synods. By a singular feature in such docu¬
ments, it proposes an ecumenical council comprehending *
representatives from every national synod. In proof of the
extent to which an inclination for the Presbyterian polity
prevailed, appeal has been made to a dialogue published in
•the reign of Elizabeth, according to which 100,000 are
said to have been favourable to it. Of the three parties,
Roman Catholic, Church of England, and Puritan, Hallam
reckons that the Church of England was “ the least
numerous of the three.” On the other hand, Fuller, in
his graphic description of the state of parties, would lead
us to a conclusion in favour of the Church of England as
stronger than the Puritans. “ Now, if Rebecca found her¬
self strangely affected when twins struggled in her womb,
the condition of tbe English Church must be conceived
sad which at the same time had two disciplines, both of them
pleading Scripture and primitive practice, each striving to
support itself and to suppress its rival,—the hierarchy com¬
manded by authority, established by law, confirmed by
general practice, and continued so long by custom in this
land, that had one at this time lived to the age of Methuselah,
he could not remember the beginning thereof in Britain ;
the presbytery, though wanting the stamp of authority,
claiming to be the purer metal, founded by some clergy-
PRESBYTERIANISM.
History, men, favoured by many of the gentry, and followed by
more of the common sort, who, being prompted with that
natural principle that the weakest side must be most
watchful, what they wanted in strength they supplied in
activity. But what won them most repute was their
ministers’ painful preaching in populous places ; it being
observed in England that those who hold the helm of the
pulpit always steer people’s hearts as they please.”1 It is
admitted that the strength of the Presbyterian interest was
greatly increased through the reaction excited by the policy
of Laud. Arminianism, distasteful to the mass of the clergy,
obtained favour under his administration. The Calvinistic
clergy, feeling that they could put no reliance on the bishops
or the state, in order to check its spread, were the more eager
to secure the erection of a Presbyterian polity, according to
which the general mind of the church might obtain free ex¬
pression and due influence. At length Presbyterianism was
in the ascendant. In 1642 Episcopacy was abolished. The
Westminster Assembly, convened by the Parliament in
1643, declared in favour of Presbytery after long and
patient discussions. A struggle was made to procure from
Parliament the recognition of it as of divine origin and
authority; the Parliament contented itself with the ac¬
knowledgment of it as “ lawful and agreeable to the Word
of God.” By a parliamentary order of March 1646,
ruling elders were to be chosen in all the English congre¬
gations, while ecclesiastical judicatories were also to be
created. The system was next year carried into effect in
London and Lancashire. In 1648, with the exception of
chapels for the king and peers, “ all parishes and places
whatsoever” were declared to be under Presbyterian
government. On the accession of Cromwell to supreme
power, the strength of Presbyterianism declined. It had
a brief revival in 1660, when it was established anew by
Parliament. On the Restoration, it gave place to Episco¬
pacy, and more than 2000 ministers, nearly all Presby¬
terians, refusing to comply with the Act of Uniformity,
were in 1662 expelled from the Established Church. Ever
since this date Presbyterianism has been a distinct com¬
munion in England.
In common with other Dissenters, Presbyterians sustained
no small persecution till the Revolution, when the Tolera¬
tion Act in 1689 secured them considerable freedom.
Their cause sprang elastic from the previous depression,
and in less than thirty years they had more than 800 congre¬
gations in England, Yorkshire alone containing no fewer
than 59. They represented fully two-thirds of the Dis¬
senting interest. Various causes have been assigned for
the rapid declension which, in the course of the next
century, took place in their numerical strength. Arianism,
ripening fast into Socinianism, spread amongst them, partly
because subscription to the standards of the church was
not enforced, and partly because Presbyterian government
was not brought into complete and efficient operation.
Such are the reasons at least commonly assigned for this
lapse into heterodox tenets, but it must have had con¬
nection with some wider causes then at work by which
all evangelical churches in Europe were similarly and at
the same time affected. In London, at a meeting in Sal¬
ters Hall, out of 110 present, 53 only voted in favour of
requiring from ministers subscription to the doctrine of
the Trinity. A division ensued,—one party exacting ad¬
herence by subscription to the first article of the Church
of England, together with the fifth and sixth questions
in the Shorter Catechism; the other resisting the im¬
position of any such term of communion, although they
would commit themselves to no denial of the divinity of
Christ and the doctrine of the Trinity. In Northumber¬
land alone, where Presbytery continued to be most effi-
fromtlLTUSht’ ?°Ciniarlir WaS complotely excluded
m its congregations. I he influence of such men as
Lardner and Priestley naturally led their brethren in the
ministry to make an avowal of Arian or Socinian views
with the same boldness which marked the opposition of
these distinguished men to orthodox doctrine In pro
portion as Socinianism came to be freely published and
declared from the pulpit, and the forms of Presbytery sunk
into desuetude, multitudes in the Presbyterian congregations
tound in the evangelical preaching to which they listened
elsewhere, an attraction before which any regard for another
polity was felt to be of subordinate importance. The
spiritual activity of other churches, Methodists and Inde-
pendents, absorbing into its own channel the life and zeal
which found no scope elsewhere, contributed still further to
reduce the strength of the Presbyterians. The number of
their congregations, both orthodox and Unitarian, was esti-
mated in 1812 as amounting to 270. In 1850 there were
. 7 Unitarian congregations ; but as they have neither ses¬
sions over particular congregations, nor courts uniting them
under a common jurisdiction, they cannot properly be de¬
signated Presbyterian. In the national census, they rank
under the title “ Unitarians.” Still there are many congre¬
gations, especially in Northumberland, who trace their orndn
up to 1662, when they were formed under the labours°of
ministers ejected by the Act of Uniformity. But the
chief form under which Presbyterianism now appears in
England is in connection with Scotch churches of the same
doetiine and polity. About 15 are in connection with the
Established Church of Scotland, and 60 with the United
Presbyterian Church, to the extent of being represented
in its annual synod. A still larger body, numbering about
90 congregations, though it maintains friendly relations
with the Free Church, made a declaration in 1844 claiming
to be a separate and independent church, with its own
theological seminary and supreme court. Never ecclesi¬
astically incorporated with any other church, and abiding
by the Westminster Standards, it represents the old
1 i esbytei ianism of England, however much its member¬
ship may be sustained by immigration from the north.
Proposals have been sometimes made for a union between
the two last-mentioned bodies, but hitherto without success.
In Wales, the large body of the Welsh Calvinistic
Methodists, with upwards of 800 chapels and nearly 60,000
communicants, are substantially Presbyterian.
The first General Assembly of the Church of Scotland Scotland
was held in 1560. Of the 40 members, 6 only were
ministers. The same ministers who drew up the Con¬
fession of Faith, which the Parliament had already ratified,
were appointed to prepare a scheme of government and
discipline for the church. It was presented to the
Assembly, which met early in 1561, and cordially adopted ;
but on being submitted to the Privy Council, though
several nobles and burgesses in Parliament subscribed it,
it was never ratified by the authority of the state. The
church, however, continued to be guided by it, and a
simple review of its provisions will show that the subsequent
Presbyterianism of Scotland has always in substance em¬
bodied the leading elements of the system described in it.
The ordinary offices established by it are four in number,—
pastor, doctor, elder, and deacon. The duties of the pastor
only differed from those of the doctor in the difference of
the sphere in which they were exercised ; the former re¬
lating chiefly to the interests of a particular congregation,
while the latter office was rather exercised in schools and
universities. The elder was the assistant of the pastor
in government and discipline. Upon the deacon de¬
volved the care of the poor and of the revenues of the
church. Two extraordinary offices were also appointed :
VOL. XVIII.
1 I* uller s Church History, xvi., cent. a.D. 1588.
3 Q
PRESBYTERIANISM.
readers, who, on the strength of a common education,
could read the Scriptures to their ignorant neighbours, an
who received the higher appellation ot exhorters, if they
were found qualified to follow up the reading ot Scriptmes
with a plain and pious address. The other office was that
of the superintendent, whose duty was to itinerate over a
province, preaching the gospel, planting churches, and
watching over the conduct of the pastors and readers.
The election of the minister is distinctly entrusted to the
people. Provision is madq lor the erection of four ecclesi¬
astical courts: the kirk-session, consisting of pastor,
elder, and deacon; a meeting called a prophesying, vv nc i
afterwards merged into a presbytery, and which took under
its charge several congregations ot a district; provincial
synods ; and the General Assembly, in which ministers and
elders, representing all the presbyteries throughout the
kingdom, met for the administration of ecclesiastical aitairs.
It will be observed that, though so far as it was Presbyterian,
there could be no essential difference in this system from
what had been instituted twenty years before in Geneva,
there is really ground for the assertion of Row, that the
Scotch Reformers “ took not their example, from any
kirk in the world,—no, not from Geneva!” It was
national rather than municipal in its scope and design.
The device of superintendents, too, as u expedient for the
time,” to use the words of the Book of Discipline, indicated
that the founders of this polity were not so trammelled by
implicit deference to Genevan arrangements as to oveilook
the necessity of special adaptation to the wants and cir¬
cumstances of their own country. Nor is there any ground
for regarding these superintendents as in any sense bishops.
Elected by the people, ordained by presbyters, acting only
in concert with provincial synods, responsible for all their
proceedings to the General Assembly, and ceasing when
presbyterial organization throughout the land was suffi¬
ciently complete to supersede the necessity for such tem¬
porary office-bearers, they really bore no character and
exercised no functions analogous to Episcopal authority.
It is only due to the sagacity of the early founders of the
Scottish Church to mention another distinctive feature of
their system. They saw that the people might be the
worst enemies to their own privileges if they were not
trained to the proper use of them ; and hence, besides a
scheme for the administration of the church, it embraced,
as essential to its proper working, an elaborate plan of
national education. With the exception of the superin¬
tendents and the readers, the Presbyterian churches of
Scotland to the present day exhibit substantial conformity
to the scheme of Knox, so far as relates to the different
offices and to the courts of review. The single question,
however, raised by the appointment of ministers has given
rise, with but one exception, to all the Presbyterian
churches existing in a state of separation from the Esta¬
blishment. In the latter the people have only the right of
stating objections to a presentee, whereas in the former the
full liberty of election is conceded to them.
This accordance of Scottish Presbytery with the ori¬
ginal scheme devised by Knox and his associates renders
it necessary only to mention the steps by which its esta¬
blishment was secured. The various branches into which
it came to be subdivided belong to another department of
this article. Meanwhile, attention is called to the history
of the system, rather than of the churches adopting it.
The First Book of Discipline did not receive formal
ratification from the state. The true motive on account of
which this was refused transpired in the endeavour on the
part of the nobles to secure the property of the church.
The courts of presbytery proved so strong an exposition
of public feeling as to hold in check aristocratic rapacity.
A natural leaning to Episcopacy was thus produced in the
higher circles of society, under an impression that bishops,
owing their titular dignity to civil patronage, would evince History
readier subserviency to the designs of the court. A con- ^
vention of superintendents and ministers, under the in¬
fluence of Regent Morton, met at Leith in 1572, and
passed a decision by which Episcopal titles were retained
in the church. So soon as this point was gained, the
titles were bestowed on such as consented to receive be¬
nefices on the condition of restoring to the patron the
best portion of their annual revenues. This simoniacal
arrangement was stigmatized in popular wit as tulchan
Episcopacy, from the practice in the country of placing
before a cow, that it might yield its milk freely, an image
with the skin and in the shape of a calf. Even accord¬
ing to the scheme sanctioned at Leith, these nominal digni¬
taries were declared to be subordinate to the Assembly,
a feature of vital difference from common Episcopacy. In
1580 the Assembly declared the office of bishop to be
without scriptural authority, and charged such persons as
held it to demit it immediately. In the light of these
facts, the Second Book of Discipline will be properly
understood; which, adopted by the Assembly in 1581,
and, partially at least, recognised by the state in 1592, best
illustrates the type of Scottish Presbyterianism in this age.
Ecclesiastical jurisdiction is formally based on dogmatic
grounds, the headship of Christ; so that, blending with the
highest articles of the Christian faith, it could not cease to
be an obligation on the conscience so long as Christianity
itself was embraced. In proportion to the weight and
sacredness of such a claim, it needed the more careful
discrimination from civil authority at once to prevent abuse
and to appease the jealousies of the state ; and hence the
Second Book of Discipline insists upon the distinction
between civil and ecclesiastical power. Warned by the
recent struggle of the church against a pseudo-Episcopacy,
the framers of this book omitted all reference to the extra¬
ordinary offices, the superintendents and exhorters, men¬
tioned in the system of discipline adopted in 1560. Not
content with this, they inserted a special protest against the
notion of any superiority on the part of a bishop as above
the presbyter. They desire the abolition of patronage, as
it “cannot stand with the order which God’s word craves.”
The spirit of the whole book may be described as evincing
the utmost anxiety to establish, in the first place, an efficient
discipline in each congregation for the purity of the church ;
secondly, a firm bond of unity in courts rising in succession
to one that sustained a relation to the whole church, and
of last resort in all cases of discipline and points of contro¬
versy ; and lastly, harmonious co-operation with the civil
authorities, under no compromise of the rights or interference
with the functions respectively belonging to church and
state. Hence, in the language of the German historian
Lechler, the Church of Scotland, “ by its earnest and perse¬
vering struggle for the complete independence of the church
in contradistinction to the state, and by the prominence as¬
signed to the most important and practical truth,that Christ
is the only Head of the church, shows itself beyond ques¬
tion in advance of all the Reformed national churches.”
Although the Second Book of Discipline was not formally
and in express terms ratified by the act of Parliament in
1592, there can be no doubt that it was the system of
government observed at the time by the Scottish Church ;
and the act incidentally recognises, and so far by recogni¬
tion sanctions, “the jurisdiction and discipline of the church
as the same is used and exercised within this realm.” The
state, however, speedily resolved upon another policy than
that to which it seemed committed by the provisions of this
enactment. It strove to re-establish Prelacy ; and the plan
taken to accomplish this object was the control, with a view
to the ultimate suppression, of the church’s prerogative of
meeting in free assemblies. Gradually the power of the
crown made wTay in spite of the heroic resistance of the
PRESBYTERIANISM.
History, clergy, and the moment seemed close at hand when, by a
single stroke, the state might venture to consummate a
long course of policy, and abolish the last vestige of Presby¬
terianism. It is only the more educated class that can be
expected to appreciate the value of a sound theory of go¬
vernment in a church. Worship appeals directly to the
individual conscience. The zeal of Laud, more impetu¬
ous than discreet, insisted on the introduction of the Liturgy.
It was the spark on the dry grass of the prairie. The nation
was at once inflamed with indignation. The issue of the
various struggles and conflicts which ensued was Presbyte¬
rianism—not merely restored to Scotland, but established in
England ; not by an act of Parliament only, but by the oath
of the three kingdoms,—the Solemn League and Covenant.
From 1638 to 1649 the Church of Scotland enjoyed
perfect exemption from the control of the state. Not only
so, but the Scottish Parliament ratified willingly all the
Westminster standards of faith, the Confession, and the
form of church government,— in this respect outstripping
the English Parliament, which, while it ratified and approved
of the doctrinal part of the Confession of Faith, “ recom¬
mitted” the chapters described as “ the particulars in dis¬
cipline.” In 1653 the Assembly was interrupted and dis¬
solved at the instance of Cromwell ; nor had it ever liberty
to meet again during his life. The type of Presbyterian¬
ism which the Scottish Church thus received from the
English divines contained no point of essential difference
from that exhibited in the Second Book of Discipline.
There are the same three essential offices—minister, elder,
and deacon ; for though, as in the Scottish scheme, we
read of pastors and doctors, the account given of them
indicates a division of labour, and not a distinction of office.
There is the same gradation of courts. The only point of
difference is the apparently lower degree of privilege con¬
ceded to the people in the settlement of ministers. The
presbytery is to proceed to ordain, if there be no just ex¬
ceptions against the presentee. Still there is no absolute
denial to the people of the right of election; for, at the
outset of the regulations on this head, it is supposed that
he may be “nominated by the people.” In Scotland, by
the act of 1649, he was to be nominated by the session.
At the Restoration the system of government thus esta¬
blished was overthrown, and Episcopacy for twenty-eight
years again enjoyed the favour and support of the state.
Finally, when the Revolution occurred, all legislation in
favour of Presbyterianism was found to be buried under
rescissory acts. The government of William did not cancel
the acts rescissory, but simply, in the Act of Settlement,
made a statutory recognition of the Confession of Faith,
“ voted and approven by them as the public and avowed
confession of this church they further revived and con¬
firmed the act of 1592, and having reserved the question of
the appointment of ministers for further consideration, they
gave the privilege to the heritors, but latterly, in 1711, it
was given to the ancient patrons. It is this question which
has since produced the greatest changes in the external
aspect and position of Scottish Presbytery. No essential
divergence in respect either of doctrine, government, wor¬
ship, or discipline, has taken place from the Westminster
deeds to the extent of a formal and avowed renunciation of
them, except that in one denomination adherence to the
articles on the power of the civil magistrate has been some¬
what qualified. For three hundred years the avowed faith
of the Scottish people, both in regard to the doctrine and
the polity of the church, has been, amid all the countless
vicissitudes of speculation, unchanged. The key-note struck
by Knox has never ceased to find an echo in the ear and
reland ^eart °f his nation.
Escaping from Scotland and England, many Presby¬
terians sought in Ireland some relief from the persecution
which they experienced in the former countries. The
491
ministers amongst them were permitted to exercise their History,
office and share emolument in the Established Church, till
they were ejected and silenced in 1634, when Laud insisted
on the Book of Canons, and substituted for the Irish articles
of 1615 the Thirty-Nine Articles of the Church of England.
Direct persecution was put in force against them; but the
freedom they enjoyed after the rebellion enabled them to
establish the Presbyterian system, not in Ulster only, but
in other parts of Ireland. In 1642 the first regular meet¬
ing of presbytery was constituted at Carrickfevgus. At
the Restoration, 61 ministers were not only expelled from
their benefices, but deposed from the ministry. Heavy
penalties were threatened if they dared to preach or baptize;
harsh and angry proceedings, in which Jeremy Taylor
tarnished the lustre of a brilliant name, and all the more
ungenerous that the Presbyterians of Ulster had stood so
fast by the royal cause at the lowest ebb of its fortunes,
that afterwards, in 1672, the crown, in recognition of their
services against Cromwell, was constrained to honour them
with an annual grant of money. However discountenanced,
Presbyterianism held its own in Ulster. The Revolution
found it with nearly a hundred congregations, under the care
of five presbyteries and a general synod. It partook in Ire¬
land of the same changes which mark its history in England.
A large proportion of its ministers became imbued w’ith
Arian and Socinian views. In 1727 the presbytery of Antrim
seceded on this ground from the general body ; and more
recently, in 1829, a similar rupture took place, in conse¬
quence of which the Remonstrant Presbytery was formed.
Together with the presbytery of Munster, which dates from
1660, these two bodies form “the General Nonsubscribing
Presbyterian Association of Ireland.” From the times of
the persecution some Presbyterians had protested against
the acceptance of any indulgence. Their principles were
transmitted from generation to generation, till they appear
embodied in “ the Reformed Presbyterian Church of Ire¬
land.” The Secession in Scotland had also its representa¬
tives in Ulster, who latterly, in 1840, effected a junction
with the synod of Ulster, and both parties became merged
under the common name of “ the Presbyterian Church of
Ireland.” The present condition of the Presbyterian in¬
terest may be gathered from the statistics of the various
bodies composing it. The Presbyterian Church of Ireland
has 559 ministers and 514 congregations. In connection
with the Reformed Presbyterian Synods there are about
30 ministers and 40 congregations. The Secession is re¬
presented by 15 ministers, and as many congregations.
American Presbyterianism has a manifold but honour- America,
able origin. The main stream of immigration by which it
has been fed from the beginning of last century has been
from Ireland and Scotland. Before the close of the'seven¬
teenth century the greater number was from the latter
country. The Presbyterians of Ireland, however, long
after the Revolution, continued to labour under disabilities,
from the operation of the Sacramental Test Act, and from
the peculiar tenure of land, which induced emigration
to a greater extent from Ireland than from Scotland. Be¬
fore the middle of last century 12,000 annually left Ire¬
land for the New World. New Jersey, Pennsylvania,
Virginia, North and South Carolina, were the parts of
America to which Presbyterian emigrants directed their
course. Four other sources may be specified whence im¬
portant accessions have been derived to the general body
of American Presbyterianism,—The Puritans of England,
the Reformed Church of Holland, the Protestants of Ger¬
many, and the Huguenots of France. Philadelphia was
the seat of the first presbytery, which was organized in
1705, and consisted of seven ministers. In 1716 a synod
was formed ; and at length, as the church increased, the
body was divided in 1787 into four synods, under a general
%
492 PRESBYTERIANISM.
History, assembly. In 1729, by a formal act, the Confession of
Faith and Catechisms of the Westminster Assembly were
adopted. For more than a hundred years the harmony of
the church was not disturbed by any controversy on the
subject of doctrine. Three causes have been assigned for
the disruption of 1838, through which it divided into Old
School and New School Presbyterians,—an admixture
of Congregationalists from the New England States, who
naturally leant to their old ecclesiastical usages ; secondly,
the spread of erroneous sentiments on such points as ori¬
ginal sin, election, and efficacious grace, or at least attempts
to obviate the objections to them philosophically on prin¬
ciples that seemed to concede the doctrines themselves ;
and lastly, a preference by some for voluntary societies,
rather than ecclesiastical action, as the proper method for
the advancement of religious objects. 1 he Old School
were attached to the previous views and system of the
church on all these points. The New School has expe¬
rienced since 1857 a similar division,—the southern por¬
tion espousing a position of entire neutrality on the question
of slavery, and practically abetting it; while the northern
congregations are disposed to countenance an opposite line
of policy. According to an official statement in 1858, at
the end of May the Old School had 33 synods, 159 pres¬
byteries, 2468 ministers, 3357 churches, and 259,335 com¬
municants; while its contributions of various kinds for the
year had amounted to 2,632,717 dols. The New School,
on the other hand, has 26 synods, 120 presbyteries, 1613
ministers, 1686 churches, 143,410 communicants; its con¬
tributions for religious purposes last year amounted to
273,952 dols. The body seceding from the New School
in 1857 have taken the name of “ The United Synod of
the Presbyterian Church,” and numbers 113 ministers.
There is also a Free Presbyterian Church, which refuses
communion with slaveholders, and has 43 ministers.
There are other bodies which from the first have held a
separate standing in America. The Dutch Deformed,
almost from the middle of the seventeenth century, had a
footing in the States. They were under the government,
however, of the classis of Amsterdam till 1772, when they
obtained regular and independent organization under five
classes, subordinate to a general synod. In doctrine this
church is purely Calvinistic. It has about 330 ministers.
The German Reformed, moreover, has enjoyed an inde¬
pendent constitution since 1792, and has 350 ministers.
Since 1752 the Reformed Presbyterians had assumed
organization as a distinct body in the States; but their first
presbytery was constituted in 1774. In 1833 they divided
upon the question of their relations to the civil government
of the United States,—one party holding that, in conse¬
quence of the constitution supporting slavery and not recog¬
nising Christianity, it could not receive their conscientious
support; the other contending that it was not formally
opposed, but rather favourable on the whole to true religion,
and that slavery was an unconstitutional abuse, which they
did not despair of seeing rectified. There are now synods
belonging respectively to each of these parties,—the former,
styling itself the Synod of the Reformed Presbyterian Church,
has 53 ministers ; the latter, called the General Synod of the
Reformed Presbyterian Church, has the same number.
About the year 1754 the Associate Synod of North
America had its commencement, representing the Secession
Churches of Scotland ; and on a junction between some of
its members and some members of the Reformed Presby¬
terian Synod, the Associate Reformed Church was in 1782
originated—the attempt to unite two churches having
issued in the formation of three. In the course of 1858,
however, the Associate Synod and the Associate Reformed
effected a union, under the designation of The United Pres¬
byterian Church, which is distinguished from the main body
ot American Presbyterians by three points,—opposition to
slavery, attachment to an inspired psalmody, and dislike of. Churches
secret societies, connection with which excludes from their in Sco*&ncl
communion. Its ministers are 429 in number.
A large body, the Cumberland Presbyterians, dates its
existence from 1803. It arose from a proposal to license
and ordain laymen who had the gift of public utterance, in
order to meet a want of regularly-trained ministers. It
professes a modified Calvinism, embracing the doctrine of
universal atonement, but rejecting that of eternal reproba¬
tion, and qualifying that of election. It engrafts upon its
extreme Presbyterianism the itinerating system of the
Methodists. It is represented by 588 ministers.
The Lutheran Church, now containing upwards of 400
ministers, had for its first minister Jacob Fabricius, who
reached America in 1669. It received more effective or¬
ganization about the middle of last century. It is essen¬
tially Presbyterian, but differs from Lutheranism in Europe
by no longer insisting on the bodily presence of the Saviour
in the eucharist.
In Canada, under three different synods, respectively Canada,
connected with the Established, the Free, and the United
Presbyterian Churches in Scotland, there are 290 minis¬
ters. In Nova Scotia and New Brunswick there are fully
120 more, under different synods; while in other British
dependencies in America, such as Jamaica and Guiana,
about 50 more fall to be reckoned.
Presbyterianism has obtained an extensive footing in Australia
Australia, and is represented by nearly 100 ministers in
connection with the three largest denominations in Scot¬
land. In New Zealand there are about 20.
Presbyterian Churches in Scotland.
I. Established Church.—The legal position of this church, Esta-
as fixed at the period of the Revolution, depends upon BLISHrci>
three acts,—a statute, 1689, c. 2, by which Episcopacy was^HCacH'
abolished, and the Presbyterian church restored to its privi¬
leges and emoluments; another, 1690, c. 1, by which the
act in favour of the royal supremacy was repealed ; and a
third, the most important of all, 1690, c. 5, ratifying the
Confession of Faith, and establishing Presbyterian church
government in Scotland. By a separate act, the right of
patronage was cancelled, a pecuniary compensation awarded
to the patrons, and the presentation to vacant churches as¬
signed to the Protestant heritors and to the elders of the
parish, subject to the approval or rejection of the whole
congregation. The Act of Security, passed and adopted
in 1707, as the basis of the treaty of union, declared the
Presbyterian church government “ unalterable,” and “ the
only government of the church within the kingdom of Scot¬
land.” In 1712 the Patronage Act became law, by which
the rights of lay patrons were restored. The application
of this enactment in a way which, in the judgment of the
Seceders, wholly neutralized the rights of the people in the
appointment of ministers, gave rise to the Secession. The
enforcement of it, to the extent not merely of interfering
with the rights of the people, but with the spiritual juris¬
diction of the church, was the reason assigned for the Dis¬
ruption of 1843, by those who constituted themselves as a
separate communion into the Free Church.
Two parties gradually arose after the Revolution within the
pale of the church,—the one distinguished by their attach¬
ment to popular interests and liberties, and by a predilection
for those doctrines which stand opposed to the theory of Ar-
minianism; the other avowing, as the essence of their policy,
“the steady and uniform support of lay patronage,” and sus¬
picious of the doctrinal views of their opponents, as tending,
in their judgment, to Antinomian excess. The Marrow
controversy, which turned upon the merits of a book, evan¬
gelical in the opinion of the former, Antinomian in the
opinion of the latter, elicited a discordance of view amount-
P R E S B Y T
Churches ing to an open rupture. The party intent upon enforcing
in Scotland the law 0f patronage acquired the mastery. When Mr
Stark had been settled at Kinross against the wishes of the
parishioners, several ministers made a representation against
this course of policy. The Assembly refused to hear the
petition, and dismissed the complaint against the settlement
at Kinross. Feeling specially aggrieved because he had
not been allowed to enter his dissent, the Rev. Ebenezer
Erskine, in a sermon before the Synod of Fife, denounced
the corruption of the church. His brethren sentenced him
to a rebuke for his conduct; and on appeal to the Assembly,
that supreme court confirmed the sentence. Mr Erskine
accordingly, along with three other brethren, protested,
and left the church. In spite of an attempt at conciliation
by the Assembly of-the following year (1734), the four
brethren adhered to their position, and exerted themselves
in the formation of the Secession church. In 1752 the
Rev. Thomas Gillespie was deposed for contumacy, in
refusing to assist at the ordination of an unacceptable pre¬
sentee at Inverkeithing. The Relief church arose in con¬
sequence. Minuter details of these proceedings will be
given under the account of the United Presbyterian Church.
Principal Robertson, by whose resolute leadership the As¬
sembly had been guided in them, retired from the manage¬
ment of the church about 1780; but the party he represented
was so powerful that for a long period after his retirement
they had the chief sway in the councils of the church.
The next event of importance in the history of the Es¬
tablished Church was a movement in favour of its extension
by the erection of chapels of ease in 1795. It gave occa¬
sion to a controversy, in which the popular party conceived
it sufficient to leave with the presbytery the power of de¬
ciding whether such erections should be sanctioned ; while
their opponents insisted on retaining for the General As¬
sembly the final decision in every case. Another discus¬
sion arose which in successive Assemblies elicited singular
powers of eloquent debate on the part of their members,
till it was terminated in 1824 by an enactment against
plurality of offices, inhibiting any minister from combining
with a parochial charge the duties of a professorship in a
university. The same year is memorable in the annals of
the Assembly by the proposal of Dr Inglis to institute a
mission to the heathen. The result w7as the important and
successful mission to India, conducted ever since by the
Established Church. After a brief controversy in reference
to a heresy which took its name from the parish of its
origin (Row), and which embraced as its chief tenet the doc¬
trine of universal pardon, the church w’as agitated in 1832
by the renewal of the old struggle against patronage, through
means of an overture introduced into the Assembly crav¬
ing the restoration of the call, or the right of the people to
a share in the appointment of their pastors, by a real and
effective instead of a formal and nugatory expression of
their concurrence in their settlement over'them. The over¬
ture, however, was rejected. In 1833, at the instance of
Dr Cook, certain churches, built and partially endowed by
Parliament, were elevated to the full standing of parishes
so far as ecclesiastical privileges were concerned, and their
ministers admitted to the complete exercise of their official
rights in the courts of the church.
In the Assembly of 1834 Dr Chalmers became convener
of the committee for the extension of the church. He de¬
voted to the scheme all the energy and resources of his
character; so that, by the next Assembly he could report
new places of worship, completed or in course of erection, to
the number of sixty-four, while the liberality of the church
had responded to his appeals by a sum of L.66,000. Within
a period of seven years about 205 churches were erected.
In 1836 a scheme for providing ministers and churches to
the colonies was instituted. Two years later, a mission to
the Jews was undertaken. The circumstances under which
E R I A N I S M.
493
the I ree Church arose fall to be detailed in connection Churches
with the notice of that body which follows. The church in Scotland
after a prolonged and severe controversy with those who
separated from it at the Disruption in 1843, justified its
adherence to the position which it had assumed principally
on three grounds,—the constitution of the church as regu¬
lated by the law of patronage, the decisions of the civil
courts as confirming the interpretation which it put on the
bearings of that enactment, and the act of the legislature,
denominated Lord Aberdeen’s Act, according to which, it
was supposed, sufficient scope was given to the ecclesiastical
courts to reject a presentee if the reasons urged against
him were in their judgment valid. Within the last two
years some dissatisfaction has sprung up at the working of
this act, and changes have been proposed,—by one party
on the act itself, by others upon the ecclesiastical regula¬
tions for carrying it into effect.
It is singular that all the Scotch Presbyterian churches Standards,
owe their symbolic books to a convention mainly composed
of English divines—the Westminster Assembly. The doc¬
trinal standards of the Church of Scotland, as recognised
by act of Parliament (1690), are simply the Westminster
Confession of Faith. In some acts of Assembly the Cate¬
chisms, Larger and Shorter, receive ecclesiastical sanction,
and so far as the church connects itself with the church of
the first and second Reformation, it can make use of the
Form of government and Directory for worship, together
with the I irst and Second Books of Discipline, though the
exact amount of authority due to these latter documents
has been sometimes matter of dispute. In 1707 the Form
of Process for the regulation of discipline became the law
of the church.
The constitution of the Established Church embraces Constitu-
a fourfold gradation of courts. The kirk-session, under tion.
the superintendence of the minister, takes charge of the
spiritual interests of the parish, nominating new elders to
supply vacancies in its number; but these nominees are
ordained only after opportunity has been afforded to the
congregation to intimate any objections to them. The
presbyteries, 82 in number, consist equally of ministers
and elders. Theological professors, when resident within
the bounds, have a seat in these courts. The duties of the
presbytery are, to watch over the conduct of the ministers,
to examine students, to ordain to vacant parishes, and to
try the qualifications of schoolmasters. In regard to secular
interests—questions regarding church property,—the pres¬
bytery, according to law, is viewed as a different court, and
acting in a civil capacity. The synods, sixteen in number,
include several presbyteries. They are chiefly occupied
in the duty of reviewing, in the case of appeals, any deci¬
sions of the inferior court. The General Assembly is the
supreme court, possessed of the highest executive authority,
and the source of legislation. It is representative in its
constitution, consisting not of all the ministers of the church,
with a corresponding elder, but of persons nominated chiefly
by the various presbyteries. The presbyteries elect to
serve in it 200 ministers and 89 elders, the royal burghs
67 elders, the universities 5 ministers or elders, and the
churches in India 1 minister and 1 elder. There are thus
in every Assembly 363 members. In every Assembly, too,
a Lord High Commissioner appears as the representative
of the sovereign. By an act of Assembly in 1697, an im¬
portant restriction is laid upon its powers, known as the
Barrier Act, by which every measure seriously affecting
the forms of government and discipline must descend as an
overture to the presbyteries, and can only become law when
it has been approved of by a majority of them. The object
of the act is to secure the church against the dangers of
precipitate legislation.
The Established Church embraces 963 parish churches, Extent,
including collegiate churches as one parish, 42 parlia-
494 PRESBYTERIANISM.
Churches mentary churches, and 147 chapels of ease and quoad sacra
in Scotland churches. According to Sir James Graham’s Act, when
the concurrence of a majority of heritors has been ob¬
tained, and a competent endowment has been secured, any
quoad sacra church may be raised to all the privileges ol a
regular parish. Under the operation of this act, parochial
churches have been increased from 963 to 1006. Since
1843 the work of extending the church has been prose¬
cuted with great zeal and energy, and several new churches
have been erected. The large sum ol L.326,406 has been
raised for the purpose of endowing them, the subscriptions
in order to accomplish this object amounting, in 18o7 alone,
to L.61,188.
Endow- The provision for the support of the ministry in the
meins. Established Church embraces a manse, a glebe, and stipend.
Ministers in rural parishes and royal burghs have generally
manses, but in cities it is otherwise. The glebe consists
of arable land, generally exceeding four acres. The sti¬
pend is raised on the basis of the old system of teinds or
tithes, which, when seized by the crown at the Reforma¬
tion, were burdened, and continue burdened to this day,
with the support of the parochial minister. The court of
teinds determines the amount of land-produce to be allotted
for the purpose; and under a subsequent process, or decreet
of modification, landholders are proportionally assessed, in
order to raise the whole amount thus declared to be due
to the minister. Every twenty years, by an application to
the Court of Session, if he can prove that the resources of
the parish have increased, he may secure an augmentation
of his stipend. Since 1810, by an act of Parliament, all
stipends are made up out of the Exchequer to L.150. In
parishes recently constituted the stipend depends upon an
endowment through a fund raised by voluntary contributions.
Theological The last regulations on the subject of the education
education, required for the privilege of license and admission to the
ministry are contained in an act of Assembly (1856). All
the classes necessary for the degree of Master of Arts must
be attended in four successive sessions,—Greek and Latin
in the first session, logic and moral and natural philosophy,
separately, in the three following sessions. Mathematics
must be studied in a university at least for one session be¬
fore the student enters the class of natural philosophy.
The theological course is completed in four sessions; at¬
tendance is required for two sessions in the classes of
church history, Hebrew, and biblical criticism, if such classes
exist in the university to which the student belongs; while,
in regard to systematic theology, he may attend three
regular sessions and a partial one, or two regular, with three
partial sessions.
Schools. The care of the parochial schools has been entrusted to
the Church of Scotland, as from the first the church devised
and promoted the system of national education pursued in
them. The right of electing the schoolmaster is vested in
the minister of the parish, and all heritors in possession of
land to the amount of one hundred pounds Scots. The
schoolmaster is responsible for his moral conduct and pro¬
fessional diligence to the presbytery. According to a report
submitted by the inspector to the Privy Council in 1854,
the five classes of schools which follow, with the numbers
of each respectively, are in connection with, and more or less
under the care of the Established Church :—Parish schools,
1049; sessional, 119; General Assembly, 179; Christian
Knowledge Society, 232; and Gaelic School Society, 52.
Missions. The Church of Scotland has a mission in India, with
separate stations in Calcutta, Madras, and Bombay. The
missionaries, foreign and native, are about 10 in number.
It maintains also missionary operations, through means of
12 labourers, among the Jews in Karlsruhe, Salonica, Cas-
Colonial sandra, Smyrna, Voorla, Constantinople, and Alexandria,
churches. In connection with this church there are synods in Eng¬
land, Canada, Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, New South
Wales, and Victoria, together with presbyteries in Tas- Churches
mania and Guiana, and separate congregations in different'11 Scotland
parts of the world.
II. Free Church.—This denomination—the next in size Free
among the Presbyterian churches of Scotland—assumed Church.
distinct organization in May 1843, though it claims to re¬
present the Church of Scotland as recognised by the state
in the acts of 1592 and 1690. The causes which led to
the disruption of the Established Church in 1843 are some¬
what various. The movement of which it was the consum¬
mation was characterized by two stages,—the former being
simply a struggle for popular rights, and the latter an asser¬
tion of the intrinsic spiritual jurisdiction of the church
against what was deemed an invasion by the civil courts of
its independence. It is not difficult to trace the origin of
the movement. The theory of Presbyterianism implies a
certain amount of deference to the popular mind : histo¬
rically, the policy of the great leaders of the church, Knox,
Melville, and Henderson, had been to base it upon the
affections of the people, as the best safeguard against royal
encroachment or aristocratic domination ; and the tradi¬
tional conviction of its members for generations, confirmed
by the explicit doctrine of the First Book of Discipline,
had been, that it was the privilege of the people to elect
their ministers. Conspiring with the influence of these
facts to awaken a demand for the restoration of the privi¬
lege, were the revival of evangelical feeling within the pale
of the church and the rapid growth of dissent beyond it.
So soon as the former spread so far as to influence the ma¬
jority of the church, concession to popular right could not
but follow if the evangelical party were true to their own
principles, while the danger arising from the latter became
more obvious when the question was distinctly raised and
keenly debated as to the lawfulness of any alliance between
church and state. In the controversy which arose on this
point it was pleaded by the advocates of Established churches
that alliance with the state was a cumulative, not a privative
arrangement,—one which, without the least abatement of
its liberties, simply added to all the privileges enjoyed by
the church the express and formal sanction of the state ;
so that an Established church possessed a security for its
freedom beyond any Dissenting community. It was in
vain to urge this theory, however, when the yoke of pa¬
tronage all too plainly indicated the thraldom under which
the church was labouring. The zeal of its champions was
naturally in these circumstances led to devise, as indispen¬
sable for the safety of the church, some scheme of relief from
the yoke. The practical measure to accomplish this end bore
the name of the Veto, and was first proposed in the Assembly
of 1833 by Dr Chalmers. Since the call, or invitation
from the people to the presentee that he should accept and
fulfil the office of pastor over them, had all along been re¬
cognised as among the established forms and usages of the
church even under the law of patronage, it was believed
that it was still more within the power of the church to
ascertain how far the people concurred in the proposed
settlement, not by a positive call, but by a simple dissent.
It was only, however, in the ensuing Assembly of 1834
that the motion in favour of the Veto was carried. The
principle embodied in the motion is thus expressed :—“ If,
in moderating in a call to a vacant pastoral charge, the
major part of the male heads of families, members of the
vacant congregation and in full communion with the church,
shall disapprove of the person in whose favour the call is
proposed to be moderated in, such disapproval shall be
deemed sufficient ground for the presbytery rejecting such
person, and he shall be rejected accordingly.” The com¬
petency of the Assembly to pass such an enactment was
speedily tried before the civil courts. When a presenta-
tion to Auchterarder was issued, the call to the presentee
PRESBYTERIANISM.
Churches was signed only by 3, while a protest against his settlement
in Scotland was signed by 287 out of 330 persons on the roll of com-
munion. In obedience to the regulations of the Assembly,
he was rejected by the presbytery. The patron ultimately
took the case into the Court of Session. The discussion
turned on the points, whether it was competent for the
Assembly to pass such an enactment as the Veto; and if
this point fell to be decided in the negative, whether any
other result could follow than the forfeiture by the church,
during the lifetime of the presentee, of all the civil emolu¬
ments of the benefice. By a majority of seven against
five judges, it was ruled, on March 8, 1838, that the Veto
Act was illegal.
The struggle at this stage took a new form ; it now be¬
came resistance to civil encroachment on the spiritual
jurisdiction of the church, as well as the maintenance of
popular rights. Resolutions in support of the independence
of the church were passed in the Assembly of 1838, and it
was agreed to prosecute the appeal against the decision of
the Court of Session to the House of Lords. The supreme
court confirmed the decision of the inferior. The course
taken by the Assembly, when it met in the following May
of 1839, was to enjoin “ implicit obedience to the decisions
of the civil courts in regard to civil rights and emoluments,”
while it adhered to the principle of non-intrusion as “ an
integral part of the constitution of the church.” Several
cases—Lethendy, Marnoch, and others—speedily occurred
in which the collision between the civil and ecclesiastical
courts was renewed. In the judgment of those who formed
the majority of the Assembly at this time, and who after¬
wards organized themselves into the Free Church, ac¬
cording to their protest at the disruption, the effect of
the decisions in the courts of law was—1. That the courts
of the church, in their spiritual functions, were coerced
by the civil courts to the extent of being compelled to in¬
trude ministers on reclaiming congregations; 2. That civil
interdicts could arrest the preaching of the gospel and the
administration of ordinances by the church ; 3. That spirit¬
ual censures could be suspended by civil courts; 4. That
deposed ministers and probationers deprived of their license
could be restored to their status by a civil mandate; 5.
That the right of membership in ecclesiastical courts could
be determined by the civil courts ; 6. That a minority of the
former, in defiance of a majority, could be authorized by the
civil courts to exercise spiritual functions ; 7. That processes
of discipline could be arrested by the civil courts; and
lastly, That without the sanction of the civil courts no pro¬
vision could be made for the spiritual cure of a parish,
although such provision left all civil rights and patrimonial
interests untouched. Smarting under such grievances, the
church composed a claim of rights, which, when presented
to both houses of legislature, was rejected. Various in¬
effectual attempts to adjust the difference had been made,
and bills proposed by Lord Aberdeen and the Duke of
Argyle. Prolonged and intricate negotiations to secure
relief had also failed. The Assembly of 1843 arrived; and,
since the government still declined to interfere, Dr Welsh,
as moderator of last Assembly, proceeded, immediately
after prayer, to read the protest to which we have just
alluded, signed by 203 members of the court, against the
lawfulness of a court met under liabilities to civil coercion
in its spiritual procedure, and announcing their intention to
withdraw from the Establishment. Having read the pro¬
test, he bowed to the commissioner and retired, followed
by all who adhered to it, amid the deep emotion of the
spectators, who could not but reverence, whatever view
they took of the questions at issue, the magnanimity of men
thus laying on the altar of principle the costly sacrifice of
their endowments.
The number of ministers who signed the deed of de-
mission by which they renounced all claim to their sti¬
495
Extent.
pends was 474. A few more were subsequently added to Churches
the list. I he increase of the church has been such, thatin Scotland
it now has upwards of 800 ministers, under 71 presbyteries v'—v—'
and 16 synods. The congregations amount to 867.
The support procured for these ministers, and for the Support,
other objects of the Free Church, is one of the marvels of
Christian liberality in modern times. Before the Disrup¬
tion, the members of the church had undergone but a par¬
tial training for the maintenance of Christian schemes. All
at once they took rank as among the foremost of Christian
churches in contributions for the support and extension of
the gospel. The ministry is supported from two sources, 
a common sustentation fund, from which each minister
draws an equal dividend, varying according to the amount
of the fund annually; and the supplementary contributions
which a congregation may feel it needful to give its pastor.
By the former, provision is made against the caprice of a
congregation, if disposed to interfere unduly with the faith¬
fulness of a pastor in the exercise of his office; by the
latter, a stipend may be adjusted to local necessities and
peculiar claims. At the close of the financial year in March
1858, the former rose to L.110,254, yielding a dividend of
L.138 to each minister on the fund; the congregational
fund, from which the supplements are drawn, but which at
the same time covers other expenses, amounted to L.52,556.
I he building fund, for the erection of new churches and
manses, was L.46,896; and the fund for missions and edu¬
cation L.56,7/6 ; besides a fund for miscellaneous objects,
amounting to L.25,386. Besides their stipends, a large
proportion of the ministers—about 570—occupy manses pro¬
vided for them by the church.
The standards of the Free Church are “ the several for- Standards,
mularies as ratified, with certain explanations, by divers
acts of Assembly in the years 1645, 1646, and particularly
in 1647.” These formularies are,—the Confession of Faith,
to which subscription is exacted from every office-bearer;
the Catechisms, Larger and Shorter, which are enjoined
as useful for catechising; the Directory for Public Wor¬
ship ; the Form of Church-government and the Directory
for Family Worship; which are to be used as regulations
rather than tests. The Sum of Saving Knowledge is also
recognised. All office-bearers, on admission to office, must
subscribe a formula binding them to the Claim of Right and
the Protest.
T\\& constitution of the Free Church is not materially Constitu-
different from that of the Establishment. There is the tion-
same gradation of courts, the ministers are chosen by the
members of the church, and the General Assembly is com¬
posed exclusively of representatives in a certain proportion
from each presbytery,—240 ministers and 240 elders, with
two professors from each of the three theological faculties.
There are now 614 schools under the care of the Free Schools.
Church, along with two normal schools. The sum raised
in support of them last year was L. 16,673.
The Free Church, in regard to the education of candi- Theological
dates for the ministry, adopts the same course in science, education,
literature, and philosophy with the Established Church. It
has, however, three theological halls,—one in Edinburgh,
another in Glasgow, and a third in Aberdeen. In session
1857-8, 127 students attended the hall in Edinburgh, 36
in Glasgow, and 24 in Aberdeen. The general course of
education in theology embraces the various departments of
apologetic, systematic, and exegetical theology, together
with Hebrew and church history. Four sessions of attend¬
ance at the hall are required. In regard to two of them,
liberty of partial attendance is granted, though seldom, only
on special application, and on the understanding that two
years of enrolment are given in compensation.
There are in connection with the foreign missions of the Missions.
Free Church 35 ordained missionaries : 20 at various sta¬
tions in India—Calcutta, ChinsuraR Bombay, Madras, Puna,
PRESS YT ERIANISM.
496
Churches Sattara, and Na^pore, assisted by 10 ordained native mis-
in Scotland sionaries . anc] 5 at four different stations in Africa. There
are 9 missionaries labouring among the Jews in Constan¬
tinople, Amsterdam, Breslau, Pestb, Frankfort, and Galatz.
Besides these schemes, the Free Church has instituted
evangelical operations for the benefit of the large towns,
the Highlands, and various localities in the rural districts
of Scotland.
Affiliated There are several synods,—in Canada, Nova Scotia, New
churches. Brunswick, Eastern Australia, Victoria, and New Zealand,
together with presbyteries in South Australia and I asma-
nia, and separate congregations in Africa, the East and^
West Indies, and some important cities in Europe, all of
which are in close and direct connection with the Free
Church of Scotland.
United jjj_ United Presbyterian Church.—The causes which
Preset- je[j tjle ^rgt secessi0n from the Church of Scotland had
Church, existed from the memorable era of the Revolution. The
first Parliament which met after that event abolished Epis¬
copacy, and the royal supremacy in ecclesiastical affairs,
ratified the Westminster Confession of Faith, together with
the Presbyterian form of church government and disci¬
pline, abolished patronage, and vested the election of minis¬
ters in the heritors and elders, with the consent of the
congregation. But this ecclesiastical settlement was in
various respects incomplete, and disappointed the hopes of
the most zealous Presbyterians. King William, who had
no strong predilection in favour of any one form of church
government, was anxious to conciliate both Episcopalians
and Presbyterians : while, therefore, he approved of the law
which restored to their parishes the ministers who had been
ejected at the Restoration, lie was at the same time de¬
sirous that as many as possible of the present incumbents
should be allowed to retain their position in connection
with the new ecclesiastical establishment. The leaders of
the Presbyterian party were easily induced to acquiesce in
this policy; and accordingly the General Assembly, in 1694,
opened to the Episcopal ministers a wide door of admission
into the national church. Great multitudes of the “curates,”
as they were termed, were induced, for the sake of their be¬
nefice, to transfer their respect and obedience from the bishop
to the presbytery, and were received “ into ministerial com¬
munion” on merely acknowledging that “ the church go¬
vernment, as now settled by law, is the only government
of this church.” The better class of the Episcopalian
clergy refused thus to barter their principles for a mess of
pottage; and the greater part of those who conformed,
amounting to several hundreds, belonged to the class de¬
scribed by Bishop Burnet “ as generally very mean and
despicable in all respects, and the worst preachers he had
ever heard.” The admission of these time-servers into
the new establishment exercised a very injurious influence
both on its preaching and its polity, and laid the founda¬
tion of those measures which ultimately led to the Secession.
At the union of Scotland and England in 1707 the
Protestant religion, as by law established, was ratified, to¬
gether with the Presbyterian form of church government
and discipline, and the unalterable continuance of both
was declared to be an essential condition of the union of
the two kingdoms in all time coming. In spite of this
solemn pledge, that the constitution of the national church
should not be tampered with by the British legislature,
the right of the people to choose their pastors was wrested
from them in 1712 by the Tory government, in resent¬
ment, it has been said, of the warm attachment which the
Church of Scotland had shown to the Hanoverian dynasty.
It is probable, however, that the real ground of the measure
was a desire to secure a more complete control over the pro¬
ceedings of the ecclesiastical courts, and to render the church
subservient to the designs of the government. The oath
of abjuration, which was imposed about the same time, Churches
proved a fertile source of discord both among ministers and in Scotian)
people. This oath was regarded with great jealousy, and v 
was peculiarly obnoxious to the Presbyterian clergy, both
because its avowed design was the security of the Church
of England, and because it seemed to imply an approbation
of diocesan Episcopacy with the ceremonies of that church,
and a recognition of the Queen’s supremacy in matters of
religion. About a third part of the clergy, including the
founders of the Secession, positively refused to swear this
offensive oath, though they were enjoined to do so on pain of
ejection from their churches, and of paying an exorbitant
fine.
For some time after the revival of patronage in 1712, the \
severity of the law was greatly mitigated by the 'general
disinclination, on the part both of ministers and patrons, to
avail themselves of its provisions in opposition to the feel¬
ings of the people. But after the lapse of a few years, ' v '
patrons no longer hesitated to take advantage of their
legal rights, and ministers were no longer disinclined to »
accept of presentations although given contrary to the
wishes of the congregation. On the part of the people acts
of resistance to the nominees of the patrons became more
frequent and more obstinate, though they were almost uni¬
formly unsuccessful; for the ruling party among the clergy •
were firm in their resolution that the law of patronage
should be carried into effect. They found themselves, how¬
ever, placed in circumstances of peculiar difficulty; for not
only were the people loud in their remonstrances against
violent settlements, but a considerable party of the minis¬
ters themselves strenuously opposed the intrusion of presen¬
tees upon congregations, and obstinately refused to carry
into effect the decisions of the church-courts. To obviate
this difficulty, in 1729 the Assembly appointed a committee
of its own number to meet and ordain the obnoxious pre¬
sentee ; and for a period of twenty years this expedient was
resorted to in cases where the presbytery proved refractory.
The excitement of the people, and their resistance to the
yoke of patronage, continued to increase; violent settle¬
ments prevailed in every part of the country; and in some
cases the popular feeling was so strong that it was deemed
necessary to employ an armed force to carry into effect the
decisions of the church-courts. At the meeting of the As¬
sembly in 1730, there were no fewer than twelve cases of
appeals on the part of congregations against the intrusion
of obnoxious ministers; but the dominant party were so
determined to crush all opposition to their enactments,
that they not only dismissed these appeals, but solemnly
enacted, at this meeting of the Assembly, that hencefor¬
ward no reasons of dissent “ against the determination of
church judicatures” should be entered on the record; thus
in the most unconstitutional manner taking away the
power even of complaint. The Assembly of 1731 followed
closely in the footsteps of its predecessor. By the law of
patronage it was provided, that if the patron suffered six
months to elapse without exercising his right of presenta¬
tion, the presbytery to which the vacant parish belonged
was empowered to take steps for its settlement. The pres¬
byteries in these cases frequently gave the people the right
of choosing their ministers ; and with the view of destroy¬
ing this last remnant of popular election, an overture was
laid before the Assembly of 1731, proposing that when the
right of appointment devolved upon presbyteries, the power
of election in vacant parishes should belong only to the
elders and Protestant heritors, and, in royal burghs to the
elders, magistrates, and town-council. This overture was
transmitted to the different presbyteries, that, according to
the regulations of the Barrier Act, their opinion respecting
it might be given at next meeting of the Assembly ; and
though a great majority of those presbyteries from whom
reports were received expressed disapprobation of the mea-
PRESB YTE BTl A N I S M.
Churches sure, tlie supporters of the overture obtained a majority of
in Scotland the Assembly of 1732 in its favour.1
Mr Ebenezer Erskine and some other ministers pro¬
tested against this decision as being unconstitutional, but
the Assembly refused either to receive or record their pro¬
test. Forty-two ministers then addressed a memorial to
the Assembly respecting these arbitrary enactments ; but
the document was not even allowed to be read ; and a simi¬
lar remonstrance, signed by seventeen hundred elders and
laymen, was treated with equal contempt.
These violent and unconstitutional proceedings excited
great indignation and alarm throughout the community;
and a series of events which occurred at the same time
/ showed that the dominant party in the church were not
only ready to sacrifice the rights and liberties of the people
at the'shrine of authority, but were indifferent, if not
hostile to the fundamentai doctrines of evangelical reli-
' gion. The conduct of the Assembly towards the Pres¬
bytery of Auchterarder in the year 1717, with regard to
• what has since been denominated the Auchterarder Creed,
—the vindictive proceedings against the twelve ministers,
• known by the name of “ Marrow men,” who endeavoured
to check the progress of error by reprinting and circulat¬
ing a celebrated treatise of the sixteenth century entitled
the Marrow of Modern Divinity,2—and the unqualified con¬
demnation of the doctrines of that work by the Assembly
in 1720, presented a chilling and melancholy contrast to
the leniency shown to Professor Simpson of Glasgow, who,
though found guilty of teaching from the chair of theology
a system of combined Arianism and Pelagianism, was
merely suspended from his ecclesiastical functions, and that
with undisguised reluctance, while he was continued in the
fellowship of the church, and in the enjoyment of all his
official endowments.
The great body of the people, together with a section of
the clergy, were indignant at this rapid declension of the
national church both in doctrine and discipline. In the
language of the times, “ the carved work thereof was
broken down, and the heritage was desolate.” The breach
between the dominant party and their opponents daily
widened, and a crisis speedily came.
Among the opponents of the arbitrary measures of the
Assembly in 1732, Ebenezer Erskine, minister of Stirling,
held a prominent place. Though the son of an ejected
clergyman in the days of the persecution, he was descended
from the Erskines of Shielhill, a branch of the ancient and
noble house of Mar. He thus, as Mr Burton remarks,
united those two idols of the Scottish common people,
which they regretted to see so seldom in conjunction, anti¬
quity of blood and orthodoxy of creed. He was a scholar
and a gentleman, as well as a popular preacher; and his
talents and learning, his faithfulness in the discharge of his
ministerial duties, and his intrepidity and zeal in the cause
of truth and liberty, had secured him the respect and
esteem of his brethren, as well as extensive influence
among the people. In the various important questions
which had been agitated after his entrance into the minis-
try, the abjuration oath, the controversy respecting the
Marroiv of Divinity, and the process carried on against
I rofessor Simpson, he had shown himself an active and
fearless opponent of the measures pursued by the rulino-
party in the church. He was not only one of those who
signed the representation of grievances laid before the As¬
sembly in 1732, but being a member of Assembly that
497
jear, he spoke and protested against its rejection. Being Churches
at that time moderator of the synod of Penh and Stirling in Scotland
he opened the meeting at Perth, on the 10th of October 3-—'
following, with a sermon from Psalm cxviii. 22, in the
course of which he remonstated against the act of the pre¬
ceding Assembly with regard to the settlement of ministers
alleging that it was contrary to the word of God and the
established constitution of the church. These statements
gave great offence to several members of synod, and after
the court was constituted, and a new moderator chosen, a
formal complaint was lodged against him, for uttering seve¬
ral offensive expressions in this sermon.3 This was done
accordingly, and Mr Erskine having been heard in replv,
after a hot and keen debate of three days, the synod, by a
majority of six votes, found Mr Erskine censurable for some
expressions in his sermon, “ tending to disquiet the peace
of the church, and impugning several acts of Assembly, and
pioceedings of church judicatories.” Against this sentence
Mi Eiskine protested, and appealed to the General Assem¬
bly. That venerable court, which met in May 1733, affirmed
the sentence of the synod. Mr Erskine, however, declared
that he could not submit in silence to the rebuke and ad¬
monition, and presented a written protest, to the effect,
that as the Assembly had found him censurable, and had
rebuked him for doing what he conceived to be agreeable
to the wrord of God and the standards of the church, he
should be at liberty to teach the same truths, and to testify
against the same or similar evils, on every proper occasion.
1 o this protest Messrs William Wilson, minister at Perth,
Alexander Moncrieff, minister at Abernethy, and James
Fisher, minister at Kinclaven, gave in a written adherence.
The Assembly, in accordance with the arbitrary rule which
had given so much offence, refused to permit the protest
to be read, and the four protesters left the paper on the
table and withdrew. Here the matter would in all proba¬
bility have terminated, as at that period none of the four
entertained any intention of separating from the national
church. But an overruling Providence had ordered it
otherwise. The court had proceeded to a different business,
vvhen the protest, which had fallen from the table, was ac¬
cidentally picked up by a certain Mr James Nasmyth,
minister of Dalmeny, designated by a contemporary “ a
fiery man in the corrupt measures of that time.” Upon
perusing the document, he rose with great indignation, and
called the attention of the Assembly to the insult which
he alleged had been offered to their authority. The pro¬
test being read, a great uproar ensued, and the Assembly
ordered their officer to summon the four brethren to appear
at the bar of the court next day. They obeyed the cita¬
tion, and a committee was appointed to retire with them in
order to persuade them to withdraw their paper. The
committee having reported that their persuasions had pro¬
duced no effect on the minds of the brethren, the Assembly
ordered them to appear before the Commission in August
following, and retract their protest; and if they should not
comply, and testify their sorrow for their conduct, the Com¬
mission was empowered to suspend them from the exercise
of their ministry, and even to proceed to a higher censure in
case of their acting contrary to the sentence of suspension.
The Commission met in August accordingly, and the
four ministers still adhering to their protest, were suspended
from the exercise of their office. At the meeting of the
Commission in November, they were severed from their
respective charges, their churches declared vacant, and all
Reports were received from forty-nine presbyteries; six approved of the overture without alteration, twelve on condition that cer¬
tain important amendments were introduced, while thirty-one gave it their unqualified condemnation. Eighteen presbyteries gave in
2 The author of this famous treatise was Edward Fisher of Brazenose College, Oxford.
• The persons who took the lead in moving for investigation were, Messrs Adam Ferguson, minister at Logierait; James Mercer,
nn aister at Aberdalgie; James Mackie, minister at Forteviot, afterwards at St Ninians; and the Laird of Glendoig, ruling elder.
VOL. XVIII. o „
PRESBYTERIANISM.
498
Churches ministers of the Church of Scotland were prohibited from
in Scotlandemploying them in any ministerial function. When ns
sentence was intimated to the four brethren, they protested
that their ministerial office and pastoral relation should be
held firm and valid, that they still adhered to the principles
of the true Presbyterian Covenanting Church of Scotland,
though they were now obliged to “ make a secession from
the prevailing party in the ecclesiastical courts, and that
it should be lawful for them to preach the gospel and dis¬
charge all the duties of the pastoral office according to the
word of God, the Confession of Faith, and the constitution
of the Church and they concluded their dignified protest
by an appeal to “ the first free, faithful and reforming Ge¬
neral Assembly of the Church of Scotland.
The Secession properly commenced at this date. A few
weeks after their expulsion from the national church, the
four brethren met at Gairney Bridge, a small hamlet in the
neighbourhood of Kinross (5th December 1 / 32), and for¬
mally constituted themselves into a presbytery. In the
new and trying circumstances in which they were placed
they conducted themselves with great caution and pru¬
dence. Anxious to avoid everything like rashness oi pre¬
cipitancy, they resolved to hold their meetings chiefly for
prayer and religious conference, and to defer proceeding
to any judicial acts till they should see whethei the eccle¬
siastical courts would retrace their steps.
Meanwhile the harsh and unjust treatment of the four
brethren had excited great agitation throughout the country.
The mass of the people regarded Mr Eiskine and his as¬
sociates as sufferers for the cause of truth and religious
freedom. Many of the clergy themselves sympathized
with the Seceders, and the sentence against them had been
carried only by the casting-vote of the moderator or chair¬
man of the Commission. The ruling party felt that in
their eagerness to crush opposition, they had gone too fast
and too far, and they now saw the necessity of making
some concessions in order to allay the public agitation,
and prevent the spread of disaffection and schism. When
therefore the Assembly met in 1734, it was seen that a
considerable re-action had taken place in that body. When
the Commission-book was examined, there was some
marked reservations made in the approval of its proceed¬
ings. The act of 1730 forbidding church-courts to record
dissents and protests, and the act of 1732 respecting the
settlement of vacant parishes, were repealed. The Com¬
mission was directed to petition his Majesty and the Par¬
liament for the repeal of the Patronage Act; and the Assem¬
bly authorized the Synod of Perth and Stirling to restore
the ejected ministers to their respective charges and minis¬
terial position.
It was supposed that the dispute between tbe Seceders
and the Assembly was now amicably settled, and to show
that the reconciliation was sincere, the Presbytery of Stir¬
ling elected Mr Erskine their moderator, and sent a deputa¬
tion to request him to accept the office. The four brethren,
however, were not satisfied that it was their duty to return
to the bosom of the church from which they had been
ejected. Their strong attachment to the church of their
fathers had kept them within its pale, although feeling
deeply day by day that it was rapidly degenerating both
in doctrine and discipline. But now that they had been
expelled from its communion for their fidelity to the cause
of truth and justice, they at once took their stand upon the
original constitution of the Scottish Establishment, and thus
put an impassable gulf between them and the men who
swayed the counsels of its degenerate successor. They
were of opinion that the reforms which had been made
by the Assembly of 1734 were dictated merely by policy
and by no real regard for the cause of truth. The sentence
against them had indeed been rescinded, not, however, be- Churches
cause it was unjust, but simply because it was inexpedient, in Scotland
for the synod was expressly forbidden to judge of its
legality or formality.” They were therefore treated merely
as pardoned offenders, not as the vindicators of the prin¬
ciples and constitution of the church; and they had no se¬
curity against a repetition of the unconstitutional and sinful
acts against which they had testified. After long and care¬
ful deliberation, therefore, they were unanimously of opinion
that it was their duty to remain in a state of separation till
they should see unequivocal and decided evidence that
the course of defection was in reality abandoned. “ Some
brethren call upon us to come in and help them against
the current of defection,” said Ebenezer Erskine, “ but
now that the hand of Providence has taken us out of the
current against which we were swimming, and set us upon
the reformation ground, by a solemn testimony and consti¬
tution, it would be vain for us to endanger ourselves by
running into the current again, unless our reverend brethren
who caTl for our help can persuade us that our doing so
will turn the current and save both them and ourselves,
and so preserve the Lord’s work and testimony.”1 On form¬
ing themselves into a presbytery in 1733, they drew up
what was termed an extrajudicial Testimony to the doc¬
trine, worship, and government of the Church of Scotland,
together with a statement of the grounds of their secession.
But now assuming a loftier tone, they prepared a docu¬
ment setting forth the reasons of their refusal to abandon
their separate position, and stating the terms on which they
were willing to return to the bosom of the Establishment.
The proceedings of the Assemblies of 1735 and 1736
seemed to the seceding ministers fully to justify the opinions
which they had formed respecting the measures adopted
by the Assembly of 1734, and to dispel, for the time at
least, all hopes of a reunion with the Established Church.
They therefore proceeded to exercise “judicial powers” as
a church court, published “ A Judicial Testimony,” and
organized churches in various parts of the country. In
1737 the celebrated Ralph Erskine of Dunfermline, brother
of Ebenezer ErskiiTe, and three other ministers, abandoned
the Establishment, and joined the “ Associate Presbytery,”
which now consisted of eight clerical members. Numerous
and urgent applications for supply of sermon having been
received from nearly all the lowland districts ot Scotland;
and the Seceders having now renounced all hopes of a re¬
union with the national Church, resolved to adopt measures
for extending and perpetuating the benefits of the Secession.
Accordingly, Mr Wilson of Perth, a person of great ability
and learning, was chosen professor of divinity, and entrusted
with the education of candidates for the ministry. 1 hese
measures necessarily produced a complete separation be¬
tween the Seceding ministers and the Establishment. I hey
were cited to answer for their conduct at the bar of the
Assembly in 1739, and obeyed the summons, appearing be¬
fore the court as a constituted presbytery, and formally
declined the Assembly’s authority. The court was
startled at this “ unparalleled boldnessand though it
declared the refractory ministers worthy ol deposition, did
not venture to pronounce sentence against them till next
year, when they were all deposed, and ordered to be ejected
from their churches. But though deprived ot the position
and emoluments connected with the Establishment, they all
continued to discharge the duties of their office in their
respective congregations, who zealously adhered to their
ministry, erected places of worship for them, and provided
for their support. Meanwhile, cases of violent settlements of
ministers increased throughout the country ; and the oppo¬
sition of the parishioners was frequently so formidable and
popular, and the excitement so great, as to render the at-
1 Letter from the Rev. Ebenezer Erskine to the Presbytery of Stirling.
PRESBYTERIANISM.
Churches tendance of a guard of soldiers necessary at ordinations,
in Scotland These contests had of course a powerful influencejin swell-
ing the ranks of the Seceders. Had they been men “ after
this world,” skilful in devising and carrying out schemes
for the organization of masses of men, there can be little
doubt that, notwithstanding the hostility of the nobles and
gentry, they might, by dexterous management, have in¬
duced the great majority of the middle and lower classes
to abandon the Establishment and join the cause of the
Secession. Even as it was, without any plan or organized
system for the extension of their cause, it rapidly “ grew
and multiplied.” New accessions were made to them from
all quarters. Upwards of seventy applications for sermon
were made to the Associate Presbytery during the years
1737-38. Young men were licensed to preach the gospel
in connection with the Secession. Some even of the pro¬
bationers of the Established Church joined the new body ;
and their theological hall was in such a flourishing condi¬
tion, that in the year 1741 it was attended by a greater
number of candidates for the ministry than any of the
Scottish universities except Edinburgh. The presbytery
speedily expanded into a synod, consisting of thirty settled
congregations and sixteen vacancies, and held its first
meeting at Stirling in 1745-46, the memorable year of the
Rebellion.
The progress of the Secession, however, was greatly im¬
peded by an unhappy controversy which arose at this
time respecting the religious clause of the oath taken
by burgesses in Edinburgh, Glasgow, and Perth. One
party insisted that no Seceder should be allowed to swear
this oath, as it was utterly inconsistent with the Secession
Testimony; while the other urged that it should be made a
matter of forbearance. “ So sharp was the contention be¬
tween them,” that at the meeting of synod in April 1747,
after several long and stormy discussions, an entire separa¬
tion took place between the contending parties. Seldom
has the truth of Father Paul’s remark been more strikingly
verified,—“ In verbal contentions, the smallness of the dif¬
ference often nourishes the obstinacy of the parties.”
Those who condemned the swearing of the burgess oath
as sinful were called “ Antiburghers,” and the other party
who contended that it should be declared not to be a term
of communion were designated “ Burghers.” The latter
made various attempts to bring about a reconciliation with
the opposing party, but without success. The “ Anti¬
burghers” not only refused to agree to a proposal that they
should hold a general meeting for prayer and friendly con¬
ference, but ultimately went the length of passing sentence
of deposition and excommunication, with all due formality,
on Messrs Ebenezer and Ralph Erskine, James Fisher,
and the other ministers who had adopted the opposite
views respecting the swearing of the burgess oath. A
furious controversy raged between them for a number of
years, both from the pulpit and the press. In the course
of time, however, this hostility subsided; a feeling of cor¬
diality gained ground; and after a separation of upwards
of seventy years, the two bodies were again united into
one.
These divisions among the Seceders afforded an excel¬
lent opportunity to the dominant party in the national
church to have regained their lost influence with the
people; but instead of availing themselves of it to check
the progress of the Secession, they only becanje more
hostile to the doctrines of evangelical religion, and more
resolute in enforcing the law of patronage. “ The lan¬
guage of the majority in Assemblies at this time,” says the
late Sir Henry Moncrieff, “ universally was, that the seces¬
sion from the church, instead of increasing, was on the de¬
cline, and that the superior character and talents of the
Established clergy were gradually weakening its resources, Churches
and would ultimately exhaust them. Experience has notin Scotland
verified these sanguine expectations. At the distance of
a few years after Dr Robertson retired, the people, dis¬
gusted with unsuccessful processes before the Assembly,
relinquished the plan of their predecessors, and came sel¬
dom to the Assembly with appeals from the sentences of
the inferior courts appointing the settlement of presentees
whom they resisted. But they began to do more quietly,
or with less observation than formerly, what was not less
unfriendly to the Establishment. In ordinary cases they
now leave the church courts to execute their sentences
without opposition, and set themselves immediately to rear
a meeting-house, which very frequently carries off a large
portion of the inhabitants of the parish.”1 This state of
comparative quiescence, however, was not produced with¬
out long and severe struggles for many years: the disputes
in the church courts respecting the settlements of minis¬
ters were incessant. In the year 1751, an unpopular minis¬
ter having been presented to the church and parish of In-
verkeithing, the great body of the parishioners protested
against his settlement amongst them, the presbytery of
Dunfermline refused to induct him, and the synod of Fife
proved equally refractory. The case was brought before
the Assembly of 1752, and, mainly through the influence
of Dr Robertson, it peremptorily enjoined the Presbytery
of Dunfermline to proceed with the settlement of the pre¬
sentee, and ordered all the members of presbytery to attend
on that occasion. Six ministers who absented themselves,
from conscientious scruples, were brought to the bar of the
Assembly ; and one of them, Mr Thomas Gillespie, minis¬
ter of Carnock, near Dunfermline, was immediately de¬
posed; three others were deprived of the power of sitting
in all church courts except their own sessions. This
tyrannical and most disgraceful proceeding led to another
secession from the Established Church. Mr Gillespie, not¬
withstanding his deposition, continued his ministrations in
the neighbouring town of Dunfermline ; and a few years
after, he and a son of the celebrated Thomas Boston of
Etterick, and a Mr Collier, formed themselves into a pres¬
bytery, and became the founders of that numerous and re¬
spectable body of Dissenters entitled the Synod of Relief
(now merged in the United Presbyterian Church), formed
for the purpose of giving relief to oppressed Christians
from the yoke of patronage and the tyranny of the church
courts.
The downward progress of the Established Church, both
in doctrine and in discipline, still continued. The funda¬
mental doctrines laid down in its standards were denied
by many of its ministers, and Pelagian and Socinian errors
were openly taught by them, both in the pulpit and through
the press. At length Principal Robertson himself became
alarmed at the proceedings of his followers, and retired
from the leadership of the Assembly in 1781, partly at
least, if not mainly, because a section of the “ moderate
party” insisted on getting rid of the Confession of Faith
altogether. In these circumstances it is not to be wondered
at that the spirit of disaffection continued to spread among
the members of the Establishment, and that the Seceders
rapidly increased in numbers, in spite of the strife that pre¬
vailed among themselves at this period. Not only did the
Associate Synods steadily extend their influence in Scot¬
land by the accessions which they were constantly making
to the ranks of their adherents, but they sent preachers to
England, to Ireland, and even to America, and erected a
considerable number of Secession congregations in these
countries.
Towards the close of the eighteenth century the tran¬
quillity of the Associate synods was again disturbed by a
1 Appendix to Life, of Dr Erskine, by Sir II. Wellwood Moncrieff, Bart., p. 464.
PRESBYTERIANIS M.
500
Churches controversy respecting the power of the civil magistrate in
in Scotland 0f religionj an(J the perpetual obligation of the na-
tional covenant. A great majority in both synods abandoned
the old ground held by the early Covenanters; denied the
right of the civil magistrate to interfere with the church,
and of the church to accept the support of the state;
declared that the power of the church is wholly spiritual,
while the end of civil government is the public and tem¬
poral good of civil society ; that neither of these kingdoms
has power over the other; that the church has no civil
authority, and the magistrate no spiritual jurisdiction.
These principles, thirty years later, led to what is called the
“ voluntary controversy,” which raged fiercely for several
years, and has exercised a most momentous influence upon
the religious condition of Scotland. In consequence of
these “ New Light” views, as they were termed, a small
party who held the opinions stated in the Confession of
Faith respecting the right and duty of the civil magistrate,
seceded from both synods. Dr M‘Crie, the able and
learned biographer of Knox and Melville, and several
other ministers, quitted the Antiburgher Synod on this
ground in 1804, and formed themselves into a distinct pres¬
bytery. A few years earlier the Burgher Synod agreed
not to require from their ministers an approbation of those
“ parts of their standard-books which have been inter¬
preted as favouring compulsory measures in religion,” or of
“ the obligation of the national covenants upon posterity.”
Three ministers protested against this decision, constituted
themselves into a distinct presbytery, and became the
founders of the “ Original Burgher Synod,” which in 1839
returned into the bosom of the national church. An at¬
tempt was made by these separatists to obtain possession of
the property of the synod, on the alleged ground, that the
latter had abandoned the principles which their predecessors
in the Secession had always maintained. An appeal to the
courts of law was made on this point by one of the minis¬
ters and a portion of the Associate congregation of Perth,
who had joined the “ Old Light” party, and claimed the
exclusive possession of the manse and place of worship.
After a long and expensive litigation, in the course of
which the process was carried from the inferior courts to
the House of Lords, and thence remitted back to the
Court of Session, it was ultimately decided that the pur¬
suers had separated from the congregation to which they
belonged without any sufficient cause, and that they had
consequently no right to disturb the defenders in the pos¬
session of their property. The question was one of great
importance, and the principle laid down in this instance by
Lord Chancellor Eldon as the ground of judgment has
ever since been regarded as the settled law of the country
^in all similar cases.
No other event of much importance occurred in the his¬
tory of the Secession Church till the period when the two
great branches of which it was composed were again hap¬
pily united into one on the 8th of September 1820, in
Bristo Street church, Edinburgh,—the spot where, seventy-
three years before, the separation had taken place. Ten
ministers of the General Associate, or Antiburgher Synod, re¬
fused to concur in the union, and soon after formed a junc¬
tion with Dr M‘Crie, Professor Bruce, and the other minis¬
ters who withdrew from the same synod in 1806. This
highly respectable body assumed the name of “ the Asso¬
ciate Synod of Original Seceders,” and ultimately consisted
of four presbyteries and thirty-six congregations.
1 he only other incident that remains to be noticed is the
union between the Secession and Relief Churches. Nego¬
tiations for this purpose were commenced in 1835. A
scheme of union was agreed on in 1840 ; but it was not con-
summated till the 13th of May 1847 in Tanfield Hall, Edin-
uigh, the scene, four years previously, of the first As¬
sembly of the Free Church of Scotland. The designation
of the combined bodies is the United Presbyterian Church. Churches
The United Presbyterian Church has the same standards, in Scotland
the same Confession of Faith and Catechisms, the same form n—
of government and ritual, as the Established Church. It
has also lay elders, sessions, and presbyteries; but instead
of a General Assembly, its supreme court is a general synod,
composed of all the ministers having charges, with an elder
from each session. The conditions of membership are a
credible and intelligent profession of the faith of Christ, ac¬
companied by a corresponding character and deportment.
All the members of the church, without distinction of office
or rank or sex, have a right to vote in the election of ministers
and other office-bearers, and in the management of congre¬
gational affairs. Only members in full communion are
permitted to observe the Lord’s Supper, which is celebrated
at least four times a year in nearly all the congregations.
Baptism is administered in the church, unless in special
cases, and only to the children of members in the full pos¬
session of their privileges. A formula, closely resembling
that of the Established and Free churches, is employed at
the licensing of the preachers, and the ordination of the
ministers, of the United Presbyterian Church ; but they
“ are not required to approve of anything in the standards
of the church which teaches, or is supposed to teach, com¬
pulsory or persecuting and intolerant principles in reli¬
gion.”
The education of candidates for the ministry has always Theological
been reckoned a matter of the greatest importance by the Education.
United Presbyterian Church. The course of preliminary
training is very nearly the same as that adopted by the
Establishment. Students must attend at least four sessions
at one of the national universities, and the course of pre¬
paratory study includes Latin, Greek, logic, moral philo¬
sophy, mathematics, natural philosophy, and Flebrew. The
divinity hall meets annually in August, and continues for
eight weeks. There are five chairs of theology,—viz., sacred
languages and Biblical criticism, hermeneutics and evi¬
dences, exegesis, systematic and practical theology, and
ecclesiastical history, comprehending the history of doc¬
trine, ritual, and government. The term of study is five
years. During the vacation, the students are under the su¬
perintendence of their respective presbyteries, who examine
them as to their progress in their studies, and hear and
criticise their trial discourses. The number of students
attending the hall is nearly 200. The United Presbyterian
Church consists at present (1859) of 32 presbyteries and
528 congregations; the membership amounts to 152,622,
the attendance in the churches to 181,279, the annual bap¬
tisms to 8603. Including children, about a fifth part of
the population of Scotland is connected with this church.
The annual congregational expenditure is L.122,890,
and the expenditure for missionary and benevolent pur¬
poses is L.39,310; making together L.162,200.
There are 1350 Sabbath-schools and Bible-classes, at-Finance,
tended by 76,942 scholars.
The sum of L.15,541 was raised last year, and L.170,000
during the last twenty years, for the liquidation of debt,
while nearly L.120,000 has been contributed during the
same period for the erection of new churches and manses.
The stipends of the ministers vary from L.100 to L.550 a
year. In nearly all the country congregations a manse is
also provided.
There is a large and prosperous branch of the United Affiliated
Presbyterian Church in Canada, consisting of 7 pres- Churches,
byteries and upwards of 60 congregations, with a theo¬
logical seminary of its own. In connection with the United^
Presbyterian Church there are also a considerable number of
missionary congregations in Jamaica, Trinidad, Old Calabar,
and Caffraria. Upwards of a dozen congregations have
recently been established in Southern Australia; and four
missionaries are about to be sent to India. The Irish
PRESBYTERIANISM.
501
Churches branch of the Secession Church, consisting of 9 presby-
n Scotland teries anj 134 congregations, was merged some years ago
in the Presbyterian Church of Ireland.
Reform- IV. Reformed Presbyterian Church.—This church has
:d Pres- sometimes been known by the designation “ Cameronians,”
;Yteluan from Ricbard Cameron, which, however, it rejects, as he
hcrch. was in no sense the founder of the body. On the con¬
trary, in virtue of its adherence to the principles of the
covenants, it claims connection with the earliest Presby¬
terianism of Scotland. By an act of Parliament in 1649,
and by a corresponding act of the General Assembly in
the same year, allegiance to the king was conditioned on
his faithful adherence to the principles on which he should
receive the crown, and according to which he should en¬
gage to rule. It is declared in the latter deed that he
could not be admitted to the exercise of his government
until he had given satisfaction in regard to the religion and
liberties of the kingdom. He agreed accordingly to take
the covenant, and to establish Presbytery. Afterwards,
wdien he established Episcopacy, and put the covenants
under the ban of the acts rescissory, a large body of the
Presbyterians conceived that, having broken compact with
the nation, he could no longer be regarded as a constitu¬
tional sovereign, and had forfeited all claim to their obe¬
dience. To this effect they issued a declaration at Sanquhar
in 1680. It was with them, accordingly, a struggle for
constitutional government, as clearly appears from a similar
document subsequently issued at Lanark, in which, after
declaring, “ although we ought to take in good part
whatever God in his infinite wisdom hath, for the pun¬
ishment of our sins, carved out to us, and although we
always ought to acknowledge government and governors as
ordained by him, in so far as they govern according to the
rules set down by him in his Word and the constitutive
laws of the nation, and ought to cast the mantle of love on
the lesser errors of governors, and give the best counte¬
nance to their administration, that the nature of their
actions will bear ; yet when all these laws, both of God and
the kingdom, conditional and constitutive of the govern¬
ment, are cassed and annulled,” they proceed, having enu¬
merated their grievances, to affirm that, to yield “ implicit
submission” to the royal will, as “ an absolute and sovereign
rule,” would be “ to destroy themselves and betray posterity.”
In 1681 they were organized into various societies, main¬
taining close correspondence. When the ministers to whose
preaching they listened were cut off by the sword of un¬
relenting oppression, James Renwick was sent to receive
ordination from the Dutch clergy. On his return, he
wielded considerable influence over the societies. Endowed
with no common gifts of winning eloquence, together with
fervent piety and amiable dispositions, he secured the at¬
tachment of his followers, and revived the enthusiasm of
the nation in behalf of the principles of the Reformation.
The only document of authority issued by the societies—
the Informatory Vindication—was prepared chiefly by Ren¬
wick; and it is but fair that their opinions should be judged
of from it, rather than from the hasty and unauthorized ex¬
pressions of individuals,—the more especially as in this very
document they complain that prejudices had been created
against them in this way, by the “ extravagances” into
which some of their number had fallen through “ overmuch
rigidity and strictness.” As to their relations to the go¬
vernment, they intimate their intention to take up arms
only in self-defence; and as to the abettors of the prevail¬
ing tyranny, they affirm, “ not that we would martially op¬
pose and rise up against all such, but by our profession,
practice, and testimony, we would contradict and oppose
them; we positively disown, as horrid murder, the killing
of any because of a different persuasion and opinion from
us.” They have been blamed, moreover, for narrow views
and extreme bitterness of feeling towards brethren from Churches
whom they separated, and towards the members of otherin Scotland
churches. On the contrary, they speak of men who had
complied so far with the demands of the government as
brethren “ whom they love in the Lord, and acknowledge
to be ministers of his church,” and “ with whom they would
not refuse accidental or occasional communion, as brethren
and Christians;” and on the subject of communion they
express sentiments which would be accounted generous and
catholic, even when tested by the light of modern opinion.
Discriminating ecclesiastical from catholic union, they
enunciate the broadest views in regard to the latter, ex¬
pressing a willingness to associate in common religious
enterprises, “ with some as Christians, holding the same
fundamentals ;” “ with others, on stricter conditions, as Pro¬
testants;” “and with others, on yet stricter conditions, as
covenanted brethren.” The statement applies to “ saints,
whether they be natives or foreigners.” So far were these
men from holding, as has been alleged, that Calvinistic
and Lutheran churches abroad were little better than
synagogues of Jesuits.
It was from the ranks of this body that, at the Revolu¬
tion, the armed companies were derived to which the Con¬
vention of Estates owed its safety and undisturbed freedom
in the prosecution of its deliberations. They held in check
the violence and plots of Claverhouse, and when disbanded,
they received for their intrepid services the public thanks
of the convention. “ As these people,” says the historian
Crookshanks, “ however reproached by their enemies as the
cold, antimonarchical, enthusiastic, lunatic Cameronians,
were among the first in Scotland who took up arms for the
Prince of Orange, so they were the first men in Scotland
that petitioned the Convention of Estates to place the crown
of Scotland on the head of their deliverer King William.”
At a later perioR in a single day, “ without beat of drum-
or expense of lev^1 money,” they raised a regiment of 800
men, who, marching under Cleland to Dunkeld, defeated
General Cannon at the head of 5000 soldiers, and by their
gallant defence of that village, retrieved the disgrace of
Killiecrankie. On mature consideration, however, the so¬
cieties did not feel themselves at liberty to accede to the
church, as established by law at the Revolution. They
went so far as to petition the General Assembly to take
into consideration the difficulties under which they con¬
scientiously laboured. The Assembly refused to allow their
petition to be read. On several grounds, such as the con¬
tinuance on the statute-book of the acts rescinding the
second Reformation, the undue control exercised by the
state in the settlement of the church, and the restrictions
which, in their belief, were laid upon the liberties and the
independence of the latter; they held aloof from the Esta¬
blished Church, while the re-establishment of Prelacy in
England and Ireland, as an essential part of the civil con¬
stitution, together with the absence of such a formal guar¬
antee as the covenants for the rights and liberties ot
Presbyterian Church, kept them from entertaining such
confidence in the government that they could take oaths
to it of unqualified approbation and support. To the pre¬
sent day, their descendants labour under similar difficulties.
The Reformed Presbyterian Church, it will be seen, is not
founded merely in antagonism to other churches on ac¬
count of evils in their constitution or administration, be¬
cause in date it precedes them. Its position is determined
by a question of doctrine. Its adherents, while repudiating,
even in documents so early as the Informatory Vindication,
the error that dominion is founded in grace, attach import¬
ance to the headship of Christ over the nations, and believe
that whatever civil constitution is not adjusted in harmony
with this scriptural principle is to that extent without a
claim upon their allegiance. They find that the British
constitution, since the statute of Henry VIIL, invests
502 P R E
Prescot the monarch with perfect control in the government and
II discipline of the Anglican Church, and involves, in the lan-
Prescott. gUage 0f the German historian Gervinus, the anomaly of
“ a royal Pope,” with the single reservation of sacerdotal
powers and functions. As it is upon the footing of ad¬
herence to the coronation oath, in which the monarch en¬
gages to uphold this system, that the oath of allegiance is
sworn, Reformed Presbyterians can neither, as consistent
Presbyterians, take it themselves, nor employ others
as their representatives in taking it. Hence their dis¬
tinctive and'peculiar standing among the churches of the
land.
The Rev. John M‘Millan, minister of the parish of Bal-
maghie, was deposed in 1707, with summary rigour, for
holding principles akin to those of the societies. Repudi¬
ating the validity of his sentence, he joined them, and, after
a long interval, a presbytery was formed in 1743. The
church increased, till, in 1811, a synod was constituted,
under which there are 6 presbyteries, with 36 ministers and
45 congregations. The membership may be estimated at
6000. The annual contributions for religious purposes re¬
ported at last synod, and exclusive of congregational funds
not reported, amounted to L.6Q00. The standards of
the church are the Westminster Confession of Faith,
the Catechisms, Larger and Shorter, and a Testimony
authorized and issued by the synod in 1839. It has three
missionaries to the heathen in the New Hebrides, and one
to the Jews in London. In Ireland there are two synods,
holding identical views with the Scotch synod; while in
America there are two synods, and in Northern India
a presbytery, bearing the same designation, and professing
the same views. All these synods Jhave separate theo¬
logical halls. In Scotland, the general curriculum for the
students is the same as in the other Presbyterian churches.
P R E
In theology, systematic and exegetic, they must attend five Prescott
complete sessions, of two months each, in successive years, v .
under two professors.
V. Original Secession.—In consequence of the rupture
in the Secession Church of 1747, on the subject of the
burgess oath, one division had assumed the name of “ The
General Associate or Antiburger Synod,” as opposed to
“ The Associate or Burgher Synod.” In 1806 four minis¬
ters, among whom is the honoured name of the historian
M‘Crie, left the former body, on the ground that, in a Nar¬
rative and Testimony recently emitted, they had somewhat
compromised the duty of the magistrate in support of re¬
ligion. On effecting a union with some brethren who could
not accede to the union of the two main bodies of the se¬
cession in 1820, they assumed the name of “ The Associate
Synod of Original Seceders.” By a narrow majority, this
synod resolved to merge in the Free Church, and in the
course of 1852 was received into its fellowship. The mi¬
nority continues a distinct body, under the name of •* The
Synod of United Original Seceders.” They adhere to the
original principles of the Secession, and attach such import¬
ance to the covenants, as to decline all ecclesiastical fellow- •
ship with churches which do not recognise their descending
obligation on posterity. The synod comprehends 4 pres¬
byteries, with 22 ministers and 29 congregations. They
hold by the Westminster standards, and the Testimony
originally adopted by the synod in 1827. Their divinity
hall is in Glasgow. Although circumstances have prevented
them from instituting a mission to the heathen, it is from
no lack of zeal in such a cause, and they are committed to
resolutions in its favour, on which they are ready to act as
soon as an opportunity for carrying them into effect
transpires. (’vv. H. G.)
PRESCOT, a market-town of England, in Lancashire,
8 miles E. of Liverpool, and 198 N.E. of London. It stands
on an eminence, and is a straggling place, consisting of one
long street on the road between Liverpool and Manchester.
The parish church, an ancient building with a lofty modern
spire, is a very conspicuous object, not only in the town, but
in the whole of the adjacent country. The Primitive Me¬
thodists, Wesleyans, Independents, and Unitarians have
also churches in the town. A grammar school (founded
in 1792, and having in 1852, 90 pupils), a girls’ school,
and an infant school, are the principal educational esta¬
blishments here. Prescot has also a town-hall, a prison,
Several alms-houses, and a mechanics’ institute. The prin¬
cipal manufactures of the town are those of watch-making
tools, and the more delicate parts of watch machinery, for
which Prescot has long been famous; files of excellent
quality and engravers’ tools, as well as coarse pottery, are
also made; and there are here rope-works and cotton-spin-
neries. Coal mines are worked in all parts of the surround¬
ing country. I he chief supply of coal for Liverpool is ob¬
tained from these collieries. Markets are held here twice
a week, and there are also several fairs. Pop. (1851) 7393.
PRESCOIT, William Hickling, a famous Ame¬
rican historian, born at Salem, Massachusetts, on the 4th of
May 1796. The first of the family of whom any record
remains was John Prescott, an English blacksmith and
millwright, who settled at Lancaster, New England, in
1640, and who used to take the field against Indian ma¬
rauders in a helmet and breast-plate which he had brought
hi™ fr°ni home. His grandson Benjamin was a man
o influence and consideration in the colony of Massachu-
setts, and long represented Groton in the colonial legislature.
second son of Benjamin, after serving in his
you or a few months in the Frencl? war, spent the
area er pait of his life in farming his paternal estate at
Pepperell. On the breaking out of the war of independ¬
ence, at the age of forty-five, he quitted the plough for the
sword, and fought in the republican ranks, where he at¬
tained the rank of colonel. He had the honour of leading
his countrymen at the battle of Bunker’s Hill, and of being
called by Washington “Prescott the Brave.” His only son
William followed the legal profession, and both as an ad¬
vocate and as a judge was esteemed one of the most emi¬
nent lawyers of his day. By his wife Catherine, daughter
of Thomas Hickling, long United States consul at the
Azores, Judge Prescott became the father of the historian.
In 1808, when the boy was in his twelfth year, the family
removed from Salem to Boston. In the latter city young
William Prescott was placed in the academy of Dr Gar¬
diner, a pupil of the famous Dr Parr. In 1811 he entered
Harvard College, and graduated there in 1814. The clas¬
sical attainments acquired through his university career
gave promise of future excellence. His studies were, how¬
ever, interrupted by what, to many men, would have proved
a severe calamity. In the college dining-hall, a playful
classmate threw at him a crust of bread, which struck one
of his eyes. With that eye he never could afterwards do
more than distinguish light from darkness. By the injury,
the other eye was also sympathetically affected, and for
many months he was shut up at home, suffering great pain,
in a dark room. “ In all that trying season,” said his
mother in after years, “ I never groped my way across the
apartment to take my place by his side, that he did not
greet me with some hearty expression of good cheer, as if
we were the patients, and it were his place to comfort us.”
Although the injury to the destroyed organ became in time
hardly perceptible, the remaining eye was permanently
weakened ; and Prescott, finding himself unfit for any pur¬
suit in which strong eyesight was indispensable, relinquished
his intention of adopting the law as his profession. His
PKESCOTT.
Prescott, father having inherited a sufficient fortune, which his prac-
tice at the bar had greatly increased, he was happily in
a position of social independence. Soon after leaving col¬
lege he was recommended to travel for advice, and for the
benefit of his health. Crossing the Atlantic, he visited
London and Paris, and consulted the best oculists there ;
but found that his case was one which their art had little
power of relieving. From the pleasures and advantages of
travel the weak state of his eyes in a great degree de¬
barred him ; but he went over a considerable portion of
England, France, and Italy; and he resided for several
months at Rome and Naples, where he chiefly employed
himself in examining the remains of antiquity, and in
reviewing the classical reading of his youth. Excepting
Belgium, he never beheld with his bodily eye any of the
countries, either in Europe or America, which his pen has
painted so well, and with which his name will be insepa¬
rably connected. After an absence of two years, he re¬
turned to Boston in improved general health, but with eye¬
sight, as was now obvious, permanently impaired. He
soon after married Susan, daughter of Thomas C.
Amory, one of the most eminent merchants of Boston, and
settled down in his father’s family. From 1817 Judge
Prescott inhabited till 1844, when he died, an old-fa¬
shioned house in Bedford Street. It was a square edifice
of brick, and painted yellow, standing alone amongst some
fine elms and chestnut trees. Here the future historian
commenced a life of literary labour which was rarely in¬
terrupted. “ I had early conceived,” he said, in a letter to
a friend in after years, “ a strong passion for historical writ-
ing, to which perhaps the reading of Gibbon’s autobio¬
graphy contributed not a little. I proposed to make my¬
self an historian in the best sense of the term, and hoped
to produce something which posterity would not willingly
let die. In a memorandum-book dated so far back as the
year 1819, I find the desire intimated; and I proposed to
devote ten years of my life to the study of ancient and
modern literature, chiefly the latter; and to give ten
years more to some historical work. I have had the good
fortune to accomplish this design pretty nearly within the
limits assigned. In the pursuance of this plan, he was very
methodical in the apportionment of hours as well as years,
and rarely allowed his arrangement to be interfered with!
He rose early, walked for half an hour before breakfast, and
dined at half-past two. Five hours a day he passed at
work in his study; three hours, broken by half an hour’s
walk before dinner, and two in the evening, from six to
eight. He took a good deal of exercise on foot and on
horseback, generally walking and riding alone ; a peculiarity
which he shared with his father. Although social in their
habits and tenderly attached to each other, it was ob¬
served that the judge and his son, in setting out at the
same moment for a walk or a ride, generally went different
ways.
I or some years after his return home Mr Prescott em¬
ployed himself in the study of French and Italian literature.
Of Italian literature he became exceedingly fond, and for
some time he contemplated undertaking its history; a
scheme which, however, he eventually abandoned on ac¬
count of the great amount of reading which it involved.
The valuable papers which he contributed to the North
American Revieiv, and which have several times been
printed in a collected form, in some degree mark the
amount of his studies. The first of these was an essay on
“Italian Narrative Poetry,” published in October 1824; the
last, a review of Mr Ticknor’s History of Spanish Litera¬
ture. He also wrote in 1834, for Sparks’ American Bio¬
graphy, a pleasing Life of Charles Brockden Brown, which
likewise appears amongst his Critical and Historical
Essays*
lo the serious study of the language, literature, and
history of Spain he did not devote himself until 1825, when
he began to lay the foundation of that fine series of histo¬
rical writings upon which his fame rests. After much read¬
ing and deliberation, he fixed upon the reign of the Catholic
sovereigns Ferdinand and Isabella as the subject of his
first work. These great rulers, under whose wedded
sceptres Castile and Aragon became one monarchy the
remarkable group of personages who surrounded their
thrones, including Cardinal Ximenes, the great captain, and
Columbus, and the spirit-stirring events which made their
reign so glorious for Spain and so important in the annals
ot the world, might at that time have been said almost to
have escaped the notice of English writers. The story of
Columbus had indeed been told by Robertson with a grace
which compensates the defects of a narrative, of which the
meagreness and inaccuracy are to be ascribed to the want
not of diligence but materials. But the rest of the
held was ground almost untrodden by English, French
or German writers. What little had been written on
the subject in these languages had been taken almost
exclusively from Italian authorities. To the rich materials
afforded by the neglected Spanish chronicles of the fifteenth
and sixteenth centuries there had been lately added many
new and valuable stores, the fruits of the patient toil of
several modern Spaniards, who were rather makers of his¬
torical collections than writers of history. Mr Prescott’s
choice was therefore eminently happy, both as regards the
interest and the freshness of his subject, and the abundance
of choice materials. He commenced his work in 1827.
The remarkable difficulties which lay in his way, and the
patient resolution with which they were overcome, renders
this work memorable in literary history. Its progress may
therefore be traced with some minuteness in the language,
as far as possible, of a letter written by Mr Prescott him¬
self in later years, when that slow and painful progress had
become a portion of his triumph. For some years his eye-
sight had been sufficiently strong to admit of his using it
for several hours a day in reading. He had already accu¬
mulated a considerable number of books and manuscripts
relating to the period of which he was about to treat. A
still larger number purchased for him in Europe were on
their way to Boston. “ But just before these materials ar¬
rived, he wrote, “ my eye had experienced so severe a
strain that I enjoyed no use of it again for reading for
several years. It has indeed never since fully recovered
its strength, nor have I ever ventured to use it again by
candle-light. I well remember the blank despair which I
felt when my literary treasures arrived from Spain, and I
saw the mine of wealth lying around me which I was for¬
bidden to explore. I determined to see what could be done
with the eyes of another. I remembered that Johnson had
said, in reference to Milton, that the great poet had aban¬
doned his projected History of England, finding it scarcely
possible for a man without eyes to pursue a historical work
requiring reference to various authorities. The remark
piqued me to make an attempt.
“ I obtained the service^ of a reader who knew no
language but his own. I taught him to pronounce the
Castilian in a manner suited, I suspect, much more to my
ear than to that of a Spaniard; and we began our weari¬
some journey through Mariana’s noble History. I cannot
even now call to mind without a smile the tedious hours in
which, seated under some old trees in my country residence,
we pursued our slow and melancholy way over pages which
afforded no glimmering of light to him, and from which the
light came dimly struggling to me through a half-intelligible
vocabulary. But in a few weeks the light became stronger,
and I was cheered by the consciousness of my own im¬
provement; and when we had toiled our way through
seven quartos, I found I could understand the book when
read about two-thirds as fast as ordinary English. My
503
Prescott.
504
Prescott.
PRESCOTT.
reader’s office required the more patience; he had not even
this result to cheer him in his labour.
“ I now felt that the great difficulty could be overcome,
and I obtained the services of a reader whose acquaintance
with modern and ancient tongues supplied, so far as it
could be supplied, the deficiency of eyesight on my part.
But though in this way I could examine various authori¬
ties, it was not easy to arrange in my mind the results o
my reading, drawn from different and often contradictory
accounts. ° To do this, I dictated copious notes as I went
along ; and when I had read enough for a chapter,—from
thirty to forty, and sometimes fifty pages in length,—! had
a mass of memoranda in my own language which would
easily bring before me at one view the fruits of my re¬
searches. Those notes were carefully read to me ; and
while my recent studies were fresh in my recollection, 1
ran over the whole of my intended chapter in my mind.
This process I repeated at least half-a-dozen times; so that
when I finally put my pen to paper it ran off pretty glibly,
for it was an effort of memory rather than creation. Ihis
method had the advantage of saving me from the per¬
plexity of frequently referring to the scattered passages in
the originals, and it enabled me to make the coriections in
my own mind which are usually made in the manuscript,
and which with my mode of writing, as I shall explain,
would have much embarrassed me. Yet I must admit
that this method of composition, when the chapter was
very long, was somewhat too heavy a strain on the memory
to be altogether recommended.
“ Writing presented me a difficulty even greater than
reading. Thierry, the famous blind historian of the Nor¬
man Conquest, advised me to cultivate dictation; but I
have usually preferred a substitute that I found in a writing-
case made for the blind, which I procured in London forty
years since. It is a simple apparatus, often described by
me for the benefit of persons whose vision is imperfect. It
consists of a frame of the size of a piece of paper, traversed
by brass wires as many as lines are wanted on the page,
and with a sheet of carbonated paper, such as is used for
getting duplicates, pasted on the reverse side. With an
ivory or agate stylus the writer traces his characters be¬
tween the wires on the carbonated sheet, making indelible
marks, which he cannot see, on the white page below.
This treadmill operation has its defects; and I have re¬
peatedly supposed I had accomplished a good page, and
was proceeding in all the glow of composition to go ahead,
when I found I had forgotten to insert a sheet of my writ¬
ing-paper below, that my labour had been all thrown away,
and that the leaf looked as blank as myself. Notwithstand¬
ing these and other whimsical distresses of the kind, I have
found my writing-case my best friend in my lonely hours,
and with it have written nearly all that I have sent into the
world the last forty years.
“ The manuscript thus written and deciphered—for it was
in the nature of hieroglyphics—by my secretary was then
read to me for correction, and copied off in a fair hand for
the printer. All this, it may be thought, was rather a slow
process, requiring the virtue of patience in all the parties
concerned. But in time my eyes improved again. Before
I had finished Ferdinand and Isabella I could use them
some hours every day; and thus they have continued till
within a few years, though subject to occasional interrup¬
tions, sometimes of weeks and sometimes of months, when I
could not look at a book. And this circumstance, as well
as habit (second nature), has led me to adhere still to my
early method of composition. Of late years I have suffered
not so much from inability of the eye as dimness of the
vision ; and the warning comes that the time is not far dis¬
tant when I must rely exclusively on the eyes of another for
the prosecution of my studies. Perhaps it should be re¬
ceived as a warning that it is time to close them altogether.”
Thus ten busy years rolled away. During that time ap¬
peared the Life of Columbus and the Chronicles of the
Conquest of Granada, the brilliant works of Washington
Irving; and it is probable that Mr Prescott felt a natural
pang^at thus finding himself forestalled by a formidable
and”already popular rival in two of the most attractive pas¬
sages of his History. After ten years of toil, however, the
History was completed. Of the work, as it proceeded, four
copies were printed in a large type, to enable the author
to refer to it with ease, and with ample margins for annota¬
tion. It was submitted to the judgment of his father, Mr
Ticknor, Mr Sparks, and other friends, and received their
cordial approbation. For some time, however, Mr Prescott
hesitated to publish it; and it was eventually given to the
world in consequence of the urgency of his literary advisers.
It appeared (in 3 vols. Bvo) towards the end of 1837, both
in Boston and in London. On both sides of the Atlantic
its success was great. An article in the Edinburgh Review
(No.cccxxxviii., 1839), written by Don Pascual deGayangos,
than whom no man was better qualified to judge of its
merits, and whose English is no less elegant than his Cas¬
tilian, pronounced it “one of the most successful historical
productions of our time.” In the Quarterly Review (No.
cxxvii., 1839), Mr Ford also expressed his high admiration of
a work on which no Englishman was better fitted to pass a
judgment than himself, and bade Mr Prescott welcome to
the high place which he had at once achieved in English
letters. He characterized the book as “ by much the first
historical work which America has yet produced, and one
that need not fear comparison with any that has issued
from the European press since this century began.” Ger¬
many, France, and Spain acknowledged the merits of the
new historian by transplanting his work into their respective
languages; and the Spanish Royal Academy of History
did him and itself honour by enrolling him amongst its
members.
Six years later, in 1843, The Conquest of Mexico (in 3
vols. 8vo), and in four years more, in 1847, The Conquest
of Peru (in 2 vols. 8vo), proved that the industry of Mr
Prescott was stimulated by success, and that his skill was
considerably heightened by practice and experience. In
these histories Mr Prescott had not been forestalled by any
popular writer; and he led not only his English readers, but
the readers of the various European countries into whose
languages the works were almost immediately translated,
into what were to most of them fresh fields and pastures
new. Both Mexico and Peru were received with immense
applause. Like Ferdinand and Isabella, they have been
frequently reprinted ; and they bid tair to remain, for many
an age to come, the standard histories of some of the most
interesting and eventful periods of human action and enter¬
prise. Their merit obtained for the author unsolicited
election into many of the chief literary societies in Europe
and America. Amongst other learned bodies, the Insti¬
tute of France placed his name in 1845 on the list of its
corresponding members. The sale of his writings became
a source of income, of which the author’s share has been
Prescott.
estimated at from L.4000 to L.5000 a year.
Peru accomplished, Mr Prescott turned to collect mate¬
rials, or rather to complete the large stock of materials
already collected, for the History of Philip II., the work
which he intended to be the great achievement of his later
life, and the crown of his historical labours. While pre¬
paring for this extensive work, embracing the world’s his¬
tory during the last forty-five years of the sixteenth century,
Mr Prescott indulged himself with a short visit to England.
He arrived here in the summer of 1850. Many years be¬
fore, he had passed through England as a young and com¬
paratively unknown traveller; he now returned to it the
American whom, of all others perhaps, intelligent English¬
men were most desirous to see and converse with. During
PRES
Prescott, his sojourn in London Mr Prescott was one of the most
observed and popular personages in a society ever “ to
famous wits native or hospitable.” In truth, he did not
need his fame to aid his social success. His fine presence
and countenance, his pleasing conversation, and his perfect
manners, would have ensured him a welcome even as a
nameless stranger. He had the happy gift of at once
adapting himself to his company, and catching its best
tone ; and his varied stores of knowledge, his wide acquaint¬
ance with men, quick observation of character, and his
even and genial flow of spirits, enabled him, without pause
or effort, to find some common ground of thought and sym¬
pathy with every one with whom he was brought into brief
and casual contact. In the course of a few weeks he be¬
came the friend of all the most distinguished members of
London society. The university of Oxford conferred upon
him the honorary degree of LL.D. In the early autumn
lie also visited some of his friends at their country houses,
and made a brief tour in Scotland. He also crossed the
Channel, for the purpose of consulting some of the libraries
in Belgium, and of examining some of the more remark¬
able historical monuments and sites of that interesting
country.
Four years afterwards, in 1854, two volumes of Philip 11.
were ready for the press. Mr Prescott had made an ar¬
rangement with an English publisher, by which he was to
receive L.1000 for each volume of the work, which it was
supposed would extend to six volumes. This bargain was,
however, subject to the decision of the House of Lords in
a case then pending, which involved the question of inter¬
national protection to literary enterprise. That decision,
affirming a previous judgment of the Barons of Exchequer,
declared that no American, not domiciled in England at the
time of the publication of his book, could claim the benefit
of our copyright law, and therefore put an end to the trans¬
action. The letter containing this unpleasant news reached
Mr Prescott while he and an English guest, Mr C. R. Weld
(who has recorded the circumstance in his Vacation Tour,
8vo, London,1855), were deep in argument on the copy¬
right question. The historian mentioned the new illustra¬
tion of the hardships to which the state of our international
law exposed authors—the annulment of a bargain by which
he lost L.6000—with perfect equanimity. If Mr Prescott
had thought proper to have resided in England during, and
for a certain time before and after, the publication of the
book, he might have reaped the full benefit of its great
success on both sides of the Atlantic. But he would not
take this course. At a great pecuniary sacrifice, he pre¬
ferred to present the world with one signal example more
of the injustice to which the writers of England and Ame¬
rica are exposed by the want of a reasonable system of in¬
ternational copyright,—a want for which the American
legislature appears to be wholly responsible.
Two volumes of Philip II. appeared in 1855. The
year following, Mr Prescott supplied to an edition of
Robertson’s Charles V. a sequel, in which he related, in his
usual agreeable style, the true history of the emperor’s
retirement and death; events upon which recently-dis¬
covered documents have thrown so much light. In the
same year, 1856, he contributed to an American periodical
called the National Portrait Gallery, a graceful bio¬
graphical sketch of his old friend Abbott Lawrence, one of
the most successful merchants, ablest statesmen, and
worthiest citizens of the United States ; a sketch which was
afterwards published in a separate quarto form.
Mr Prescott’s literary labours were carried on during
six winter months at Boston, in summer at his marine
villa at Nahant, and in autumn at his country house at
Peppered. Soon after the death of his father, which took
place in 1844, he removed his town residence from Bedford
Street, where the old mansion was soon afterwards pulled
VOL. xvm.
C 0 T T.
down, to 55 Beacon Street, a spacious house overlookino-
the common, and commanding a fine view of land and
water. To the back of this abode he added a noble room
to contain his library. Over its western bay window
hung two crossed swords : one of these had been worn at
Bunker’s Hill by his grandfather, Colonel Prescott; the
other had been also drawn in that battle by the grand-
fathei of Mrs 1 rescott, Captain Linzee, who commanded
the British sloop Falcon, one of the naval squadron which
severely galled the lines of the republicans. The collec¬
tion of books was extensive and valuable, and related
chiefly to the subjects of Mr Prescott’s own writings. His
ovvn study was a smaller room above, and communicating
with this library. I he abode at Nahant, in which, dur¬
ing twenty years, he passed the hotter months, was a
cottage of two storeys, with a broad verandah, perched on
a cliff overlooking the ocean, and washed by its stormy
spray. “ It is,” he said, “ the coolest spot in New Eng¬
land ; it is called the Fitful Head; and Norna’s was not
wilder.” During the last six years of his life his summers
were spent at another house in the same neighbourhood,
but less romantically situated, at Lynn Beach. His
autumnal retreat at Peppered was 42 miles from Boston,
on the border-line of Massachusetts and New Hampshire.
The estate, consisting of some 250 acres, and called the
Highlands, lies in a fine undulating country bordered on
the N.W. by a wild mountain range. It has been in the
family about a hundred and fifty years ; and is wooded with
fine avenues and groves of oak, chestnut, walnut, and maple.
I he mansion, an old-fashioned, rambling, roomy farm¬
house, with white walls and green blinds, is seated on a
gentle eminence overlooking the clear windings and rich
pastures of the beautiful Nissitisset. A garden, an
orchard, fish-ponds, and green lawns shaded by some
noble butternuts, surround the house ; and near it a grove
of stately oaks leads into a venerable fragment of the
primeval forest. Within the porch, the low ceiling and
spacious fireplaces, the old furniture, and a closet full of
old books, are relics of the simple, homely habits of the
past century.
On the 4th of February 1858 Mr Prescott’s labours at
Boston were interrupted by a slight paralytic shock; but
he soon rallied from the effects of it, and his family and
friends were under no apprehension of further conse¬
quences. From that time he lived wholly on a vegetable
diet, and used wine even more sparingly than before. He
took less pleasure also in general society, and spent his
leisure hours more constantly at home and with his grand¬
children, of whose innocent company he was never weary.
His sight was for some time a good deal weakened, but it
gradually returned to its usual condition, and he was able
to resume his literary pursuits for two or three hours a day.
Towards the end of the year the third volume of Philip
II. appeared, and was received both in England and
America with the applause to which the author had now
been long accustomed.
On the 26th of January 1859 he was at home at Boston.
On the evening of that day a friend from New York, the
Rev. William Milburn, called upon him. They had not met
since Mr Prescott’s illness. The guest observed that his
host entered the library to receive him with a slower and
heavier step than had been his wont in former years, and
that in speaking his utterance was occasionally somewhat
thick and imperfect. His manner, however, had lost no¬
thing of its accustomed warmth; and he spoke of old friends,
living and dead, with his usual feeling and cordiality, Of
his own stroke of paralysis he likewise talked with perfect
calmness, said it had weakened him and affected his sight,
but that he was now able again to take exercise and pursue
his work for two or three hours a day. Mr Agassiz, and
the interruption of his scientific labours by injured eyesight,
3 s
505
Prescott.
506
Prescott.
PRESCOTT.
were mentioned, and led Mr Prescott to express his sym¬
pathy, and to speak of an infirmity which was common
both’ to himself and his guest, Mr Milburn being also par¬
tially blind. “ These men with eyes,” said he, “ have us
at a serious disadvantage. While they run, we can onl^
limp. But I have nothing to complain of, nor have you.
Providence has singularly taken care of both, and by com¬
pensation keeps the balance even.” He spoke also with
warm affection of England, which Mr Milburn had lately
visited, and of their friends there. On being asked when
he was coming to New York, he replied, “ I suppose the
days of my long journeys are over, and that, like Horace,
I must content myself with my three houses. You know
I o-o at the commencement of summer to my cottage by the
sea-side at Lvnn Beach; and at autumn to my patrimonial
acres at Peppered, to sit under the trees I sat under when
a boy; and then with winter come to hibernate in this house.
This is the only travelling, I suppose, I shall do until I go
to my lono- home.” These words were spoken almost on
the threshold of that final abode. On Friday, 28th Janu¬
ary he was so well that, although the morning was wet, he
proposed to take a walk at his usual hour, between seven
and eight, to inquire after a sick relative. With some
difficulty Mrs Prescott prevailed on him to remain within
doors. After breakfast she read to him, as was her habit,
the morning papers. She then left him with his secretary
in his study. Some time afterwards, about half-past twelve,
he rose and went into an adjoining apartment. In a few
minutes the secretary, hearing a groan, followed, and found
him dead to all consciousness, smitten with a second
stroke of paralysis. Medical aid proved unavailing; he
never spoke again ; and. about two in the afternoon he
expired.
According to his wish, his body was laid for a while in his
library, near the hearth of his affections, amongst his well-
beloved books, and beneath the portraits of those to whom
his pen had given new life. From thence, on the 31st of
January, it was borne to the vault of the Prescott family
in St Paul’s Episcopal church. It was followed to the
tomb by a company such as the death of no man of letters
had ever before assembled in America, paying to his great
name and noble nature a tribute of tears and mourning
“ which,” as one of themselves remarked, “ would have
been dearer to his heart than all the intellectual triumphs
of his life.”
Mr Prescott left behind him a widow, two sons, and a
daughter. He never, at any period of his life, took any
active part in public business or in politics. Born and
educated in the Unitarian persuasion, he adhered to it
through life ; although for may years he attended the ser¬
vices of an Episcopal congregation of which his old tutor
and friend Dr Gardiner was the minister. Of his face and
person several excellent memorials remain in the portraits
executed in America by Mr Ames and Mr Whipple, and
in England, in 1850, by Mr H. W. Phillipps and Mr Geo.
Richmond. These, as well as several photographs, have
been engraved. Tall and slender in figure, he had a
countenance singularly comely, expressive, and engaging.
His fresh complexion and his waving brown hair, scarcely
tinged with grey, gave him until the last a very youth¬
ful appearance. His eminence as a writer was not
more cordially recognised than the remarkable worth and
beauty of his character as a man. In the management of his
affairs, as in the disposal of his time and the arrangement
ef his study, book-shelves, and writing-table, he displayed
a strong love of method and order. Prudent and consider¬
ate in small things as well as great, he was liberal in all
his dealings, and open-handed in his unostentatious benevo¬
lence. Adored by his family and familiar friends, he was
hardly less esteemed by the whole society of his native
city. In his successes, literary and social, almost every
American with whom his friends in Europe conversed ap- Prescott,
peared to take a personal interest and to feel an honest pride.
Amongst the organs of the press, and at the meetings of vari¬
ous literary societies, his death elicited the most touching
expressions of regard and respect from many of the most dis-
tino-uished of his countrymen. “All who knew him,” said Mr
Bancroft, “ will say that he was greater and better than his
writino-s. Standing as it were by his grave, we cannot re¬
call anything in his manner, his character, his endowments,
or his conduct, we could wish changed.” Mr Ticknor re¬
marked, “ that he was loved of all who knew him for the
transparent sincerity of his nature, his open and warm
sympathies, and for the faithful affections to which years
and the changes of life only added freshness and strength.”
“ Of all men whom I have known,” said his classmate, Dr
Walker, president of Harvard university, “ I have never
known one so little changed by the hard trial of success
and prosperity. At college and on the morning of the
day he died he was the same in his disposition, the same
in his outward manners, the same in his habit of thought
and feeling, the same, to a remarkable degree, in his atti¬
tudes and looks. He was one of that happy few whom all
love to hear praised.”
As a writer, Mr Prescott occupies a distinguished place
in the first rank of English historians. His fidelity and in¬
dustry—qualities which form the foundation of historical
merit—are universally acknowledged. It has been doubted,
and it is doubtful, whether his powers of philosophical ana¬
lysis were equal to his skill in synthetical arrangement;
whether he could penetrate to vital principles as happily as
he could marshal facts and picture events. It is certain
that the latter portions of the duty of an historian were
those to which he specially applied himself. His practice
may be justified on the ground of the subdivision of lite¬
rary labour which at present obtains, greatly to the advan¬
tage of the accuracy of our knowledge. To describe
clearly what was done in a particular age, and how it was
done, is in itself an important and difficult task; to show
why it w'as done, by discovering the hidden causes which
shaped and coloured events, belongs perhaps more properly
to writers who take a more comprehensive view of the chart
of the world’s history. In the art of narrative Mr Prescott
has few rivals—very few equals—in our language. So pure
and idiomatic is his English that it is rarely indeed that the
most critical ear detects, in the use of a word or the con¬
struction of a phrase, the transatlantic origin of the writer.
The Introduction to the History of Ferdinand and Isabella
—a review of the early annals and political constitution of
Castile and Aragon—is one of the most comprehensive
surveys of a great subject ever presented to the historical ^
student. The condition and relations of the crown, the
nobles, the clergy, the cities, and the commons, are painted
with a masterly hand, and are presented in a picture at
once clear, concise, and complete. The wily, able Ferdi¬
nand and the good Isabella, the model of womanly heroism,
are portrayed with consummate skill and delicacy; and
neither Robertson nor Irving has excelled in easy grace the
narratives of the siege of Malaga and the crowning conquest
of Granada. In the Conquest of Mexico and the Conquest
of Peru, and especially in the chapters on the civilization
of the Aztecs and the Incas, Mr Prescott displays great
sagacity in assorting the scattered fragments of social edi¬
fices, which were destroyed before they could be intelli¬
gently delineated, and in recalling to their living forms the
dry bones of the extinct races which inhabited them.
He also appears to have shaken off the diffidence of a
stranger in the historical field. His style betokens more
self-confidence, and is bolder and more animated. His
descriptions of scenery, in which he is always happy and
never redundant, are more full and vivid, and are elaborated
with the greater care which was required by the strangeness
P R E
Prescrip, of unfamiliar lands. Mexico spreads her matchless valley,
tion. her lake, and her imperial city before our eyes; we wander
through the royal gardens, beneath the giant cedars of
Tezcuco; the golden halls of the Inca and the blazing
temples of the sun unfold themselves before us ; we
follow the silver-shod cavalry of Pizarro through the
flowery dales of the Cordilleras; or we ascend through
the pastures of the llama or the stern regions where
the condor hovers in the tropical sun around the peaks
of the Andes. The account of the triste noche, the rue¬
ful night, in which, after the death of Montezuma, Cortes
and his band retreated across the lake and along the broken
causeway, cutting their way through a nation in arms, is
one of the finest pieces of modern historical painting. In
the Reign of Philip II. unflagging strength and unabated
fire are displayed in the treatment of the troubles in the
Low Countries, the siege of Malta, the rebellion of the
Mexicos, and the battle of Lepanto.
Mr Prescott’s chapters on manners and literature are not
less lively and picturesque than his record of contemporary
events which these chapters illustrate. Of modern histo¬
rians he was one of the first to acknowledge and to exhibit
the iimportance of this kind of illustration, which his imme¬
diate predecessors had been too much in the habit of
neglecting. In another respect also his works set an
example well worthy of general adoption. Not content
with embodying the result of his own researches, he con¬
structed a road to the fountains from whence he had drawn
and the mines in which he had toiled, in order, to use his
own words, “ to put the reader in a position for judging for
himself, and thus for revising and, if need be, of reversing,
the judgments of the historian.” Of all his chief authori¬
ties he has left us elaborate biographical notices, showing
their me£tns of obtaining a true knowledge of facts, the cir¬
cumstances and influences to which they were exposed, the
complexion of their minds, and the value of their evidence.
Were this method of writing history general, we should
lose some ingenious books, but we should also escape the
noxious influence of many dishonest ones. On those who
read critically Mr Prescott’s plan must have already had a
wholesome effect. From him many such readers must
have learned to distrust even the most brilliant of the
writing craft who withhold the grounds of their faith and
facts, who cite sparingly and loosely, and impudently tell
the world that they have drawn materials, perhaps for cari¬
catures of the past and slanders on the dead, from sources
so numerous as to defy specification.
As a critic and essayist, Mr Prescott would haye attained
great eminence had he pursued that path of letters. His
essays on Cervantes, Moliere, Scott, and Italian narrative
poetry are written with much taste and with a just appre¬
ciation of their subjects. His reviews are none of them
examples of the slashing style of criticism. When he
turned aside from his own chosen course, it was for the
purpose of throwing some fresh light upon the old master¬
pieces, or of bidding an unknown fellow-labourer welcome
to the temple of Fame. If a blockhead was to be lushed or
a knave exposed, he left them to critics who loved to per¬
form such operations. It was very characteristic of his
gentle and genial nature that he prefaced his volume of
essays, which most readers will be disposed to regard as
eminently calm and candid in tone, with the wish “ that
some of his critical judgments had been expressed in a
more qualified and temperate manner.” When those who
knew and loved Mr Prescott shall have passed away, his
memory will still be cherished by his countrymen, not only
for the sake of works which will always rank amongst the
chief monuments of American literature, but also for the
sake of his pure and graceful life, which did honour to the
literary calling. g \
PRESCRIPTION, in Medicine, signifies much the
P R E
same with what m common language is called a receipt,
being a form of direction for the preparation and adminis¬
tration ot some compound medicine. These medical
receipts are commonly called formulce by physicians; and
the term prescription is applied to what is written bv a
physician on seeing his patient, instructing the apothecarv
what medicines are to be prepared, how they are to be
composed, and how administered to the patient. In this
sense, a prescription may contain two or more formulce.
Ihese prescriptions are almost always written in Latin
and are expressed in a peculiar style, which, though well
novyn to physicians and apothecaries, may require the
illustration of an example. The following is a specimen of
a modern prescription as it would be written by a physician,
according to the nomenclature of the pharmacopceia:  *
For Mr Middleton.
R’ Pulv. Rad. Rhei palmati gr. xxy.
Tartratis Rotassse 3ij.
Tincturae Sennae compositae,
Syrupi Rosas centifoliae aa 3ij.
Aquae Menthae piperitae Jiss.
M.f Fotio summo mane sumenda.
Jan. 31, 1859.
From the above example, it will be seen that a prescrip¬
tion, properly so called, contains several circumstances be¬
side the/orW^ or receipts, as the name of the patient for
whom the prescription is written ; the signature of the phy¬
sician, as J. B. for John Balfour; and the date of prescrib¬
ing; none of which should be. omitted, as the prescriptions
are carefully preserved by the apothecary for future refer¬
ence.
It may be proper to explain some circumstances respect¬
ing the formula given in the above prescription. The R
with which it commences signifies recipe or take; and is
prefixed to all medical receipts. Then follow the several
ingredients of which the medicine is to be composed, with
the quantities of each. Jhese quantities are usually marked
by peculiar characters or symbols, and the numbers em¬
ployed are usually the Roman numerals. After the ingre¬
dients have been enumerated, and their quantities specified,
there follows the title of the medicine, as Potio in the pre¬
sent instance, signifying potion or purging draught, with
M. f. prefixed to it, which stand for misce fiat, or misce ut
fiat, mix to make; and lastly, the direction how the medicine
is to be taken or administered, summo mane sumenda, to
be taken early in the morning. The ingredients of which
a formula is composed have been, by writers on medical
prescriptions, arranged under four heads: 1. The basis of
the formula, which in the present instance is the rhubarb,
constituting the principal ingredient, on whose action, mo¬
dified where necessary, the chief success of the medicine,
in fulfilling the required indication, is to depend. 2. The
adjuvant or auxiliary, added to the basis, for the purpose of
increasing its power, expediting its action, or rendering it
more easily soluble in the juices of the stomach; in the
above formula the tartrate of potash is the principal adju¬
vant. 3. The corrector, added to the basis when we wish
to moderate or delay its action, to correct some unpleasant
or injurious property of it, such as its odour, taste, acrimony,
&c., or to prevent it from acting on the body in a different
manner from that which the indication requires: thus, in
the present formula, the warm tincture of senna is added,
rather to correct the griping quality of the rhubarb, than to
increase its action, and the syrup of roses to correct the
unpleasant taste of the medicine; and the essential oil in
the pepperment-water contributes to both these purposes:
these, therefore, are to be considered as the correctors. 4.
The constituent, or that ingredient which serves to reduce
the rest into the form which is considered as most con¬
venient for the exhibition of the medicine; in the present
case the peppermint-water is the constituent, serving to
reduce the medicine to the form of a potion or draught.
507
Prescrip¬
tion,
508 P R E
Prescrip- Medical formulae are either officinal or extemporaneous;
tion. the former being such as are directed by authority of some
public medical college to be kept in the shops of apothe¬
caries, and the preparation of which is described in their
pharmacopoeias or dispensatories ; the latter such as are pre¬
scribed by the physician or surgeon, as occasion may require.
Prescription, in English law, “ is when a man claim-
eth any thing for that he, his ancestors or predeces¬
sors, or they whose estate he hath, have had or used any"
thing all the time whereof no memory is to the contrary.
(T. de la Ley) This definition appears to be sufficiently
definite and comprehensive. There have been vaiious
attempts at defining prescription, and few of them nave
ended in entire success. According to a passage in Littel-
ton, prescription is made essential to custom. He says.
No custome is to beo allowed, but such customc as hath
been used by title of prescription ; that is to say, from time
out of mind. But divers opinions have been of time out
of mind, &c., and of title of prescription, which is all one in
the law.” There is another claim, however, to which the
term prescription is very frequently applied, and which re¬
sembles custom, in being endowed with the inseparable
incidents of time and of usage, which is another essential to^
custom. Yet this claim differs from custom in the mode of
pleading adopted in it, which serves to distinguish the
difference of the right. The word prescription is given to
this claim, because the plaintiff or defendant making it
“ prescribeth that,” &c., going on to state the nature of his
claim. The following example of such a prescription is
taken from Coke upon Littelton:—“ I. S. seised of the
manor of D. in fee prescribeth thus : That I. S. his ances¬
tors, and all whose estate he hath in the sayd manor, had
and used to have common of pasture time out of mind in
such a place, &c., being the land of some other, &c., as per¬
taining to the same manor.” It accordingly follows that
the claim by prescription is properly a claim of a determi¬
nate person ; that by custom, as opposed to prescription,
belongs and applies to a particular place, belongs and
applies to many, nay, to an indefinite number of persons,
such as to the inhabitants of an entire parish. From the
first definition, it appears that prescription may belong to a
man as the heir of his ancestors, or to a corporation as the
representatives of their predecessors, or it may be the claim
of one who holds a situation in which there is perpetual
succession, or by a person in virtue of an estate which he
holds.
It seems to form an essential element in prescription,
that the use of the thing claimed should have been time
out of mind continuous and peaceable. As to the signifi¬
cation of the expression “ time out of mind,” it means that
there must be no evidence of the non-usage of the claim
subsequent to the first year of legal memory; that is, after
the beginning of the reign of the first Richard. In order
to substantiate the prescription, there must also be evidence
of repeated usage ; but where the evidence fails to show the
beginning of the enjoyment, twenty years has been consi¬
dered sufficient proof. Prescription is said to be founded
on the assumption of an original grant that has been long
lost. Thus Blackstone, in speaking of the erection of cor¬
porations, has the following passage:—“ Another method of
implication, whereby the queen’s consent is presumed, is,
as to all corporations, by prescription; such as the city of
London, and many others, which have existed as corpora¬
tions time whereof the memory of man runneth not to the
contrary, and therefore are looked upon in law to be well
created. For though the members thereof can show no legal
charter of incorporation, yet, in cases of such high antiquity,
the law presumes that there once was one ; and that, by the
variety of accidents which a length of time may produce,
the charter is lost or destroyed.”
Some alterations as to prescription have been made by
P R E
recent acts, limiting the time w ithin which actions can be Prescrip,
brought, or suits instituted, relating to real property. Such tion.
are the 3 and 4 Will. IV., c. 27; also 2 and 3 Will. v'—v—'
IV., c. 100. The 2 and 3 Will. IV., c. 71, is entitled
“ An Act for Shortening the time of Prescription in certain
Cases,” and applies (§ 1) to “ claims which may be lawfully
made at the common law by custom, prescription, or grant,
to any right of common, or other profit or benefit, to be
taken from or upon any land, &c., except such matters and
things as are therein specially provided for, and except
tithes, rents, and services.” Section 2 applies “ to any
way or other easement, or to any watercourse, or the use
of any water;” and sect. 3 to the use of light. It is
further enacted, that no claim to the things comprised
within this statute, “ shall, when such right, profit, or bene¬
fit (as is mentioned in sect. 1), shall have been actually taken
and enjoyed by any person claiming right thereto, without
interruption, for the full period of thirty years, be defeated
or destroyed, by showing only that such right, profit, or
benefit was first taken or enjoyed at any time prior to such
period of thirty years; but nevertheless such claim may be
defeated in any other way by which the same is now liable
to be defeated ; and where such right, profit, or benefit shall
have been so taken and enjoyed, as aforesaid, for the full
period of sixty years, the right thereto shall be deemed
absolute and indefeasible, unless it shall appear that the
same was taken and enjoyed by some consent or agreement,
expressly made or given for that purpose by deed or writ¬
ing.” The terms of twenty and forty years are fixed respec¬
tively, instead of thirty and sixty, as mentioned in the first
section. The eighth section enacts, “ that when any land
or water upon, over, or from which any such way, or other
convenient watercourse, or use of water, shall have been
enjoyed or derived, hath been or shall be held under any
term of life, or any term of years exceeding three years
from the granting therof, the time of the enjoyment ot
any such way, or other matter as therein last mentioned,
during the continuance of such term, shall be excluded in
the computation of the said period of forty years, in case
the claim shall, within three years next after the end, or
sooner determination of such term, be resisted by any person
entitled to any reversion expectant on the determination
thereof.”
Prescription, in Scotch law, has a much wider operation
than in either the civil law or the law of England, sup¬
plying the place, as it does, of the statute of limitations in
the latter system. In Scots law, and according to the long
prescription, titles may be had to heritable property through
a series of consecutive titles, extending over a period of
forty years. But this positive prescription must be accom¬
panied by negative prescription, to afford it free operation.
By negative prescription is meant the absence of any effort
on the part of one who may have a competing title to put
his claim in force. This negative prescription will of itselt
destroy a claim by one party in cases where it cannot be
directly said there is relative possession on the part of the
other, independently of the existence of any positive pre¬
scription. The act creating this prescription says generally
regarding obligations, “ the party to whom the obligation
is made that has interest therein, shall follow the said obli¬
gation within the space of forty years, and take document
thereupon. And if he does not, it shall be prescribed, and
be of no avail, the said forty years being run, and unpur¬
sued by the party.” Prescription is counted from the day
when fulfilment of the obligation became exigible, and it is
effectual in all cases of debt, bonds, provisions in marriage-
contracts, &c. Prescription can only be interrupted by the
act of the person against whose claim it is running. Sus¬
pension of prescription takes place during minority ; and so
if the person having a claim have been twenty years a minor,
he cannot lose his claim by negative prescription in less
P R E
Present than sixty years. A similar suspension takes place in all
Tense cases where the creditor is physically disabled from acting.
II The short prescription, or, more properly speaking, limita-
Pressburg. j.jon^ jg an exc]usjon on ordinary means of proving the
obligation. The triennial prescription, or the limitation of
the existence of an obligation to three years, runs on most
debts contracted in ordinary business without a written
obligation. A prescription of five years takes place in all
bargains concerning moveables or sums of money which
may be proved by witnesses, such as contracts of sale, let¬
ting and hiring, &c. Holograph writings, or those of which
the whole is written by the granter, if not attested by wit¬
nesses, prescribe in twenty years. Actions on the ground
of the transactions between tutor and curator, on either
side, prescribe in ten years after the expiration of the
guardianship; and the operation of certain cautionary obli¬
gations is limited to seven years; while bills of exchange
and promissory-notes prescribe as items of debt in six
years. (Hill Burton’s Manual of Scots Law.')
PRESENT TENSE, in grammar, the first tense of a
verb, expressing present time, or that something is now
performing ; as I write, or I am writing.
PRESENTATION to a living in the English Church
may be performed by any patron to whom the advowson of
the church belongs, by offering his clerk to the bishop of
the diocese to be instituted. The bishop, however, has the
power of refusing the said clerk: this on many accounts,
as,—1. If the patron be excommunicated, and remain in
contempt forty days; or 2. If the clerk be unfit, which
unfitness is of several kinds : first, with regard to his per¬
son, for he may be an outlaw, an excommunicate, an alien,
under age, or the like ; next, with respect to his faith or
morals,—as for any particular heresy, or vice that is malum
in se; or, finally, the clerk may be unfit to discharge the
duties of the pastoral office by reason of his want of learn¬
ing. If the bishop, however, have no objections, then the
care of the souls of the parish is committed to the charge
of the clerk, who enters on the parsonage-house and glebe,
and takes the tithes.
PRESIDENT, Prases, is an officer created or elected
to preside over a company or assembly, and is so called
in contradistinction to the other members, who are termed
residents.
Lord President of the Council is a great officer of the
crown, who has precedence next after the lord chan¬
cellor and lord treasurer. The lord president is as ancient
as the time of King John, when he was styled consilia-
rius capitalis. His office is to attend on the king, to pro¬
pose business at the council-table, and to report to the
king the several matters transacted there.
PRESS. See Printing, and Liberty of the Press.
PRESSBURG (Hung. Posony'), a town of Hungary,
at one time the capital of that kingdom, as it is still of
the county of Pressburg, stands in a beautiful country,
amidst vine-covered hills, near the foot of the Little Car¬
pathians, on the left bank of the Danube, here crossed by a
bridge of boats, 34 miles below Vienna. It is built on
sloping ground, and has much the appearance of a quiet
German country town, with few Hungarian characteristics.
The most conspicuous object is a large brick castle, of
which only the walls now remain, as it was destroyed by
fire in 1811. The ruins, which stand on a hill, command
a fine view of the broad plains of Hungary and the wind¬
ings of the Danube. The cathedral, in which the kings of
Hungary were crowned, is an ancient Gothic building of
the eleventh century. It contains many trophies gained
from the Turks, and an equestrian statue in lead of St
Martin, which is a masterpiece of Donner. The Land-
haus, in which the meetings of the Diet were held, is a
very plain building; and the chambers are simple rooms
with green baize tables, round which the members sat in
ERE 509
their splendid Hungarian costume. Pressburg contains Presteigne
also an ancient town-hall; numerous churches, chapels, and II
convents ; an archiepiscopal palace ; archbishop’s summer Prester
residence; and several palaces of the nobility. Near the John’
end of the bridge there is an artificial hill,’12 or 14 feet
high, surrounded by a railing. It is called the Kbnigsberg ;
because here each king of Hungary after his coronation
used to proceed on horseback, and from the top of the
mound waved the sword of St Stephen towards the four
points of the compass, as a sign that he would defend the
country from all enemies. The educational establishments
of Pressburg comprise a royal academy, with faculties of
law and medicine; a Roman Catholic theological seminary
and upper school; an evangelical college for philosophy
and theology ; and several elementary schools. The town
has also a public library and several hospitals. Silk and
cotton goods, tobacco, nitre, and leather, are among the
chief manufactures of Pressburg; and an active trade is
carried on, chiefly in rural produce. The town is of great
antiquity, and is said to have existed even before the con¬
quest of the country by the Romans. From 1547, when
Buda was taken by the Turks, till 1784, it was the capital
of Hungary ; but in the latter year Joseph II. again made
Buda the capital. In 1619 Pressburg was taken by Beth-
len Gabor, but retaken in 1621 by the imperialists under
Boucquoi. In 1805, after the battle of Austerlitz, a treaty
was concluded here between France and Austria. Pop.
(1851), exclusive of the military, 42,178.
PRESTEIGNE, a parliamentary borough and market-
town of Wales, in the county of Radnor, on the borders
of Hereford, in a fertile valley watered by the Lug, 6
miles E. by N. of Radnor, and 151 W.N.W. of London.
The parish church is a large ancient building containing
several curious monuments, and an altar-piece of tapestry.
There are here also Wesleyan, Primitive Methodist, and
Baptist churches, a free grammar school, a county-hall,
and a jail. Large quantities of malt are made here; and
there is some trade in timber. Pop. (1851) 1617.
PRESTER or PRESBYTER JOHN, was the name
given by the Europeans of the middle ages to a dynasty of
supposed eastern potentates. The following account is the
history of this legend:—About the beginning of the eleventh
century, it began to be reported in Christendom that a
certain king beyond Persia and Armenia had been met
by the spirit of a departed saint in a forest; that he had
been overawed into becoming a true believer; and that
he had ordered all his subjects, to the number of 200,000,
to adopt the same faith. As time passed by, the report
seemed to receive corroboration. Envoys pretending to
come from the land in question arrived at Rome. Addi¬
tional rumours, by what means nobody knew, found their
way to the West. The manners and customs of this newly-
Christianized people were said to retain many traces of the
old patriarchal limes. The chief was both priest and king,
and was known on that account by the name of Prester
or Presbyter John. His tribe lived a peaceful pastoral
life, following their flocks through the desert, feeding upon
flesh and milk, and being so destitute of corn and wine
that they were unable in the prescribed manner to ob¬
serve the fast-days, or to partake of the eucharist. Nor
was the exquisite primitive simplicity of his kingdom un¬
adorned by substantial wealth and majesty. Unbounded
treasures were at his command ; many neighbouring nations
were his tributaries; and he swayed supremely with a
sceptre of emerald.
Such pleasing reports as these continued to be greedily
swallowed by the superstitious in Europe, until investiga¬
tions commenced to be made. It then began to appear
doubtful whether this happy land were not a mere Utopia,
and whether this admirable Prester John were not a mere
creature of the popular fancy. Carpini, a Franciscan friar
510 P R E
P R E
Presto who was sent by Pope Innocent IV. in 1246 on an em-
II bassy to the Mongols, failed to discover the celebrated
Preston. nation 0f Christians. Not long afterwards another Fran-
ciscan, William de Rubruquis, who penetrated into Asia
as far as Karakorum, could find none but a few Nesto-
rians, who had even heard of the great priest-king.
Equally unsuccessful were the Portuguese explorers who
reached India by the way of the Cape of Good Hope about
the end of the fifteenth century. After fruitlessly seek¬
ing for the Prester in Asia, they were fain to suppose, on-
few or no grounds, that they had found him in Africa in
the person of an Abyssinian prince. The result of all
these explorations was, that investigators ceased to inquire
into the truth of the story of Prester John, and turned
their attention to an explanation of its origin. The most
plausible solution is that given by Mosheim in his Church
History. He supposes that a certain Nestorian priest
named John gained possession of a throne in Asiatic
Tartary; that he still retained the name of Presbyter
after his accession ; and that the title of Prester John was
inherited by his descendants, along with the throne, until
his dynasty was extirpated by tfle mighty Tartar emperor
Genghiskan.
PRESTO, in the Italian music, intimates to perform
quickly; and hence prestissimo denotes extreme quick¬
ness.
PRESTON, a parliamentary and municipal borough,
seaport, and market-town of England, in the county of
Lancaster, on the N. bank of the Ribble, here crossed by
three fine bridges, 19 miles S. of Lancaster, and 217
N.W. by N. of London. It is well built* for the most
part of brick, on a rising ground about 120 feet above the
river; and the principal streets, one of which, called Fish-
ergate, is about a mile long, are broad and well paved.
In the neighbourhood there are many villas, and some
beautiful public walks. One of the latter, called Aven-
ham Walk, on the top of the hill on which Preston is
built, is much frequented, and has been well laid out by
the corporation. There are in the town a spacious market¬
place, and many elegant terraces and squares. Among the
public buildings are the guild-hall, a brick edifice with a
turret and cupola, in the centre of the town; the court¬
house, built in 1826, in the Grecian style of architecture;
the market-house, corn exchange, cloth-hall, custom-house,
theatre, and assembly-rooms. Of the places of wprship
in Preston, ten belong to the Established Church. The
parish church, rebuilt in 1770, has a lofty spire. Those
of St Peter and St Paul, erected in 1824 and 1825, are
both in the modern Gothic style; and Christ church is a
fine specimen of pure Norman architecture. The Roman
Catholics have four churches here, one of which is a build-
ing of great elegance. There are also places of worship
belonging to Wesleyan Primitive, Episcopalian Primitive,
and Associated Methodists; Baptists, Independents, UnU
tarians, Quakers, Swedenborgians, and Mormonites, to the
number of twenty in all. One of the finest buildings in
the town is a Grecian structure belonging to the Society
for Diffusing Useful Knowledge, containing a library of
5000 volumes, and a valuable museum. The educational
institutions comprise a free grammar school, founded in
1663, occupying a large stone edifice, and attended by
130 scholars in 1852 ; a blue-coat school, several national
and infant schools, and a deaf-and-dumb institution.
Preston has also a literary and philosophical society, with
an elegant building of the Tudor style, a mechanics’ insti¬
tute, agricultural society, and three public libraries. There
are, besides, nine alms-houses, a dispensary, infirmary,
workhouse, and savings-bank. Public baths and wash-
ouses have been erected here by the corporation, and were
opened m 1851. 1 he town contains a borough prison and
county penitentiary; while at Fulwood, 2 miles to the
N.W., there are large barracks. Preston is chiefly im¬
portant as a manufacturing and commercial town. Its
staple manufacture at present is cotton, of which it is one
of the principal seats in England. This branch of trade
was introduced here in 1777, before which time the prin¬
cipal industry of the place was directed to the manufacture
of linen, which is still carried on to a considerable extent.
There are upwards of fifty mills for spinning and weaving
cotton, worsted and flax mills, iron and brass foundries,
tanneries, rope-works, malt-houses, and breweries. Fishery
has been carried on for a long time in the Ribble, where
salmon, eels, &c., are caught. The river has been, by
dredging and other improvements, rendered navigable at
spring tides for vessels of 300 tons burden up to the quays
of the town, where extensive warehouses have been erected.
Besides those derived from the navigation of the Ribble,
Preston enjoys many advantages for commercial purposes
in being connected, both by canals and railways, with the
central and other parts of the country. The commerce of
the town is considerable; corn, timber, and iron being the
principal imports. On the 31st December 1857 there
were registered at the port 114 sailing-vessels, tonnage
6253; and 3 steamers, tonnage 440. During that year
there entered 295 sailing-vessels, tonnage 16,485 ; and 2.
steamers, tonnage 298 : and there cleared 517 sailing-ves¬
sels, tonnage 25,382,—all of these, except 11 sailing-ves¬
sels that entered from foreign ports, tonnage 1414, being
engaged in the coasting trade. Besides weekly markets,
several annual fairs are held at Preston; and there are
races, which take place on the other side of the river. A
celebration called the “ Guilds” is held at Preston once every
twenty years, generally in the end of August. It consists
of a procession of the corporation and the various trades
of the town, and is an occasion of great festivity. The.
borough is governed by a mayor, twelve aldermen, and
thirty-six councillors. It returns two members to the
House of Commons. The origin of Preston seems to.
date from the decay of Ribchester, which is now a mere
village, 11 miles farther up the river; and the name Priests-
toivn was probably given to it on account of its ecclesiastical
edifices, some remains of which still exist. In 1323 it
was taken and partly burned by the Scotch under Robert
the Bruce. In the civil war Preston adhered to the royal
cause, but was besieged and taken by the parliamentary
forces. In 1715 the Jacobites took possession of the town,
and erected barricades for its defence, but after a brave
resistance were obliged to surrender. In January 1854 a
strike of the workmen at Preston occurred, which lasted
twenty-nine weeks, causing a great excitement and much
distress among the work-people. Sir Richard Arkwright,
the inventor of the spinning-jenny, was born at Preston in
1732. Pop. (1851)69,542.
PRESTONPANS, a burgh pf barony and seaport-town
of Scotland, in the county of Haddington, on the S. shore
of the Firth of Forth, 8 miles E. of Edinburgh. It is
meanly and irregularly built, and contains a plain parish
church, a Free church, a parish school, and an hospital.
The manufacture of salt is carried on here; and there are
potteries, a distillery, and a brewery. The people are also
largely employed in the oyster fishery. Near the town
was fought the battle of Prestonpans, in which the Pre¬
tender entirely defeated the forces of Sir John Cope, Sep¬
tember 21, 1745. Pop. (1851) 1640.
PRESTWICK, or Priestwick, a burgh of barony of
Scotland, in the county and 4 miles N.N.E. of Ayr. It is
an old and decayed place, with a deserted church that
serves as a sea-mark to ships in the Firth of Clyde, a cross,
council-house, and prison. Pop. (1851) 1200.
PRETERITE. See Grammar.
PREVESA, a fortified town of European Turkey, in
Albania, on the N. shore of the Gulf of Arta, 18 miles S.W.
Preston-
pana
II
Prevesa.
PHI
Priam
Price.
of Arta, and 58 S.S.W. of Yanina. It has all the appear¬
ance of an oriental town, with its fantastically-carved
mosque having a tall slender minaret. The streets are
narrow and crooked, and the houses built chiefly of wood.
1 here is a harbour, where some trade is carried on. Tim¬
ber, tobacco, oil, wool, cotton, See., are exported; and
coffee, sugar, hardware, See., are imported. Prevesa be¬
longed to the Venetians from 1684 until the fall of that
republic in 1797. It was then held by the French for a
time, but was afterwards taken by the Turks. About 3
miles from the town are the ruins of the ancient Nicopo-
lis. Pop. about 4000.
PRIAM, King of Troy, was the son of Laomedon and
Strymo or Placia. His original name, Podaras, «the
swift-footed,” is said to have been changed into Priamus
“ the ransomed,” from his having been ransomed by his
sister Hesione, when he had fallen into the hands of Her¬
cules. He is said to have been first married to Aisbe,
by whom he became the father of iEsacus; but giving her
up to Hyrtacus, he married Hecuba, by whom he had nine¬
teen sons. He took no active part in the Trojan war,
from his advanced age. Priam is said to have been killed
by Pyrrhus, the son of Achilles, at the sacking of Troy by
the Greeks (about 1184 b.c.)
PRIAPUS, according to some, the son of Dionysus and
Aphrodite ; according to others, the son of Dionysus and a
Naiad, the son of Adonis and Aphrodite, the son of Hermes,
and the son of Pan or a satyr. He is reported to have been
born at Lampsacus on the Hellespont (whence the name
Hellespontiacus), of extreme ugliness, and with unusually
large genitals. He was worshipped as the promoter of fer¬
tility, both vegetable and animal. First-fruits were offered
to him; milk, honey, and cakes; rams, asses, and fishes.
He was represented in carved images, mostly in the form
of herma, or of a head placed on a quadrangular pillar,
painted red (whence ruber or rubicundus is applied to him
by Ovid, Fasti, i. 415, vi. 319, 333), carrying fruit in his
garment, and either a sickle or cornucopia in his hand.
PRICE, Richard, Fellow of the Royal Society of Lon¬
don and of the Academy of Sciences, New England, was
born at Tynton in Glamorganshire on the 22d of Feb¬
ruary 1723. His father was a dissenting minister at
Bridgend in that county, and died in 1739. At eight
years of age he was placed under a Mr Simmons of Neath ;
and four years afterwards he was removed to Pentwyn, in
Caermarthenshire, where he was placed under the Rev.
Samuel Jones, whom he represented as a man of a very
enlarged mind, and who first inspired him with liberal sen¬
timents of religion. Having lived as long with him as with
Mr Simmons, he was sent to Mr Griffith’s academy at Tal¬
garth in Breconshire. In 1740 he lost his mother, upon
which he quitted the academy and proceeded to London.
Here he was settled at the academy of which Mr Eames
acted as the principal tutor, under the patronage of his
uncle, the Rev. S. Price, who was for upwards of forty
years co-pastor with Dr Watts. At the end of four years
he left this academy, and resided with Mr Streatfield, of
Stoke Newington, in the quality of domestic chaplain ;
whilst at the same time he regularly assisted Dr Chandler
at the Old Jewry, and occasionally assisted others. Hav¬
ing lived with Mr Streatfield nearly thirteen years, he was
induced to change his situation, and in the year 1757 mar¬
ried Miss Blundell of Leicestershire. He then settled at
Hackney; but being shortly afterwards chosen minister at
Newington Green, he lived there until the death of his
wife, which took place in 1786, when he returned to Hack¬
ney. He was next chosen afternoon preacher at the meet¬
ing-house in Poor Jewry Street; but this he resigned on
being elected pastor of the Gravel-pit Meeting, Hackney,
and afternoon preacher at Newington Green. These he
resigned with a farewell sermon in February 1791. Shortly
P R I
afterwards he was attacked with a nervous fever, which
reduced him to such a degree, that, worn out with agony
and disease, he died on the 19th of April 1791. He be¬
queathed his property to a sister and two nephews.
In morals, Dr Price’s principles were those of Cudworth
and Clarke; and by many persons who have themselves
adopted a very different theory, he is allowed to have de¬
fended these principles with greater ability than any other
writer in the English language. In metaphysics he was
a very great admirer of Plato, from whom he borrowed his
doctrine concerning ideas. He was a firm believer in
the immateriality of the soul; but with Dr Law, the learned
bishop of Carlisle, he thought that from death to the resur¬
rection of the body it remains in a dormant and quiescent
state. He contended for its indivisibility, but maintained,
at the same time, its extension; which, in the celebrated
controversy with Dr Priestley, furnished the latter with
some advantages which his own acuteness would never have
obtained. In propagating his political principles, which
were republican, he sometimes expressed himself with un¬
due vehemence; and he was a zealous enemy to all reli¬
gious establishments, which in his opinion encroach upon
that liberty with which Christ has made us free. His faith
respecting the Son of God was what has sometimes been
called Low Ananism, and sometimes Semi-Arianism. From
a very early age he claimed the privilege of thinking for him¬
self on every subject. His father was a rigid Calvinist, and
spared no pains to instil his own theological dogmas into
the tender mind of his son ; but young Richard would often
start his doubts and difficulties, and sometimes incur the old
man s displeasure by arguing against his favourite system
with a perplexing ingenuity, and a solidity that could not
easily be overturned. He had once the misfortune to be
caught reading a volume of Clarke’s sermons, which his
father, in great wrath, snatched from him and threw into
the fire. Perhaps he could not have taken a more effectual
method to make the book a favourite, or to excite the
young man’s curiosity in regard to the other works of the
same author; and it is by no means improbable but that
this orthodox bigotry contributed more than any other cir¬
cumstance to lay the foundation of his son’s Arianism. An
elegant notice of Price s moral system will be found in the
Second Preliminary Dissertation.
In 1763 or 1764 he was chosen a fellow of the Royal
Society, and contributed largely to the transactions of that
learned body; in 1769 he received from Aberdeen a di¬
ploma creating him Doctor of Divinity; and in 1783 the
degree of Doctor of Laws was conferred upon him by the
college of Yale in Connecticut. As in the year 1770 he
refused an American degree which had been conveyed to
him by Dr Franklin, his acceptance of one, thirteen years
afterwards, can be attributed only to his extravagant attach¬
ment to a republican form of government.
511
Price.
To posterity his works will be his monument. They are,—A
Review of the Principal Questions and Difficulties in Morals, 1758,
8vo; Dissertations on Providence, 1767, 8vo; Observations on Rever¬
sionary Payments, 1771, 8vo; Appeal on the National Debt, 1773,
8vo; Observations on the Nature of Civil Liberty, 1776; On Mate¬
rialism and Necessity, in a Correspondence between Dr Price and Dr
Priestley, 1779; On Annuities, Assurances, and Population, 1779,
8vo; On the Population of England, 1780; On the Public Debts,
Finances, and Loans, 1783, 8vo; On Reversionary Payments, 1783,
2 vols.; On the Importance of the American Revolution, 1784 ; be¬
sides Sermons, and a variety of papers in the Philosophical Trans¬
actions on Astronomy and other philosophical subjects. (The Me¬
moirs of the Life of Richard Price, D.D., by Wm. Morgan, F.R.S.,
London, 1815, 8vo.)
Price, Thomas, an eminent Welshman, was born near
Builth in Brecknockshire in 1788, and was educated for
the church at the college of Brecknock. After settling
down as vicar of Cwmdu in 1825, he appeared before the
public as a man of great and many-sided activity. There
512
P
R I
Prichard, was scarcely a gentlemanly accomplishment which he did
not practise. He was an excellent swimmer, and an adept
in archery and other athletic games. He carved in wood,
modelled in wax and cork, etched with success, and played
upon the Welsh harp. Nor did these elegant pastimes
detain him from more elevated pursuits. His exertions for
the honour of his nation were untiring. The Welsh
Eisteddfods, or literary gatherings, received his thorough¬
going support. No less than fifteen Welsh periodicals were
enriched by-his contributions. Several essays on the Welsh
literature proceeded from his pen. A
Cymru, was published by him between 1836 and 1842.
He continued, in fact, to be the great champion of his
countrymen till his death in 1848. The most important of
this author’s works are contained in the Literary Remains
of the Rev. Thomas Price, with a Memoir of his Life, by
Jane Williams, Ysgafell, in 2 vols. 8vo, Llandovery,
1854—55.
PRICHARD, James Cowles, a great ethnologist, was
born at Ross in Herefordshire on the 11th of February
1786, and was educated at London and Edinburgh for
the medical profession. He was early led to devote his
attention to ethnology by hearing objections brought
against the Mosaic account of the origin of our race. His
first thoughts on the subject were given in the thesis
which he delivered on the occasion of taking his M.D.
at Edinburgh. On his settlement at Bristol in 1810 as
a physician, his inquiries assumed a more definite form.
He addressed himself to the study in the most able and
systematic manner. The most unwearied research, the
most varied erudition, and the most sagacious deliberation,
were brought to bear upon the subject. All the evidences
in favour of a plurality of races were first either directly
refuted or at least removed. The different kindreds, as
described by many different authors, were next passed in re¬
view; their varieties of form, colour, language, and habits,
were contrasted and compared; and the differences and re¬
semblances were carefully ascertained. The differences were
concluded to be chiefly the result of civilization ; and the
resemblances were adduced as a proof of the unity of the
human race. The result of these investigations was a book
published in 1813 under the title of Researches into the
Physical History of Man. Nor did the enthusiastic eth¬
nologist halt on the way of research upon which he had so
successfully entered. It is true that during the next thir¬
teen years his large and ever-open mind was occupied with
an astonishing multiplicity of engagements. He maintained
a large practice in Bristol and its neighbourhood, delivered
lectures on physiology and medicine, and wrote treatises
on fever, epilepsy, nervous diseases, and insanity. He also
made himself an adept in German, Greek, and Hebrew,
studied Egyptian mythology and history, and contributed
various articles to periodicals. Yet in 1826, when the
second edition of his Researches was published, it was
found that his attention had been chiefly occupied in matur¬
ing and illustrating his ethnological opinions, and that much
of his miscellaneous acquisitions had been employed for
that purpose. Many improvements on the former edition
were observable. A wider, and at the same time a more
minute view had been taken of the families of mankind.
Greater prominence had been given to language as a mark
of affinity. Especially had the discovery been made that
the Celtic tongues and the Sanscrit were sprung from the
same stock. In fact, the book, by developing to its full
extent the philological element in ethnology, had intro¬
duced a new era in the history of the science. Still the
author with unwearied endeavour continued to correct and
expand his views. An Analysis of the Egyptian Mytho¬
logy, which he published in 1838, assisted him considerably
in carrying out this purpose. His removal also to London
in 1841 as inspector of the lunatic asylums was probably
P R I
not without its effect. He did not cease his laborious in- Prideaux.
vestinations until he had completed the third edition of his
work-in five closely-printed volumes. The great task of
Dr Prichard’s life was now accomplished. He died in
London in December 1848. At the time of his death
Prichard was president of the Ethnological Society of
London and a fellow of several learned societies both at
home and abroad. The latest edition of his Researches is
that in 5 vols. 8vo, London, 1851. An abstract of this
work, which he published in 1843 under the title of The
Natural History of Man, has gone through several edi¬
tions. (See “ A Biographical Sketch of Dr Prichard,” by
Thomas Hodgkin, M.D., in The Edinburgh New Philoso¬
phical Journal, vol. xlvii.)
PRIDEAUX, Humphry, a very learned clergyman of
the Church of England, was born at Padstow in Cornwall
in 1648. He studied three years at Westminster under
Dr Busby, and was then removed to Christ Church, Oxford.
Here, in 1676, he published his Marmora Oxoniensia.
This introduced him to the Lord Chancellor Finch, after¬
wards Earl of Nottingham, who in 1679 presented him to
the rectory of St Clement’s, near Oxford, and in 1681 be¬
stowed on him a prebend of Norwich. Some years after¬
wards he was engaged in a controversy with the Catholics
at Norwich concerning the validity of the orders of the
Church of England, which produced his book upon that
subject. In 1688 he was installed in the archdeaconry of
Suffolk, to which he was collated by Dr Lloyd, then bishop
of Norwich. In 1691, upon the death of Dr Edward
Pococke, the Hebrew professorship at Oxford, being va¬
cant, was offered to Dr Prideaux ; but he refused it. In
1697 he published his Life of Mohammed; and in 1702
he was installed dean of Norwich. Some time after his
return to London he proceeded with his Connection of the
History of the Old and New Testament, which he had com¬
menced when he laid aside the design of writing the History
of Appropriations. He died in 1724.
Prideaux, John, an eminent dignitary of the English
Church, was born in 1578 at Stowford, an obscure hamlet
near Ivy-Bridge in Devonshire. His rise in life began
amid great embarrassments. While a poor village lad, he
aspired to be clerk of the neighbouring parish of Ugborow,
and was unsuccessful. The failure depressed his spirits
very much, until a kind country lady sent him at her own
expense to a school in the vicinity. There he unweariedly
plodded on for some time, acquiring with great difficulty a
small smattering of classical learning. A rustic-looking
youth of eighteen, clad in breeches which were no better
than leather, and had very little in their pockets, he then
set out to travel on foot to the distant university of Oxford.
On his arrival it was accepted by him as a great boon that
lie was allowed to become a student of Exeter College, on
condition that he should also become a menial oi Exeter
kitchen. In spite of all these difficulties, however, Pri¬
deaux soon rose to eminence. His attainments recom¬
mended him to a probationer fellowship in 1602. Ihe re¬
pute of his theological learning placed him in the rectorship
in 1612. Nor in this important position did he fail to ad¬
vance his reputation. His gentle and fatherly government
won every heart. The students under his charge increased
till they outnumbered those under any of the other rectors
of the university. Some even came from abroad for the
purpose of sitting at his feet. His fame was established;
and no ecclesiastical preferment was beyond his reach.
Several benefices, the office of regius professor of divinity,
and the vice-chancellorship were conferred upon him. At
length, in 1641, he was promoted by Charles I. to the see
of Worcester. Bishop Prideaux, in the discharge of his
high office, showed himself to be a fine specimen of the
English clergyman of that period. Among his flock he was
simple and gentle, a child in the affairs of this world, and
P E I
Priego a saint in the affairs of the next. In his study he was a
|| good linguist, a profound theologian, and a very hammer
nessm z^. 0f heretics. And when the troubles of the civil war
came, his spirit was not unequal to the trials of a martyr.
In vain did the Puritans harass him, and sequestrate his
estate for his adherence to the cause of the king. He
continued true to the principles of his church, living upon
the proceeds of his library for the rest of his life, and leav¬
ing at his death in 1650 no other legacy to his children but
“ pious poverty, God’s blessing, and a father’s prayers.”
The chief works of Bishop Prideaux are Viginti Duce
Lectiones de Totidern Religionis Capitibm, fob, Oxford,
1648; and Fasciculus Controversiarum Theologicarum
ad Junior cm, 4to, Oxford, 1648. A list is given in Watt’s
Bibliotheca Britannica. (See Wood’s Athena: Oxonienses.)
1 RIEGO, a town of Spain, Andalusia, in the province
of Cordova, partly on a fertile plain, and partly on the
slopes of the Sierra di Algarrinejo, 34 miles S.E. of Cor¬
dova. It is well built, and has broad, straight, and well-paved
streets, adorned wdth several fountains, some of which are
very elegant structures. Here are the ruins of a castle
built by the Romans, and afterwards repaired and enlarged
by the Moors. Ihe public buildings include various
churches, hospitals, and schools ; a town-hall, theatre, flesh-
maiket, &c. Oil and flour mills, tanneries, and potteries
are the chief manufactories of the place. Priego was for¬
merly a very wealthy town, on account of its numerous
silk factories ; but this branch of industry is not now ex¬
tensively pursued here. This town was the birthplace of
the sculptor Don Jose Alvarez. Pop. 13,464.
PRIESSNITZ, Vincenz, the originator of the water-
cure, w as the son of a farmer, and was born at Grafenbero-
in Austrian Silesia in 1799. He had not attained to man¬
hood when circumstances occurred which were the means
of leading him to his great discovery. The death of his
rather compelled him at an early age to take an active part
in the management of the farm. One day as he was out in
the fields driving a cart, the horse knocked him down, and
the wheel passed over his side. The medical man who was
called in found two of his ribs broken, and expressed a fear
that he would be a cripple for life. It was then that Priess-
nitz resolved to try a new method of curative treatment.
Having adjusted his broken ribs by expanding his chest to
the utmost, he began to employ the regimen of drinking
water plentifully, and applying wet cloths to the bruised
parts of his body. His experiment proved successful. In
a few days he was able to walk about, and at the end of a
year he was performing his part in the labours of the farm,
oimdar cures were then applied to the maladies of his nehdi-
bours, and were attended with similar results. All the oppo¬
sition of the medical faculty and of the enemies of innova¬
tion could not prevent the new science of hydropathy from
gradually gaining a footing in the credit of the public. At
length, in 1829, Priessnitz established cold baths at his
nabve place, and became a hydropathist by profession.
His efficiency in his new vocation was abundantly testified
by the steadily-increasing popularity which he continued to
gam. I he Austrian government, so intolerant for the most
part of all empirics, not only permitted him to practise but
even gave him their patronage. The number of patients
who resorted to him annually from all parts of Europe in¬
creased in course of time to hundreds. The farm of Gra-
fenberg, on the slope of one of the Sudates, expanded into an
extensive hospital of many houses, where invalids souoht to
regain health by means of sweating, pure air, exercise,&plain
diet, and lively conversation. The example spread ; and
before Priessnitz died in 1851, he had the gratification of
seeing several hydropathic establishments in different Euro-
countries\ (See Claridge’s Hydropathy, London,
lo42; and Selinger’s Vincenz Priessnitz eine Lebens-
beschreibung, 12mo, Vienna, 1852.)
VOL. XVIII.
PEI
513
PRIEST (Saxon, preostor: French nrtt™. r» . i,
pnester; Spanish, presbutero ; all remotely derived from the
vSt^ elder' and immediately from the Prieitley.
at in presbyter), a person set apart for the performance of
sacrifice, and other offices and ceremonies of religion Be
fore the promulgation of the law of Moses, the first-born of
every family, the fathers, the princes, and the kings were
priests. Thus Cam and Abel, Noah, Abraham, Melchize-
ec, Job, Isaac, and Jacob, offered themselves their own
sacrifices. Amongst the Israelites, after their departure
10m Egypt, the priesthood was confined to one tribe and
LTeri/ threfll0rdfrS’~theJ hiSh Priest> Pnestsi and
Levites. 1 he priesthood was made hereditary in the family
f mdvT’hT 16 °f the oldest branch of that
nHpet TK hiad 110 ega blemish> was aiways the high
priest. I his divine appointment was observed with con¬
siderable accuracy until the Jews fell under the dominion
the Romans, and had their faith corrupted by a false
philosophy. I hen, indeed, the high priesthood wi some¬
times set up to sale, and instead of continuing for life, as it
ought to have done, it seems, from some passages in the
New I estament, to have been nothing more than an an¬
nual office. There is sufficient reason to believe, however
that it was never disposed of except to some descendant of
Aaron capable of filling it, if the older branches were
extinct. In the time of David the inferior priests were
divided into twenty-four companies, who were required to
serve in rotation each company by itself, for a week. The
order m which the several courses were to serve was deter-
mined by lot; and each course was, in all succeeding ages,
called by the name of its original chiefs.
All nations have had their priests. The pagans had priests
of Jupiter, Mars, Bacchus, Hercules, Osiris, Isis, and other
divinities; and some deities had also priestesses. The
Mohammedans have priests of different orders called scheiks
and muftis ; and the Indians and Chinese have their Brah¬
mins and Bonzes.
It has been very much disputed whether, in the Christian
church, there be any such officer as a priest (lepevs), in the
proper sense of the word. The Church of Rome, which
holds the propitiatory sacrifice of the mass, has of course
her proper priesthood. In the Church of England the
word priest is retained to denote the second order in her
hierarchy but with very different significations, according
to the different opinions entertained of the Lord’s Supper.
Some few of her divines, of great learning and of undoubted
Protestantism, maintain that the Lord’s Supper is a com¬
memorative and eucharistical sacrifice, and consider all who
are authorized to administer that sacrament as, in the strictest
sense, priests. Others hold the Lord’s Supper to be a feast
upon the sacrifice once offered on the cross; and these, too,
must consider themselves as clothed with some kind of
priesthood. Great numbers, however, of the English
clergy, perhaps the majority, agree wfith the Church of
Scotland in maintaining that the Lord’s Supper is a rite
of no other moral import than the mere commemora¬
tion of the death of Christ. These, therefore, cannot con¬
sider themselves as priests in the rigid sense of the word
but only as presbyters (irpeafivTepoi), or, in other words,
elders.
PRIESTLEY, Joseph, a distinguished natural philo¬
sopher and theologian, was born on the 24th of March
1773, at Field-head, in the parish of Bristall, in the West
Riding of Yorkshire. His father was a cloth-manufacturer,
and both his parents were respectable Calvinistic dissenters.
A strong desire of reading was one of the first passions
which this philosopher exhibited, and which probably in¬
duced his parents and friends to change their mind respect¬
ing his destination, and, instead of bringing him up as a
tradesman, to qualify him for some learned profession. He
acquired a knowledge of Hebrew, Greek, and Latin, in tne
o X
514
PRIESTLEY.
Priestley, school of an eminent teacher at Bartley ; and, at the age
of nineteen, he became a theological student in the academy
of Daventry. When about the age of twenty-two, he was
made choice of as assistant minister to the Independent
congregation of Needham Market in Suffolk. Having re¬
sided at Needham for about three years, he received an
invitation to become pastor of a small flock at Namptwitch
in Cheshire, which he accepted. Here he opened a day
school, in the management of which he displayed that turn
for research, and that spirit of improvement, which were
afterwards'destined to form such prominent features in his
character. His reputation as a man of extraordinary talents
and diligent inquiry soon spread amongst his professional
brethren ; and when Dr Aitken was chosen to succeed the
Reverend Dr Taylor as professor of divinity at Warrington,
the vacant department of belles lettres was assigned to Mr
Priestley.
His literary career may probably be said to have com¬
menced at Warrington ; and the extent, as well as the ori¬
ginality of his pursuits, were soon announced to the world
by a variety of valuable publications. He composed The
Theory of Language and Universal Grammar, 1762; on
Oratory and Criticism, 1777 ; on History and General
Policy, 1788; on The Laws and Constitution of England,
1772; an Essay on a Course of Liberal Education^ for
Civil and Active Life, 1765; Chart of Biography, li65;
Chart of History, l'769. Much of his attention about this
period was taken up with general politics, on which he de¬
livered a number of lectures. Although it was reasonable
to think that his time would be sufficiently occupied by his
academical and literary employments, yet his unwearied
activity and industry found means to accomplish the first
great work in philosophy which laid a foundation for his
future fame. Having long amused himself with an elec¬
trical machine, and felt himself interested in the progress of
discovery in that branch of physics, he undertook a History
of Electricity, with an account of its present state. This
work made its first appearance at Warrington in the year
1767, and was so well received by the learned world that
it went through a fifth edition, in quarto, in the year
1794. It is justly deemed a valuable performance, and
its original experiments are allowed to be very ingenious.
About the year 1768 he was chosen as pastor of a large
and respectable congregation of Protestant dissenters at
Leeds, which led him to give a very large share of his at¬
tention to theological subjects. His mind is said to have
been from childhood strongly impressed with sentiments of
piety and devotion ; and although he changed most of those
religious sentiments in which he had been instructed for
such as he regarded more rational and consistent with truth,
his piety and devotion never deserted him. He was at the
head of the moderate Unitarians, whose leading tenet is
the proper humanity of Christ; confining every species of
religious worship and adoration to the one Supreme Being.
Some, we believe, have charged him with a design to sub¬
vert the Christian religion ; but, since zeal for Christianity,
as a divine dispensation, and the most valuable of all gifts
bestowed upon the human race, was his ruling passion, such
an imputation cannot, in fairness, be admitted. His His¬
tory and Present State of Discoveries relating to Vision,
Light, and Colours appeared in 1772 in 2 volumes quarto.
This is allowed to be a performance of great merit and lucid
arrangement; but it did not bring him such a large share
of popularity as his History of Electricity, because it is
probable that he was scarcely qualified to explain the more
abstruse parts of the science.
In the year 1770 he quitted the town of Leeds for a
situation entirely different from that which he had held
there. His philosophical writings, and the recommenda¬
tion of Dr Price, had made him favourably known to the
Earl of Shelburne, who held out to him such advantageous
proposals for residing with him, that a regard for his family Priestley,
did not permit him to reject them. T. he domestic tuition v v >
of Lord Shelburne’s sons having been previously committed
to a man of merit, they received no instructions from Dr
Priestley further than some courses of experimental philo¬
sophy. He also attended his lordship on a visit to Paris,
where he had an opportunity of seeing some of the most
celebrated men of science in that country, whom he aston¬
ished by asserting a firm belief in revealed religion, which
had been presented to their minds in such colours that they
thought no man of sense could hesitate in rejecting it as an
idle fable. In the year 1775 he published \m Examination
of Dr Reid on the Human Mind; Dr Beattie on the Nature
and Immutability of Truth; and Dr Osw AC % Appeal to Com¬
mon Sense. The design of this volume was to refute the
doctrine of Common Sense said to be employed as the test of
truth by the metaphysicians of Scotland. He never inten¬
tionally misrepresented either the arguments or the purposes
of an opponent; but he measured the respect with which
he treated him by that which he conceived for him in his own
mind. In the year 1777 he published his disquisitions re¬
lating to Matter and Spirit, in which he gave a history of
the philosophical doctrine respecting the soul, and openly
supported the material system, which makes it homogene¬
ous with the body. This subjected him to more odium
than any of his other productions. As he materialized
spirit, so he in some measure spiritualized matter, by
assigning to it penetrability and several other subtle qua¬
lities. About the same period he became the champion
of philosophical necessity; a doctrine not less obnoxious
to many than the former, on account of its supposed
effects on morality. So astonishing was the versatility of
his mind, that he at the same time carried on that course
of discovery concerning aeriform bodies which has ren¬
dered his name so illustrious amongst philosophical che¬
mists. A second volume was published in 1775, and a
third in 1777. Some of his most memorable discoveries
were those of nitrous and dephlogisticated or pure air ; of the
restoration of vitiated air by vegetation, of the influence
of light on vegetables, and of the effects of respiration on
the blood.
The name of Priestley was by these means spread through¬
out all the countries of Europe, and honours were heaped
upon him by nearly every scientific body. The term
of his engagement with Lord Shelburne having expired,
Dr Priestley found himself at liberty to choose a new situa¬
tion, and retired with a pension for life of L.150 a year.
He chose the vicinity of the populous town of Birmingham,
which was then the residence of several men of science, such
as Watt, Withering, Bolton, and Keir, whose names are well
known to the public. Here he was invited to become pas¬
tor of a dissenting congregation, an offer which he accepted
about the latter end of the year 1780. Soon after this ap¬
peared his Letters to Bishop Newcome On the Duration of
Chrisfs Ministry, and his History of the Corruptions of
Christianity, works which were afterwards followed by his
History of Early Opinions. He displayed his attachment
to freedom by his Essay on the First Principles of Govern¬
ment, and by an anonymous pamphlet on the State of Pub¬
lic Liberty in this country ; and he evinced a warm
interest in the cause of America at the time of its un¬
fortunate quarrel with the mother country. On the 14th
of July 1791 the celebration of the anniversary of the
destruction of the Bastile, by a public dinner, at which
Dr Priestley was not present, gave the signal for those
riots which have brought lasting disgrace on the town
of Birmingham, and in some degree on the national cha¬
racter. Amidst the conflagration of places of worship and
of private dwellings, Dr Priestley was the great object, of
popular rage ; his house, library, manuscripts, and apparatus,
were given as a prey to the flames ; he was hunted like a
P R I
Priestley, criminal, and experienced not only the furious outrages of
^ a mob, but the most unhandsome treatment from some who
ought to have supported the character of gentlemen and
friends of good order. He now lay under a load of public
odium and suspicion, and, besides, he was constantly ha¬
rassed by the petty malignity of bigotry. It was not to be
wondered at, therefore, that he looked for an asylum in a
country to which he had always showed a friendly attach¬
ment, and which, he supposed, was in full possession of all
the blessings of civil and religious liberty. In the year
1794 he took leave of his native country, and embarked
for North America. He took up his residence at North¬
umberland, a town in the interior of the state of Pennsyl¬
vania, which he selected on account of the purchase of
landed property in its neighbourhood ; otherwise its re¬
moteness from the seaports, its want of many of the
comforts of life, and of all the helps to scientific pursuit,
rendered it a peculiarly undesirable abode for one of
Dr Priestley’s habits and employments. The loss of his
amiable wife, and of a most promising son, as well as
repeated attacks of disease, severely tried the fortitude
and resignation of this ill-fated philosopher. In America
he was received with general respect, and the angry
contests of party were not able wholly to deprive him
of the esteem due to his character. He was heard as
a preacher by some of the most distinguished members of
Congress; and he was offered, but declined, the place of
chemical professor at Philadelphia. It became his great
object to enable himself, in his retirement in Northumber¬
land, to renew that course of philosophical experiment, and
especially that train of theological writing, which had occu¬
pied so many of the best years of his life. By numerous
experiments on the constitution of airs, he became more
and more fixed in his belief of the phlogistic theory, and in
his opposition to the new French chemical system, of
which he lived to be the only opponent of any celebrity. By
the liberal contributions of his friends in England, he
was enabled to commence the printing of two extensive
works, upon which he was zealously bent, a Church His¬
tory and an Exposition of the Scriptures ; and during the
progress of his final decline he unremittingly urged their
completion. Since an illness which seized him at Phila¬
delphia in the year 1801, he never recovered his former
state of health. His complaint was constant indigestion,
and a difficulty of swallowing food of any kind. But dur¬
ing this period of general debility he was busily em¬
ployed in printing his Church History, in writing the
first volume of his Notes on the Scriptures, and in mak¬
ing new and original experiments. During this period,
likewise, he composed his pamphlet of Jesus and So¬
crates Compared, and reprinted his Essays on Phlogiston.
from about the beginning of November 1803 till the
middle of January 1804, his complaint grew more serious;
yet, by judicious medical treatment and strict attention to
diet, he, after a time, seemed to be, if not regaining strength,
at least not getting worse; and his friends fondly hoped
that his health would continue to improve as the season
advanced. He, however, considered his life as very pre¬
carious. Even at this time, beside his miscellaneous read¬
ing, which was at times very extensive, he read through all
the works which are quoted in his Comparison of the differ¬
ent Systems of Grecian Philosophers with Christianity ;
composed that work, and transcribed the whole of it in less
than three months, thus leaving it ready for the press.
In the last fortnight of January his fits of indigestion be¬
came more alarming than ever, his legs swelled, and his
weakness increased. Within two days of his death he be¬
came so weak that he could walk but a little way, and that
with great difficulty. He was fully sensible that he had
not long to live, yet he talked with cheerfulness to all who
called for him. He dwelt upon the peculiarly happy situa-
p R I 515
tion in which it had pleased the Divine Being to place him Primate
m life; the great advantage he had enjoyed in the ac- II
quaintance and friendship of some of the best and wi«est Primogeui-
men of the age in which he lived; and the satisfaction ture-
he derived from having led a usefbl as well as a happy ^
life. On the 9th of February 1804 he breathed his last,
so easily that those who were sitting close to him did not
immediately perceive his death. He had put his hand
to his face, which prevented them from observing his last
moments.
In the constitution of Dr Priestley’s mind, great ardour
and vivacity of intellect were united with a mild and placid
temper. With a zeal for the propagation of truth which
nothing could subdue, he joined a calm patience and an
unruffled serenity of temper which rendered him proof
against disappointments. The rights of private judgment
were rendered sacred to him by every principle of his
understanding, and his heart would not have suffered him
to injure his bitterest enemy. He was naturally disposed
to be cheerful, and when his mind was not occupied with
serious thoughts, he could unbend, with playful ease and
negligence, in the private circle of friends; but in large
and mixed companies he commonly spoke little. In the
domestic relations of life he was uniformly kind and affec¬
tionate ; his parental feelings were those of the tenderest
and best of fathers; and not even malice itself could ever
fix a stain upon his private conduct or impeach his in¬
tegrity. The autobiography of Dr Priestley, written, as
he informs us, during one of his summer excursions, con¬
cludes with the date, “ Northumberland, March 24, 1795.”
It was published in America after his decease, with a con¬
tinuation by his son, Joseph Priestley, and observations on
his writings by Thomas Cooper and the Rev. William
Christie. This has been incorporated by John Towell Rutt
with the collected edition of Priestley’s Theological and
Miscellaneous Works, in 25 vols. 8vo, Hackney, 1817, con¬
taining, at p. 537 of the second volume, a complete list of
his writings.
PRIMATE. See Archbishop,
PRIMATICCIO, Francesco, a celebrated Italian
artist, was born of a noble family at Bologna in 1490. His
parents had intended him for the mercantile profession, but
his own genius soon opened up for him a successful career
in the province of the fine arts. Becoming a pupil of the
great ornamental decorator Giulio Romano, who was then
working at the palace Del T in Mantua, he speedily out¬
stripped all his fellow-disciples in design and colouring.
His growing excellence secured the patronage of the Duke
Frederigo; and in 1531 he was sent by that potentate to
France, with strong recommendations to King Francis.
There he continued till his death in 1570, introducing
Roman taste into France, and a new era into the history
of French art. The efforts of his genius were especially
expended on Fontainebleau. The walls of that palace were
ornamented with frescoes and stucco-work, the halls were
studded with ancient Roman marbles, and the gardens were
adorned with bronze casts of some of the most famous
sculptures of antiquity. It seemed, in fact, as if a minia¬
ture Rome had sprung up in the middle of France. (See
Vasari’s Lives of the Painters, &c., and Lanzi’s History of
Painting.')
PRIMING. See Gun-Making,.
PRIMOGENITURE is that right or custom whereby
a title of dignity or an estate in land comes to a person in
virtue of his being the eldest male,. Among the Jews, the
eldest son or first-born had a double portion of his father’s
inheritance; but before the time of Moses there was no
certain rule as to who should be considered the first-born
Moses decreed the abolition of this custom, and ordained
that the first-born in point of time should be recognised.
Among the Greeks, and especially among the Athenians.
516 P R I
Primogeni- the custom of primogeniture seems even to have oeen more
ture. severe towards females than among the Jews. If the
father died without heirs-male of h:s body, and without a
will, the nearest kinsman on the father’s side was entitled
to claim the estate, to the exclusion of any daughters whom
he had left. If he had made a will, it should have be¬
queathed his estates to parties bound to marry his daugh¬
ters. The Mohammedans held that females should inherit
a certain portion of whatever their fathers might leave,
allowing the males a double portion. Among the Romans
a somewhat different policy seems to have prevailed; at all
events, it was not till the time of Justinian that daughters
v were placed exactly on the same footing as sons with respect
to the succession to intestate property. The Germanic
nations generally, with the single exception of the Visi¬
goths, gave a decided preference to heirs-male in regard
especially to the succession to land. Females were occa¬
sionally excluded from succession to the inheritance under
any circumstances; and in the case where they were more
favourably treated, it was almost invariably on their having
no brothers.
The custom of gavel-kind, which still prevails in Kent,
seems to have existed previous to the Conquest, and most
probably extended over the larger portion of England and
Wales. By this custom, lands within the county of Kent,
unless specially excepted by an act of the legislature,
descend, where the father dies intestate, leaving sons and
daughters, in equal portions to the sons, to the exclusion
of the daughters ; but in the event of his leaving daughters
only, they share the property equally among themselves.
This law still exists in the copyholds of the manors of Step¬
ney and Hackney in Middlesex, and in a few other places
beyond the bounds of Kent. The custom of borough
English, by which the youngest son succeeds to the whole
of the inheritance on the intestacy of the father, has pre¬
vailed in Stamford, and one or two other places, time im¬
memorial. The same custom still exists as to copyholds
in different parts of England. But whether, previous to
the Conquest, property descended to the sons, or indiffer¬
ently to both sons and daughters, the introduction of the
feudal system led to a change in the succession to property
in land, and paved the way for the universal introduction
of the custom of primogeniture.
Some writers have taken a very unfavourable view of
the influence exercised by this custom in modern times.
Adam Smith says, “ Nothing can be more contrary to the
real interest of a numerous family than a right which, in
order to enrich one, beggars all the rest of the children.”
{Wealth of Nations, by M‘Culloeh, p. 171.) But however
apparently reasonable, or however well supported this opi¬
nion may be, we are of opinion that it has really no good
foundation. How much of the enterprise and industry, of
the superior wealth and civilization of modern Europe,
may be ascribed to the influence of the custom of primo¬
geniture ? It is beyond a doubt that the possession from
infancy of a competency is, of all others, the most power¬
ful obstacle to energy and enterprise. Those so situated
seldom seek any kind of honourable distinction, and fold
their hands in contentment with the humble mediocrity
which has fallen to their lot. It is not to be expected that
the monied fortunes accumulated for the younger children
should equal those of the elder brother. If they be fur¬
nished with the means of establishing themselves in a pro¬
fession, the capacity to rise is put into their handsi the
sense of inferiority will stimulate them to exertion, and
inspire them with a determination to rise to the same or
even to a. higher level. It is no rule for the division of
property in land to tell us that merchants, bankers, and
others of that class divide their property equally among
tie different members of their families, without any bad
t ects resulting from it. Such parties may carry on the
P R I
business in partnership as advantageously as their father- Primum
The children of a landed proprietor can with great difficulty Mobile
do this. The views of the co-heirs, so different and con- p . II
flicting, are generally found to be all but insurmountable, "yv^le
Add to this, that the custom of primogeniture provides for island,
the cultivation of all that is most elevated in art, in lite- v
rature, and in science,—of everything, in a word, that
communicates splendour and gives an enduring celebrity
to nations. While doing so, it imbues all classes with the
spirit of industry and enterprise. It does not appear, there¬
fore, that the objections raised against the custom of pri¬
mogeniture are entitled to any considerable notice. It is
not imperative; it is a custom only, and not a right, and
may be defeated in the event of the misconduct of the
eldest son.
The personal property of one dying intestate shall by
this rule be divided—after the widow’s proportion is de¬
ducted—equally among all the children ; but that the real
estate shall go, in addition, to the eldest son. There is
one respect in which the English law of intestacy stands
much in need of revision. The personal property of the
intestate is the first fund for their debts, although secured
upon their estates; and it is the surplus only, if there be
any, that is divisible among the children. This is in all
respects a most objectionable arrangement. When an
estate is burdened to its full value, the eldest son should
have nothing to look to save his share of the personal pro¬
perty. This is in accordance with the law of Scotland.
In that country, if the eldest son take the real, he gets no
part of the personal estate. He is permitted to renounce
the succession to the real property, and have it valued and
included in a common fund with the moveable property,
of which he can demand an equal share with his brothers
and sisters. ( The Succession to Property Vacant by Death,
by J. R. M‘Culloch, 1848.)
PRIMUM MOBILE, in the Ptolemaic astronomy, the
ninth or highest sphere of the heavens, the centre of which
is that of the world, and in comparison with which the
earth is but a point. This is supposed to contain within it
all other spheres, and to give them motion, turning them
quite round, as well as revolving itself, in twenty-four
hours.
PRINCE is the Latin princeps {primus-capio), a word
used originally to denote the princeps senatus of the Roman
state. Originally, he was custos of the city ; subsequently
the name became a title of dignity, and he was called by
the censors. Augustus and his successors adopted the
title of princeps, and it was employed henceforward to
denote the master of the Roman world. By and bye the
term prince came to be applied to individuals having per¬
sonal pre-eminence, such as the old princes of Wales, who
enjoyed the same right and exercised the same power
which belong to kings. Of a somewhat different kind were
the powers enjoyed by the heads of certain German states
comprehended in the Germanic confederation. The term
is employed in a somewhat arbitrary manner on the Con¬
tinent, possessing none of the definiteness which belongs to
such words as king, duke, marquess, &c., but rather to
denote persons of eminent rank. In England the term is
almost entirely restricted to persons of the blood-royal.
The eldest son of the sovereign is made Prince of Wales
by creation.
PRINCE’S METAL, Prince Rupert’s Metal, or
Pinchbeck, an alloy of copper and zinc, which has a re¬
semblance to gold.
PRINCE OF WALES ISLAND (called by the
natives Pulo Penang,—i.e., “ Betel-nut Island”), an island
belonging to Great Britain, in the Strait of Malacca, off
the west coast of the Malay peninsula, lying between N.
Lat. 5. 16. and 5. 30., E. Long. 100. 9. and 100. 25. Its
form is an irregular oblong; its length 15 miles, breadth at
PHI
Prince of the northern extremity 12, and at the southern 8; area,
Wales’ 160 square miles. The island presents a beautiful and
Island, picturesque appearance, the coasts, which are generally
bold, being everywhere skirted with groves of cocoa-nut
trees, while groups of the graceful betel-nut palm are every¬
where scattered over the country, and the hills in the centre
are covered with luxuriant forests to within a few hundred
feet of their bare summits; and the whole of the country,
where not cultivated, is densely wooded. A chain of hills
traverses the island from N. to S., rising to the height of
2000 or 2500 feet above the sea. On each side of this
chain there are fertile and well-cultivated plains extending
to the coast. That on the east, which is known under the
name of the Valley, is the more populous of the two, the
western plain being swampy and less densely inhabited.
In its geological character, Prince of Wales Island belongs
to the primitive formation. The mountains are for the
most part granitic; mica and quartz are also found in some
places. No mineral of value has been obtained from the
island, though the mountains are said to be rich in tin ore,
which has never been wrought. There are no rivers of
any size in the island, but the country is watered and fer¬
tilized by many small streams and rivulets. The climate
is very healthy, especially in the higher regions, where it
is somewhat like that of Madeira. The rainy and dry
seasons are not so distinctly marked here as in most tropical
countries, for showers fall during almost every period of
the year excepting January and February, which are dry
months. In the hills the mean temperature of the year is
about 70°, and the annual range not more than 10°, while
in the valley the heat varies from 76° to 90°. The air is
clear and bracing; and this, along with the varied beauty
of the scenery, makes Penang a frequent and agreeable
resort for invalids.
The island generally possesses a fertile soil, which is for
the most part a light black mould mixed with gravel or
clay, and in many parts sandy. It is chiefly formed from
the decayed leaves of trees, from which originated a fine
vegetable mould, the whole island having been for ages
covered with immense forests. This has in some degree
disappeared as the woods were cleared and the surface ex¬
posed to the weather; but the soil in the interior is still
very rich. The eastern portion of the island is almost
entirely employed in the raising of rice, for which it is very
well suited; the south-western side is occupied by planta¬
tions of spice and pepper plants. Cloves are grown on the
tops of the hills, and tea, cotton, and tobacco on their sides.
Coffee, sugar, nutmeg, and many kinds of fruit are also
produced here. The forests which are found in this island
abound in excellent timber for ship-building and for other
uses.
The island contains many buffaloes and cattle, a few
goats and sheep, and numerous hogs. The principal wild
animals are the Malayan elk, deer, monkeys, wild cats, and
snakes. Fish abound in the surrounding seas, and pearly
banks have recently been discovered on the east coast.
The people of Prince of Wales Island are of very various
origin, and there is probably hardly another tract in the
world of equal size that is occupied by so many distinct
races. The original inhabitants were a few Malays; but
after the island was settled by the British, many people
from China, India, Siam, Burmah, &c., resorted hither to
enjoy the British protection. An active trade is carried
on here, as the island is advantageously situated for being
an emporium between the countries of China, the East
Indian Archipelago, India, and Great Britain. The total
value of the exports and imports of Prince of Wales Island
in 1854 was L.581,240. This island, along with Province
Wellesley, a strip of land on the opposite shore of the
Malay peninsula, Malacca, and Singapore, form the Eastern
Straits settlements, of which the seat of government is
P R I
Georgetown, on this island. This town is built on the
most easterly point of the island, and has a population of
20,000, chiefly Chinese. When first visited by Europeans,
the island was an almost uninhabited waste, overorown
with forests. In 1785 the King of Quedah, to whom it
then belonged, gave the island to Captain Light, who had
married his daughter; and the East India Company being
then desirous of establishing a port on the straits, acquired
possession of it on condition of paying annually to the King
of Quedah 6000 Spanish dollars, or about L.1275 ster¬
ling. Captain Light was appointed superintendent of the
settlement, and under him the land was rapidly cleared and
improved. Until 1805 Prince of Wales Island formed part
of the presidency of Bengal; but in that year it was made
a separate presidency; and in 1830 it was united with the
other settlements in the straits, and again placed under the
government of Bengal. Finally, in 1851, the dependency
on Bengal was removed, and the governor declared subordi¬
nate only to the government of India. Pop. (1855) 39,589.
PRINCE EDWARD ISLAND, a British colony in
North America, on the S. side of the Gulf of St Lawrence,
between N. Lat. 45. 58. and 47. 10., W. Long. 62. and
64. 20.; separated from New Brunswick and Nova Scotia
on the S. by Northumberland Strait. Its length from E.
to W. is about 130 miles, its greatest breadth is 34, and
its area 2173 square miles. Its form is very irregular, and
its surface is neither mountainous nor monotonously flat,
but, like that of New Brunswick, is agreeably diversified
with hill and dale. There are no mountains properly so
called, but a chain of hills intersects the island from N. to
S. about its middle. It abounds with streams and springs
of the purest water; and numerous arms of the sea pene¬
trate so far inland that no part of the country is more than
8 miles removed from the flux and reflux of the tide.
When first seen, it presents the aspect of a flat country,
covered with trees to the margin of the ocean ; but, on a
nearer approach, the more inviting prospect discloses itself
of villages and farms situated in valleys or on green and
gentle declivities, with the other smiling features which
result from agricultural industry or spontaneous fertility.
Unlike Cape Breton, Newfoundland, and other contigu¬
ous islands, Prince Edward Island is very rarely visited
by fogs; and although the winter is equally severe,
the transitions from one extreme to another are less vio¬
lent. The heat of summer is less extreme than it is in
Lower Canada, whilst the cold is not so intense during
the winter. Altogether the climate is very salubrious, and
there are few countries where health is enjoyed with less
interruption.
The soil is fertile, and consists of a thin layer of black
or brown mould, composed of decayed vegetables, super¬
imposed upon a light loam. This extends about one foot
downwards, and then a stiff clay, resting upon sandstone,
predominates. The latter rock is the base of the island,
and it appears to extend under the bed of Northumberland
Strait, into the contiguous islands, and also into the
continent. A solitary block of granite occasionally pre¬
sents itself; but neither limestone, gypsum, nor coal have
been discovered, although their presence was to have been
expected from the occurrence of the sandstone formation.
Indeed, no minerals of any importance have been found
here, and building-stone is so scarce as to be imported
from Nova Scotia. A great part of the island was for¬
merly covered with wood, and though large portions have
been removed, either for export or to make room for culti¬
vation, there are still considerable remains of the primeval
forests. Pine, birch, maple, beech, and other trees are
those that compose the forests of the island.
Amongst the quadrupeds native to the island may be
mentioned bears, once very numerous and destructive, but
now much reduced; lynxes, foxes, hares, and various
517
Prince
Edward
Island.
518 P R I
Prince kinds of fur-bearing animals, whose numbers have been
Edward very much diminished. During summer and autumn seals
Island, frequent the shores, and they come down in great numbers
on the ice of the Polar seas after it has broken up. I he
rivers abound with excellent fish, such as trout, eel,
mackerel, flounders, oysters, lobsters (the last two being
very large and very fine), and the coast with cod-fish and
herrings. The fisheries of Prince Edward Island are
among the best in the Gulf of St Lawrence, but they
are not prosecuted to any great extent by the inhabitants.
In 1855, 11,249 quintals and 6089 barrels of fish, to the
value of L.12,093, were exported from the colony.
Prince Edward Island is essentially an agricultural
colony, for which its climate, soil, and the configuration of
its surface, admirably adapt it. All kinds of grain and vege¬
tables raised in England arrive here at perfection. Crops
of wheat, barley, oats, potatoes, turnips, pease and beans,
are raised in abundance and of excellent quality. I he
produce in 1855 was 357,078 bushels of wheat, 110,629
of barley, 1,380,950 of oats, 1,673,345 of potatoes, 756,557
of turnips, 20,959 of buck-wheat, 6187 lb. of clover-seed,
and 3112 tons of hay. Sheep, cattle, and swine thrive well
in the island, and the horses, though small, are strong^ and
hardy. The colony had in 1855, 14,513 horses, 55,159
horned cattle, 98,049 sheep, and 32,207 goats. The
breed of useful animals generally has been much improved
of late years, and agriculture has made decided advances.
The manufactures of Prince Edward Island are of little
importance, being chiefly destined for domestic use. Linen
and flannel, woollen cloth and leather, are the principal
articles made. Ship-building, however, is extensively
carried on. The number of vessels built in 1854 was 106,
tonnage 24,111, value L.168,777; in 1855 the number
was 90, tonnage 14,451, value L.86,706. The commerce
of the island consists in the export of timber, agricultural
produce and live stock ; and the importation of manufac¬
tured goods, iron, hardware, wines, spirits, tea, tobacco,
&c. With the exception of timber, which is all sent to
the United Kingdom, the produce of the island finds its
chief market in the United States and the British colonies
of North America; the imports come in nearly equal
quantities from these three sources. The total value of
the imports in 1855 was L.268,516, and that of the ex¬
ports L.144,732. The total number of vessels that entered
in the same year was 962, tonnage 53,003 ; those that
cleared were 962, tonnage 60,669. The government of
the colony is similar to that of Nova Scotia, of which it
once formed a part. There is a lieutenant-governor, with a
salary of L.1500; an executive council of nine, appointed by
the lieutenant-governor and confirmed by the crown; a legis¬
lative council of six, appointed by the crown ; and a house of
assembly of twenty-four popularly-elected members. The
public revenue amounted in 1855 to L.28,054, and the
expenditure to L.30,193. About a half of the people are
Roman Catholics, about a third Presbyterians, and a ninth
Episcopalians. The whole number of churches in the
island in 1855 was 127. The number of schools in the
same year was 247, attended by 12,187 scholars ; and the
amount of public money expended for education was
L.7946. The population of Prince Edward Island is of
mixed origin, about a fourth being emigrants from the
United Kingdom, and the rest natives of the country, de¬
scended from the French Acadians, or from Scotch settlers,
or from loyalists from the United States, who came hither
after the Revolution. The colony is divided into three
counties, and the capital is Charlotte Town, on an inlet on
the south coast.
I his island was discovered by Cabot on the 24th of
June 1497, being St John’s day, and hence derived its
original name of St John. The English, however, ne-
g ected to avail themselves of this right of possession ; and
P R I
the French, who appear at first to have entertained more Prince’s
correct views of its importance, took possession of it when Island
they made the conquest of Canada, apparently without any . II
remonstrance on the part of Britain. For a long period it rr^n^lpato
continued attached to the crown of France, but it was v 1 ra' ,
conquered by Great Britain in 1758. At that time the
population in the various settlements appears not to have
amounted to 6000. At the peace of 1763 this colony and
Cape Breton were confirmed to Britain, and annexed to
the government of Nova Scotia; and a plan of settlement
was agreed to by which the island was divided into town¬
ships, of about 20,000 acres each, granted to individuals
who were considered as having claims on the government,
and who were to pay a small sum as quit-rent. The plan,
however, was unsuccessful, as the grants were in many
cases merely used for the purpose of speculation. In 1768
the island was erected into a separate government from
that of Nova Scotia, at the request of a majority of the
proprietors, and a governor was appointed, who set vigor¬
ously about settling the island, and under whom it made
gradual progress in prosperity. The colony obtained a
complete constitution in 1773, when the first house of
assembly met. During the American war it continued
true to the interests of the mother country, and was re¬
sorted to by ships of war, as well as converted into a
military station. As a mark of respect for the Duke of
Kent, commander of the British army in America in 1799,
and at the same time to remove the confusion of a name
common to it with the capital of Newfoundland and New
Brunswick, the island was then named Prince Edward
Island, a designation it has since retained. Since that
period no event has occurred of such moment as to require
particular mention here. Pop. (1855) 71,502.
PRINCE’S ISLAND (Portug. Ilha do Principe), an
island of Africa, belonging to Portugal, in the Bight of
Biafra, 140 miles S.S.W. of Fernando Po; length from N. to
S., 10 miles; breadth, about 5 miles. It is mountainous and
of volcanic origin, the summits of some of the hills rising
to the height of 4000 feet. The soil is in general hard
and stony, but in some places it is of great fertility. It is
watered by many springs and streams. Timber for various
uses, and dye-woods, are obtained here in abundance.
Much of the island is occupied by plantations of coffee,
which is the principal produce, and of which 3487 cwt.
were exported in 1842. The atmosphere is extremely
moist; and, except for a few months, showers prevail dur¬
ing the whole year. The trade of the island, which was
once considerable, has for some time been in a declining
condition. St Antao, on the N.E. coast, is the chief town.
Pop. of the island, 4584, chiefly slaves.
PRINCES’ ISLANDS, or Daimonnisoi, a group of
islands, nine in number, belonging to Asiatic Turkey, in
the Sea of Marmora, near the entrance of the Bosphorus,
from 10 to 12 miles S.E. of Constantinople. Their scenery
is exceedingly beautiful; and they contain many villages,
gardens, country seats, and convents. The largest of the
group is Prinkipo, on which is a town of the same name.
One of the most beautiful is Kalki, so called from its
ancient copper mines. A steamer sails daily from Con¬
stantinople to the Princes’ Islands, which attract many
visitors by the beauty of their scenery and the amenity of
their climate. Pop. of the group, 10,000.
PRINCIPAL. See Agent.
Principal. See Organ.
PRINCIPATO CITRA, a province in the kingdom
of Naples, bounded on the N.W. and N. by the provinces
of Naples, Terra di Lavoro, and Principato Ultra; E. by
that of Basilicata; S. and W. by the Mediterranean.
Length from N.W.to S.E., about 80 miles; greatest breadth,
42 miles ; area, 2265 square miles. The central chain of
the Apennines runs along the eastern boundary, and seve-
P R I
Principato ral branches from it extend into the interior. The greater
Ultra part 0f the province is watered by the Sele and its affluents.
. II This river rises in the Apennines near Conza, and flows S.
^Pringle.^ an(j g W> until it falls into the sea, not far from the ruins
of Paestum. Its chief tributary is the Negro or Tanagro,
which flows from the S.E. through the Val di Diano, and
joins the main river from the left. Except this valley, and
a level tract of country along the coast, the province is
nearly all occupied with mountain ranges. These are for
the most part well wooded, especially with chestnut trees.
The soil of the valleys is generally rich and fertile ; but
the plains along the coast for some distance on both sides
of the Sele are marshy and unhealthy. The valleys and
slopes to the south of the ruins of Paestum, however, are
of a different nature, and have been celebrated both in
ancient and modern times for their fertile soil and delight¬
ful climate. The principal minerals of the province are
copper, marble, and gypsum; and the most important
articles of produce are timber, chestnuts, wine, oil, and
fruits of various kinds. The principal live stock of the
province are swine; and there are productive fisheries along
the coast. Paper-making and weaving of woollen and
linen fabrics are carried on. There is some trade in tim¬
ber, dried fruits, hides, and pork. The province is divided
into 4 districts, 44 arrondissements, and 165 communes.
The capital is Salerno, on the gulf of the same name.
Pop. (1856) 583,979.
Principato Ultra, a province of the kingdom of Naples,
bounded on the N. by the province of Molise, E. and S.E.
by those of Capitanata and Basilicata, S. by that of Princi¬
pato Citra, and W. by that of Terra di Lavoro; length
from E. to W., 47 miles; greatest breadth, 46 ; area, 1409
square miles. It is almost entirely mountainous, being
traversed towards its eastern limits by the central chain of
the Apennines, but lying chiefly between that and the
lower western ridge of these mountains. Part of this
latter ridge is formed by Monte Taburno, the ancient
Taburnus, which separates this country from the plains on
the sea-coast. The chief rivers are the Galore, an affluent
of the Volturno ; its affluents, the Tamaro and Sabbato ; and
the Ofanto, which flows eastward into the Adriatic. Prin¬
cipato Ultra enjoys a mild and healthy climate; and the
soil is fertile and well cultivated, especially in the valleys.
Corn, timber, wine, fruits, &c., are raised; and cattle and
sheep are pastured among the mountains. Paper-mills,
iron-foundries, and woollen factories are the chief manu¬
factures in the province. Rural produce is exported to a
considerable extent. Principato Ultra is divided into 3
districts, 34 arrondissements, and 134 communes. The
capital is Avelino. The territory of Benevento, belonging
to the Papal States, is entirely surrounded by this province.
Pop. (1856) 375,313.
PRINGLE, Sir John, a distinguished physician, was
the younger son of Sir John Pringle of Stitchel, Roxburgh¬
shire, and was born on the 10th of April 1707. He was
educated at home under a private tutor, and subsequently
at St Andrews, at Edinburgh, and at Leyden, where he
took the degree of Doctor of Physic. He at first settled in
Edinburgh as a physician, but was soon after appointed
assistant and successor to the professor of moral philosophy
in the university. In 1742 he became physician to the Earl
of Stair, then commanding the British army in Flanders;
and in the same year he was constituted physician to the
military hospital there. On the resignation of the Earl of
Stair in 1745, Dr Pringle was appointed by the Duke of
Cumberland physician-general to the forces in the Low
Countries. He returned to Britain during the same year,
and was chosen a fellow of the Royal Society on his pass¬
ing through London. In 1747 and 1748 he attended the
army abroad; and in 1749, having settled in London, he
was made physician in ordinary to the Duke of Cumber-
P R i 519
land. He read a series of papers to the Royal Society, Pringle,
which are to be found in the Transactions, and which v ^ -
gained for him the gold medal of Sir Godfrey Copley.
He married in 1752 a daughter of Dr Oliver, a physician
in Bath; and in the same year he published his great
work, entitled Observations on the Disorders of the Army
in Camp and Garrison. In 1761 he was made physician
to the household of the young Queen Charlotte, and phy¬
sician in ordinary to the Queen in 1763. He was raised
to the dignity of baronet of Great Britain in 1766, and was
in 1768 made physician in ordinary to the King’s mother,
with a salary of L.100 a year. After having acted for
many years as a member of the council of the Royal Society,
he was, in November 1772, elected president of that distin
guished body. He received his last medical honour in
1774, as physician extraordinary to the King. After pass¬
ing his seventieth year, he resigned his presidency, and
resolved to spend the remainder of his days in his native
country. Removing to Edinburgh in 1780, he was doomed
to disappointment. He found the place much changed;
the keen winds of the northern metropolis were too severe
for him ; and perhaps these evils were exaggerated by his
increasing infirmities. He returned to London in Septem¬
ber 1781, and died in the January following, in the seventy-
fifth year of his age. There is a monument to him in
Westminster Abbey, executed by Nollekens.
Pringle, Thomas, a man distinguished not more for his
poetical talents than for his ill-requited worth, was born at
Blaiklaw in Teviotdale in 1789, and attended the univer¬
sity of Edinburgh. Lame, friendless, and barely sustaining
himself by acting as a clerk in the Register Office of the
Scottish capital, the rustic youth set himself to acquire an
honourable position in life. His first efforts were made as
much from necessity as from inclination in the province of
literature. He became a contributor to Albyn’s Antho¬
logy, and published in the Poetic Mirror a poem entitled
“ The Autumnal Excursion.” The notice which these
attempts gained induced him to lay down his clerkship for a
time, and to devote all his attention to literary pursuits. He
started and conducted the Edinburgh Monthly Magazine,
which was soon changed into Blackwood’s Magazine. At
the same time, he was editing the Edinburgh Star and
Constable’s Magazine, and publishing a volume entitled
The Excursion, and other Poems. His activity, in fact,
was in a fair way of securing for him a place in his new
profession, until untoward events occurred to drive him to
another field of labour. In 1820 Pringle set sail to try his
fortune at Cape Colony. He succeeded in gaining the
situation of government librarian at Cape Town. He then
attempted to eke out his income by establishing an academy,
by starting a periodical called the South African Journal,
and by undertaking the editorship of The South African
Commercial Advertiser. All these enterprises were suc¬
ceeding most favourably when the despotic intolerance of
the governor compelled him to discontinue them, and to
repair to Britain in 1826. The life of Pringle only assumed
a more gloomy character after his return to London. It is
true that in 1827 he obtained the important and congenial
position of secretary to the Anti-Slavery Society ; but
when that association had attained its object and was
broken up in 1834, he was again thrown upon the world.
All the efforts and influence he could employ to obtain a
public appointment were fruitless. An attack of consump¬
tion at the same time rendered it absolutely necessary that
he should seek a warmer clime. He was actually prepar¬
ing to return to the Cape when he died suddenly on the
5th December 1834. Pringle’s poetical works consist of
stray effusions classed under the two heads of African
Sketches and Ephemerides. They were published in a
collected form, accompanied with a memoir of the author,
by Leitch Ritchie, London, 1839.
520
PRINTING.
Printing. Prtntino is the art of taking one or more impressions from
the same surface, whereby characters and signs, cast, en¬
graven, drawn, or otherwise represented thereon, are caused
to present their reverse images upon paper, vellum, parch¬
ment, linen, and other substances, in pigments of various
hues, or by means of chemical combinations, of which the
components are contained on or within the surface from
which the impression is taken, or in the fabric of the thing
impressed, or in both.
The most important branch of printing is what is called
letterpress printing, or the method of taking impressions
from letters and other characters cast in relief upon separate
pieces of metal, and therefore capable of indefinite combi¬
nation. The impressions are taken either by superficial or
surface pressure, as in the common printing-press, or by
lineal or cylindrical pressure, as in the printing machine
and roller-press. The pigments or inks, of whatever
colour, are always upon the surface of the types; and the
substances which may be impressed are various. Wood-
cuts and other engravings in relief axe also printed in this
manner.
Copperplate printing is the reverse of the above, the
characters being engraven in intaglio, and the pigments or
inks contained within the lines of the engravings, and not
upon the surface of the plate. The impressions are always
taken by lineal or cylindrical pressure; the substances
to be impressed, however, are more limited. All engrav¬
ings in intaglio, on whatever material, are printed by this
method.
Lithographic printing is from the surface of certain porous
stones, upon which characters are drawn with peculiar
pencils. The surface of the stone being wetted, the che¬
mical colouring compound adheres to the drawing, and
refuses the stone. The impression is taken by a scraper,
that rubs violently upon the back of the substances im¬
pressed, which are fewer still in number. Drawings upon
zinc and other materials are printed by this process. (See
Lithography.)
Cotton and calico printing is from surfaces engraven
either in relief or in intaglio. The chemical compounds are
either on or within the characters, as pigments or chemical
colours, or in the fabric to be printed, but mostly in both;
the combination of chemical substances producing colour
when the fabric and the engraving are brought into con¬
tact. The impression is either superficial or lineal, but
mostly lineal. (See Dyeing.)
LETTERPRESS PRINTING.
The origin and history of an art which has exercised such
an influence on civilization, and contributed in so essential
a manner to the cultivation of the human intellect, have
naturally become a matter of inquiry amongst the learned,
and have almost as naturally been the source of earnest
controversy; for there are few effects of human invention
or industry that have been originated and brought to perfec¬
tion at a particular epoch, without any previous train of
thought or circumstance, so that the precise day or year
could be noted in which the perfect Minerva started forth
m full maturity. On the contrary, it is difficult to say at
what period of time the germ of the art of printing did not
exist. So obvious is the reproduction of similar appearances
iom an impression of the same surface, that the most early
o mankind must have noted it; and even the impression
of a foot or a hand must have suggested a simple and intel- Printing,
ligible mode of conveying an idea, before the invention of
any kind of writing. Accordingly, these and similar signs
are found to compose the chief characters of the earliest
writing.
Observing this general law of the gradual perfectibility
of human arts, we must look back to the most remote ages
for the first steps of that of printing. We shall accord¬
ingly find certain evidence, that, more than two thou¬
sand years before our era, a method of multiplying im¬
pressions, rude and imperfect in the extreme, was certainly
practised.
The earliest practice which can with propriety be called
printing was probably that of impressing seals upon a plastic
material, the purpose being confined to the single effect of
each single impression. The next step of which the dili¬
gence of inquirers has taken note, and which is a step thus
much further in advance that its object was the multiplica¬
tion of impressions for the purpose of diffusing information,
—the practice, namely, of impressing symbols or characters
upon clay and other materials used in forming bricks, cylin¬
ders, and the walls of edifices,—was an art confined, so far
as our knowledge extends, to the ancient centres of civili¬
zation in Egypt and Asia. Some examples of this art found
their way many years ago into the great public museums
and chief private collections of Europe, where they were
objects of curiosity and wonder. In the present day, the
researches of Sir Gardner Wilkinson and others into the
antiquities of Egypt, and of Sir Henry Rawlinson and Mr
Layard into the ruins of the buried cities of Asia, have
produced a vast quantity of materials illustrative of the sub¬
ject. The relative antiquity of the Egyptian and Asiatic
remains belong to another inquiry. Among the Egyptian
remains are numerous bricks of clay stamped with the
nomen and agnomen of the king inclosed within a cartouche.
The mode by which the impressions were made is manifest.
The prints are very irregularly placed, without any refer¬
ence to parallellism with the sides, and are always more or
less awry, according to the manual skill and care of the
workman: the surface of the bricks around the depression
is forced up considerably, which is exactly the effect of
pressing the hand or any substance into a plastic material;
and the edges, both of the general depressions and of the
figures, present the effect of the stamps having been drawn
up whilst the clay was yet damp and adherent to it. It is
therefore evident that the inscriptions were stamped in
after the clay had been turned out of the mould, and were
not produced by any part of it. To make the evidence
complete, there have been found many stamps of wood,
having on the face cartouches and inscriptions precisely re¬
sembling in kind those which must have been used for
stamping the bricks. On some of these stamps and im¬
pressions there are slight traces of colour. Numerous spe¬
cimens both of the bricks and stamps are in the British
Museum, and of the bricks in many collections. There
have also been found in Egypt numerous figures of baked
clay and porcelain on which hieroglyphic characters have
apparently been impressed singly, side by side, by stamps;
and on the walls of their ruder buildings hieroglyphic and
pictorial figures of considerable size have been produced
by the same means and afterwards coloured. Of articles
of domestic use are certain instruments called tesserce, hav¬
ing incised characters, the use of which has certainly been
to stamp plastic materials; and there have also been found
History, leather belts and ornaments on which figures have been
^ impressed singly by tools.
The ruins of the cities of Asia supply us with numerous
examples similar to those of Egypt, but carrying the art
farther. The ruins contain countless bricks, on which are
impressed inscriptions similar to those of Egypt, but much
more elaborate. Mr Layard says, that the characters on
the Assyrian bricks were made separately: some letters
may have been impressed singly with a stamp, but from the
careless and irregular way in which they are formed and
grouped together, it is more probable that they were all
cut by an instrument and by hand ; but that the inscriptions
on the Babylonian bricks are generally enclosed in a small
square, and are formed with considerable care and nicety;
they appear to have been impressed with a stamp, on which
the entire inscription, and not isolated letters, was cut in
relief. From this circumstance, Mr Layard ascribes greater
antiquity to the Assyrian remains.
Mr Layard’s researches have further made evident that
the ancient inhabitants ot these cities practised a more ad¬
vanced and elegant usage of imprinting in their domestic
and ornamental arts. He has discovered great quantities
of tiles and tablets covered with incised or incussed charac¬
ters, on which was impressed, while the clay was yet wet,
a line of characters or symbols,—-apparently an authorisation
or verification,—produced by the rolling of engraved cylin¬
ders ; and other tiles, of which he says, “ The most com¬
mon mode of keeping records in Assyria and Babylon was
on prepared bricks, tiles, or cylinders of clay, baked after
the inscription was impressed—this impression must not
be mistaken for the application of a stamp ; it is effected
by the use of an instrument in the hand, by which various
combinations of the same form were indented into the
moist clay, and therefore partakes more of the char¬
acter of impressed writing: in many of the specimens
thus impressed, the writing (or text) does not cover the
entire tile or tablet, and the blank is filled up by repeated
impressions of the same seal; and in some cases the entire
text has been surrounded by an impression from a cylinder
rolled round, forming an endless scroll, by which any addi¬
tion to the text is rendered impossible. Great numbers of
cylinders have been found. They are elaborately engraven
on various stones; some are perfect cylinders, some barrel¬
shaped, others slightly curved inwards. Others again are
of baked clay, on which the characters have been incussed
while the clay was yet moist. Many of them are perforated
longitudinally, and revolve on a metal axis. In describing
an engraved cylinder of great beauty found in the mounds
opposite Mosul, Mr Layard says, that on each side there
were sixty lines written in such minute characters, that the
aid of a^ magnifying glass was required to ascertain their
forms. The habitual use of these elaborate articles is un¬
known, by some they are supposed to be charms,—by
others, records of family or personal transactions. The
smaller examples, we have seen, were used to impress
plastic materials as signets; but it is clear, from the shapes
of the greater number, and from the circumstance that the
chaiacters they bear are invariably engraven or impressed
in the order in which they are to be read, and not reversed,
that they were not intended to multiply impressions on soft
surfaces by way of diffusing information. In the library of
Trinity College, Cambridge, has long been preserved a very
celebrated Babylonian cylinder of clay, baked to vitrifac-
tion. It is barrel-shaped, about 7 inches in length, and 3 in
diameter at the ends. There are two inscriptions, separated
by a blank band round the centre. The inscription is in
vertical lines (counting on a drawing), thirty-two in number,
consequently each less than a quarter of an inch in width.
In one of the columns there are thirty characters; con-
PRINTING. 521
sequently, in both inscriptions there will be about IfiOO w *
characters. The cylinder presents many annea™e
having beenfortnel ^Zr'n^prrnrd"^
college by the late Sir John Malcolm. P 1 1
I hat a similar art was known to the inhabitants of the
old world generally, may safely be assumed. It is there!
fore not a little remarkable that peoples so orimnal and
ingenious as the Greeks, and so imitative as the Romans,
should have left almost no vestige of their having practised
any such means as this to multiply their beautiful creations
ot fancy, or to embellish the tasteful appliances of domes¬
tic life; especially when we consider the easy application
of the art to pottery, and the beauty, taste, and ingenuity
which they exhibited in that manufacture. For, excepting
a few paltry designs en creux on some of the coarser spe¬
cimens, and a few marks upon the Roman military vessels,
evidently stamped, there is no appearance of either people5
aving had any idea of this kind. There are, however,
in the British Museum numerous instruments presenting- a
singular instance how very nearly we may approach ^to
an important discovery, and yet pass on unheeding. These
are stamps of various sizes, having on their faces inscrip¬
tions in raised characters reversed. The material is brass
or bronze. The letters of the inscriptions are considerably
raised, and the face of them is rough and rounded, as
though they were rudely cast in a mould. To the back of
most a handle has been fastened; some have a loop to
allow the fingers to pass through; some a boss to rest in
the palm of the hand; some a ring. One use of these
stamps has probably been to press the inscription into a
soft material; but the more common application, especially
of the smaller specimens, has evidently been to print the
inscription on surfaces by the aid of colour. It has been
suggested that their purpose was to imprint the coverings of
bales of goods with the marks of their owners. Amono-
relics of this kind is the signet of C. Caecilius Hermias!
I he face of this is two inches by four-fifths of an inch, and
the inscription (reversed)
CICAECILI
HERMXAE. SN.
with a border, is in relief, the surrounding parts being cut
away to a considerable depth. It should be especially
noticed, that the surface of the back-ground is very rough;
and there is a ring at the back by which it could be handled
or suspended.1 These circumstances render the use of it
very clear. It would be very much easier to incise the
required inscription, and to let the field stand (indeed the
art of engraving en creux was well known and used), than
to cut away the field and leave the letters in relief; and
it would produce a much more beautiful effect if it were
used to impress any soft substance; whereas, cut as it is,
the impression sunk into wax or clay would not only be
ugly, but illegible, and the rough surface of the back¬
ground would present the most ungainly appearance upon
the prominent parts of the wax, being the parts most pre¬
sented to the eye. Its use therefore is evident. The re¬
lieved inscription, and no other part, being covered with
ink or pigment, was impressed upon an even surface
(papyrus, linen, parchment), and consequently left a per¬
fect but reversed imprint of itself. This is the precise
effect of printing with types. From the Greek agnomen,
Caecilius probably lived under the emperors, when litera¬
ture had become one of the pursuits of the great, and when
1 The Antiquarian Society of Newcastle possesses a similar stamp with a Greek inscription.
3 u
VOL. XVIII.
522 P R I N
History, the difficulties and expense of procuring books by the slow
process of copying were bitterly felt. It is singular, there¬
fore, that the Romans should have overlooked so obvious
an improvement upon their own signets as the engraving
whole sentences and compositions upon blocks, and thence
transferring them to paper—even if they had gone no farther
than this.1
From this time a vast period elapses before any circum¬
stance can safely be instanced as showing that the prac¬
tice of transferring characters was known to any, even
comparatively civilized people. From the rough and im¬
perfect attempts above indicated an early and obvious ad¬
vance was engraving pictures upon wooden blocks. The
first practice of this is involved in obscurity ; but most
writers on the fine arts agree that the art was invented
towards the end of the thirteenth century, by a brother and
sister of the illustrious family of Cunio, lords of Imola, in
Italy. By some the whole narrative is considered as apo¬
cryphal, but it is nevertheless generally admitted. The
engravings were discovered by a Frenchman of the name
of Papillon, in the possession of a Swiss gentleman, M. de
Grceder, who deciphered for him the manuscript annota¬
tions found upon the leaves of the book in which they were
bound. These purported that the book had been given
to Jan. Jacq. Turine, a native of Berne, by the Count of
Cunio, with whose family he, Turine, appears to have been
intimately acquainted. Then follows a romantic history of
the twins, and the cause of their invention. The book is
entitled—“ The Heroic Actions, represented in figures, of
the great and magnanimous Macedonian king, the bold
and valiant Alexander; dedicated, presented, and humbly
offered to the most Holy Father Pope Honorious IV., the
glory and support of the Church, and to our illustrious and
generous father and mother, by us Alessandro Alberico
Cunio, cavaliere, and Isabella Cunio, twin brother and
sister; first reduced, imagined, and attempted to be exe¬
cuted in relief, with a small knife, on blocks of wood,
made even and polished by this learned and dear sister;
continued and finished by us together, at Ravenna, from
the eight pictures of our invention, painted six times
larger than here represented; engraved, explained by
verses, and thus marked upon the paper, to perpetuate the
number of them, and to enable us to present them to
our relations and friends, in testimony of gratitude, friend¬
ship, and affection. All this was done and finished by
us when only sixteen years of age.” (Ottley.) This title
is here given at full length, because, if genuine, it pre¬
sents us at once with the origin, execution, and design
of these first attempts at block-printing. The book con¬
sists of nine engravings, including the title ; the figures are
tolerably well designed, and the draperies graceful, with
here and there attempts at cross-hatching; under the
TING.
principal personages are their names; above, are inscrip- History,
tions indicating the subject, and below, four lines of poe- v-w
tical Latin explanatory of it; and in some part of each
print is an inscription indicating the share the twins re¬
spectively had in the execution. The colour of the pig¬
ment is gray.
The first subject is Alexander on Bucephalus. Upon a
stone, Isabel. Cunio pinx. et scalp.
The second subject, the Passage of the Granicus. Alex.
Alb. Cunio Equ. pinx. Isabel. Cunio scalp.
The third subject, Alexander cutting the Gordian Knot.
Alex. Albe. Cunio Equ. pinx. et scalp.
The fourth subject, Alexander in the tent of Darius.
Isabel. Cunio pinx. et scalp.
The fifth, Alexander giving Campaspe to Apelles. Alex.
Alb. Cunio Eques. pinx. et scalp.
The sixth, the Battle of Arbela. Alex. Alb. Equ. et
Isabel. Cunio pictor. et scalp.
The seventh, Porus brought to Alexander. Isabel.
Cunio pinx. et scalp.
The eighth, the Triumph of Alexander upon his Entry
into Babylon. Alex. Alb. Equ. et Isabel. Cunio pictor.
et scalp?
From the dedication of this book to Pope Honorius IV.,
it is deduced that these engravings must have been exe¬
cuted between 1284 and 1285, inasmuch as this pope only
enjoyed the pontificate two years ; and it is suggested that
a copy of it might be found in the library of the Vatican.
The narrative appears to be confirmed by many incidental
circumstances, which could not be the invention either of
Papillon or his informer. The name of Alberico seems
to have been a favourite with the family of Cunio, and a
Count of that name actually figures in history in the very
year of the presumed invention ; a x’elative of the twins,
of course, not the male artist himself.
The interval between the time of the twin Cunio and
the next mention of any similar usage is very perplexing;
but upon examination it will appear that that long period
was not altogether a blank in the art. The next earliest
evidence is a document of the government of Venice, dis¬
covered amongst the archives of the Company of Printers
in that city. It bears the date of 1441, and as it throws
some degree of light upon the controversy relative to the
invention of printing, it is here given from Ottley’s His¬
tory of Engraving.
“mcgcxli. October the 11th. Whereas the art and
mystery of making cards and printed figures, which is used
at Venice, has fallen into total decay ; and this in conse¬
quence of the great quantity of playing-cards, and coloured
figures printed, which are made out of Venice; to which
evil it is necessary to apply some remedy ; in order that
the said artists, who are a great many in family, may find
1 The Chinese printing is not unlike this, and must by no means be supposed to have much similarity to the modern art. They assert
that it was used by them several centuries before it was known in Europe ; in fact, fifty years before the Christian era. They certainly
may have used their method centuries before our art, for it differs in nothing but extent from that of the old Roman. The following
is a description of their method at the present day, and it is probably the same in every respect as that in practice two thousand years
ago in an empire where nothing is changed. As their written language consists of from eighty to one hundred thousand characters, it
would be utterly impracticable to use moveable types, and the use of block-printing would be the most easy and rapid. The sentences,
therefore, desired to be multiplied, being drawn upon their thin paper, this is made to adhere with the face downward to a block of soft
wood, so that the characters appear though reversed. The plain wood is then cut away with most wonderful rapidity, and the drawing
left in relief. Both sides of the block are similarly operated upon. The engraved wood is then properly arranged upon a frame, and
the artist, with a large brush, covers the whole surface, the field as well as the relief, with a very thin ink ; he then lays very lightly
over it a sheet of paper, and passes a large soft brush over it, so slightly, yet so surely, that the paper is pressed upon the raised figures,
and upon no other part. The rapidity with which this is performed is extraordinary ; for Du llalde asserts that one man can print
10,000 sheets in one day, a number which would appear incredible, did not very good testimony exist at the present time that one man
can print 700 sheets per hour. The method of putting the thin sheets together when printed is as different from ours as their printing
and mode of reading. The sheets are printed on one side only ; but instead of the blanks being pasted together to form one leaf, the
sheet is so folded that no single edge of paper is presented to the reader, but only the double folded edge, the loose edges being all at
the back of the book. The late emperor had punches or matrices cut, from which copper types were cast; but the number of charac¬
ter^ required—about 60,000—is so great, that composition is almost impracticable.
It is not unlikely that the twins may have been directed in the choice of their subject by the identity of the name of the great con¬
queror with that of the brother; at least such coincidences are not without parallel in the history of literature.
PRINTING.
History, encouragement rather than foreigners. Let it be ordered
and established, according to that which the said masters
have supplicated, that from this time in future, no work of
the said art that is printed or painted on cloth or on paper,
that is to say, altar-pieces (or images), and playing-cards,
and whatever other work of the said art is done with a
brush or printed, shall be allowed to be brought or im¬
ported into this city, under pain of forfeiting the works so
imported, and xxx livres and xii soldi, of which fine one-
third shall go to the state, one-third to the Signori Giusti-
zieri Vecchi, to whom the affair is committed, and one-
third to the accuser. With this condition, however, that
the artists who make the said works in this city may not
expose the said works to sale in any other place but their
own shops, under the pain aforesaid, except on the day of
Wednesday at St Paolo, and on Saturday at St Marco,
under the pain aforesaid.” (Ottley.)
From this it seems manifest that the art of printing from
wood-blocks was not lost, but, on the contrary, had been so
long practised as to become an extensive and profitable
business in Venice, and had spread over the Continent to
such a degree as to destroy the trade of the Venetian
artists. The establishment of an important manufacture,
and its decay, necessarily infer a long period. From the
constant conjunction of the two arts of painting and print¬
ing in this document, we may infer (what the existence of
prints and cards of later date prove) the method in which
these figures and cards were manufactured, namely, that
the outline was first printed, and that the colours and shad¬
ing were filled in by the painter and illuminator. The
history ol playing-cards now becomes of some importance
to the narrative. When cards first came into use is uncer¬
tain; but mention is made of them in the year 1254, when
they were interdicted by St Louis on his return from the
Crusade: they were also forbidden by the Council of Co¬
logne in 1281. In 1299 they are expressly mentioned un¬
der the name carte; and in Das Gulden Spiegel, printed
by Gunther Zainer in the year 1472, it is said that cards
first came into Germany in 1300. An old French poet,
who wrote “ En 1’an mil iij cent xxviij,” has the line[
“ Jouent aux dex, aux cartes, aux tables.” (See Cards.)
There is no evidence earlier than the Venetian decree to
connect the art of printing from wood-blocks with the art
of making cards ; but as it is evident from that document
that such connection did exist, it is a fair presumption that
it originated not very long after the introduction of the
game; and as the sum paid by Charles VI. for “ trois jeux
de cartes” was so small as fifty-six Parisian sols, it has
been conjectured that they must have been illuminated
prints. I lie Venetian decree against the importation of
painted and printed figures from abroad now brings us
to the country from which the chief export was made. It
appeals, therefore, that in the Low Countries the manu¬
facture was carried on to a great extent; and we shall also
find that in Holland and Germany, and probably over most
of Europe, religion had called this art to her aid ; that
whilst the noble and wealthy recreated the mind and de¬
lighted the eye with the exquisite productions of the scribe
ami illuminator, the more humble were equally gratified
with mde and simple illustrations of interesting portions of
Scriptuie, oi pictures of favourite saints. It is probable
that the poorer classes hung up these drawings in their
dwellings, where they excited as true and heartfelt devotion
523
as the masterpieces of the painters’ art in the oratories of Hi,t„rv
the great. Ihere is no evidence how earlv the art was y'
practised nor whether the outlining the figures of saints
and sacred subjects preceded the printing of cards, or was
suggested by the latter ; but it is certain that at the end of
the fourteenth and the commencement of the fifteenth cen¬
tury the practice was very common. The impressions were
taken by means of a burnisher, the gloss caused by the fric¬
tion being distinctly visible on the backs both of cards and
prints preserved to this time. As facility in practice in¬
creased, a distich or quotation illustrative of the print be¬
came a natural improvement; and to this was frequently
added a coat of arms, the name of the saint, or the title of
the subject, all in the field, or over the head of the figure;
and, lastly, sometimes a date. The earliest print of which
the date is given within the print itself,1 is a wood-cut of
St Christopher carrying the infant Jesus across the sea.
It is of folio size, and coloured in the manner of our play¬
ing-cards. At the bottom is the inscription,—
/j^ristofort facirm tile quacunquc turns Jittllcfimo rccr0
nrmpr litr mortr mala non mortcrts. n° trrno.
It was found in the monastery of Buxheim, near Meinin-
gen, and is now in the possession of Earl Spencer.
The next advance was obvious. Instead of a single block,
a series of blocks were employed, with additional literary
illustrations; and thus were the first printed books formed.
The earliest and most memorable of these are the Historia
Sancti Johannis Evavgelistce, the Ars Memorandi, the
Ars Moriendi, the Biblia Pauperum, the Historia Virginis
Marice, and the Speculum Humance Salvationis. (See
Bibliography.) The most important of these works is the
Historice Veteris et Novi Testamenti seu Biblia Pauperum—
truly the Poor Man’s Bible. It consists of forty leaves printed
upon one side of the paper only, by friction, from as many
blocks; the colour is brown ; the prints are placed opposite
to each other, and the blank backs are pasted together into
one strong leaf. The cuts are about 10 inches in height, and
in width. Each print contains three sacred subjects
in compartments, and four half-length figures of prophets
in smaller divisions, two above and two beneath the princi¬
pal subjects. Latin inscriptions are on either side of the
upper figures, rhythmical verses on either side of the lower,
and additional inscriptions are on labels at the bottom of
the whole. The central subjects are from the New Testa¬
ment, the others from the Old, and in some manner
allusive to the former. There are many copies of this work,
evidently from different blocks, and of different dates. In¬
deed it appears to have been a most popular book, and was
printed repeatedly long after the introduction of legitimate
printing; there are several editions in which the inscrip¬
tions are actually printed with moveable types. The exact
date of these curious works is not ascertained; but Dr
Horne possessed a copy contained in one volume with the
Ars Moriendi and the Apocalypse, all works of the same
style, the binding of which bore the date of 142( ). The
original composition and design of this work is attributed,
and not without some show of reason, to Ansgarius, who
was bishop of Hamburg and Bremen in the ninth century.
(See Plate II.)
A similar book is the Canticles, a small folio volume of
thirty-two subjects, two being printed on each leaf, and on
only one side of the paper, and the leaves also pasted back
tlio a. ere;V1a‘ ? e.a lmnl; at ,kyon.s th® date 1384, but its existence is doubtful. There has lately been discovered a print with
zv. at0,° , ' A1*' lts al^henticity is yet under discussion. It was found by an inhabitant of Alalines, who, in breaking up an old
iT\a\A V1C,-, la rm een Vse<^.t0 ®onlain the archives of the former Grand Conseil of Malines, observed an ancient-looking print pasted
elnc. 6 1CnU 16 'u t le ^1.r®'n an<^ d’fid, with Saints Catherine, Dorothy, Barbara, and Margaret, within a palisaded en-
tn r *i efi ,°P"- ar °, t^e 8ate 18 |'*le ^ate HI: tttt °*bUt. distinct and unmistakeable. The design and execution are very superior
184=; Se^° -le-7 ristopher and the block-books. The-zDAenoum of 1844 contains a full description of the print, and the volume of
o. fac-simile. I he earliest dated print taken from an engraved metal plate is by Maso Finiguerra, 1469.
PRINTING.
524
History, to back. It differs from the Biblia Paperum in that the
inscriptions are engraven on scrolls fantastically dispersed
amongst the figures. This is generally allowed to be of
somewhat later date than the preceding, and to hold an in¬
termediate space between it and the Speculum Humaruc
Salvationist to which a larger space must be devoted, on
account of its importance in the controversy relative to the
invention of printing.
This is not, strictly speaking, a block-book; for whilst the
form of the design and the portion of Scripture represented
are engraven on wood, the inscription is in some cases en¬
graven on wood also,but in others is printed mrnoveable type.
The Latin edition, perhaps the first, consists of sixty-three
leaves, divided into five unequal gatherings. Ihe subjects
are chiefly from the Old and New 1 estament; but some¬
times such stories have been selected from ancient history as
might seem in some way appropriate to the events recorded
in sacred writ. Each subject has a short Latin inscription
underneath it, and the text occupies the remainder of the
page. Its size its folio ; the impressions are taken with a
burnisher, on one side of the paper ; the colour of the ink
is brown, and the backs are pasted together, as in the books
previously described. The work is certainly of nearly the
same date, though probably a little later, than the Biblia Pau-
perum ; and it may even have been in part executed by the
same artist, for in the earlier portions there is so much general
resemblance, both in design and execution, as to make it
probable that the same graver was employed in both. The
latter part, however, is the work of another artist; the lines
are not so bold, and there is an attempt at fineness of execu¬
tion, of shading, and of distance, which the earlier master
did not attempt; the design, though in better drawing, is
not so spirited; the drapery is more correct, though not so
graceful; and in fact the engraver was a better workman,
but not so great an artist. It must be understood, that there
are numerous editions of this work, many differing in essen¬
tial particulars, but some so nearly similar as to require a
microscopic eye to detect the variations. Of four of these,
two are in Latin, two in Dutch; and between these four lies
the contest for antiquity. Mr Ottley (whose beautiful
History of Engraving contains a well-drawn-up account of
his inquiry, illustrated by most convincing examples) has,
from a minute and laborious examination, decided that the
two Latin and two Dutch are printed from the self-same
blocks, and by comparing them, and finding evidences of
fractures in the one which do not exist in the other, he has
very satisfactorily awarded the palm of antiquity. First,
although the Latin inscriptions in the earlier part of the
first Latin edition (so called by commentators) are engraven
on blocks of wood, these blocks are not of the same piece
as the figures, the work having been divided between two
artists, the one more skilled in engraving figures, and the
other in engraving letters. Secondly, parts of the engrav¬
ing broken in the first Dutch are perfect in the first Latin;
parts imperfect in the first Latin are unbroken in the second
Dutch, whilst the second Latin is the most perfect of all;
from which the conclusion is drawn that the second Latin
is the most ancient, then the second Dutch, next the first
Latin, and lastly the first Dutch. This order of succession
is of considerable importance, because the first Latin is
printed with moveable—-some commentators say fusile—
types. The printing of this work is claimed for Laurence
Koster.
But by whomsoever these curious works were printed,
they bring us to the very threshold of the invention of
printing, in the proper sense of the word. Bibliographers
agree that the pictorial parts of the Biblia Pauperum, the History.
Canticles, and the Speculum were engraven by the same
engraver, but from the designs of different artists ; and that
while of the first Latin edition (placed third by Ottley)
the plates numbering 1, 2, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 13, 14,
16, 17, 21, 22, 26, 27, 46, are printed entirely from wooden
blocks, the five leaves of which the preface consists, and the
text of the remaining leaves—(there are 63 in all)—are
printed from moveable type. Therefore, between the print¬
ing of the first edition of these three works, and the third
of the Speculum, the art of printing with moveable type had
become known to the printer. [Sotheby’s Principia Typo-
graphica contains a great number of fac-similia of block-
books, water-marks, &c., and an ingenious disquisition.]
We have now come fairly to the practice of printing in
the real sense of the word ; and we have also arrived at the
long-pending, long-controverted question, of who invented
it, and where ? The honour is disputed by as many cities as
contended for the birth of Homer. Only three of these can
show the slightest argument for their pretensions ; Harlem,
Strasbourg, and Mentz. Harlem claims it for her citizen
Laurence Koster, or Laurent Janszoon Koster (or Gustos).
The claim rests principally upon the narrative in the Ba¬
tavia of Hadrianus Junius, a native of West Friesland, who
dwelt at Harlem. The work was written in 1575, but not
published until 1588. The following is a close translation
of the narrative —
“ There lived, a hundred and twenty-eight years ago,
at Harlem, in houses sufficiently splendid (as a workshop,
which remains to this day entire, can serve as proof), over¬
looking the forum from the neighbourhood of the royal
palace, Laurentius Joannes, by surname JEdiluus, or Gus¬
tos1 (which at that time lucrative and honourable office an
illustrious family of that name [or, a family illustrious by
that name~\ held by hereditary right), the person who now
seeks back by just avouchments and oaths the lapsing
glory {recidivam gloriam) of the invention of printing,
nefariously possessed and seized upon by others [the man],
with the greatest right to be presented with the greater
laurel of all honours {summo jure omnium triumphorum
laurea majore donandus). He by chance, walking in a
suburban grove (as was the fashion of citizens in easy
means to do after dinner in those days), began first to
fashion beech-bark into letters, which being impressed
upon paper, reversed in the manner of a seal, produced
one verse, then another, as his fancy pleased, to be for
copies to the children of his son-in-law; which when he
had happily accomplished, he began (for he was of great
and acute genius) to agitate higher things in his mind,
and first of all devised with his son-in-law, Thomas Peter,
who left four children, all of whom obtained the consular
dignity (a thing which I mention that all may understand
the art arose in an honourable and talented, not a servile
family), a more glutinous and tenacious species of writing
ink, which he had commonly used to draw letters ; thence
{experiretur) he expressed entire figured pictures with cha¬
racters added; in which sort I have myself seen Adversaria
printed by him, the traces of the works ipperarum) being
only on opposite pages, not printed on both sides (haud
opistographis). That book was in the vernacular tongue
by an anonymous author, bearing for title Speculum A'os-
tree Salutis ; in which it is to be observed among the first
beginnings of the art (for never any is found and perfected
at once), that the reverse pages being smeared with glue,
were stuck together, lest they, being blank, should present
a deformity. Afterwards he changed beech-blocks for lead ;
but no mention is made of the Cathedral. The
The word Gustos has been Dutchi-
Latin word for keeper,
In the original, Koster is simply said to have been surnamed ^Edituus, seu Custos,
Statement, therefore, that he was curtos of the cathedral is a gratuitous insertion of after narrators.
ed into Coster or Koster ; but there is no apparent reason why we may not suppose that Gustos was a barbarous
or constable, or any other translation the word will bear.
PRINTING.
History, afterwards he made them of tin, because it was a material
''-"■v'—more solid and less flexible, and more durable: from the
relics which remained of which types very ancient wine-
flasks being made, they are to this day to be seen in those
houses of Laurentius which I have mentioned looking upon
the forum, inhabited afterwards by his grandson Gerard
Thomas, whom I name for honour’s sake, a noble citizen,
who departed this life a few years ago. The studies of men
favouring, as it happened, the new art, since a new merchan¬
dise, never before seen, brought buyers from every side
with most eager quest, at once the love of the art increased,
the establishment (ministerium) increased, workmen in the
art being added to the family, the first touch of evil; among
whom was a certain Joannes, either (as the suspicion is)
that Faustus of ominous name, faithless and unlucky (in-
faustus') to his master, or some other of the same name, I
do not greatly care which, because I am unwilling to dis¬
quiet the shades of the silenced, touched with the plague of
conscience while they lived. He being sworn by oath to
the processes of printing, after he had (as he thought)
learned thoroughly the art of putting the characters to¬
gether, the knowledge of fusile types, and whatever else
may relate to the matter, taking an opportunity, than which
he could not have found one more fit, on the very eve which
is sacred to the birth of Christ, on which all in common are
accustomed to labour at the sacred ceremonies, stole the
whole materials,1 tied up a package of the instruments of
his master used in that art [imtrumentorum, herilium ei
artificio comparatorum supelleeticem convasat); thence
with a servant hurried from the house, went in the be¬
ginning to Amsterdam, thence to Cologne, until he arrived
at Mayence, as to the altar of an asylum, where he might
live safe beyond the reach of arrows (as the saying is), and
having opened an office, enjoyed the rich fruit of his rob¬
beries. Indeed, from it, in the space of the (or a turning)
year, in the year 1442 from the birth of Christ, with the
same types which Laurentius had used at Harlem, it is cer¬
tain that he produced to light the Doctrinale of Alexander
Gallus, which grammar was then in most famous use, with
the Tractates of Peter Hispanus, his first productions.
These are, for the most part, things which I have formerly
heard from aged men worthy of belief, who have received
them as things delivered from hand to hand, as a torch in
a race, and have found others relating and attesting the
same things. I remember that Nicholaus Galius, the in¬
structor of my youth, a man with iron memory, and vene¬
rable for his long years, related to me, that when a boy he
had heard, not once only, a certain Cornelius, a bookbinder,
and rendered serious by age, nor less than eighty years
old (who had lived as an under workman in that office), re¬
lating with much mental anger, and with fervour, the course
of the proceeding, the manner of the invention (as he had
received it from his master), the improvement and increase
of the art, and other things of the kind ; and that the tears
would burst from him against his will at the shame of the
affair, as often as he talked of the robbery. Which thim>-s
do not differ from the words of Quirinus Talesius Com,
who confessed to me that he had formerly the same from
the mouth of the same bookbinder.”
Beyond this narrative of Hadrian Junius there is little,
or rather no testimony to the truth of Roster’s claim, all
subsequent argument being either drawn from or referred
to this statement. Many very learned bibliographers have
given full credence to Hadrian; whilst others not less acute
absolutely deny Roster any pretence whatever—Santander
calling in question his very existence; and there is a third
525
party who, being unable to decide between the opposing Historv
arguments, and wilhng to take refuge in a middle course
a low to Roster the credit of having invented printing from
ablftypes. ^ 118 ^ " that °f printinS from move-
The whole argument may, however, be reduced into a
reasonable compass. The probability of Hadrian’s narrative
will naturally be the subject of inquiry. First, the round¬
about way in which this hearsay evidence reached Hadrian
is in itself an unsatisfactory circumstance. Little belief can
be accorded to an uncertain bookbinder, even had any cir¬
cumstances been adduced besides the name Cornelius, bv
which this bookbinder could be identified. Secondly, Ta-
et-ius was many years secretary to Erasmus, who, although
a Dutchman and resident in Holland, repeatedly and un¬
hesitatingly ascribes the invention to John Gutenberg of
Strasbourg at Mentz.2 It is not at all probable that, had
Erasmus ever heard of this story, or given the slightest cre-
dence to it if he had, he would have omitted some mention
of a circumstance so gratifying to his national vanity; or
that he should have remained in ignorance of a story well
known to his secretary, and commonly bruited about, and
t leiefore known to some of the learned men amongst whom
Erasmus lived. Thirdly, the story of the engraving on
beech-bark accidentally, when it is quite certain that the
art of taking impressions from wood-blocks of the figures
of cards and of saints and sacred subjects, with religious
and legendary inscriptions, had been known and extensively
practised, not only in Italy and Germany, but in Holland
itself, for more than a century, is absurd. Fourthly, every
author who has written upon the matter has given up all
claim on Roster’s behalf for the invention of cast type, the
evidence in favour of others being too strong to be got
over. Fifthly, the tale of the conversion of the relics of
these types into drinking-cups, which were yet to be seen
(1575), is discredited by the circumstance that no one has
since seen or heard of them, although a controversy for the
honour of a discovery in which they would have been evi¬
dence, was even then and has ever since raged furiously.
Sixthly, the story of John Fust having stolen all his print¬
ing materials on the eve of Christmas, and decamped, first
to Amsterdam, then to Cologne, and lastly to Mentz, and
his publishing there within the same year, is self-contra¬
dictory ; for type is not a very portable commodity; nor
would he easily have escaped pursuit at Amsterdam, a town
under the same government. Again, John Fust was ori¬
ginally no printer, but a wealthy goldsmith of Mentz, and
certainly never worked as any printer’s journeyman. In¬
deed this is such a palpable mis-statement, that commen¬
tators upon Hadrian have boldly supposed that the thief
was John Gutenberg,—not he of Mentz, but a brother, also
named John. Unfortunately Gutenberg’s brother was not
named John, but Friele; there was a cousin John ; but the
only evidence by which we become aware of the existence
of these persons excludes the supposition that either prac¬
tised the art; nor is it at all likely that members of a noble
family, and wealthy men, should have worked in the service
of any man. If it should be asserted that it was the John
Gutenberg, his time is so well accounted for that it is im¬
possible, since he was then resident at Strasbourg, and
never was at Amsterdam or Cologne. Thus, then, the
narrative of Hadrian Junius appears upon examination to
be utterly incredible, being at once at variance with itself
and with all probability.
Arguments for and against the claim of Harlem may be
urged not derived from this narrative. Although these cir-
2 a1” whf,t,ever e}se choragium may mean ; literally it signifies the properties of a theatre.
nno. ristl ^ * Magnum quoddam ao pene divinum beneficium collatum est universo terrarum orbi, a Johanne Gutenberg Ar-
f 1}®ns!’ ff0, scrlbendi genere reperto. Is cum primus artem impressoriam, quem Latini vocant excmoriam, in urbe Argentinensi
xnvenit; inde Moguntiam vemens eandem feliciter complevit. (Epit. Rerum Script. 1502, cap. 95.) b
PRINTING.
cumstances are not to be believed, the main facts may never¬
theless be correct. Koster may have printed the Speculum
and other block-books attributed to him. Ottley says that
they were certainly printed in Holland, for that the types are
not those used in Germany, but closely resembled such as
were afterwards cut or cast in Holland ; and that they aie o
greater antiquity than any books printed by those who
afterwards used the art in the Low Countries. He also
attempts to show, by the water-marks in the paper, that the
works in question were produced in these parts. Water¬
marks, however, and some bearing a general resemblance
to these, were common in the papers used by printers or
Cologne, Louvain, and elsewhere; and the argument is
worth little or nothing, for no evidence can be given even
of the dates of these works, and much less of the printer.
The Speculum was printed again and again after the inven¬
tion of letterpress printing; nor is there the slightest evi¬
dence, supposing these assertions to be correct, to connect
them with the name of Koster. Tt is a conclusive aigu-
ment against him, that those other works ascribed to him
and his descendants are executed with the self-same types
used at Utrecht in 1473 by Ketelaer and De Leempt.
Van Mander, who lived at Harlem in 1580, in his History
of the Lives of Dutch Painters and Engravers, treats the
claim of Harlem with contempt; for, speaking of printing,
he describes it as an art “ of which Harlem, with much pre¬
sumption, arrogates to herself the honour of the invention ;
nor does he make the slightest mention of his famous fellow-
citizen. There is not the least evidence that his three grand¬
sons (not four, as Hadrian says) ever carried on his business;
for where are their works ? and in their time printers had
become so proud of their art as not only to put their names
to every work, but even to add a long history of their
undertaking and progress. Where are the books ascribed
to them ? what mention is made of them by their contem¬
poraries ? In a subsequent part of this article it will be
seen that Caxton, the first English printer, is asserted to
have been sent to Harlem to learn the art, and if possible
to carry off one of the workmen. These things being also
matter of controversy, cannot fairly be used in argument;
nevertheless it is of some value that Caxton, who, supposing
it to be true, would be an excellent witness in favour of
Harlem, upon all occasions refers the invention to Guten¬
berg, and makes no mention whatever of Harlem or Koster.
Santander labours to disprove the very existence of any
such person. But there is no necessity to go so far as San¬
tander : we may allow Koster’s identity; we may even
allow that he practised the art of taking impressions from
wood-blocks ; but this is very different from acknowledging
his claim to the invention of the art of printing. The
most strenuous champion of Koster is Meerman, an emi¬
nent French bibliographer of the last century, who, in his
Origines Typographies, published at the Hague in 1765,
strongly maintains this narrative of Hadrian ; which is not
a little singular, seeing that the Newcastle Typographical
Society published a letter from him to Wagenaar, of eight
years’ prior date, in which he expresses a precisely contrary
opinion. He calls Seitz’s (Hadrian’s) story a mere suppo¬
sition, and the chronology a romantic invention; gives to
the Speculum the date of 1470 as the earliest possible ;
attributes the honour to Gutenberg, and incidentally men¬
tions his intention of publishing a pamphlet on the subject.
Notwithstanding this, in his work, without any new fact
whatever, he accredits Hadrian’s story, finds consistency in
the dates, believes the Speculum, and denies John Guten-
6erg,—completely reversing his previous conclusion, though
his premises remain the same.
Ihe statement of Ulric Zell, given in the Cologne
Chronicle, though always referred to by bibliographers, has
not received the attention it seems to deserve. Ulric Zell
is supposed to have been one of the workmen employed in
the office of Fust and Schceffer at Mentz, when that city
was taken by the Count of Nassau in 1462. On this event
Zell betook himself to Cologne, where he established a
press, from which in 1467 he issued his first work. He
continued to carry on the art in this city for many years.
The Cologne Chronicle was printed by Koelhoff in 1499.
Under the head of “ Invention of Printing,” it contains an
account of its discovery communicated by Ulric Zell, which,
considering the place where it was published, the nearness
of the time, and the intimate connection of the narrator
with the first movements of the art, carries great weight.
a Item, this most worthy art aforesaid [was] first of all
invented \yonden\ in Germany, at Mayence, on the Rhine ;
and that is a great honour to the German nation, that such
ingenious people are to be found there; and that happened
in the year of our Lord 1440.
“ Item, although the art was invented at Mayence as
aforesaid, in the manner it is now commonly used, yet the
first idea [yerbyldung fonden] originated in Holland from
the Donatuses, which were printed there even before that
time ; and from out of them has been taken the beginning
of the aforesaid art, and has been invented much more
masterly and cunningly than it was according to that same
method, and is become more and more ingenious.”
Now we know that the Donatuses were block-books of
a rude form, in no way resembling the art used by Zell and
his contemporaries ; and such as they are, there is no evi¬
dence that Koster printed any one of them.
All evidence, then, and the general consent of the learned,
in failure of Koster, unhesitatingly ascribe this invention to
John Gutenberg, surnamed Genzfleisch, Gensfleisch,
or Gensefleisch, von Solgenloch or Sorgenloch. Fie was
a native of Mentz, and of a noble family, possessed of con¬
siderable property in various places in the neighbourhood.
Fortunately the life of Gutenberg does not rest merely
upon hearsay evidence, or the doubtful guesses of biblio¬
graphers from dateless woodcuts; legal documents supply
most important information. It appears that, for some
reasons unknown, he resided for many years at Strasbourg,
and had even acquired rights of citizenship. The first
document presents him in no amiable light. It is a lawsuit
instituted to compel him to perform his marriage-contract
with Anne von Isernen Thiir; and it would appear that he
was compelled to make good his promise, the name of
Anne Gutenberg being found in the same register of the
nobility liable to the wine-duty in the city of Strasbourg,
in which Gutenberg’s name also appears. The next docu¬
ment is so curious that an ample abstract of it cannot but
be interesting.
It appears that he had contracted an engagement with
Andrew Dritzehen, John Riffe, and Andrew Heilmann, to
instruct them in the secrets of certain arts, and had entered
into partnership with them for their better advantage. An¬
drew Dritzehen and Andrew Heilmann having called upon
him one day, perceived that he was engaged in a wonderful
and unknown art, the secret of which he was desirous of
keeping to himself; that, moved by their importunities,
he consented to enter into partnership with them for the
term of five years, on two conditions,—first, that they
should pay him the sum of 250 florins, 100 immedhitely,
and the remainder at a certain fixed period; second, that
if any one of the partners should die during the term ot
the copartnership, the survivors should pay to his heirs the
sum of 100 florins, in consideration of which the effects
should become the property of the surviving partners.
Andrew Dritzehen died before the expiration of the period
agreed on, being still indebted to Gutenberg in the sum
of 85 florins. George and Nicholas, brothers of the de¬
ceased, demanded to be admitted to the partnership, and
on refusal, brought an action against Gutenberg as prin¬
cipal partner. The magistrates gave judgment on the 12th
History.
PRINTING.
History, of December 1439, relieving Gutenberg from the demand
upon payment of the sum of 15 florins, being the difference
of the sum of 100 florins, stipulated to be paid to the heirs
of a deceasing partner, and the sum of 85 florins due to
Gutenberg by Andrew on the original contract. The
following evidence was produced on the trial:—
“ Anna, the wife of John Schultheiss (holzman, mar-
chand de bois), deposed, that on one occasion Nicholas
Beildeck came to her house to Nicholas Dreizehen, her
relation, and said to him, ‘ My Nicholas Dreizehen, An¬
drew Dreizehen, of happy memory, has placed four stucke
(pages ?) in a press, which Gutenberg has desired that you
will take away and them from one another put off' that no
man may know what it may be, for he is not willing that
any one should see.’
“Also John Schultheiss says, that Laurence Beildeck
some time came to his house to Nicholas Dreizehen, when
Andrew Dreizehen his brother was dead, and that the said
Laurence Beildeck thus spoke to said Nicholas Dreizehen:
‘Andrew Dreizehen, your brother, now happy, had four
stucke lying underneath in a press. Therefore John Guten¬
berg desires you that you will take them therefrom and
upon the presses take from one another so that no man
can see what that is.’
“ Also Conrad Sahspach deposed, that sometime Andrew
Heilman came to him upon the Street of Merchants and
said, ‘ Dear Conrad, as Andrew Dreizehen is departed, as
you made the presses, and know about the matter, do you
go thither, and take the stucke from the presses, and
thoroughly separate {zerlegen) them from one another, so
that no man may know what it is.’
“ Laurence Beildeck says that he was sent by John
Gutenberg to Nicholas Dreizehen, after the death of
Andrew his brother, to say to him, ‘ That he the presses
which he under his care has to no man should show; which
also this witness did. And he further conversed with me,
and said he should take so much trouble as to go to the
presses, and with the two screws upon or from them so
separate the stucke (und die mit den zxveyen ufurbelui uff
den so vielen die stucke) from one another, and these stucke
he should then in the presses [or, on the presses] separate,
so that thereafter no man can see nor understand.’
“ The same witness also said that he knew well that
Gutenberg, a little before the feast of the Nativity, had
sent his servant to both Andrews to take away all stucke,
which were broken up in his sight, that none of them might
be found perfect. Moreover, after the death of Andrew,
this witness was not ignorant that many were desirous of
seeing the presses, and that Gutenberg had commanded
that some one should be sent who might hinder any one
from seeing the presses, and that his servant was sent to
break them up.
“ Also John Dunne, goldsmith, said, that three years or
thereabouts previous he had received from Gutenberg about
300 florins for materials relating to printing.”1 2
From this curious document may be learnt, that sepa¬
rate types were used; for if they were blocks arranged so
as to print four pages, how could they be so pulled to
pieces that no one should know what they were, or how
could the abstraction of two screws cause them to fall to
pieces ? It appears that some sort of presses were used,
and the transfers no longer taken by a burnisher or roller ;
and, lastly, that the art was still a great secret at the time
when Koster was at the point of death. Hence it is mani¬
fest that the ingenuity of Gutenberg had made a vast ad¬
vance from the rude methods of the time, and had in fact
invented a new and hitherto unknown art.
These documents would be decisive in favour of Stras¬
bourg as the place in which printing was invented, had it
appeared that any effects were produced by this establish¬
ment. This, however, does not seem to have been the
case, as Gutenberg and his successors make no mention of
the fact, but, on the contrary, claim for themselves the pro¬
duction of the first book at Mentz. Indeed the partnership
appears to have expired without any attempt at entering
into fresh engagements ; for, about the year 1450, Guten¬
berg returned to his native city with all his materials, with¬
out any opposition from his partner. In this place he
entered into partnership with John Fust, a wealthy gold¬
smith and citizen, who engaged, upon being taught the
secrets of the art (a fact that completely overthrows the
fable of his having been one of Koster’s workmen, and of
his having stolen his types), and being admitted into a
pai ticipation of the profits, to advance the necessary funds ;
and he did accordingly advance the considerable sum of
2020 florins. The new partnership immediately commenced
operations, and hired a house called Zum Jungen, and took
into their employ Peter Schceffer and others. Their sub¬
sequent operations we again find curiously chronicled in
the records of another lawsuit," in which Gutenberg was
soon engaged with his new ally; for Fust, dissatisfied with
their proceedings, sought to recover from Gutenberg money
advanced, with interest, including 800 florins of the sum
advanced in virtue of the deed of partnership. Gutenberg
in defence alleged, that the 800 florins had not been paid
at once, as stipulated ; and that they had been expended in
preparation for the work (apparently meaning thereby that
this sum of money should have been paid down for his own
use, in consideration of his communicating the secrets of his
art, and that instead of so applying it to his private pur¬
poses, he had expended it for the joint benefit) ; whilst, as
to the other sums, he offered to give an account of their
appropriation, but denied that he was liable for the interest.
The judges awarded that Gutenberg should pay the inter¬
est, as well as the part which his accounts showed he had
applied to his individual use. This decision took place on
the 6th of November 1455. Upon this, Fust obtained from
the public notary the following document:—
“ To the Glory of God, Amen. Be it known unto all
those who shall see or hear read this instrument, that in
the year of Our Lord 1455, third indiction, on Thursday
the sixth day of November, the first year of the Pontificate
of our very Holy Father the Pope Calixtus III., appeared
here at Mayence, in the great parlour of the Bare-footed
Friars, between eleven o’clock and mid-day, before me, the
Notary, and the undersigned witnesses, the honourable and
discrete person, James Fust, citizen of Mayence, who, in
the name of his brother, John Fust, also present, has said
and declared clearly, that on this same day, and at the
present hour, and in the same parlour of the Bare-footed
Friars, John Gutenberg should see and hear taken by
John Fust an oath, conformable to the sentence pronounced
between them. And this sentence read in the presence of
the honourable Henry Gunter, Cure of St Christopher of
Mayence, of Henry Keffer, and De BechtofF de Hanaw,
servant and valet of the said Gutenberg; John Fust,
placing his hand upon the Holy Evangelists, has sworn
between the hands of me, the Notary Public, conformable
to the sentence pronounced, and to a letter which he has
sent to me, and has taken the following oath, word for word:
I, John Fust, have borrowed 1550 florins which I have
transmitted to John Gutenberg, which have been employed
for our common labour, and of which I have paid the rent
and annual interest, of which I still owe a part. Reckon¬
ing, therefore, for each hundred florins borrowed, as above
is recited, six florins per annum, I demand of him the re-
527
History.
1 The original German text of these documents is given in M. Leon de Laborde’s interesting tracts on the origin of printing.
2 Wolfii Monumenta Typographica. Fournier, Origine de Vlmprimerie.
523
PRINTING.
History, payment and the interest, conformably to the. sentence
pronounced; which I will prove in equity to be legal, in
consequence of my claim upon the said John Gutenberg.
In presence of the honourable Henry Gunter, of^ Henry
Keffer, and of Bechtoff de Hanaw aforesaid, John bust has
demanded of me an authentic instrument, to serve him as
much and as often as he hath need, in the faith of which
I have signed this instrument, and have set thereto my
seal.”
From this it would appear (indeed the mortgage of his
printing materials to Fust, mentioned in this document,
proves) that Gutenberg had expended the whole of his
considerable private fortune in his experiments, and had
fallen into the power of his more wealthy associate; for in
consequence of this judgment, and owing probably to his
beino- unable to repay the sums demanded, the whole of
his materials, constructed with so much perseveiance, fell
into Fust’s hands; for the initial letters used by Guten¬
berg and his partners, in works known and supposed to
have been executed between 1450 and 145o, are likewise
used by Fust and Schoeffer in the Psalter of 1457 and 1459.
After such a mortifying result of so many years’labour, it
would have been no matter for wonder had Gutenberg
abandoned the unprofitable pursuit. On the contrary, he
appears to have immediately started anew with fresh vigour,
and this time with success. Another legal document gives
curious information.
“ We, Henne (John) Genszfleisch de Sulgeloch, named
Gudinburg, and Friele Genszdeisch, brothers, do affirm and
publicly declare by these presents, and make known to all,
that, with the advice and consent of our dear cousins, John,
and Friele, and Pedirmann Genszfleisch, brothers, of Mentz,
we have renounced and do renounce, by these presents,
for us and for our heirs, simply, totally, and at once, without
fraud or deceit, all the property which has passed by means
of our sister Hebele, to the convent of St Claire of Mentz,
in which she has become a nun, whether the said property
has come to it on the part of our father Henne Genszfleisch,
who gave it himself, or in whatsoever manner the property
may have come to it, whether in grain, ready money, fur¬
niture, jewels, or whatever it may be, that the respectable
nuns, the abbess, and sisters of the said convent, have re¬
ceived in common or individually, or other persons of the
convent (have received), from the said Hebele, be it little
or much; and we have promised and do promise, by these
presents, in good faith, for us and for our heirs, that neither
we, nor any person on our part, nor yet our said cousins,
nor any of their heirs, nor any person on their part, shall
either demand, gain, nor claim of the said convent, nor of
the abbess, nor of the convent in general, nor of the per¬
sons who may be found therein individually, the said pro¬
perty, of whatever kind it may be, either wholly or in part,
and that we will never demand it again, either through an
ecclesiastical or civil court, or without the aid of the law;
and that neither we nor our heirs will ever molest the said
convent, either by words or deeds, either secretly or pub¬
licly, in any manner. And as to the books which I, the
said Henne, have given to the library of the convent, they
are to remain there always and for ever; and I, the said
Henne, propose also to give in future, without disguise, to
the library of the said convent, for the use of the present
and future nuns, for their religious worship, either for read¬
ing or chaunting, or in whatever manner they may wish to
make use of them according to the rules of their order, all
the books which I, the said Henne, have 'printed up to this
hour, or which I shall hereafter print, in such quantities as
they may wish to make use of; and for this the said abbess,
the successors and nuns of the said convent of St Claire,
have declared and promised to acquit me and my heirs of
the claim which my sister Hebele had to the sixty florins,
which I and my said brother Friele had promised to pay and
deliver to the said Hebele, as her portion and share arising History,
from the house which Henne our father, assigned to him 'v'—-yW
for his share, in virtue of the writings which were drawn up
thereupon, without fraud or deceit. And in order that this
may be observed by us and by our heirs, steadfastly and to
its full extent, we have given the said nuns and their con¬
vent and order these present writings, sealed with our seals.
Signed and delivered the year of the birth of J. C. 1459, on
the day of St Margaret.”
From this it will appear, that his new establishment had
actually produced the long wished-for effect. He appears
to have carried on the business ten years; for in 1465 he
entered into the service of Elector Adolphus of Nassau, as
one of his band of gentlemen pensioners, with a handsome
salary, as appears from the letters-patent, dated the 17th
January 1465, and finally abandoned the pursuit of an art
which, though it caused him infinite trouble and vexation,
has been more effectual in preserving his name and the
memory of his acts, than all the warlike deeds and great
achievements of his renowned master and all his house.
Gutenberg died on the 24th of February 1468. His print¬
ing-office and materials had passed into the hands of Conrad
Humery, syndic of Mentz, who had probably assisted him
with money, and who appears to have been in some degree
his partner. He afterwards sold them to Nicholas Bech-
termunze of Elfield, whose works are greatly sought after
by the curious, as they afford much proof, by collation, of
the genuineness of the works attributed to his great pre¬
decessor.
There does not appear to be any record of the early life
of John Fust or Peter Schceffer before their partnership
with Gutenberg, save that the former was a wealthy gold¬
smith and an ingenious man, and that Schceffer, surnamed
de Gernsheim, was a scribe. It is very likely that the com¬
bination of character and qualifications of these three men
may afford a good clue to the wonderful taste and beauty
which distinguish the works issued from their press, and
consequently to the great general improvement of the art
during their life. The ingenuity of Gutenberg would readily
suggest a new and expeditious method of manufacturing
types ; the practical skill of Fust as a worker in metals (and
the working in gold and silver had at that time attained
a most extraordinary nicety and beauty), and his large pe¬
cuniary resources, would readily provide the necessary ap¬
pliances, while the taste of Schceffer would give all possible
grace and beauty to the new forms. For Schceffer, it must
be recollected, was a scribe, one of the ancient and honour¬
able craft whose occupation was destined to fall before the
new art; a transcriber, perhaps an illuminator, of the ma¬
nuscript works in use before printed books; and those who
have had the happiness of viewing those exquisite speci¬
mens of skill which beguiled our ancestors into study and
devotion (when will modern typography produce such feasts
for mind, and eye, and imagination?) will readily conceive
that Schceffer’s eye was already schooled for the conception,
and his hand for the execution, of all the beauty the tram¬
mels of a new art and limited skill would allow. Aided by
his own taste and his partners’ invention and wealth, Schcef¬
fer proceeded to a new enterprise, namely the casting of type.
The entire conception and execution of this invention has
been generally attributed and allowed to Schceffer. It seems
most probable, however, that where three ingenious men
are bound together by art and interest, no one of them can
lay exclusive claim to any invention or undertaking exe¬
cuted in the workshops and for the mutual benefit of all.
Allowing, therefore, to Schceffer the honour of having sug¬
gested some such plan, the other two may fairly put in a
claim for their portion of the credit on the score of their
suggestion and assistance; especially since Fust, as a worker
in metals, would have been the party to engage workmen
to elaborate the conceptions of his partners’ brain. Ac-
PRINTING.
History, cordingly the only evidence upon the subject appears to
show that the partners had for some time practised a method
of taking casts of types in moulds of plaster; for it must be
remembered that the types of Gutenberg’s earlier efforts,
both at Strasbourg and at Mentz, were cut out of single
pieces of wood or metal with infinite labour and imperfec¬
tion. This method of casting, however, although a great
improvement, was at best but a slow and tedious process.
Almost every type cast would require a new mould ; no
skill or care could enable the workman to impress so small
a thing as a type is at the face, yet so elongated in the shank,
fully, freely, and steadily, into a soft material; and it would
be necessary afterwards, under the most favourable circum¬
stances, that the squareness and sharpness so indispen¬
sable in type should be given by another slow process ; so
that at best this advance was but an imperfect and tedious
operation. Schceffer has therefore an undoubted claim to
be considered as one of the three inventors of printing; for
he it was who first suggested the cutting of punches, where¬
by not only might the most beautiful form of type the taste
and skill of the artist could suggest be fairly stamped upon
the matrix, but a degree of sharpness and finish quite un¬
attainable in type cut in metal or wood could be given to
the face; whilst to the shank, by the very same process by
which the face was cast, the mould would give perfect
sharpness and precision of angle. Add to this, that the
punch being once approved of, could be kept ready to
stamp a new matrix in precisely the same condition and
form as the first, should that be worn out or mislaid, or
make a duplicate should the demands of business require it.
It is nevertheless rather singular, that the mould represent¬
ed on the right side of the press of Ascensius, shortly after
the time of Schoeffer, should be precisely the same in form
and manner of use as that of the present day. This was
evidently an immense stride toward perfection ; let Schoef-
ier therefore take a place on the right hand of the inventor.
Whatever may have been the several shares of the
masters in perfecting their art, their joint labours were
effectual. The first productions of their press—passing over
an Alphabet, the Doctrinale of Alexander Gallus, and a
Donatus, which are of doubtful authenticity, and are merely
block-books—were three editions of Donatus, the first books
known to have been printed entirely with moveable types.
In 1455 they printed the celebrated Litterce Indulgentice
Nicolai V. Pont. Max., which is the first work,—it is only
a single page,—printed with moveable types which is dated.
In 1455, or thereabouts, for it has no'date, they printed
the famous Biblia Latina Vulgata, generally known as
“the Mazarine Bible.” It has no colophon or
And it should be noted, that there is no book known which
bears the conjoint names of Gutenberg, Fust, and Schceffer,
nor any which has the imprint of Gutenberg alone.
Within eighteen months of their separation from Guten¬
berg, Fust and Schoeffer produced the celebrated Psalter.
1 his was printed with large cut type. As it is impos¬
sible that a new fount could have been prepared, and so
splendid a work printed, within that short space, it must
be evident that the partners did great injustice to Gu-
tenburg in suppresing his name from the colophon. This
book was produced in the month of August 1457, and
is the first book which bears the name of the place
where it was printed, those of its printers, and the
date of the year in which it was printed. This Psalter
was reprinted in 1459, 1490, and 1502, and always
in the same type, which, it is remarkable, was never used
for any other work, probably because its great size made it
unfit for any other works than those not intended for po¬
pular reading, but to lay on desks like our church Bibles.
On the 16th of October 1459 Fust and Schoeffer pub¬
lished the JDurandi Rationale Divinorum Officiorum, with
an entirely new fount of type ; ip 1460 the Conslitutiones
VOL. XVIII.
CiemenhsJ.; and in 1462 the celebrated Latin Bible
In 1465 they printed Cicero de Officiis, in which occur the
first printed Greek types. Fust enjoyed this successful
and glorious practice of his art but ten short years ; yet in
this period what an immense advance from the misshapen
and irregular lumps of their first efforts, ugly in themselves
and more ugly in their utter want of relative proportion
and alhgnement, to the well-proportioned, evenly-standin<>-
type of the Bible! The plague carried him off in Paris
about the year 1466, full of years, and perchance full of
honours. Schceffer survived many years, and, in conjunc¬
tion with Conrad Henlif; produced a great number of works.
His name is found in the colophon of the fourth edition of
the Bible of 1402, about which time he is supposed to have
deceased. There are ten books which are known to have
been printed by Fust and Schoeffer conjointly. Schceffer
continued to print during a period of thirty-five or thirty-
six years after the death of Fust, and his productions are
very numerous.
Were we to take tradition for our guide as regards the
character of Fust, we should regard him as a conjuror and
an adept in the black art. 1 he popular story (and many
“ grave and discrete old men” have given credit to the tale)
runs, that having kept these proceedings profoundly secret,
as soon as their Bible was finished, Fust transferred him¬
self to Paris with many copies of the new work, and palmed
them upon the learned as manuscripts—to which, as they
were printed on vellum, in a type bearing much resemblance
to the written books of the period, and the vignettes and ini¬
tial letters were splendidly illuminated, they were not very
dissimilar; that some eager scholar or devotee became the
possessor of the first copy, supposing it to be a rare chance,
at the moderate price of four or five hundred crowns; that
as he brought the work into the market, the price fell ra¬
pidly to sixty, and then to thirty crowns, by which time the
extraordinary glut produced suspicion, and Fust was accused
of multiplying Holy Writ by the aid of the Devil, and was
accordingly persecuted by the priesthood, whilst the laity,
looking to their temporal interests, prosecuted him for his
inroad into their pockets ; and that from these things Fust
was obliged to quit Paris precipitately.
Having thus given a sketch of the origin and history of
the art of printing, a brief account of the works issued by
the illustrious triumvirate will not only be proper here, but
will give the general reader a better idea of the astonishing
perfection to which the art rose under the taste and genius
of its inventors. As before remarked, there is not a single
work of Gutenberg which bears his name; yet there are
several which bear such internal evidences that the literati
of all parties and opinions are unanimous in attributing
them to his press.
Of these works, Dr Dibdin, the well-known bibliographer,
gives the following account:—
“ First, as to the character of the type used by the early
Mentz printers. This appears to have been uniformly what is
called Gothic; and if we except the varieties of the larger
type (from three-eighths to two-eighths or to a quarter of an
inch), which appear in the Psalters of 1457, 1459, and 1490
(the type common to most works executed about the same
period), we shall observe three distinct sets or forms of
letters used in the printing-office of Faust and SchoifFher.
Of these three typographical characters, two only (if we
except the one with which the Bible of 1455 was exe¬
cuted) are visible in the publications which appear to have
been printed in the lifetime of Faust; that is to say, the
larger Gothic used in the Bible of 1462, and the smaller
Gothic in the Offices of Cicero, of the dates of 1465 and
1466. These appeared united, the former, for the first
time, in the Constitutions of Pope Clement V, of the date
of 1460. Schoiffher introduced a type of an intermediate
size, which mav be seen, among other works, in the Rudi-
3 x
530
History.
PRINTING.
cient art. Notwithstanding the appearance of these types, History,
the reader is assured that the original is really printed from ^—v—
separate pieces of metal.1 2
Te uoai? fra m
figniAratiua pJoHitriacotic pno>al»ftt*ab
^ iarpns vm fillabe.ReguIaWs t>i bjam.
nfctrir? TflobuUconis et meUit^.qn« atcfrttunoii
merits of Grammar of 1468, and in the Decretals of Pope
Gregory the Ninth, of the date of 1479. This intermediate
type is of a narrower form, and prints very closely. Of
the three types here mentioned, the largest is undoubtedly
of the handsomest dimensions ; but they all partake ot the
Secretary Gothic, and may be said to be the model of that
peculiar character which was adopted by the early Leipsic
printers, Thanner and Boettiger, and was more especially
used by John Schoiffher and the other German printers
for nearly the whole of the sixteenth century. Shew me
Lisardo, one book, nay, one leaf only, printed in the Ro¬
man type, in the colophon of which the name of Faust or
of Peter Schoiffher appears, and you shall immediately
have the amount of the balance in my favour, at my bank¬
er’s, be it great or small, be it L.200 or L.20, foi such a
precious and unheard of curiosity.
“ We shall now, in the second place, say a few words as to
the character of the printing, or of the mechanical skill, of
the early Mentz press. There can be but one opinion upon
this point. Everything is perfect of the kind, the paper,
the ink, and the register, or regularity of setting up the
page. The Bible of the supposed date of 1455 is quite a
miracle in this way ;x but the Psalters are not less mira¬
culous, nor is less praise due to the Constitutions of Pope
Clement V., of the date of 1460, and the Bible of 1462;
while the Durandus, of the earlier date of 1459, exhibiting
the first specimen of the smallest letter, strikes one as among
the most marvellous monuments extant of the perfection of
early typography. Almost all the known works before the
year 1462 are printed upon vellum, doubtless because they
ventured upon limited impressions; and even of the Bible of
1462 more copies have been described upon vellum than up¬
on paper. Upon the whole, the vellum used by Faust and
Schoiffher, although inferior to the Venetian, is exceed¬
ingly good, being generally both white and substantial.
“ In the third place, let us notice the nature or charac¬
ter of the works which have issued from the press of Faust
and Schoiffher. Whatever may be our partiality towards that
establishment from which the public were first gratified with
the sight of a printed book, candour obliges us to confess
that the fathers of printing were not fortunate, upon the
whole, in the choice of books which issued from their press.
“ In the fourth place (for I told you I should be somewhat
tautologous), consider what is the typographical appearance
of those books which Gutenberg is really supposed to have
executed. It is quite unique. A little barbarous, and certain¬
ly wholly dissimilar from any thing we observe in other con¬
temporaneous productions of the Mentz press. You will
please to understand that I think very doubtfully of the Do-
natuses, which are considered to have been printed by him ;
as well as of the Speculum Sacerdotum, and Celebratio Mis-
sarum; concluding the Catholicon of 1460, and the Vocabu¬
laries ofT467 and 1469, to be the more genuine productions
of his press, or of the types used by him. Is it not surpris¬
ing, I ask, that these works are executed in types quite diffe¬
rent from anything we observe in the Mentz productions? and
this from a man who is considered as the parent of printing
in that city. No wonder, if they be the actual productions
of Gutenberg, that Faust and Schoiffher thought so meanly
of his talents, and that on a dissolution of partnership they
adopted a different and a very superior character.”
In confirmation of these remarks of the learned biblio¬
grapher, we shall here insert a specimen of Gutenberg’s J5a^-
bus de Janua, which will also be a curious illustration of an¬
Dr Horne, in the appendix to his Introduction to Biblio¬
graphy, says of the Psalter, “ This precious work, as Santan¬
der justly calls it, is one of the most known among early
printed books, from the various and correct descriptions ot
it which have been given by different bibliographers. Un¬
til the discovery of Pope Nicholas’ Literce Indulgentiarum,
this wTas supposed to be the very first article ever printed
with a date affixed; the book is executed on vellum, and
of such extreme rarity that not more than six or seven
copies are known to be in existence ; all of which, however,
differ from each other in some respect or other. The most
perfect copy known is that in the imperial library at Vien¬
na ; it comprises 175 leaves, of which the Psalter occupies
the 135 first and the recto of the 136th. The remainder
is appropriated to the litany, prayers, responses, vigils, &c.
The psalms are executed in larger characters than the
hymns, similar to those used for missals prior to the inven¬
tion of printing; but all are distinguished for their uncom¬
mon blackness. The capital letters, 288 in number, are cut
on wood with a degree of delicacy and boldness which are
truly surprising; the largest of these, the initial letters of
the psalms, which are black, red, and blue, must (as Lich-
tenberger has remarked) have passed three times through
the press. Copies are now in the Queen’s library at Wind¬
sor, and in that of Earl Spencer at Spencer House.” A fac¬
simile of the initial B, and a portion of the first verse of
this beautiful book, and of the colophon at the end, wiu be
found in Plate III.
The extraordinary praise awarded by these eminent bib¬
liomaniacs to the first productions of the Mentz press may
perchance excite in the minds of the more sober public a
suspicion that these writers have been led away by their en¬
thusiasm beyond the limits of matter-of-fact truth, and have
seen merit in defects, beauty in deformity, and lustre in an¬
tiquity. Assuredly, nevertheless, such is by no means the
case; and the happy individual who gains access to the chef-
d?oeuvres of Fust and Schceffer will return from the inspec¬
tion a wiser man ; for the beauty of these wurks is inconceiv¬
able. England fortunately possesses several of these trea¬
sures of art, there being copies of the Bible of the supposed
date of 1450-55 in the Royal Library, in the Bodleian, and
in those of Earl Spencer and Henry Perkins, Esq.; whilst
of the six known copies of the Psalter of 1457, two are ir
England, namely, one at Windsor, and one in the posses¬
sion of Lord Spencer. Of the Latin Bible of Fust and
Schceffer, 1462 (the first bearing date), there are copies on
vellum at Blenheim, in the libraries of Lord Spencer, the Earl
of Jersey, one formerly belonging to Sir M. Sykes, in the
British Museum, and in the Bodleian (imperfect). Copies
on paper are rarer still, there being but three in this coun¬
try, viz., those in the Royal Library and the British Museum,
and one lately in the possession of Mr Willett.
Apparently, in retaliation for the injustice done to Gu¬
tenberg by his partners in depriving him of any share of
1 This is even sober praise. The mechanism of the press-work, and appearance of the ink, beautiful, regular, and glossy as the wdiole
appears, does not strike one with more astonishment than the manufacture of the paper. “ Charta,” says Tungendres, “ ejusdem est
crassitudinis, qualem illo tempore libris imprimendis consumere mos fuit.” And again, “ Charta ob ejus densitatem atque spissitudinern
baud ingratam ubique se maxime commendat.” (Disg. de Not. Charact. Libror. p. 27, p. 46.) And see Meerman’s testimony in favour of
the paper of the Soubiaco press, Grig. Typog, vol. i. p. 9, note. _ _ .
2 The initial A is illuminated in a very brilliant blue. The reader who is desirous of obtaining the full elfe:t of this specimen can till
up the printed outline in water-colour.
PRINTING.
History,
the honour of producing the Psalter ot 1457, which, as be-
"'fore stated, must be the joint production of all three, al¬
though it was not finished until after the secession of Gu¬
tenberg, bibliographers have generally agreed in attribut¬
ing the printing of the Bible of 1450-55 to Gutenberg alone,
when it is equally manifest that Fust and Schceffer had as
much claim to the honour as their coadjutor. It is an ex¬
ceedingly beautiful book, in two very large folio volumes, in
two columns, containing from forty-one to forty-three lines
each, in very large well-cut types. It consists of six hun¬
dred and forty-one leaves ; it has no title, paging, signatures,
or catch-words; the initial letters are not printed, but paint¬
ed in by illuminators, and the initial letters of each verse of
the psalms are painted alternately red and black, by way of
guide to the priests in their alternate reading. From the
lustre and blackness of the ink, its evenness of colour, and
beautiful execution, it is a very superb book ; but it is never¬
theless surpassed by the Fust and Schceffer edition of 1462,
when they had attained greater experience in the practice
of the art. By far the choicest, however, of these editiones
principes is the Mentz Psalter or Codex Psalmorum before
mentioned, the initial B and first few lines of wdiich form
part of Plate III. Dr Horne says that the six known
copies of this edition differ from each other in some re¬
spects, and proceeds to give some particulars in which va¬
riations are found ; but by collating the copies in the Royal
Library, that at Windsor, and that at the British Museum,
it will be found that, although bearing the same date, they
are in fact three distinct editions. It would have excited
no surprise had it been found that the printed ornaments
differed, as nothing would be more easy than to change the
colours with which the different blocks were worked ; and
in fact in the Museum copy the initial B is printed in a
bright blue, and the scroll-work is red ; but the text varies
in such a manner that there can be no doubt of their per¬
fect distinctness. Taking the first six lines, the following
are the last words of each line:—
531
Windsor.
afit'tt
. et
stttit
non
tint
Ifge
Earl Spencer.
. . . qut non
• . . fmptor?
pcccatorum non
• • • . pcstt
• • . . S(tl
. . . fcoluntas
Brit
It must also be noted that in the Windsor copy each line
is justified out, ’ which is not the case in Earl Spencer’s
copy ; and that in the Museum copy the page commences
vyith rubrical matter, which is continued down the two first
lines of text, which are shortened. The difference is
effected by variations in the contractions of many of the
words. The book2 is a very large folio, on vellum, con¬
sisting of about a hundred and thirty leaves, printed on
both sides. There are generally twenty-three lines in a
page,,in Gothic type. Every psalm begins with a splendid
initial letter, about two thirds of the size of the B, printed
in two colours in almost every case. Occasionally, how¬
ever, this appears to have been neglected, and then the
letter is painted in by the illuminator, but not in imitation
of the printed letters. The initials consist (like the B) of a
bold character, of Gothic cut, surrounded by a scroll, which
is sometimes of great length, that of the B extending from
the top to the bottom of the page. The same wooden block
is used as often as the letter occurs, but it is not always in
the same colours. Moreover, every verse commences with a
smaller initial printed in a red colour, in the same manner
as the & in the specimen. Nor is this work destitute of the
m^nt of evervVf ^ f°r at the commence- History.
ment of everj psalm is a rubric, painted in a most brilliant' v—
led, in a smaller letter, of precisely the same character as
the text, and also the music of the chant, with the words
undernea h ,t painted in black. The initial letters of both
are splendidly illuminated in various colours. The naint is
used in such profusion that the letters are absolutely in
i ehef, often to the extent of one sixteenth of an inch ; and
besides these, the letter following the grand initial has a
broad bar painted down it, and very frequently the first
letter after the pauses indicated in our authorized Version by
a colon is illuminated in a similar manner. One page is par¬
ticularly splendid; it consists of short verses, in which the
first words are constantly repeated. It commences with a
giand initial, and there are twenty-two smaller initials to
t le verses ; the second letter of the first verse, and the first
ietter after every pause (twenty-three in number), having
the broad illuminated bar. Wherever the psalm commences
too near the bottom to allow of the full exuberance of the
scroll, a piece of paper appears to have been laid over a
portion of the cut, to prevent the impression from appearino';
and in one psalm where the chant is of unusual length,
the lower part of the initial O, and a corresponding portion
of the scroll, are thus suppressed; the music being illuminat¬
ed in its place, and the scroll continued below it. Some¬
times the illuminator has omitted to add his initial letter; and
in this copy the double device is omitted. The accuracy
with which the coloured blocks are printed within the text
and within each other is perfectly astonishing. From this
description it may be conceived how very superb is the first
book ever printed, the date, and place, and artist, of which
can be accurately ascertained. Dr Dibdin in the Biblio¬
theca Spenceriana, Mr Savage in his work on Decorative
Printing, Dr Horne, whose wood-block is not coloured, and
several other writers, have given fac-similes of the same
copy (Lord Spencer’s), which, however, all differ from one
another. The lines given in the specimen in Plate III.
are copied from Dibdin, whose initial B does not accord
with that of the Windsor copy; the B here given is very
accurate, and the colours are as similar as possible to the
latter copy, but the colour of the scroll in the original seems
somewhat faded.
The capture of the city of Mentz by Count Adolphus of Early
Nassau in the year 1462 had the effect of interrupting the la- printers,
hours oft ust and Schceffer; and moreover the distracted state
of the city enabled, perhaps compelled, the workmen initi¬
ated in the mysteries of the art to flee into the neighbouring
states, and thus spread its practice over the whole civilized
globe. Such, indeed, was the fame it had already acquired,
and such the idea entertained of its importance, that every
community with the slightest pretensions to literature ap¬
pears to have sought a knowledge of it with the greatest
avidity. Thus, within six years of the publication of the
Psalter, it had spread to several cities having some connec¬
tion with Mentz, and within fifteen years to almost every
town of consideration in Christian Europe. A chronolo¬
gical list of the cities which first seized upon the inven¬
tion would be greatly too long for this article; it may be
interesting, however, to extract a few of the principal, with
a notice of such printers as are remarkable either for the
beauty or the scarcity of their wmrks. The reader is not
to suppose that all, or indeed any great number of these,
learned the practice of the art under the tuition of the first
masters. A few are known to have been pupils of the in¬
ventors, and it is probable that many others of them were so ;
but the majority, in all likelihood, were men of learning, en¬
terprise, or capital, who derived their typographical know¬
ledge from such facts as had transpired, or from inferior
•t ft18 .(^es’r.a':,^e t^lat t^le subsequent pages of the several editions should be collated. If similar variations should be found throughout
!. Wl give rise to much speculation. If they are found to be identical, the suspicion will arise, that the first and last pages were inten-
lona y varied, perhaps for the purpose of misleading, and the story of these first books having been offered for sale as manuscripts will
receive some countenance. 2 The copy described is that at Windsor; the illuminations, no doubt, vary in every copy.
PRINTING.
532
History, workmen of Fust and Schcefier or Gutenberg, supplying
' deficiencies by their own ingenuity.
Strasbourg. Mentelin. Some writers have claimed tor
Mentelin the invention of printing, representing that Guten¬
berg was his servant, without, however, showing the slightest
ground for their assertions; but others, more reasonable, say
that he was acquainted with Gutenberg, and instructed by
him, and that on the latter’s quitting Strasbourg he esta¬
blished a printing-office, and carried on the business suc¬
cessfully. Mentelin most probably printed about the year
1458. His' type is rude and inelegant. The only book
bearing his name is Beauvais’ Speculum, Historiale, of date
1473. Scheepflin says, that he, as well as Fust and Schceffer
at Mentz, printed 300 sheets per day.
In 1461. Bamberg. Albert Pfister. He printed a collec¬
tion of Fables, of date 1461. This book is excessively rare ;
it is printed with cast metal type, and is illustrated with
101 wood-cuts, in much the same style as the old Biblia
Pauperum. All his other works are printed in the same
type.
1465. Subiaco and Rome. Schweynheym and Pannartz.
Their known works are, a Donatus, without date ; Lactan-
tius, 1465 ; St Augustin on the City of God, 1467; Cicero
de Oratore, without date ; and the Commentary of De Lyra
on the Bible, 1471, all in folio. These works were print¬
ed in a new letter, very closely resembling the type now
in use called Roman, and of which they were the intro¬
ducers. In De Lyra are the earliest specimens of Greek
types worthy of the name ; some few letters appear in the
Cicero de Officiis printed at Mentz, but so wretchedly im¬
perfect that they are unworthy of mention. It is curious
that the Greek fount of Schweynheym and Pannartz at
Subiaco was evidently very small; but upon tbeir removal
to Rome they cast a much larger fount. The cut and ap¬
pearance of this Greek is more than respectable. There is a
very curious petition from them to the pope, praying for as¬
sistance on the ground that they had entirely ruined them¬
selves by printing De Lyra, for which there was no sale,
and representing that they had on their hands no less than
eleven hundred folio volumes of that work. Subiaco is the
first place in Italy in which printing was practised. At
Rome Ulric Han and Lignamine were contemporaries.
Their works, particularly those of Han, are excessively rare.
1467. Elfield. Henry and Nicholas Bechtermunze. They
purchased from Conrad Humery the types and materials
of Gutenberg. Their works are not at all remarkable for
beauty, but are very rare, and much sought for as afford¬
ing evidence of Gutenberg’s works.
1467. Cologne. Ulric Zell. His type is Gothic, and of
no beauty; but his works are rare.
1468. Augsburg. Ginther Zainer printed the first book
in Germany with Roman type.
1469. Venice. John de Spira, whose works are of the ut¬
most beauty. His edition of Pliny is splendid, and enor¬
mous sums have been given for those printed in vellum. He
did not use Greek characters ; but Greek passages are com¬
posed in Roman types. In the same city, at the same time,
printed Nicholas Jenson, whose works are equal, if not su¬
perior, to those of Spira ; they are not so rare, but are almost
equally sought after. A copy of his folio Latin Bible of
1479, printed in Gothic type, was sold at Mr Edwards’ sale
for L.115. 10s. Venice was also the residence of Chris¬
topher Valdarfar, whose works gave rise to a most extra¬
ordinary event connected with bibliography, viz. the sale of
the first edition of 11 Decamerone di Boccaccio, printed by
him in 1471. For many years it had been known that a
single copy of this w'ork was in existence, and the most de¬
voted bibliomaniacs had used their utmost endeavours to
discover it, but in vain. At length, about 1740, an ances¬
tor of the Duke of Roxburghe obtained possession of it for
the sum of one hundred guineas. In lapse of time it be¬
came the property of John duke of Roxburghe, the ac- History,
complished, indefatigable, and undaunted bibliomaniac, after v-w
whose death his gorgeous library was dispersed by the auc¬
tioneer in the year 1811. The interest excited amongst the
learned by this sale was intense. It was known that the col¬
lection contained the most superb specimens of every kind of
ancient lore; that the illuminated manuscripts were the most
brilliant, the ballads the most obscure, the editiones prin-
cipes the most complete that the world could produce ; that
the rarest Caxtons, the finest Pynsons, and grandest spe¬
cimens of the foreign printers, were here to be found ; above
all, it was rumoured that a mysterious edition of Boccac¬
cio’s Decameron would become a bone of contention amongst
the noblest of the literati. The public, learned and un¬
learned, were infected with the mania, and the daily papers
teemed with notices of the sale. At length the important
day arrived, the 17th of June 1811. St James’ Square was
the place. Mr Evans presided. The room was crowded ;
Earl Spencer, the Marquis of Blandford, the Duke of De¬
vonshire, and an agent of Napoleon, were amongst the most
prominent. The book was a small folio, in faded yellow
morocco binding, black-letter. “ Silence followed his (Mr
Evans’) address,” says Dibdin. “ On his right hand, standing
against the wall, stood Earl Spencer: a little lower down, and
standing at right angles with his lordship, appeared the Mar¬
quis of Blandford. The duke, I believe, was not then pre¬
sent ; but my Lord Althorpe stood a little backward, to the
right of his father Earl Spencer. Such was ‘ the ground
taken up’ by the adverse hosts. The honour of firing the
first shot was due to a gentleman of Shropshire, unused to
this species of warfare, and who seemed to recoil from the
reverberation of the report himself had made. ‘ One hun¬
dred guineas,’ he exclaimed. Again a pause ensued ; but
anon the biddings rose rapidly to five hundred guineas.
Hitherto, however, it was manifest that the firing was but
masked and desultory. At length all random shots ceased,
and the champions before named stood gallantly up to each
other, resolving not to flinch from a trial of their respective
strengths. ‘ A thousand guineas’ were bid by Earl Spencer;
to which the marquis added ‘ ten.’ You might have heard
a pin drop. All eyes were turned ; all breathing well nigh
stopped. Every sword was put home within its scabbard,
and not a piece of steel was seen to move or to glitter save
that which each of these champions brandished in his va¬
lorous hand. See, see ; they parry, they lunge, they hit;
yet their strength is undiminished, and no thought of yield¬
ing is entertained by either. ‘ Two thousand pounds’ are
offered by the marquis. Then it was that Earl Spencer,
as a prudent general, began to think of an useless effusion
of blood and expenditure of ammunition, seeing that his
adversary was as resolute and fresh as at the onset. For a
quarter of a minute he paused, when my Lord Althorpe ad¬
vanced one step forward, as if to supply his father with an •
other spear for the purpose of renewing the contest. His
countenance was marked with a fixed determination to
gain the prize, if prudence in its most commanding form,
and with a frown of unusual intensity of expression, had not
bade him desist. The father and son for a few seconds
converse apart; and the biddings are resumed. ‘ Two thou¬
sand two hundred and fifty pounds,’ said Lord Spencer.
The spectators are now absolutely electrified. The mar-
auis quietly adds his usual ‘ ten,’ and there is an end of the
contest. Mr Evans, ere his hammer fell, made a due pause,
and, indeed, as if by something preternatural, the ebony
instrument seemed itself to be charmed or suspended ‘ in
mid air.’ However, at length down dropped the hammer,
and, as Lisardo has not merely poetically expressed himseli,
‘ the echo’ of the sound of that fallen hammer ‘ was heard
in the libraries of Rome, of Milan, and Saint Mark.’ Not
the least surprising incident of this extraordinary sale is,
that the marquis already possessed a copy of the work, which
*
PRINTING.
History, wanted a few leaves at the end; he therefore paid this
- enormous sum for the honour of possessing a few pages.
The prize of this contest is now in the possession of Earl
Spencer.”
1469. Milan. Lavagna. In 1476 Dionysius Palavasinus
printed the Greek Grammar of Constantine Lascaris, in
quarto, which is the first book printed entirely in Greek.
The first printing in Hebrew characters was performed at
Soncino, in the duchy of Milan, in 1482.
1470. Paris. Ulricus Gering, M. Crantz, and M. Fri-
burger.
\¥1\. Florence. Bernard Cennini. In 1488 Demetrius
of Crete printed the first edition of Homer’s works, in most
beautiful Greek.
1474. Basle. Bernardus Richel.
1474. Valencia. Alonzo Fernandes de Cordova.
1474. Louvain. Joannes de Westphalia.
1474. Westminster. William Caxton, the Game of Chess.
1475. Lubech. Lucas Brandis.
1476. Antwerp. Thierry Martins of Alost.
1476. Pilsen in Bohemia. Statuta Synodalia Pragensia;
printer’s name not known.
1476. Delft. Maurice Yemantz.
1478. Geneva. Adam Steinschawer.
1478. Oxford. Theodericus Rood.
1480. St Albans. LaurentiiGuillielmide Saona Rhetorica
Nova ; printer’s name not known.
1482. Vienna. John Winterburg.
1483. Stockholm. Johannes Snell.
1483. Harlem. Formulce Novitiorum, by Johannes An-
driesson. This is the earliest book printed at Harlem with
a date. In giving this as the first work known to be print¬
ed at Harlem, the claims of Koster, his grandsons and suc¬
cessors, must, of course, be reserved.
1493. Copenhagen. Gothofridus de Ghemen.
1500. Cracow. Joannes Haller.
1500. Munich. Joannes Schobzer.
1500. Amsterdam. D. Pietersoen.
1507. Edinburgh. A Latin Breviary; no printer’s name,
from a patent of James IV. it appears that the first print¬
ing press was established at Edinburgh in 1507. From the
style and types, it is probable that they were imported from
r ranee.
1551. Dublin. Ireland was apparently the last country
in Europe into which printing was introduced. The first
book printed is a black-letter edition of the Book of Com¬
mon Prayer, printed by Humphrey Powell.
1569. Mexico. Antonio Spinoza, Vocabulario en Lenqua
( asteliana y Mexicana.
1639. United States, at the town of Cambridge. Printer
Stephen Daye.
It was the custom of the early printers to distinguish
their books by the most fantastic devices; and by these their
works may be readily recognised. Many of them were of
exceeding beauty, and all the skill and appliances of their
art were employed to render them striking ; they are really
an ornament to their works. The invention of these has
been ascribed to Aldus; but the very first printers, Fust and
». c icelfer, used each for himself, yet conjoined, devices of
rare excellence. Their celebrated Bible is adorned with
one which is well worthy of being adopted as the arms of
the art and mystery of printing. This is given in the plate
ot illustrations with those of Caxton, Wynkyn de Worde
and Pierre Regnault, who, with his brother, printed the
first English Testament at Paris.
Our chronological arrangement has precluded us from
mentioning some of the most skilful typographers. Their
works, however, are so numerous, and their efforts so well
known, as to render it unnecessary to do more than men¬
tion their names. Such men as the AldiJFrobenius, Plan-
tmus, Operinus, the Stephani, the Elzeviri, the Gryphii,
533
faLGiUTt nl^0reti*nd^ °f peers’ universal HWorv.
fame. Ihe printing-office of Plantinus, in the Place Ven-
dredi, at Antwerp, exists in its full integrity, and in the nos
session and use of his descendants the Moreti; the same
presses, the same types, with the addition of every improve
ment modern skill has effected, are still in use, and an in¬
spection of these singular relics of olden art will well re¬
pay the investigation of the curious.
The First Presses.
Of the mechanical means by which these beautiful im¬
pressions of the old printers were produced there is little
or no record; but it is quite evident that they must have
been effected by some more skilful process than mere ma¬
nipulation, that is, than the appliance of a burnisher, as is
evident in the first wood-cuts, or of a roller, or superficial
pressure applied immediately by hand. It is very proba¬
ble that one of the difficulties which Gutenberg found insu-
perable at Strasbourg, was the construction of a machine of
sufficient power to take impressions of the types or blocks
then employed; nor is it at all wonderful that the many years
he resided at that city were insufficient to produce the re¬
quisite means ; for, with cutting type, forming his screws,
inventing and making ink, and the means of applying his
ink when made, his time must have been amply occupied.
Moreover, the construction of a press would require a versa¬
tile genius, and excellent mechanical skill, not to be looked
for in one man. But upon his junction with Fust and Schoef-
ler, the gold of the former, and the invention of all the three
would soon supply the defect; and, for aught that appears
to the contrary, the press used in their office differed in no
essential point from those in use until the improvements
of Blaew in 1600-20. Fortunately, amongst the singular
devices with which it pleased the earlier printers to distin¬
guish their works, Badius Ascensius of Lyons (1495-1535)
chose the press; and there are cuts of various sizes on the
title-pages of his works. It appears from these, that, like
that of Gutenberg, they could print only four pages at a
time, and that at two pulls; and when it is stated that the
table and tympan ran in, and that the platten was brought
down by a powerful screw, by means of a lever inserted
into the spindle, the professional reader will easily recognise
the wooden presses laid up in ordinary in many old London
houses.
The colour which the earliest typographers used was pro¬
bably made according to the style of work in hand. The
earliest copies of the Speculum and Biblia Pauper urn were
printed in a brown colour, of which raw umber is the prin¬
cipal ingredient. It appears to have been well ground and
thin. It was, most likely, of the same tint as the old draw¬
ings of the same subjects, and would be better adapted for
the filling up in various colours, as appears to have been
the practice, than a black and harsh outline of ink. Fust
and Schceffer, however, introduced, and their followers adopt¬
ed, black ink, and were so skilful in compounding it that
their works present a depth and richness of colour which
excites the envy of the moderns; nor has it turned brown,
or rendered the surrounding paper in the slightest degree
dingy. From the above-mentioned colophons we have also
the method of applying it to the types. This was by means
of balls of skin stuffed with wool, in every respect the same
as those used fifty years ago. The ink was laid in some
thickness on a corner of a stone slab, and taken thence in
small quantities and ground by a muller, and thence again
taken by the balls and applied to the types. The types
appear to have been disposed in cases very much the same
as ours. The composing-stick differs somewhat, but cannot
now be very clearly made out. The different operations
of casting the type, composing, reading, and working, are
mostly represented in the same apartment; but, it is proba¬
ble, more for the sake of pictorial unity, than because such
ThV«m the be“*iM of ^ fifteenth ce-tur,.
L
PRINTING.
534
History, was really the custom. There must have been many work-
men engaged in most of the old establishments ; and they
well knew the value of cleanliness, which is unattainable
where all the operations are carried on together.
Introduc- As the invention of printing has itself become matter of
tion into serious controversy amongst the learned of all countries, its
England, introduction into England has not been suffered to pass
without an attempt of the novelty-seekers to overturn the
received opinion on the subject, and to give to another the
laurel of a public benefactor, torn from him to whom the
general voice had for two centuries allotted it. Fortunate¬
ly, the quarrel is divested of one of the great difficulties o
the continental, inasmuch as there does not appear to be
any vestige of an art in any degree similar (such as block¬
printing) having been practised prior to the introduction of
type-printing; the art, when it was brought over, being in
a state somewhat approaching maturity. This controversy
concerns the claims of William Caxton and Fredeiic Cor-
sellis to the introduction of the knowledge of the art, and the
printing of the first book, in this counti y.
The general and original belief is that Caxton, who for
thirty years resided in the Low Countries, under the reign
of Charles the Bold, and who had taken every opportunity
of learning the new art, and had availed himself of the cap¬
ture of Mentz to secure one of the fugitive workmen of
Fust and Schceffer, established a printing-office at Cologne,
where he printed the French original and his own transla¬
tion of the Recuyell of the Hisloryes of Troy ; that whilst
at Cologne he became acquainted with Wynkyn de Worde,
Theoderick Rood, both foreigners, and Thomas Hunte his
countryman, who all subsequently became printers in Eng¬
land ; that he afterwards transferred his materials to Eng¬
land ; that Wynkyn de Worde came over with him, and
probably was the superintendent of his printing establish¬
ment; that his first press was established at Westminster,
perhaps in one of the chapels attached to the abbey, and
certainly under the protection of the abbot; and that he
there produced the first book printed in England, the Game
of Chess, which was completed on the last day of March
1474.
The correctness of these facts is not matter of dispute,
all writers agreeing that Caxton did so set up his press at
Westminster, and print his Game of Chess in 1474 ; but
it has been asserted that Caxton was not the first printer,
nor his book the first book printed, in this country. Neither
does the controversy rest upon the contradictory statements
of many writers, for all authors of the same and succeed¬
ing period agree in ascribing the honour to Caxton; and
when, in 1642, a dispute arose between the Stationers’ Com¬
pany and certain persons who printed by virtue of a patent
from the crown, concerning the validity of this patent, a
committee was appointed, who heard evidence for and
against the petitioners, and throughout the proceedings
Caxton was acknowledged as incontestibly the first printer
in England. Thus Caxton seemed to be established as the
first English typographer, when, soon after the Restora¬
tion, a quarto volume of forty-one leaves was discovered in
the library at Cambridge, bearing the title of Exposicio
Sancti Jeronymi in Simbolum Apostolorum ad Papam
Laurentium, and at the end, “ Explicit Exposicio Sancti
Jeronymi in Simbolo Apostolorum ad papam Laurentium,
Oxonie Et finita, Anno Domini m.cccc.lxviii. xvii. die de-
cembris.” Upon the production of this book the claim for
priority of printing was set up for Oxford. In the year
1644 Richard Atkyns, who then enjoyed a patent from the
crown, and whose claims consequently brought him into
collision with the Stationers’ Company, and who was desir¬
ous of establishing the prerogative of the sovereign, publish¬
ed a thin quarto work, entitled The Original and Growth
of Printing, collected out of the History and the Records of
the Kingdome ; wherein is also demonstrated that Printing
appertaineth to the Prerogative Royal, and is a Flower of History.
the Crown of England. The book was published ‘■'•by order "   
and appointment of the Right Hon. Mr Secretary Morricef
In support of this proposition Atkyns asserted that he had
received from an anonymous friend a copy of a manuscript
discovered at Lambeth Palace, amongst the archiepiscopal
archives. The following is an abstract of this document.
“ Thomas Bouchier, archbishop of Canterbury, earnestly
moved the king, Henry VI. to use all possible means to pro¬
cure a printing mold, to which the king willingly assented,
and appropriated to the undertaking the sum of 1500 merks,
of which sum Bouchier contributed 300. Mr Tumour, the
king’s master of the robes, was the person selected to manage
the business ; and he, taking with him Mr William Caxton,
proceeded to Harlem in Holland, where John Guthenberg
had recently invented the art, and was himself personally
at work ; their design being to give a considerable sum to
any person who should draw away one of Guthenberg’s
workmen. With some difficulty they succeeded in pur¬
loining one of the under workmen, Frederic Corsellis ; and
it not being prudent to set him to work in London, he was
sent under a guard to Oxford, and there closely watched
until he had made good his promise of teaching the secrets
of the art. Printing was therefore practised in England
before France, Italy, or Germany, which claims priority of
Harlem itself, though it is known to be otherwise, that city
gaining the art from the brother of one of the workmen,
who had learned it at home of his brother, and afterwards
set up for himself at Mentz.” The Exposicio is asserted
by inference to be the work of Corsellis. That this docu¬
ment is a forgery may be safely assumed; because of the
more than unsatisfactory manner in which it is said to have
been obtained; because no one ever saw this copy; be¬
cause no one, except the unknown, ever saw the original,
for it is not amongst the archives nor in the library of
Lambeth Palace, nor was it when the Earl of Pembroke
made diligent search for it in 17( ), nor was it found when
the manuscripts, books, and muniments were moved into
a new building; because Caxton himself, who took so
important a share in the alleged abduction of the work¬
man, states that twelve years afterwards he was diligently
engaged in learning the art at Strasbourg, and repeat¬
edly asci’ibes the invention to Gutenberg, “ at Mogunce
in Almaynebecause, when three years afterwards the
Stationers’ Company instituted legal proceedings against
the University of Cambridge, to restrain them from print¬
ing, this document was rejected, as resting only on Atkyns’
authority; because Archbishop Parker, in his account of
Bourchier, mentions the invention of printing at Mentz, but
makes no claim for his having introduced it into England,
and Godwin, de Prcesuhbus Anglice, says that Bourchier, du¬
ring his primacy of thirty-two years, did nothing remarkable,
save giving L.120 for poor scholars, and some books to the
university, and that he minutely examined two registers )f
his proceedings during this term, without making any men¬
tion of his having found therein any record of so remark¬
able a transaction ; because, since these transactions must
have taken place before 1459, Henry VI. was at that time
struggling fearfully for his throne and life, Edward IV.
being crowned in that year ; from internal evidence of
the document itself, for, not to nention the weak evidence
for the city of Plarlem, it is quite certain that Gutenberg
never printed there, and by Junius the theft is ascribed to
John Fust, who certainly was a rich goldsmith of Mentz ;
whereupon Meerman, finding these statements at variance
with possibility, boldly invents another theory, making the
sufferers Roster’s grandsons, who never printed, as far as is
known, and the robber Corsellis himself; and, lastly, be¬
cause six years elapsed between this asserted introduction
and the publication of his Exposicio, and eleven years be¬
tween this and any other publication from any Oxford press.
History.
Caxton.
P R I N
Although these facts entirely confute the pretensions of Cor-
' sellis, there nevertheless remains the book itself, and unless
some evidence can be produced, Oxford will still maintain
the distinction of having printed the earliest book in Eng¬
land. Some of the most learned bibliographers entirely re¬
fuse their assent to the genuineness of the book. Middle-
ton asserts that there must be an error of an x in the
imprint, and produces many remarkable instances of similar
typographical errors. This, however, is mere assertion ;
and, as in the Lambeth record, the best evidence is to be
sought in the production itself; accordingly the work is
printed with cast metal types, which are not proved to have
been used by Koster at all, that art being invented by
Gutenberg, Fust, and Schceffer at Mayence. The letter
is of very elegant cut, the pages regular, and the whole
work has the appearance of having been executed at a con¬
siderably advanced era of the art. Another and a good ar¬
gument is, that the work has signatures, or marks for the
binder, at the foot of the page, which were not used on the
Continent before 1472, by John Koelhoff at Cologne. The
evidence in favour of Caxton is direct and strong ; the date
of the Oxford book is contradicted by internal evidence,
and discredited by the story set up in its support; there
seems, therefore, no sufficient ground for withdrawing from
Caxton the fame of being the introducer of printing into
England.
William Caxton was born about the year 1412, in the
Weald of Kent. His father was a wealthy merchant, trad¬
ing in wool. He was brought up to the business of a mer¬
cer, and conducted himself so much to his master’s satis¬
faction, that on his death he bequeathed him the then con-
T I N G.
535
Caxton the” Proceeded, Histor,.
probably as the agent of the Mercers’ Company, into the
Low Countries. He must have been a man of some wealth
and consideration, for in 1464 he and Richard Wethenhall
were appointed by Edward IV. - ambassadors and special
deputies ’ to continue and confirm a treaty of commerL be¬
tween him and Philip duke of Burgundy; and, upon the
mairiage of Edwards sister Margaret with Charles duke of
Hurgundy, he was appointed to the household retinue of the
princess, by whom he appears to have been treated with
much familiarity and confidence ; for at her instigation he
first commenced his literary labours, and he mentions her
as repeatedly commanding him to amend his English. His
first work was a translation of the Recuyell of the Histo-
ryes of Troye, which he afterwards printed at Strasbourg
when his leisure had allowed him to turn his attention to
the study of printing. The first production of his press is
allowed to be the French Recuyell above mentioned, his
second the Oracion of John Russell on Charles Duke of
Burgundy being created a Knight of the Garter, which
took place in 1469. Of his transactions between 1471 and
14(4 there is no record; probably he was engaged in the
diligent pursuit of the art, and preparing to transfer his
materials ^to England, which he accomplished some time
before 1477, when we find him printing in or near the
Abbey of Westminster, of which Thomas Milling, bishop
of Hereford, was at that time abbot. The first production
of his English press was the Game of Chess, bearing date
1474, which work, however, some assert to have been print¬
ed by him at Cologne. The following is a specimen of
this famous book, the initial letter being printed in red: 
\ j J ^ l&bp ftttpticfc rt) a c£j*»pcr ottb? rroWn«t>2
a rorottc or) % Jj-cb? anb? cfiibb? Tbytfi a
cfot^of rfotb? <t atnanifft at&uefumb?er»*tg>-ms
His next production was the Boke of the hoole lyf of Ja¬
son ; but his first book bearing date and place in the colo¬
phon is the Dictes and Sayings of Philosophres, a transla¬
tion from the French by the gallant Earl Rivers, “ at West-
mestre, the yere of our lord m. cccc. Ixxvij.” From this
time he continued both to print and translate with great
spirit. His “ capital work” was a Book of the noble Bis-
toryes of Kyng Arthur, in 1485, the most beautiful produc¬
tion of his press.
There is but one copy of any of Caxton’s works printed
upon vellum ; it is the Doctrinal of Sapyence. “ Translated
out of Frensshe in to Englysshe by wyllyam Caxton at
Westmestre. Fynyshed the vij day of May the yere of our
lord M.cccc.lxxix. Caxton me fieri fecit.” This unique
copy is in the library at Windsor, and it is in beautiful
preservation. It is moreover doubly unique, for it contains
an additional chapter, to be found in no other copy what¬
ever, and which is entitled “ Of the negligencies happening
in the Masse and of the Remedies. Cap. Ixiiij.” It is a
curious treatise of minute omissions and commissions like¬
ly to occur in the service of mass, with directions how to
remedy such evils. Of their importance here are two spe¬
cimens, “ If by any negligence fyl (fall) any of the blood
of the Sacrament on the corporas, or upon any of the vest¬
ments, then ought to cut off the piece on which it is fallen,
and ought well to be washen, and that piece to be kept
with the other relics.” “ And if the body of Jesu Christ,
or any piece, fall upon the pale of the altar, or upon any of
the vestments that ben blessed, the piece ought not to be
cut off on which it is fallen, but it ought right well to be
washen, and the washing to be given to the ministers for to
di ink, or else drink it himself.” This singular treatise finishes
with this grave confession, “ This chapitre to fore I durst not
sett in the booke, by cause it is not convenient ne apper¬
taining that every lay man should know it et cetera.” At
the usual termination of this work is that colophon of Cax-
ton which is given amongst the illustrations of this article in
1 late III.; it is, however, considerably reduced.
The Royal Library possesses another work of Caxton,
which, as a perfect copy, is also unique. This is the “ Sub-
tyl Historyes and Fables of Esope. Translated out of
Frenshe in to Englyshe by Wyllyam Caxton at West-
mynstre In the yere of our lord m cccc Ixxxiij Emprynted
by the same the xxyj daye of Marche the yere of our lorde
m cccc Ixxxiiij And the fyrste yere of the regne of kyng
Rycharde the thyrde.” It consists of 142 leaves. Each
fable is illustrated by a rude wood-cut, all of which are said
to have been executed abroad, where similar editions of
iEsop were frequently printed. They are, however, most
probably copied; for there is nothing either in their de¬
sign or execution that a most moderate artist might not
perform ; and this will equally apply to other wood-cuts
interspersed in Caxton’s works.
It has been said that the works of Caxton have been ea¬
gerly sought for by English bibliomaniacs. The most re¬
markable instances of this are the enormous prices given
for some of them at the sale of the Duke of Roxburghe’s
library before mentioned. The Chastysing of God’s
Children was knocked down to Earl Spencer for L.146.
The Sessions Papers were bought for the Society of Lin¬
coln’s Inn for L.378. The Duke of Devonshire gave
L.351. 15s. for The Mirrour of the World, and L.180 for
536
PRINTING.
History, the Kalendayr of the Shyppers. Gower’s Confessio Arnan-
'—tin produced L.366 ; The Soke of Chyvalry, L.336. 1 he
Recuyell of the Historyes of Troye gave rise to a start¬
ling contest. It was the identical copy presented by Cax-
ton to Elizabeth Grey, queen of Edward IV. and sister of
his patroness. “ Sir Mark Sykes vigorously pushed on his
courser till five hundred guineas w'ere bidden; he then
reined in the animal, and turned him gently on one side
‘ toward the green sward.’ More hundreds are oft’ered for
the beautiful Elizabeth Grey’s own copy. The hammer
vibrates at nine hundred guineas. The sword of the mar¬
quess is in motion, and he makes another thrust—‘ One ^
thousand pounds.’ ‘ Let them be guineas,’ said Mr Ridgway,
and guineas they were. The marquess now recedes. He
is determined upon a retreat; another such victory as the
one he has just gained (the Valdarfar Boccaccio) must be
destruction ; and Mr Ridgway bears aloft the beauteous
prize in question.” (Dibdin.) At Mr Willett’s sale Tul¬
lius of Old Age produced L.210, and became the property
of the Duke of Devonshire.
The following are specimens of Caxton’s Pilgrimage of
the Sowle, and of the Royal Book :
History
OetoittMW ^ moor®
fttKrtrf* 3fefu/3 we tfa/tfatfS me? foute ton «
fcffioi)/ fA&ffattioi) pi 3 ®ge/2tt)6 3
>71’gan an& taW of ^ romstdatfon of
CO/00 that Ipue m vorrtchtJ) l5f*ot 'tirtnch no foate
ne ftablc abpiipng. aUo tfy oontfitud feints of enczg
He must have been a man of wonderful perseverance and
erudition, cultivated and enlarged by an extensive know¬
ledge of books and the world. Of his industry and devot¬
edness some idea may be formed, when Wynkyn de Worde,
his successor, states, in his colophon to the Vita Patrum,
that Caxton finished his translation of that work from French
into English on the last day of his life. He died in 1491,
being about fourscore years of age. His epitaph has been
thus written by some friend unknown : “ Of your charite
pray for the soul of Mayster Willyam Caxton, that in hys
tyme was a man of moche ornate and moche renommed
wysdome and connynge, and decesed full crystenly the yere
of our Lord mcccclxxxxi.
Moder of Merci shyld him from thorribul fynd,
And bryng hym to lyff eternal that neuer hath ynd.
The type used by Caxton is in design very inferior to
that used upon the Continent even earlier than his period;
but in the latter part of his life he very materially improved
his founts, and some of his later productions are very ele¬
gantly cut. The design is peculiar to him, and is said to
be in imitation of his own hand-writing ; it bears, however,
some resemblance to the types of Ulric Zell, from whom
Caxton derived most of his instruction, and is something be¬
tween Secretary and Gothic. He appears to have had two
founts of English, three founts of Great Primer, one Dou¬
ble Pica, and one Long Primer} He used very few orna¬
mented initial letters, and those he did employ are very infe¬
rior in elegance to those of foreign printers. He preferred
inserting a small capital letter within a large space, and
leaving the interval to be filled up according to the taste
of the illuminator, owing to which many excellent perform¬
ances are destitute of these beautiful ornaments. Caxton’s
ink was not remarkable for depth of colour or richness ; his
paper was excellent; and he probably used presses of the
same construction as the continental printers. His works are
not very rare, but are highly prized by English collectors.
Copies of one or more of his works are to be found in most
collections of any pretension, and are well worthy of in¬
spection. The number of his productions is sixty-two. Al¬
though Caxton was the first English printer, he was not the
only one of his day, Wynkyn de Worde, Lettou and Mach-
linia, Hunte, Pynson, the Oxford printer whoever he may
have been, and he of St Alban’s, being his contemporaries.
Wynkyn de Worde came, as we have already seen, Wynkya
from Germany with Caxton, and remained with him in the de Worde
superintendence of his office until the day of his death,
when he succeeded to the business. He was a native of
Lorraine, and evidently a man of considerable information
and taste, and of great spirit in the conduct of his affairs.
After his succession to Caxton’s business, he carried it on
in the same premises for about six years, when he removed
to the Sygn of the Sonne in flete strete, against the con-
dyth.” De Worde appears to have immediately commenced
a complete renovation of the art, cutting many new founts
of all sizes, with vast improvement of the design and pro¬
portion ; he moreover provided his contemporaries, then
becoming very numerous, with type; and it is even said
that some of the letter used by English printers less than
a century ago are from his matrices, nay, that the punches
are still in existence. He was the first (or Pynson) to in¬
troduce Roman letters into England, which he made use of
amongst his Gothic to distinguish any thing remarkable, in
the same manner as Italic is used in the present day. His
works amount to the extraordinary number of four hundred
and eight. “ His books are, in general, distinguished by
neatness and elegance, and are always free from professed
immorality. The printer has liberally availed himself of such
aid as could be procured from the sister art of engraving ;
although it must be confessed that by far the greater, if not
the whole, number of wood engravings at this period are of
foreign execution ; nor is it without a smile that the typo¬
graphical antiquary discovers the same cut introduced into
works of a directly opposite nature.
In his Instruction for Pilgrims to the Holy Land, prin ted
in 1523, the text of which is in Roman, and the marginal
notes in Italics, he makes the first use in England of Greek,
which is in moveable type , of Arabic and Hebrew, which
are cut in wood ; and the author complains that he is ob¬
liged to omit a third part, because the printer had no He¬
brew types. Appended to the work are three Latin epistles,
in which he makes use of Arabic.
His works are, of course, not so rare as those of his pre¬
decessor, but are nevertheless much sought after; and, when
sold by the side of the Caxtons at the Duke of Roxburghe s
sale, produced large prices. Bartholomceus de Proprieta-
tibus Rerum, the first book printed on paper made in Eng¬
land, was bought by the Duke of Devonshire for L.7 . /s.
1 These are terms by which modern English printers distinguish the sizes of their type.
PRINTING.
History. Chaucer’s Troy ms and Cresseide, L.43 ; Hawys’ Example
' of Vertu, L.60 ; Passetyme of Pleasure, L.81 ; Castell of
Pleasure, £,.61; The Moste Pyteful Hystorye of the Noble
Appolyon,.Kynge of Thy re, L.110.
De Worde died about the year 1534. In his will, still in
the Prerogative Office, dated 5th June 1534, he bequeaths
many legacies of books to his friends and servants, with
minute directions for payment of small creditors and for¬
giveness of debtors, betokening a conscientious and kind¬
ly disposition. His device is generally that of Caxton, with
his own name added to the bottom; but he also used a
much more complicated one, consisting of fleurs-de-lis, lions
passant, portcullis, harts, roses, and other emblazonments of
the later Plantagenets and the Tudors. A fac-simile of the
former will be found in Plate III.
Lettou. John LETXouand William MACHLiNiAprintedseparately
and jointly before the death of Caxton, but were very infe¬
rior to him in every respect; their type being most especial¬
ly barbarous. Their works are not very numerous, and are
principally upon legal subjects ; they printed the first edi¬
tion of Lyttleton’s Tenures.
Pynson. Richard Pynson was a Norman by birth, and studied
the art of printing under his “ worshipful master William
Caxton.” It would seem that he was an earlier printer than
Wynkyn de Worde, having established an office before the
death of Caxton. His first work is of date 1493, and was
printed “ at the Temple-bar of London” He enjoyed high
patronage, and was appointed by Henry VII. to be his printer
before 1503. He is perhaps inferior to De Worde as a ty¬
pographer, his first types being extremely rude. He after¬
wards used a fount of De Worde’s, and another peculiar to
himself in this country, probably imported from France.
Some of his larger works, Fabian’s Chronicle, Lord Ber¬
ner’s translation of Froissart (which are the first editions of
these important additions to English literature), and some
of his law-works, are very fine specimens of the art. His
device was a curious compound of R and P, on a shield
which is sometimes supported by two naked figures.
Early Eng- Of Julian Notary, William Faques, Henry Pepwell, and
hsh print- others, it is unnecessary even to mention their names, inas¬
much as they add little that is interesting to the history of
English typography.
Grafton. Richard Grafton, however, claims especial notice. He
was by trade a grocer, although of good family. Of his
education nothing appears; but he was one of the most vo¬
luminous authors of his time, having, by his own account,
written a considerable portion of Hall’s Chronicles, an Abridg¬
ment of the Chronicles of England, and a Manual of the
same, a Chronicle at Large, and other books of historical
character, under what circumstances is not known. In 1537
Grafton published Thomas Mathew’s translation of the Bible,
which was printed abroad, but where is not satisfactori¬
ly ascertained; and in 1538 the Testament translated by
Miles Coverdale, which was printed at Paris by Francis Reg-
nault. At this time it would not appear that English print¬
ers were in high estimation; for Lord Cromwell, desirous
of having the Bible in the English language, thought it ne¬
cessary to procure from Henry VIII. letters to the king of
France for license to print it at Paris, and urged Bonner to
tender his earnest assistance. Bonner entered upon the un¬
dertaking with such zeal, that in recompense he was soon
afterwards appointed to the bishopric of Hereford. Miles
Coverdale had charge of the correctness (see his letter,
Gent.’s Mag. 1791), and Richard Grafton and Edward Whit¬
church were the proprietors ; but under what arrangement
does not appear. When the work was on the point of com¬
pletion, the Inquisitors of the Faith interfered, seized the
sheets, and Grafton, Whitchurch, and Coverdale, were com¬
pelled to make precipitate flight. The avarice of the lieu¬
tenant-criminal induced him to sell the sheets for waste
paper instead of destroying them, and they were in part re-
vol. xvm.
537
purchased. The Testament was intrusted to Francis Reg- History.
nauit whose brother used the tasteful colophon which ^ v—
will be found in Plate III. Under the protection of
Cromwell they next, after many difficulties, obtained their
types and other materials from Paris, and the Bible was
completed at London in 1539. “ Thus they became print¬
ers^ themselves, which before this affair they never intend¬
ed.” The edition consisted of 2500 copies. Cromwell
next procured for them a privilege (not an exclusive one,
however) for printing the Scriptures for five years. Very
shortly after the death of Lord Cromwell, Grafton was
imprisoned for printing Mathew’s Bible and the Great
Bible, his former friend Bonner much exaggerating the case
against him. The prosecution, however, was not followed
up; but in a short time he was, with Whitchurch, appoint¬
ed printer to Prince Edward, with special patents for print¬
ing all church-service books and primers. The document
is curious. It recites that such “ bookes had been prynted
by strangiers in other and strange countreys, partely to the
great losse and hynderance of our subjects, who both have
the sufficient arte, feate and treade of prynting, and parte-
ly to the setting forthe the bysshopp of Rome’s usurped
auctoritie, and keping the same in contynuall memorye
and that, therefore, of his “ grace especiall, he had granted
and geven privilege to our wel-biloved subjects Richard
Grafton and Edward Whitchurch, citezeins of London,”
exclusive liberty to print all such books for seven years,
upon pain of forfeiture of all such books printed elsewhere.
One Richard Grafton, supposed to be the above, was
member of parliament for the city of London in 1553-54,
and also in 1556—57, and in 1562 was member for Coven¬
try. He is supposed to have died about 1572, and not
in very affluent circumstances. He used a punning, or, as
the heralds would call it, a canting device, of a young tree
or graft growing out of a tun. His works are distinguished
for their beauty, and are very numerous and costly. He was
one of the most careful and meritorious of English printers.
These are the titles of a few of his early Bibles, &c.
The Byble, 1537, folio. “ The Byble, which is all the
holy Scripture: In whych are contayned the Olde and
Newe Testament truly and purely translated into Englysh
by Thomas Mathew. Esaye 1 {d* Hearcken to ye heauens,
and thou earth geaue eare: For the Lorde speaketh.
m.d.xxxvii.” The title of the New Testament is, “ The
newe Testament of our sauyor Jesu Christ, newly and
dylygently translated into Englyshe, with Annotacions in
the Mergent to help the Reader to the vnderstandyng of
the Texte.” This was printed in France.
The New Testament, Latin and English. 1538. Octavo.
“ The new testament both in Latin and English after the
vulgare texte; which is red in the churche. Translated
and corrected by Myles Couerdale: and prynted in Paris,
by Fraunces Regnault. M. ccccc. xxxvm in Nouembre.
Prynted for Richard Grafton and Edward Whitchurch,
cytezens of London. Cum gratia & priuilegio regis.”
The Byble in Englysshe. 1539. Folio. “ The Byme
in Englyshe, that is to saye the content of all the holy
Scrypture, bothe of ye olde, and newe testament, truly
translated after the veryte of the Hebrue and Greke textes,
by ye dylygent studye of dyuerse excellent learned men,
expert in the forsayde tongues. Prynted by Rychard
Grafton, and Edward Whitchurche. Cum priuilegio—
solum. 1539.” This is a very superb book, and is the
one which was commenced at Paris and finished at London
under the circumstances before related.
Newe Testament in Englysshe. 1540. Quarto.
“ Translated after the texte of Master Erasmus of Rotero-
dame.”
The Prymer. English and Latin. 1540. Octavo.
The Byble in Englyshe. 1540. Folio. A noble
volume, called, from the preface, Cranmer’s Byble.
3 Y
538
History.
John Day.
Isaac .lag¬
gard,
Edward
Blount,
&c.
Peter
Parker.
Oxford.
PRINTING.
The Bybi.e in Englyshe. 1541. Folio. “TheBy-
ble in Englyshe of the largest and greatest volume, aucto-
rised and appoynted by the commaundement of cure moost
redoubted prynce and soueraygne Lorde, Kynge Henrye
the VIII, supreme head of this his churche and realme of
Englande: to be frequented and vsed in euery Churche
within this his sayd realme, accordyng to the tenoure of
hys former Jniunctions geuen in that behalfe. Oueisene
and perused at the comaundement of the kynges hyghnes,
by the ryght reuerend fathers in God Cuthbert byshop of
Duresme, and Nicholas, bisshop of Rochester. I he lines
of the title are printed alternately red and black.
Such, with many other manuals, primers, &c. were the
productions of this most eminent British typographer •
John Day was a printer of much eminence ; and his
works are numerous, beautiful, and useful.
The first complete edition of Shakspeare’s Plays was
printed by Isaac Jaggard and Edward Blount, in folio,
in 1623. Of his single plays, the earliest is “ The first
part of the Contention betwixt the two famous Houses of
Yorke and Lancaster,” which was printed by “ Thomas
Creed for Thomas Millington, and are to be sold at his
shop, under Saint Peter’s Church, Cornwall” (Cornhill), in
1594. These plays were printed by various typographers,
amongst whom appear the names of George Eld, Valentine
Simmes, R. Young, John Robson, and others who only
give their initials.
The first edition of Milton’s Paradise Lost was printed
in quarto by Peter Parker in the year 1667 ; the Para¬
dise Regained in 1671.
During the troublesome times that preceded the great
rebellion, the Puritans, jealously watched and persecuted,
introduced the anomaly of ambulatory presses, which were
constantly removed from town to town to escape the vigi¬
lance of the Star-Chamber. At these presses many of Mil¬
ton’s controversial pamphlets were printed; and it is even
said that the identical press at which the Areopagitica was
printed is still in existence, and was lately in the posses¬
sion of Mr Valpy, the well-known printer of the Variorum
Classics.
It is a very pleasing reflection, that the earlier practition¬
ers of the art did, by their uniform good character and reli¬
gious turn, tend much to render their profession produc¬
tive of a highly moral class of literature, and to raise it in
the estimation of all men. Had they been less respectable,
had they turned their attention to the many ribald and
tasteless writings of those times, the effect of the new art
would have been to degrade literature and lower morals,
to delay the spread of knowledge, and to give a depres¬
sion to the character of the art and its practitioners, from
which possibly they might never have recovered. These
excellent and learned men appear to have received their
temporal reward, in public estimation, sufficient wealth, and
a length of years beyond the ordinary term of mortality.
Setting aside the claim of Corsellis, printing was first
practised at Oxford by Theoderic Rood and Thomas
Hunte from 1480 to 1485. In Rymer, vol. xv. is a grant
by Queen Elizabeth to Thomas Cooper, clerk of Oxford,
for the exclusive printing of his Latin Dictionary. In 1585 History,
a printing press was established at the expense of the Earl
of Leicester, chancellor of the university. Joseph Barnes
was appointed printer to the university in 1585.
At Cambridge John Siberch printed in 1521, when Cambridge.
Erasmus resided there, and probably executed some of his
books. Thomas Thomas, M. A. was the first printer to the
university in 1584.
At St Alban’s printing was very early practised, certain- St Alban's,
ly in the year 1480. It would appear that the printer was
a schoolmaster. It has been asserted, but without shadow
of argument, that printing was introduced here many years
before Caxton.
Printing was not introduced into Scotland till thirty years Early Scot,
after Caxton had set up his press at Westminster. Under the ^ Prml‘
patronage of James IV., who was a zealous encourager of
learning and the useful arts, Walter Chepman and Andro
Myllar established the first printing press at Edinburgh, as
appears by a royal privilege granted to them in 1507.1
The only publications known to have issued from the
press of Myllar and Chepman are a collection of pamphlets,
chiefly metrical romances and ballads, in 1508, of which an
imperfect copy is preserved in the Advocates’ Library ;2
and the Scottish Service Book, including the Legends of
the Scottish Saints, commonly called the Breviary of Aber¬
deen, in 1509.3
It is difficult to account for the discontinuance of print¬
ing in Scotland for about twenty years after this time: pro¬
bably the disastrous events at the close of the reign of James
IV. may have contributed to render it an unprofitable trade;
but in its revival by Davidson there was no deterioration,
either in the magnitude and importance of the works at¬
tempted, or in the mode in which the mechanical part was
executed. It was probably about the year 1536 that he
printed, in a black-letter folio, “ The History and Croniklis
of Scotland, compilit and newly correckit be the Reuerend
and Noble Clerke Maister Hector Boece. Translatit laitly
be Maister Johne Bellenden. Imprentit in Edinburgh be
Thomas Davidson, dwelling foment the FrereWynd;” and
in 1540 he printed the whole works of Sir David Lindsay.
Davidson was succeeded by Lekprevik, Vautrollier, and
others; but none were distinguished as printers till the
time of Ruddiman.
A mere catalogue of printers would afford little amuse¬
ment, and less instruction; especially since the produc¬
tions of the English press, save in the works of the printers
above named, not only exhibited no advance, but even
much deterioration, in most requisites of good printing.
Indeed, to so low a point had the art fallen, and so little
spirit was exhibited by English typographers, that the re¬
generation was left to an alien, whose perception of the in¬
feriority and capacity of improvement at once raised the art
to the level of the finest productions of Bodoni and Barbou.
This was John Baskerville, a japanner of Birmingham, Basker^
who, having realized a considerable fortune, turned his at- vjqe)
tention to cutting punches for type, and succeeded in pro- Bulmer
ducing a series of founts of remarkable beauty, so excel- &c.
lently proportioned, and standing so well, that the best of
1 “ James, &c. To al and sindrj our officiaris liegis and subdittis quham it efferis, quhais knawlage thir our lettres salcum,
greting; Wit ye that forsamekill as our lovittis servitouris Walter Chepman and Andro Millar, burgessis of our burgh of Edinburgh,
has at our instance and request, for our plesour, the honour and proffit of our Realme and liegis, takin on thame to furnis and bring
hame ane prent, with all stuff belangand tharto, and expert men to use the samyne, for imprenting within our Realme of the bukis
of our Lawis, actis of parliament, croniclis, mess bukis, and portuus efter the use of our Realme, with addicions and legendis of Scot-
tis sanctis, now gaderit to be ekit tharto, and al utheris bukis that salbe sene necessar, and to sel the sammyn for competent pricis,
be our avis and discrecioun thair labouris and expens being considerit,” &c.
“ Geven under our prive Sel at Edinburgh the xv day of September, and of our Regne the xx11 yer.”
2 These pamphlets were reprinted in a handsome quarto volume, edited by Mr David Laing. The preface contains much accurate
information regarding early printing in Scotland.
3 Of this Service Book, which forms two volumes octavo, handsomely printed with red and black letter, in the years 1509 and 1510,
a beautiful copy is preserved in the University Library of Edinburgh. As the name and device of Walter Chepman occur in the work,
without any mention being made of his partner, we are led to the conclusion that Andro Myllar, if then alive, had relinquished his
share in the concern.
PRINTING.
Practical modern type-founders (and this seems the Augustan age of
Printing, type-founding) have done no more than vary the propor-
tions and refine the more delicate lines and strokes. Added
to this, his press-work is of most excellent quality; his
paper the choicest that could be procured ; and his ink has
a richness of tone, the mode of producing which has died
with him. The works of Baskerville are amongst the
choicest that can adorn a library. He died in 1775. His
types and punches were purchased to print the splendid
edition of Voltaire’s works at Paris. He was worthily
succeeded by Bulmer, whose magnificent Shakspeare and
Milton are amongst the most superb books ever issued from
the press, and, with Macklin’s Bible and Ritchie’s, Bensly’s
Hume, and other works, may be fearlessly produced to
win for this country the palm of fine printing; whilst in
Scotland, Thomas Ruddiman and the two Foulis may
challenge the prize of classical typography from Aldus and
the Stephani. Indeed, the larger Greek types of the
Foulis are without parallel for grandeur, their press-work
is beautiful, and their correctness beyond all praise.
Modern printers, with all their faults, are not degenerate
successors of these worthies. The works from present
offices that make pretensions to fine printing need not be
ashamed of comparison with these chefs-d'wuvres; whilst,
from the vast improvements in the mechanism of the art in
all its branches, paper, presses, ink, type, and other ad¬
juncts, the average of the printing of the present day is
infinitely superior to that of the last century. But in what
relates to practical skill, correctness, taste, and diligence,
we cannot hope to excel, though we may perhaps equal,
these departed masters.
PRACTICAL PRINTING.
The first operation when the new fount1 has entered the
doors of the printing-office, is to lay it in the cases (fig. 1).
These are always in pairs ; the upper case being divided into
equal spaces or boxes ; the part on the left of the broader
division being appropriated to CAPITAL letters, figures,
diaeresis vowels, particular sorts, &c.; that on the right to
small capitals, accented letters, and references. The let-
letter he picks out thence is the one to which that box is
appropriated, and consequently the one he requires As
there is no external mark or guide attached to the different
boxes to denote the letters they contain, a stranger is not
a little surprised and puzzled at the eccentric movements
of the workman’s hand. Accordingly, it will be observed
upon looking at fig. 1, that the letter e has a box
one-half larger than c, d, m, n, h, u, t, i, s, o, a, r; and
these are twice the size of b, 1, v, k, f, g, y, p, w, or the
comma; and four times the size of z, x, j, q, or the []
crotchets, full points, &c. These boxes are not arranged
in alphabetical order, but those of most frequent occurrence
are placed about the middle of the case to diminish the
distance the hands of the compositor have to travel in
picking up and receiving the types. There are also other
pairs of cases similarly arranged for the italic letters. The
following are the proportions of some of the letters in a
fount of pica of 800 lb. weight
Capitals, from 400 to 600 of each, hut of J 80, Q and X 180
and Z 180.
Small capitals, from 150 to 300 of each, excepting J, q, x, and z,
which, as in the capitals, are reduced in number.
8,500
12,000
8,000
8,000
3,400
1,600
3,000
4,000
2,500
6,400
j 400
k 800
m 3,000
n 8,000
q 500
200
200
4,500
2,000
ters and figures are arranged in alphabetical and numerical
order, from left to right. The lower case is divided into
unequal portions, according to the average occurrence of
the particular letters ; for the compositor (the workman
whose duty it is to lay the fount, and afterwards to place
together or compose the separate types into words) never
looks at the face of the letter he picks up, but unhesitat¬
ingly plunges his fingers into any box, being sure that the
539
Practical
Printing.
spaces,
copy upon a part of
In a whole fount there are about 150,000 letters,
and figures.
I he compositor, having placed his
the upper case little used,
and having received the
necessary directions, takes
up an instrument called a
composing-stick (fig. 2),
(which, as well as the way
of holding it and its use,
will be better understood
by reference to the draw- rig. 2.
ing than by description), and sliding the inner moveable
portion wider or closer according to the desired width
of the page, he fastens it with a screw ; he
then cuts a piece of brass rule to fit in
easily between the end of the stick and
slide, and which is called the setting-rule.
This rule causes the letters to slip down
without any obstruction from the screw-
holes of the stick, or the nicks which serve
to distinguish one fount from another and
enable the compositor, by turning them
outwards, to place the letters in their proper
position. He then reads the first few words
of his copy, takes first a capital letter from
the upper case, the succeeding letters from
the lower case, and at the conclusion of the
w'ord a space, which is merely the shank of
a letter without any face, and not so high as a
letter by about one-fourth part; and there¬
fore, not receiving the ink, forms the blank
space between words; but sometimes, through careless¬
ness, it is allowed to stand up, in which case it is a
fearful blotch upon a fair page, and must have been ob¬
served by most readers. He then proceeds with his next
word, which wall probably consist of lower-case letters
only; and so on until he has arrived at the end of his
line. It is most likely, however, that the words he has
occasion to compose, with the necessary spaces, will not
1 A fount is any weight of type of the same body and face, consisting of every letter, stop, figure, &c., in certain proportions, as stated
above, together with spaces and quadrats. (See Type-Founding.)
540
Practical
Printing.
PRINTING.
fill up the exact width of the line, and that there will
be sometimes too much, sometimes too little room, for
getting in the whole or part of the next word. In this
case he has to consider whether it will be better to
crowd the line and get in the word or syllable, or make
the line more open and take it over to the next line; his
care being that his matter, when composed, shall not look
too open or too close. Having decided, he takes out the
spaces he has inserted, and puts in their stead others of
greater or less width, as the case may require, in such a
manner that on the face of the line being touched, it shall
not feel loose, or require any particular pressure to force
down the last letter into its proper place. This being
accomplished in an artist-like manner, he takes out his
setting-rule and places it in front of his line, and with a
gentle pressure of his thumb forces both back into the
composing-stick; he then proceeds in a similar manner
with other lines until his stick is full, when, placing it upon
the/m/we on which the cases rest, his setting-rule being in
front, he lifts his lines out of the stick and places them
upon a proper- instrument called a galley. If, however,
the matter is to be leaded, that is, if the lines of types are
to be more apart than usual, the process is a little different.
The compositor then has before him a quantity of pieces
of metal called leads, of the exact width of the page, only
one-fourth, one-sixth, or one-eighth of the body of the
type, and not higher than spaces. After composing a line,
before moving his setting-rule, he takes one or more of
these and places it before the line; he then takes out the
setting-rule, and proceeds as above described. Having
thus gone on until a considerable quantity of matter is
composed, the compositor next makes it up into pages, and
then into sheets. First, taking by portions as many lines
of his matter as are to be contained in a page, he adds
thereto at the bottom a line of quadrats, which are of the
same height as spaces but much larger, varying in length
from one to four m’s, and places at the top the folio of the
page and the running head or line which indicates the title
of the work or the subject of the page or chapter, and then
adds such leads or other things as may be necessary ; taking
care that in the first page he places the signature (a letter
of the alphabet intended for a guide to the binder, because
by keeping this always outside, and the second signature
on the next leaf, he cannot fold the sheet wrong). He
next ties it tightly round with page-cord, and places it upon
a piece of coarse paper. Having made up as many pages
as the sheet consists of, viz., four if folio, eight if 4to,
sixteen if 8vo, he next lays them down upon the imposing-
table1 (a large plate of iron screwed on to a frame) in the
necessary order. This is, to a stranger, a very curious
arrangement; they appear to him to be placed at random,
without any design or fixed rule, and as they are necessarily
laid down in two divisions, one for each side of the sheet,
one is of consequence the very reverse of the other. He
may easily instruct himself, however: for if he take a
sheet of paper and fold it into any required size, marking
the folios with a pencil, and then open it without cutting,
he will find they fall in curious irregularity. The pages
are laid down on the table reverse of the order they
have on the paper; for it must be remembered that every
type and every page is like a seal, the reverse of the im¬
pression it leaves ; consequently, were the pages laid down
as on the marked paper, viz., the first page on the right
hand, it would, in type, be at the extreme left, and so on.
1 he following schemes of the laying down or imposition
of a sheet of 4.to, 8vo, 12mo, and 18mo, will give some
idea of the apparent confusion of this process:—
Imposition of a Sheet of 4m.
Outer Form. Inner Form.
Practical
Printing.
Imposition of a Sheet of Svo.
Outer Form. Inner Form.
8 6 51 9 9 IT 01 Z
16
13
3
B 2
14
15
Imposition of a Sheet of \2mo.
Outer Form. Inner Form.
51
SI
91
ga
6
01
ei
ti
H
zi
24
05
21
3
B 2
61
22
81
23
Imposition of a Sheet of 18mo.
Outer Form. Inner Form.
81
18
Za
26
The pages being correctly laid down upon the imposing-
table, the compositor removes the papers from under them,
and next takes in both hands a chase (a frame of iron di¬
vided by cross-bars into four compartments, the inner angles
of which are made rectangular with much care) and places
it over them ; and then having ascertained the size of the
paper to be used, adjusts pieces of wood or metal, called
furniture, between them. Within the chase, but next to
the pages, he places other pieces of wood or iron called side
andjfooz sticks, which are rather wider at one end than the
other, and between these and the chase small pieces of
dented i °^lriar^e or stone was used for this purpose ; but as it was liable to split, and to have its smooth surface in-
ctntea, a plate ot iron turned in a lathe is now very generally substituted.
PRINTING.
Practical wood, which decrease in width in the same proportion as
Printing, the side-stick, and which are called quoins. He now takes
off the cords from the pages, and, as he removes each cord,
he tightens the adjacent quoins that the letters at the sides
of the pages may not slip down. When all the pages are
untied, and the quoins pushed up with his finger and thumb,
he planes down the pages gently with a planer (a piece of
beech perfectly plane and smooth on the face, about 9
inches long, 4J inches wide, and 2 inches thick), to prevent
any of the letters from standing up. With a shooting-stick
(which formidably-named weapon is merely a piece of hard
wood,1 a foot in length, an inch and a half in width, and half
an inch in thickness) and a mallet he forces the quoins to¬
wards the thicker ends of the side and foot sticks, which
consequently act as gradual and most powerful wedges,
forcing the separate pieces of type to become a compact
and almost united body, so that, the pages being securely
locked up and again planed down, the whole mass, consisting
of many thousand letters, may be lifted entire from the table.
m’s so laid This latter sum is then doubled, because ex-
penence shows that the average width of the letters is one-
halt of the depth, or one-half of that of the letter m The
length of the page is then multiplied by the product of this
doubled width, then by the number of pages in the sheet
and the result will give the average number of letters in
the sheet. This will be much better understood by the
following casting-up of a sheet of 8vo in pica:—
Number of m’s long  47
... m’s wide 24, x 2  48
376
188
2256
Number of pages in a sheet of 8vo  16
13536
2256
36096
541
Practical
Printing.
This united mass is called a form; that one which contains the
first page being called the outer form, the other the inner
(fig. 3).
The compositor is paid by the number of thousands of
letters he composes, which is thus ascertained:—The letter
m, being on a shank which is supposed to have its four sides
parallel and equal, is taken as the standard; he ascertains
how many m’s the page is in length, including the running
head and the white line at the bottom; that is, in fact, how
many lines of the particular type used there would be in a
page of the given size, supposing it were all solid type;
next, how many m’s (laid on their side) it is in width, that
is, how many times the letter m would be repeated in a
line of the given length were it to consist of nothing but
The compositor therefore is paid for composing 36,000 let¬
ters ; for the odd figures are dropped, unless they amount
to or exceed 500, when they are paid for as if they com¬
pleted another 1000. If the sheet be of solid type, of the
ordinary size, the price paid in London is sixpence per
1000 letters; if in the small type called minion, sixpence
farthing; in nonpareil, sevenpence; in pearl, eightpence.
If the work be composed from print copy, the price is three
farthings per 1000 less than it would be paid if the copy
were manuscript. If, however, the type be leaded, the
price is a farthing per 1000 less for founts above pearl.
If the work is to be stereotyped, and high spaces are
used, it is subject to an additional charge of a far¬
thing per 1000; if low spaces, of a halfpenny per 1000.
Works in foreign languages, in type of the ordinary size
and character, are paid one halfpenny per 1000 more, and
three farthings per 1000 more in the smaller. Greek, with
leads and without accents, is eightpence halfpenny per 1000;
without leads or accents, eightpence three farthings; with
accents, tenpence farthing. Hebrew, Arabic, Syriac, &c.,
are paid double.2 The compositor, it appears, must therefore
pick up 72,000 letters belbre he can receive an ordinary
week’s wages, must make up his matter into pages and im¬
pose them, and, moreover, correct all the blunders mis¬
chance or carelessness may have occasioned, with great ex¬
penditure of time also in many other particulars; but, as is
hereafter described, he must have previously placed every
one of these 72,000 into the appropriate boxes whence he
has withdrawn them in composition. Now it is usually
reckoned that this latter operation, called distributing, oc¬
cupies one-fourth of a compositor’s time, and the other
operations another fourth ; he has therefore only one-half of
his time for composition; consequently he must pick up letters
at the rate of 144,000 per week, 24,000 per day, or 2000 per
hour. His rapidity of motion is therefore wonderful, and
the exertion is so long continued, that the business, although
apparently a light one, is in fact extremely laborious.
The number of thousands of letters in a sheet necessarily
1 Iron or gun-metal is now generally substituted, as being more durable.
2 In 1804, after a protracted litigation before the Court of Session, the journeymen compositors of Edinburgh succeeded in obtaining
the sanction of the Court for an advance of one penny per thousand letters, or, Upon an average, about one-fourth on the prices of their
work. The grounds upon which the Court rested this decision were, that the wages were much too low; that they had remained for
forty years unaltered, whilst the price of the necessaries of life had very much increased; that although it was proper to avoid a rise
of wages which might lead to idleness, yet it was equally necessary to place the workmen upon a respectable footing, so as to enable
them to do their work properly, and also to encourage them in cultivating and acquiring that degree of literature by which the public
must infallibly be benefited; and that the fair criterion was, to make the wages of Edinburgh bear the same proportion to those of
London which they did in the year 1785, before the London prices were raised. That a court of law, whose province it is not to legis¬
late, but to apply and enforce existing statutes, should have entertained a question regarding the price of labour, for the regulation of
which there not only existed no law, but which had never been deemed a fit subject for legislative interference, appears to be a very
singular incident in the history of judicial procedure. The prices thus fixed, however (namely, 4Jd. per 1000 for book-work, with an
additional halfpenny if nonpareil, and a penny if pearl, and 5Jd. for law-papers and jobs), being regarded as not unreasonable, have
ever since been adhered to by every respectable establishment in Edinburgh.
PRINTING.
542
Practical varies with the size of the type, width and length of the
Printing, page, and the number of the pages. The example above
given is the casting-up of an octavo sheet of pica solid, the
page being of moderate size; a similar sheet of brevier
would contain 81,000 letters, and the cost of composing it
would be L.2, Os. 6d. Single tables, forming one unin¬
terrupted mass of type, will sometimes contain 250,000
letters ; and the labour of the compositor being very great
in getting them up, he is paid double. Consequently the
cost of composing such a table in pearl or diamond (as the
13th of Bell’s Chronological Tables, 4th edit.) would be
not less than L.16, 13s. 6d., without extra charges. Yet
this large number of types, by the power of the wedge-
formed side and foot sticks and quoins, is compressed into
so solid a mass that it can be moved without much danger
of disruption.
The sheet being now imposed, an impression is taken,
called a proof, which is carried down to the reader, who,
having folded the proof in the necessary manner, first looks
over the signatures, next ascertains whether the sheet com¬
mences with the right signature and folio, and then sees
that the folios follow in order. He now looks over the
running heads, inspects the proof to see that it has been
imposed in the proper furniture, that the chapters are num¬
bered rightly, and that the directions given have been cor¬
rectly attended to, marking whatever he finds wrong.
Having carefully done this, he places the proof before him,
with the copy at his left hand, and proceeds to read the
proof over with the greatest care, referring occasionally to
the copy when necessary, correcting the capitals or italics,
or any other peculiarities, noting continually whether every
portion of the composition has been executed in a work-
man-like manner; and having fully satisfied himself upon
these and all technical points, he calls his reading-boy, who,
taking the copy, reads in a clear voice, but with great ra¬
pidity and often without the least attention to sound, sense,
pauses, or cadences, the precise words of the most crabbed
or intricate copy, inserting, without pause or embarrass¬
ment, every interlineation, note, or side-note. The gabble
of these boys in the reading-room, where there are three
or four reading, is most amusing, a stranger hearing the
utmost confusion of tongues, unconnected sentences, and
most monotonous tones. The readers plodding at their
several tasks with the most iron composure, are not in the
least disturbed by the Babel around them, but follow care¬
fully every word, marking every error, or pausing to assist
in deciphering every unknown or foreign word. This first
reading is strictly confined to making the proof an exact
copy of the manuscript, and ascertaining the accuracy of
the composition; consequently first readers are generally
intelligent and well-educated compositors, whose practical
knowledge enables them to detect the most trivial technical
errors. Having thus a second time perused the proof, and
carefully marked upon the copy the commencement, sig¬
nature, and folio of the succeeding sheet, he sends it by
his reading-boy to the composing-room to be corrected by
the workmen who have taken share in the composition.
These immediately divide the proof amongst them, and each,
taking that portion of it which contains the matter he had
composed, and going to his cases, gathers the letters marked
as corrections in the margin, together with a quantity of
spaces of all sizes, and returns to the forms, which in the
meanwhile one of them has laid up on the imposing-table
and unlocked. He then with a bodkin lifts up each line
in which a correction is required, draws out the wrong
letter and inserts the right one, adjusting the spaces in such
a way as to compensate for the increased or diminished
size of the letter substituted, overrunning carefully several
lines should any word have been added or struck out, so
that the spacing may be uniform, and the corrected matter
exhibit no indication of any alteration having been made.
This is an operation requiring much practice and skill; and Practical
here is shown the value of attention in the preliminary Printing,
operations. Should the types have been carelessly laid or v—-'
inaccurately distributed, should the workman have been
negligent in composition, capitalling, or spacing, he will
consume as much time in amending his errors as in com-
posing his matter, to the great detriment of his work, the
injury and inconvenience of his employer and his com¬
panions, and great delay in every department of the print¬
ing-office. When every compositor has corrected his matter,
that one whose matter is last in the sheet locks it up, and
another proof is pulled, which, with the original proof,
is taken to the same first reader, who compares the one
with the other, and ascertains that his marks have been
carefully attended to, in default of which, he again sends
it up to be corrected; but should he find his revision satis¬
factory, he sends the second proof with the copy to the
second reader, by whom it undergoes the same careful in¬
spection ; but this time, most technical inaccuracies having
been rectified, the reader observes whether the author’s
language be good and intelligible; if not, he makes such
queries on the margin as his experience may suggest; he
sends it up to the compositor, where it again undergoes
correction, and a proof being very carefully pulled, it is sent
down to the same reader, who revises his marks and trans¬
fers the queries. The proof is then sent, generally with
the copy, to the author for his perusal, who, having made
such alterations as he thinks necessary, sends it back to the
printing-office for correction. With the proper attention
to these marks, the printer’s responsibility as to correctness
ceases, and the sheet is now ready for press. Such at least
is the process of proof-reading which ought to be adopted;
but now, from the speed with which works are hurried
through the press, the proofs are frequently sent out with
only one reading, the careful press-reading being reserved
until the author’s revise is returned.
It need scarcely be remarked that “ correctness of the
press ” is a very material feature in every work, and more
especially in those of a scientific nature. When the atten¬
tion and the mind are devoted to the train of some close
argument or passage of surpassing beauty, it is surprising
how easily an error of the press, even although it may not
injure the sense, and may be as evident “ as the sun at
noon,” will destroy the charm, and break the “ thread of the
discourse ; ” and even in works of ordinary reading they are
exceedingly offensive. Many curious anecdotes are related
of the methods which the earlier printers adopted to attain
correctness. It was the glory of the early literati to take
charge of the accuracy of new works ; and, in return, the
value and sale of each edition varied with the skill and re¬
putation of the corrector. Of these, Erasmus is an illustrious
example. Many of the first printers were led to the prac¬
tice of the art by their love of learning, and their anxiety to
promote it by the production of classic authors. Hence
several are better known in the world of learning than in
the circle of bibliographers; as the editors and correctors
of valuable works, than as the careful or beautiful printers
of them. Aldus, it is true, has so admirably succeeded
in both characters that he has fully established his double
fame; but whether he most valued himself upon his learn¬
ing or his skill may be doubted. It would appear from
his letters that he considered it as his chiefest duty to
correct every sheet that passed through his press. In all
his bustle in preparing every material in use in his art, in
all his occupations public and private, this important duty
was never neglected. He tells us “ that he has hardly
time to inspect, much less to correct, the sheets which are
executed in his office; that his days and his nights are de¬
voted to the preparation of fit materials; and that he can
scarcely take food or strengthen his stomach, owing to the
multiplicity and pressure of business; meanwhile,” adds he,
PAINTING.
Practical
Printing.
“ with both hands occupied, and surrounded by pressmen
who are clamorous for work, there is scarcely time even
to blow one’s nose: ” nor did his son or grandson depart
from his ways, but did themselves insure the correctness
of their works, even when the latter had risen to wealth
and eminence, and enjoyed the laborious dignity of a pro¬
fessor’s chair. The beautiful Greek works of the Stephani
are especially valued for their correctness. Stephens cor¬
rected his own press with intense labour and minuteness,
and is reported to have adopted a singular plan for obtain¬
ing perfect similarity to the copy, by employing females
who had not the slightest knowledge of the Greek charac¬
ters or language to compare every letter of the proof with
the manuscript; a labour so intense as to be almost incre¬
dible. He is moreover said to have hung up proofs on the
doors of his printing-office, and to have amply rewarded
any who could detect inaccuracies therein. Coverdale, it
will be recollected, corrected the first English Bible and
Testament, and received a bishopric as his reward. Foulis,
the celebrated printer at Glasgow, adopted the same plan
to insure the accuracy of his edition of Horace, which is
styled immaculate; in which, however, one error escaped
detection, the ode commencing Sckiberis Vario, being
printed, as originally issued, Scribfris Vario.
The experience of every printer will furnish a host of
laughable errors; and indeed these defects have been deemed
of such importance as to deserve preservation. (DTsraeli’s
Curiosities of Literature^) The omission of the word not
from the seventh commandment, in an edition of the Bible
printed by the Stationers’ Company, is well known ; and
the company richly deserved the severe fine they incurred
for spreading the immoral command, “ Thou shall commit
adultery.” The Bible so misprinted has received the name
of the “ Adultery Bible; ” and a copy is preserved in the
British Museum, the edition having been carefully sup¬
pressed. 1 here is another Bible known as the “ Vinegar
Bible,” from a misprint in the 20th chapter of St Luke,
where “ Parable of the Vinegar ” is printed for “ Parable
of the Vineyard: ” this proceeded from the Clarendon
press. In the reign of Charles I. a very curious traffic in
Bibles, &c., arose ; they were printed by any one who chose,
and imported in vast numbers from abroad. It will readily
be imagined that these were made for sale, not for use, and
that they abounded with egregious errors; but, what is
worse than this, they were full of mistranslations and inter¬
polations, and the omissions were fearful. All these were
done as much by design as by accident, the Romanists and
sectaries taking the opportunity of advancing their own
tenets by interpolating and altering texts to suit their views.
1 hese monstrous anomalies produced, however, some good ;
they occasioned the necessity of the authorized version now
in use, and printed under such authority as insures perfect
fidelity, whilst there is sufficient competition to make it im¬
possible that the Word of God can ever become a sealed
book to the humblest and poorest Christian. Some of the
blundeis in these editions are sufficiently absurd to over¬
come the repugnance which must naturally be felt at such
license. I hus, in Luke xxi. 28, condemnation has been
misprinted for redemption. In Field’s Bible of 1653,
called the Pearl Bible, Rom. vi. 13, we find “ Neither yield
ye your members as instruments of righteousness unto sin,”
for unrighteousness ; and 1 Cor. vi. 9, “ Know ye not that
the unrighteous shall inherit the kingdom of God ? ” for
shall not inherit. It is said that these corruptions are in
great measure owing to Field’s cupidity, and that he re¬
ceived a bribe of L.1500 from the Independents to alter
the text in Acts vi. 3, to sanction the right of the people
to appoint their own pastors, “ Wherefore, brethren, look
ye out among you seven men of honest report, full of the
Holy Ghost and wisdom, whom ye may appoint over this
business,” instead of we. This Bible is notorious, and,
543
strange to say valued, for its gross incorrectness. It is as- Practical
serted that no less than six thousand errors of greater or less Printing,
magnitude have been noted in it. But the most extraor- '-n~'
binary example of carelessness is presented by the Vukate
the printing of which was sedulously superintended by no
lelS™rhT7 *an Sextus V-> a curious example of the
infallibility of the Pope. To the astonishment of the world
it swarmed with errors ; and a whimsical attempt was made
to remedy the defects by pasting printed slips of paper over
the erroneous passages. As this, however, was exceedingly
laughable, the papal authority was exerted to the utmost to
call in the edition, and with such effect that it soon became
very scarce, and a copy of it has produced the sum of sixty
f u!!1^.as’ ^ 0 a(^ t0 ^ absurdity, the volume contains a
bull from the Pope anathematizing and excommunicating
a printers who, in printing it, should make any alteration
in the text. The monkish editor of The Anatomy of the
Mass, printed in 1561, a work consisting of 172 pages of
text and fifteen pages of errata, very amusingly accounts
for these mistakes by attributing them to the artifice of
Satan, who caused the printers to commit such numerous
blunders; but he does not inform us whether it was really
the archangel fallen, or only his minor satellite, the printer’s
devil. The editor of an Ethiopic version of St Paul’s
Epistles innocently confesses, in palliation of his errors,
“ that they who printed the work could not read, and we
could not print: they helped us and we helped them, as
the blind helps the blind.”
The sheet being printed off in the way hereafter to be de¬
scribed, and the forms returned by the pressmen to the com¬
posing-room, and very carefully washed with lye, and rinsed
with water, the compositor lays them up on a letter-board
in the sink, and there unlocks them; he then passes one
hand backwards and forwards over the pages so as effectu¬
ally to loosen the type, and at the same time with the other
pours on water, till, the lye and ink being washed away, it
runs off clear. The forms are then allowed to drain, and
carried to the bulks at the ends of the frames. Each com¬
positor employed on the work then takes a share of the
letter, and, wetting the face of it plentifully with a sponge,
w’hich causes the types to adhere sufficiently to prevent ac¬
cidents, yet not so much as to retard the workman, takes
up a portion on his setting-rule, with the nick upwards, and
the face turned towards him; he then takes between his
fingers and thumb a few letters, gives a rapid glance at the
face to see what letters they are, and then, passing his hand
rapidly over the cases, drops each into its appropriate box.
In this operation the greatest attention is necessary, for it
must be remembered that every letter dropped into a wrong
box in distributing is sure to cause an error in composing ;
for the workman, as before stated, never looks at the letter
he takes up, relying upon the correctness of the distribu¬
tion. Compositors, therefore, should be especially careful,
when learning their business, not to sacrifice accuracy to
swiftness; for in this instance most especially is it found
that too much haste is little speed. If the rapidity of mo¬
tion in composition strikes the stranger with wonder, what
must that of distribution occasion ? Most compositors dis¬
tribute four times as rapidly as they compose ; if, therefore,
he pick up two thousand letters in an hour, he would dis¬
tribute eight or ten thousand, or about three per second.
His letter being properly distributed, he again proceeds to
compose in the manner before described, until the work is
finished. The number of times the types are returned to
the cases must depend upon the size of the fojmt. A thou¬
sand pounds weight of types would get up five or six sheets ;
and therefore, in an ordinary octavo volume, the types
would be returned five or six times.
Many attempts have been made to substitute machinery
for the manual labour of the compositors. The machines
of Messrs Young and Delcambre (1842), and of Major
544
Practical
Printing.
PRINTING.
Rosenborg, deserve mention for their great ingenuity ; and
Major Beniowski has attempted a process by which, by the
use of a new description of type, logotypes, cases, and ma¬
chinery, a great saving of time and money may be effected.
But there are requirements in the process of composing
which are independent of mechanism, and which have
hitherto rendered these inventions practically useless.
THE PRINTING-PRESS.
The press is the machine whereby impressions are ob¬
tained of the type, when set up by the compositor as above
described. On the skill and care of the pressmen depends
the beauty of the work. If the press-work be not good,
all the labour of the compositor is thrown away; his work
makes no respectable appearance, and the master gets no
credit.
It has already been mentioned that very little alteration
had been made in the printing-press from the time of the
first printers to that of Blaew of Amsterdam, about 1620.
Blaew’s improvements, although very great, only consisted
in alterations in the details, and not in the principle. These
presses have in their turn been superseded by those of Lord
Stanhope; and the latter has found successful competitors
in the Columbian, Albion, and others of more modern in¬
vention. Very few of Blaew’s construction are now in
existence, in England at least, save in old offices, where
they are used as proof-presses, or kept merely as curiosities.
As a description of these bygone pieces of mechanism
would be of little utility, the Stanhope press, by which they
have been superseded, has been selected for illustration, for
which it is best adapted, from the simplicity of its construc¬
tion and its being easily explained. The novelty of his
lordship’s invention consists in an improved application of
the power to the spindle and screw, whereby it is greatly
increased. Upon reference to fig. 4, it will be seen
that this press possesses great strength and compactness.
The heavy mass of iron AA, somewhat resembling a
vase in outline, is called the staple. It is united at the top
and bottom, but the neck and body are open. The upper
part is called the nut B, and answers the purpose of the head
in the old press; it is in fact a box with a female screw, in
which the screw of the spindle C works ; the lower portion of
the open part, described as the neck, is occupied with a piston
and cup D, D, in and on which the toe of the spindle works.
On the nearer side of the staple is a vertical pillar or arbor
A (fig. 5), the lower end of which is inserted into the staple
at the top of the shoulder ; the upper end passes through
a top-plate B, which being screwed on to the upper part
of the staple, holds it firmly. The extreme upper end
of the arbor (which is hexagonal) receives a head C, which
is in fact a lever of some inches in length ; this head is con¬
nected by a coupling-bar E to a similar lever or head D, into
which the upper end of the spindle is inserted.
The bar or lever F, by which the power is applied by
the workman, is inserted into the arbor, and not into the
spindle, by which ingenious contrivance,—ls£, the lever is in
length the whole width of the press, instead of half, as in
Blaew’s press, and is, moreover, in a much better situation
for the application of the pressman’s strength; 2d, there is
the additional lever of the arbor-head; 3rf, the additional
lever of the spindle-head ; and, lastly, the screw itself may
be so enlarged in diameter as greatly to increase its power.
The platten L is screwed on to the under surface of the
spindle ; the table M has slides underneath, which move in
the ribs N, N, instead of upon them, as in the old presses,
and is run in and out by means of girths affixed to each end,
and passing round a drum or wheel O. As the platten is
of considerable weight, the workman would have to exert
much strength in raising it from the form after the impres¬
sion has been given, were not a balance-weight P suspended
upon a lever and hook at the back of the press, which
counterbalances the weight of the platten, raises it from the
form, and brings the bar-handle back again, ready for an¬
other pull. These are the principal parts of the machinery
whereby the impression is given, and are sufficient to give
the general reader, with the aid of fig. 5, an idea of
the mechanism of the Stanhope press. For the printer
Practical
Printing.
A. the arbor; B, the top-plate; C, the arbor-head; I), tha spindle-
head ; E, the coupling-bar ; E, the bar or lever ; G, the spindle and
screw.
there are yet other appliances. At the right-hand end of
the table is an iron frame Q, moving fireely upon pivots, so
as to fall upon the table, or rise until stopped by what is
called the gallows R ; this is covered with parchment very
tightly stretched, and is then called the tympan ; upon the
tympan blankets are placed, which are covered by an inner
tympan, and fastened by hooks; the whole forming a solid
yet elastic and yielding surface, admirably fitted for im¬
pressing the paper upon the type (for this is its use), inas¬
much as the surface of the parchment is soft and without
grain, and readily receives the impression of the type, while
the blankets give freely to every projection, without retain¬
ing any indentation. To protect those portions of the paper
which are not intended to be coloured from ink or soil, there
is at the upper end of the tympan another iron frame, of
much lighter make, and also moving upon pivots, so as to
fall upon the face of the tympan. This is covered with a
sheet of coarse paper, and after an impression has been
taken upon it, the exact size and form of the pages are
carefully cut out therefrom, the parts left being an excel-
PRINTING.
Practical lent protection of the paper under them. This is called
Printing, the frisket.
Such is the ordinary Stanhope press. A notice of the
principle of many other excellent presses which have been
since invented, and very extensively introduced, will be
found in a subsequent part of this treatise. The manner
of working is the same in all.
On the left front of the press stands the inking-table.
This is made of iron, about four feet high, and three feet
four inches wide; at the back is a solid iron cylinder,
turned perfectly true, against which a thin steel straight¬
edge is made to press by means of levers and weights, thus
forming a trough for the ink; of which, when the cylinder
is turned round, it becomes covered with a thin film, its
thickness being regulated by adjusting the weights on the
levers. Against this iron cylinder the inking-roller (which
will be hereafter described) is dabbed, and being rolled
backwards and forwards on the table, the ink is evenly dis¬
tributed over its surface.
It must be fully understood that printers’ ink is a very
different composition from that used for writing. It is of
such consistency that if a small portion be taken up be¬
tween the finger and thumb, when they are opened it will
produce a thread of an inch or an inch and a half in length.
Of all the materials used in printing this is the most im¬
portant, and the most opposite qualities are required in it.
It must be of excellent colour. Formerly excellence of
colour was deemed to consist in an exceeding dark hue,
not exactly black, but black enriched with a hue of the
darkest blue or purple. This gave indescribable effect to
the works for which it was used, a richness and intensity
which it is impossible to describe, but of which the works
of Baskerville and Bulmer, especially the Milton of the
latter, afford the best specimens. Noiv we hold perfection
to consist in the intensest black, and all the resources of
chemistry and the arts have been sought to attain this end.
It must stand for ever; but here we have miserably failed.
Compare the productions of the old printers with those
printed twenty years back. What a difference ! The works
of the Aldi and Elzevirs, of Plantinus, Caxton, Pynson,
and Grafton, preserve their colour as intense as on the day
they were printed; there is no yellowness or brownness,
no foxiness; whilst the books printed from 1810 to 1820
are wretchedly discoloured. Where fine printing, however,
has been required ayid paid for, the modern ink is no whit
inferior to the ancient. Witness the works of Bulmer,
Macklin, Ritchie, Bowyer, Baskerville, and others; but
certain it is that the ink in general use twenty years ago
was of very inferior quality. It must be perfectly mixed,
and ground until it is absolutely impalpable, otherwise it
will speedily clog the types and inking apparatus; it must
adhere to the paper, and not to the type, or it will tear off
the face of the former, and clog up the latter; it must be
sufficiently thick; it must keep perfectly undried when in
large masses, and dry very quickly when it is transferred
to the paper. Few printers of the present day make their
own ink, although some add ingredients which they believe
to improve the colour or quality. Ink-making is a distinct
business; and by the aid of machinery, capital, and exclu¬
sive attention to the manufacture, the ink now supplied is
admirable in the qualities of being thoroughly mixed and
ground, drying, blackness, &c.; but whether 'it will stand
the test of time, time alone can show. It is an expensive
article, the commonest book-ink being one shilling and six¬
pence per pound, whilst the usual qualities are two shillings
and sixpence, three shillings, and four shillings per pound;
those used for superior work are five shillings or six shil¬
lings ; and those for cuts as high as ten shillings—though
it is questionable whether, at the latter price, the consumer
is not paying for a mere name.
Every manufacturer has of course his own secrets both
VOL. XVIII.
545
of ingredients and process. The universal ingredient is Praoti™!
L^Prib‘e lam|’-blaCV. ‘,he great s“re' probably
consists m the manner in which, and the material from v>—
which, this is made. There are vast buildings appropriated
to the sole purpose of burning oil, naphtha, spirit^ coal-gas,
.!? t0 Produce this black, which is collected from the sides
ceilings, &c., of the buildings; it is brought from Germany
and many other countries; and no expense is spared to o-et
the most superior quality. The next most important
article is nut or linseed oil boiled and burnt into a varnish •
then oil of turpentine, &c. The following receipts have
been given. The first is the method used by Baskerville
and Bulmer, and nothing can be better than the results: 
1. Fine old linseed oil boiled to a thick varnish, and
cooled in small quantities, three gallons; a small quantity
or black or amber rosin dissolved therein; the mixture
t icn stands for some months, that all impurities may be
deposited; after which it is mixed with the finest lamp¬
black, and carefully ground for use.
2. One hundred pounds of nut or linseed oil are reduced
by boiling and burning one-tenth or one-eighth of its bulk,
and to the thickness of a syrup, two pounds of coarse
bread and^ several onions being thrown in to purify it from
grease. Thirty or thirty-five pounds of turpentine are
boiled apart, until, on cooling it on paper, it breaks clean,
without pulverising. The former is poured nearly cold
into the latter, and well mixed. The compound is then
boiled again. Lamp-black is next thoroughly mixed with
it, in quantity according to the ink required, and being
well ground, the ink is then ready for use. Some add
indigo, some 1 russian blue, which considerably improves
the colour; but these inks are so difficult to work, and so
clog up the type, that the improvement is better let alone.
I he turpentine is added to give greater varnish, and im¬
prove the drying quality ; but if the oil be old and fine, the
quantity required is proportionally less.
3. Mr Savage, an admirable artist, denies that any ink
can be depended on of the varnish of which oil is the
basis ; he therefore gives the following receipt:—Balsam
capivi, 9 oz.; best lamp-black, 3 oz.; Prussian blue, 1^ oz.;
Indian red, f oz.; turpentine soap dried, 3 oz. This ink
is of beautiful colour, but appears to work foul. There
can be no doubt, however, that the best and cheapest plan
is always to purchase what is required of a proper ink-maker.
At the right front of the press stand the bank and horse.
1 he bank is a deal table of some size; the horse is an in¬
clined plane which stands upon the bank; upon it is laid
the white paper properly damped for working; and as each
sheet is worked, it is taken off the tympan and laid on the
bank. There are two pressmen to each press, one of whom
attends to the inking only, to ascertain the excellence of
which, whenever he has a moment to spare, he turns to the
worked sheets upon the bank, glancing his eye rapidly over
each, to see that every part is of its proper colour, and that
no picks or other imperfections mar the work; the other
attends only to the press, and gives the impression. These
men are paid by every two hundred and fifty impressions,
called a token. Thus, if the number be five hundred, and
the price 4£d. per token, each man receives 9d. for the five
hundred impressions of each form, and the cost therefore is,
Inner form, two men, two token, at 4Jd. Is. 6d.
Outer form, do. do. do Is. 6d.
3s. Od.
The price varies with the size of the type and the form;
with the quality of the paper and the ink ; with the number,
and the care required. Common work used to be paid for
at 4£d., good at 6d., superior at 7d., the very best at 8d.,
9d., or even Is. per token. But now the price is matter
of agreement between the master and pressmen.
One of the pressmen, having received the forms after the
3 z
546
FEIN
Practical final correction, lays the inner form, or that one which con-
Printing. tains the second signature, upon the table ol the press, and
^ secures it in the centre by quoins; the other in the mean¬
while pastes a stout sheet of paper upon the frisket frame,
and then secures it upon the tympan. The form is
inked, and an impression taken upon the frisket, and the
printed parts only being cut away, that which is left pro¬
tects the paper from ink or soil. The puller now careru y
folds a sheet of the paper according to the crosses ol the
chase, and laying it upon the form, opens it carefully, by
which the paper is made to lie evenly upon the form, wi
the same margin with which it is to be afterwards worked.
Having slightly wetted the tympan, he turns it down upon
the form, and takes an impression, when the paper will be
found to adhere to the tympan. and thus become a guide
whereby to lay all the subsequent sheets, and therefore
much care should be taken to lay it properly. They now
choose their points, which are thin and narrow pieces ol
iron, having a short point or spur projecting from one end,
and a shank at the other made to screw on to the tympan-
fi ame, which must be done in such a manner that the spurs
mav fall into the grooves in the cross of the chase ; because
if they did not, they would be battered or broken at the
first pull. It is advisable to make the inner form register,
for it may be very difficult to correct any error in the
furniture when the reiteration, or outer form, is laid on.
The puller now brings his paper from the wetting-room ;
for before any good impression can be taken the paper must
have been damped, by rapidly passing it, one-fourth or one-
fifth of a quire at a time, through water, and then allowing
it to soak for two or three days under a heavy weight,
until it is evenly and thoroughly damped; and laying a
ream upon the horse, he takes a sheet, and placing it care¬
fully over the tympan-sheet, closes the frisket over it, shuts
both tympan and frisket down upon the form, which in the
meanwhile his companion has inked (a process that will be
described below), runs the table in under the platten, pulls
the handle of the bar or lever over by his full weight, until
brought up by the stop, at which moment the platten
descends, and exerts a powerful pressure to the tympan,
&c., upon the form, producing upon the paper a perfect
fac-simile in reverse of the surface of the pages. 1 he press¬
man now gradually releases his hold, the balance-weight
raises the platten, the bar returns to its first position, the
table is run out, the tympan and frisket are raised by the
workman, and the frisket thrown up to the catch. The
sheet is taken off the spurs of the points, which have been
forced through it by the pressure, and the back of the im¬
pression is carefully examined, to ascertain that every part
of it is just and even, which is the great test of the work¬
man’s skill and the excellence of the press. The first im¬
pression is, however, invariably defective: the parchment
may have been thicker in some parts than in others, the
blankets worn, or one of two founts of type may not have
been of equal height, in which respect “ the estimation of
a hair” would produce a manifest imperfection, but which
may be remedied by the thinnest possible tissue paper.
The pressman now proceeds to overlay; that is, by past¬
ing upon his tympan-sheets portions of paper of the exact
size of the defects, thicker or thinner as may be required,
to bring up the form; he overlays the faint parts of the
impression; or if the defect be great, he places a part of
a sheet of paper within the tympan, or, which is a much
better plan, he raises the form, and pastes the paper under
the defective part. If there be any small portion of
undue pi’ominence, or that “ comes off hard,” he rubs
down a portion of the tympan-sheet with his wet fingers,
or cuts it away altogether. Having, as he supposes, re¬
medied all blemishes, he takes another impression, which
he again examines with equal closeness, and carefully re¬
moves every remaining defect by the same method; and
TING.
having at length satisfied himself, and his master or over- Practical
seer, that the form is well brought up, the work is pro- Printing,
ceeded with, the inker taking off from the table with the ^
roller or balls even portions of ink, which has been well
distributed on its surface, and rolls or beats the form, being
very careful that every part is equally inked; the puller
taking a sheet and laying it on the tympan as before. They
thus proceed until the whole number of the white paper is
wmrked off; when it is a good precaution to count the heap,
to ascertain that the number printed is correct. The
form is now lifted from the table, and carefully washed with
very strong lye. The outer form is then laid on and made
ready.
The making ready of this form varies a little from the
mode previously described. It has been stated that the
spurs of the points penetrate the paper at the first impres¬
sion. The holes thus made are the guides whereby perfect
register is obtained; that is, whereby not only the pages,
but the lines, are made to fall exactly upon the back of
each other, any variation in this respect being a great defect
in good book-work. The outer form, therefore, having
been placed on the table in precisely the same position
which the inner previously occupied, a printed sheet is
taken from the heap, and laid upon the tympan with its
printed face inwards, in such manner that the spurs of the
points pass through the holes made by them in the working
of the inner form, but of course the opposite way; and an
impression is taken. If the pages do not back, the points
are shifted until they do; or if the defect arise from the
furniture of the form, such alterations are made in it as
may be necessary. The impression is then brought up as
before, and when all is ready, a thin sheet of white paper,
called the set-off sheet, is placed over the tympan-sheet and
under the points. It must be remembered that one side
has been worked, that the ink has not yet dried, that the
paper is still damp; therefore at every impression some
portion of the ink will be transferred to or impressed upon
the set-off sheet. When this has taken place in many im¬
pressions, some of the ink of the print will be re-transferred
from the set-off sheet to the sheet then working, producing a
most unpleasing blurred appearance, very perplexing to the
eyes, and utterly destructive of the beauty of the press-
work. To obviate this, the puller, after a few impressions,
moves the set-off sheet slightly, and when it has become
very black, takes it off, and replaces it with another. The
pressman should be very attentive to this; and the master
should not grudge ample supplies of set-off paper, for it is
not destroyed, but, when dried, may be used again for the
same purpose, or in other departments as waste paper.
The form is now lifted, and carefully washed with lye, and
the two are ready for the composing-room, where they are
laid up, as previously described. Two good pressmen are
supposed to do about one token, or 250 impressions, per
hour of fair work. This, however, must depend entirely
upon the quality of the work required; with small type,
stiff ink, and many rules, the work is more slow, and paid
for accordingly. The finest work is seldom paid for by the
token, the pressmen being placed upon weekly wages, and
allowed as much time as they require, the rapidity being
at the discretion of the overseer. Frequently they are
limited to a certain number per hour, often as few as fifty,
the most careful inspection being given to every sheet by
both pressmen, and continual attention by the press-over¬
seer and other chief persons in the establishment. In such
work the very best materials are employed. Instead of
parchment, the tympans are covered with fine calico, or
even silk ; instead of blankets the finest broad cloth; picked
blotting-paper for the thick overlays, the thinnest tissue-
paper for the finer. It will readily be understood that in
all operations of the press-room, where everything depends
upon the skill of the workmen, there are infinite minutiae,
i
PRIN
Practical which it would be tedious, if it were even possible, to enu-
Printiug. merate. Seven years’ apprenticeship are not more than
sufficient to educate a good pressman ; it is the accumu¬
lated labour of a life to make a first-rate one: and, after all,
excellence depends upon the native talent and ingenuity
of the man himself.
The ink is distributed over the type either by balls or by
rollers. The rollers are of modern use. The balls, which
are such prominent objects in the representation of an¬
cient printing-offices, and which form part of the armorial
bearings of the printers’ guilds on the Continent, were for¬
merly made of sheepskins, with the hair taken off by lime,
and formed into a ball with wool, gathered at all corners,
and nailed upon a wooden handle. One of these was held
in each hand; and a small portion of ink being taken, they
were well beaten upon the inking-table, and then upon
each other, until the ink was so evenly distributed over
the whole surface, that if touched gently with the finger,
the prominent lines of the skin would be blackened, whilst
the channels would be left perfectly clean. The balls wrere
then beaten over every part of the type, so that the whole
surface should be evenly covered; an operation requiring
much skill and practice. The skins were prepared and
softened by the nastiest processes imaginable, which con¬
verted a press-room into a stinking cloaca. Thanks, how¬
ever, to the observation and ingenuity of Mr Forster, a
practical printer, and Mr Donkin, an engineer, this has
been entirely done away, and a press-room now regales the
nose with a warm scent of ink and paper, anything but un¬
pleasant. This invention has been of the greatest conse¬
quence to printing. The printing-machine is said to be
the handmaid of modern literature; and so it is; but
without this, printing-machines were mere old iron and
brass. Earl Stanhope had attempted to substitute skin
rollers for skin balls; but his plan failed owing to the dif¬
ficulty of preparing the pelts, and the inevitable seam,
which left a broad mark upon the type. But the use of
rollers, which in the hand-press would have been merely
an improvement on a process in use, was a necessity to the
printing-machine, and the complete failure of the earliest
of these machines was in a great degree owing to the im¬
perfection of their inking appliances. For many years the
workmen in the potteries had used a composition of glue
and treacle for applying colours to their ware. Mr Forster
observed that this composition possessed every requisite for
the use of the printing-office, and he immediately pro¬
ceeded to form balls of canvas, with a facing of composi¬
tion. They answered admirably, proved beautifully soft,
distributed satisfactorily, kept clean, and were easily washed
and purified if soiled. Some opposition was offered by
the workmen; but the advantages proved so great that
they were readily adopted by the masters, and speedily
drove away for ever the nasty skins. The next step, how¬
ever, was more important still. Mr Donkin observing the
adaptability of the composition to casting rollers for print¬
ing-machines, devised moulds, by which he was able to
cast cylinders without seam, and of somewhat greater tena¬
city than the original compound. The rollers answered
[perfectly for printing-machines; and there was little dif¬
ficulty in perceiving that at the hand-press the roller might
be advantageously substituted for beating by balls. They
were accordingly introduced, and after meeting with some
opposition, are now in universal use. They consist of a
solid wooden cylinder, with a thick coating of composition
cast in a metal mould perfectly true; through the middle
of the cylinder passes an iron rod attached to a curved bar,
upon which are fixed two handles; the roller revolving
freely upon the rod. The pressman regulates the quantity
of ink to be taken by adjusting the pressure of the straight
edge against the cylinder at the back of the table, above
described; and according as that pressure is greater or
T 1 N G.
547
less, the cuticle of ink on its surface is proportionately Practical
diminished or increased in thickness. Having taken off Printing,
upon the inking-roller a line of ink, he distributes it care-
fully upon the table until the entire face is evenly covered
and then rolls the form, taking care that the whole surface
receives its due proportion. If he does this lightly and
steadily, there is no fear of the result; he cannotln rollino-
leave any part without ink; but it nevertheless requires
some judgment. If there be any heavy titles or lar-e
type, he must roll that portion several times; if there be
blank pages, he must take care that the roller does not
sink, and so leave the pages in line with them slightly
touched. The greatest judgment, however, is displayed in
choosing the exact quantity of ink required for the form.
If the type be small, the quantity taken must also be small;
it must be very carefully distributed, and the form rolled
many times; for if the quantity be too great the type will
become clogged, and if too little, the colour will become
faint. I he pressman must from time to time examine
the sheets as they are printed, and in working the reitera¬
tion, turn up the corners of the sheets to see that the
colour corresponds with that of the inner form, detecting
with quick eye every defect; and he must be particu¬
larly careful that for every,sheet of the same work he takes
the same quantity of ink, so that the book when bound
may present an even and beautiful colour, every bold line
being perfectly covered, and yet every fine stroke clear
and distinct. This can only be effected by careful distri¬
bution and repeated rolling, with nice judgment as to the
quantity of ink to be taken.
The sheet having been thus worked off, the printed paper
is taken away by the warehouseman, and hung by the boys
upon poles stretched under the ceiling, by means of a peel,
which is a handle with a broad end, upon which a quire or
two is hung at a time, thence transferred to the poles, and
distributed in portions of four or five sheets. Here they
hang a day or two, until the ink and paper are perfectly dry.
1 his should be a gradual process, for if by artificial heat
the drying is hurried, a skin will be formed upon the surface
of the ink, which will prevent that underneath from drying;
the work will look very well until it is pressed or bound,
when the skin breaks, the ink spreads, and the sharpness
of the impression is entirely destroyed. When perfectly
dry the sheets are taken down and laid in heaps upon the
gathering-board, each signature separately; thus, first, a
heap, say 1000, of B, then C, D, E, F, and, lastly, the title-
sheet A. I he boys then take one sheet from each heap ;
consequently, when they have got to the last signature, each
boy has gathered one complete copy of the work. These
are laid upon one another at the end of the gathering-board
in such a manner that each book is perfectly distinct. The
warehouseman then takes away this heap, and with a colla¬
tor (a needle inserted in a handle) goes over the whole
with great rapidity, ascertaining that no sheet has been
carelessly omitted, and that more than one of each signa¬
ture has not been taken. The books are then folded down
the middle, counted out in tens, thirteens, or twenty-fives,
and tied up in bundles of convenient size. The process of
printing is thus complete, and the work is ready for the
binder.
Works of finer description, indeed most works of the pre¬
sent day, are submitted to another process after they have
been taken down from the poles, viz., hot or cold pressing,
which very much improves their appearance. In cold
pressing the sheets are placed one by one between glazed
boards, which are sheets of coarse material pressed and
glazed on both surfaces by burnishing on a steel plate with
a steel ball. The heaps are then placed in a hydraulic
press, with cold iron plates at small intervals, and the
whole is subjected to considerable pressure for some hours ;
they are then taken out, and the sheets extracted from the
PRINTING.
548
Practical boards, when the indentations consequent upon the work-
Printing. ing will have been all pressed out, the roughnesses of the
paper smoothed out, a slight gloss given to the ink, and
the whole will present a very agreeable smoothness to the
eye and the touch. Hot-pressing is used when the paper
is very stout and the ink strong. The sole difference is,
that the iron plates are heated until they can hardly be
touched. The effect produced is much greater than that
by cold pressing; the whole surface of the paper is perfectly
glazed, and the ink absolutely shines ; but the effect is not
so agreeable to the eye; it is too glossy. A machine of
great power has been invented for superseding the use of
glazed boards and the hydraulic: in this machine the sheets
are placed between two plates of copper or zinc, and passed
in rapid succession between two hard steel rollers, and
come out more perfectly smoothed than by the ordinary
hot or cold pressing. As these processes set the ink and
also make the books lie perfectly flat, they render much
beating by the binder unnecessary, which is a great advan¬
tage, as the beating causes the ink to set-off upon the op¬
posite pages when the work is recently printed. The
glazed boards must be often cleaned by rubbing with waste
paper, or they will soil the sheets placed between them.
Every printing-office of credit should have an hydraulic press
and glazed boards; for it is incredible how much smartness
pressing gives to the work, and how greatly the warehouse
work is facilitated by the readiness with which the hydrau¬
lic is pumped up, and by its great power. A press of
eight-inch ram will be found sufficient for most purposes ;
but where much hot and cold pressing are required, one of
ten-inch ram will prove cheapest, because, from its im¬
mense power, a few hours are sufficient to give the re¬
quisite surface, and the press may therefore be filled twice
or thrice a day.
Wood-blocks are very often worked along with the com¬
mon type. The block, having been carefully reduced by
the engraver to the exact height of the type, is placed in
the composing-stick, and justified to the width of the page ;
it is then made up along with the other matter in its proper
place. When laid upon the press for working, and an im¬
pression of the form has been taken, the pressman examines
with great minuteness whether it stands well with the type ;
if not, the form is unlocked, and paper placed under it if
it be too low, or under any corner that may be lower than
the rest; if the block be too high, it must be scraped or
filed at the bottom. The artist in wood contents himself
with producing his lights and shades by cutting his lines in
greater or less degrees of fineness upon a plane, leaving to
the printer the task of producing the required effects by a
tedious process of overlaying; so that the pressman be¬
comes to a certain extent an artist, and must have a good
eye for perspective and for the proper adjustment of tints.
These effects he produces by careful and skilful overlaying.
But Bewick and some other eminent engravers, instead
of imposing this tedious process upon the pressman, used
to cut away the parts of the block intended to appear light
before engraving them ; and thus, by repeated lowering and
rounding, they so regulated the lights and shades that the
cut left their hands in a fit state to be worked. This pro¬
cess was, however, very costly, and has been discontinued
by modern artists. In machine-printing, to prevent the
loss that would be incurred if the machine were to stand
still during the operation of bringing-up, the machiner,
some time before the sheet is laid on, takes an impression
of the cuts, and by overlaying and other processes, so pre¬
pares them that they require very little additional work
when the forms are laid on. Where it can be managed,
t ie cuts should be worked in the outer form, to prevent
netting-off and the impression of the reiteration upon them.
ie cuts may then be worked with the type without any
ot ler caie than that of keeping them clear from clogging
or picks. When done with, they must be very carefully Practical
cleaned with spirits of turpentine and a brush. Printing,
The working of woodcuts by themselves, as illustrations
of works, differs from type-printing in no other respect than
in the superior materials and skill required. The woodcut
must be imposed in a chase, and locked up upon the table
of the press, which is generally a smaller one than that used
for ordinary printing, of most excellent construction, and in
good order. The tympans are, as before stated, often of
silk or cambric. For the inking, balls are preferred to
rollers. The greater opportunity for manual skill offered
by the former enables the pressman to exercise an artistic
judgment which is not possible when rollers are used. The
ink is generally brayed out by a muller on a slab.
There are in London, and probably in the larger provin¬
cial cities, parties who make an especial business of the
manufacture of composition balls and rollers, which they
supply to printers upon payment of a rent. The skill and
experience of these persons enable them, as must be the
case in every instance where a manufacture engages ex¬
clusive attention, to supply a much better and cheaper
article than could be manufactured by any individual whose
engagements are varied; consequently there are not many
printers, either in town or country, who do not avail them¬
selves of these opportunities. The rent is paid for each
roller required, and by the quarter; that is to say, if a
printer employs six presses, and consequently six rollers,
he pays for six rollers, the manufacturer engaging to supply
him with as many changes as he may require from their
getting out of order or being injured ; in fact, to keep him
supplied with six rollers in good condition. The rent for
a common press-roller is the moderate sum of six shillings
per quarter: they are sent into the country in boxes fitted
for the purpose. There are, of course, situations in which
it is not easy to obtain a regular supply of the necessary
article, and in this case the printer may very easily make
them for himself; but the expense of the utensils is so great
as to exceed the usual rent for years. They consist of the
following :—For rollers, a hollow cylinder of iron, the bore
of which must be most accurately turned and well polished;
this mould consists of two semi-cylinders closely fitted, and
brought into contact by screws along the sides and collars
at the end, and a head is made to fit into the lower end.
The core, a wooden or iron cylinder, upon which the com¬
position is cast, is held in the centre of the bore by means
of a star, through the radii of which the composition flows.
For balls are required a concave mirror of about half an
inch cavity, and a board of the same size and of a quarter
of an inch convexity. A kettle for melting and mixing
the composition is also required. This is made double like
a glue-pot, fitting exceedingly close, and with a small orifice
for the escape of the steam from the hot water between the
two; and the inner vessel should have a large lip. The
recipes for making the composition vary, and this appears
to arise from the different circumstances under which it is
made. The ingredients are but three, and these easily
purchaseable, viz., fine glue, treacle (not that procured from
the sugar-bakers, which is adulterated, but the best from
the sugar-refiners), and a small quantity of carbonate of
barytes, called in commerce Paris white, or of carbonate
of soda. The first two ingredients are quite sufficient with
a little skill. The following are good recipes:—
1. Two pounds of glue to one pound of treacle.
2. Two pounds of glue to three pounds of treacle.
3. One pound of glue to three pounds of treacle and a
quarter of a pound of Paris white.
(Sugar is sometimes used in lieu of treacle, and is said
to make the composition firmer.)
Soak the glue in water until it is soft; then place it in the
inner vessel, and boil quickly, until the glue is thoroughly
dissolved; add the treacle, mixing it well, and let it boil
PRINTING.
Stereotyp- for an hour or more; then sift in the Paris white, but do
v L / not s^r ^ violently, or the mixture will be full of air-
bubbles, which are destructive to the roller or ball. Rub
the mould slightly with a rag dipped in thin oil, taking care
that no globules and streaks remain upon the surface. When
the mixture is ready, pour it gently between the radii of
the star, so that no air be detained within the cylinder,
until the mould be filled; allow it to set, and then take it
from the mould, cutting off the superfluous portion with a
string. When the roller has been hung up twenty-four
hours it will be fit for use. Owing to the rapidity of the
printing-machines recently introduced, the ordinary rollers
have proved inadequate to the work; but improvements
have been introduced into the manufacture which remedy
the defect. The excellence of the new rollers is said to
depend entirely on skilful manipulation. The ingredients
are the same, but great experience is required in the choice
of the glue, the proportion of the ingredients, the mixture,
and the heat applied. In making balls, having oiled the
mirror, pour the composition upon the centre, and having
allowed it to spread itself, lay over it a piece of coarse can¬
vas, place the board upon it, and lay weights upon it to
press it down; it will consequently be found that the com¬
position face of the ball will be slightly thicker in the centre
than at the edges, which, besides being a convenience in
the working, will allow it to be knocked up with much
facility, which is done in the ordinary manner. These
balls and rollers are very easily kept in order: if they are
too soft, cold water will harden them ; if too hard, warm
water will soften them. When not in use they should be
covered with refuse ink, and hung up in a room of even
temperature, and carefully scraped with a palette-knife
before use. They should not be cleaned with spirits of
turpentine, as that will give them a hard surface. These
rollers will be fit for use for a long while if attention be
paid to them; and when spoiled, the composition may be
repeatedly melted down, and, with an addition of new ma¬
terials, will make as good rollers as before. When the
proper apparatus is wanting, small balls for woodcuts or
single pages may be made upon an earthen palette, or even
upon a smooth dinner-plate.
A new process has recently been patented by Messrs
Harrild for the manufacture of composition rollers, which
enables them to resist the friction of the fastest machines
even in the warmest weather, and to continue in working
order for a much longer period than those at present in
use. They are also but slightly affected by atmospheric
changes. These are great advantages for the fast news¬
paper machines, and for country printers who have not the
same facilities as the printers in the metropolis for changing
their rollers when out of order. The principal difference
in the new process is, that the glue is liquified without any
admixture of moisture, the condensed steam which floats
on the surface of the glue being entirely drawn off by a
syringe.
STEREOTYPING.
Stereotyping is a mode of making perfect fac-similes in
type-metal of the face of pages composed of moveable
types. Letterpress printing being a very expensive pro¬
cess, the price of books consequently high, and the heaviest
. expense consisting in the composition, the printers of the
Continent very soon set up the entire of such small works
as were in constant demand, and thus were enabled to sell
them at little more than the cost of paper and press-work.
Some works of very great extent, especially Bibles and
prayer-books, were kept standing by the privileged printers.
This, however, was exceedingly expensive, as the cost of the
type would be very great; the forms would occupy much
space in storing, and be liable to continual damage from
the dropping out of letters, from batters, and other acci-
549
ents to which they would be unavoidably exposed. Some Stereotyn-
method, therefore, by which all or some of these disadvan- ing
tages might be remedied, became desirable. About the
beginning of the eighteenth century, Van der Mey in
Holland, sought to avoid this liability to accidents, by im¬
mersing the bottom of his pages in melted lead or solder
and thus rendering them solid masses: “ c’est une reunion
des caracteres ordinaires par le pied, avec de la matiere
fondue, de Fepaisseur d’environ trois mains de papier 4
ecrire therefore the mass together would be somewhat
less than the height of our type. It is not very easy to
imagine how they contrived to make the backs of these
blocks of such evenness as to produce anything like a good
impression ; but Dibdin says that the book is very handsome.
The same process was followed by a Jew of Amsterdam,
in printing an English Bible; but he was utterly ruined
by his speculation.
Some time before the year 1735 there is sufficient evi¬
dence that the French used casts of the calendars placed
at the commencement of church books. These plates are
thus described by Camus : “ It (one of the plates) is formed
of copper, and is three inches and a half long by two inches
broad and one-seventh of an inch thick. From the rough¬
ness of the casting, it has evidently been made in a mould
formed of sand or clay.” After the plate had been cast,
the back of it had been dressed with a file, in order that it
might bear equally upon a block of wood to which it had
been attached.
Who really invented the art of stereotyping as at present
practised (and after all, he who finds out the efficient modus
operandi is the inventor of the art, though he may not be
of the principle) is, like the inventor of the parent art, a
matter of some controversy, which has been carried on
with more vigour than the subject merited. It seems how¬
ever most probable, when all assertions are weighed, that
William Ged, a goldsmith of Edinburgh, deserves the credit.
According to his statement, being in 1725 in company with
a printer, they lamented the want of a good letter-founder
in Scotland; and the printer asked him whether he could
do anything to remedy the inconvenience. He immediately
answered, that it would be more easy to cast plates from
pages when composed in moveable type ; and he undertook
to produce, and very shortly did so, a specimen cast on his
new plan, and not long afterwards made arrangements with
a capitalist for the advance of the requisite funds. The
latter failing to perform his part of the engagement, Ged
made a similar contract with a London stationer, in con¬
junction with w hom he made many attempts; but being
repeatedly thwarted in perfecting his plans, he separated
from his partner, and made proposals to the universities and
the king’s printers for the stereotyping of Bibles and prayer-
books. These all entered into the scheme with eagerness,
and some works were produced from plates quite equal to the
ordinary printing of the day. Nevertheless, so much igno¬
rance and prejudice prevailed amongst the workmen and
other interested persons that Ged was obliged to abandon
the undertaking. He entered into several subsequent
arrangements, in which he was equally unsuccessful; a type¬
founder, in particular, causing so much opposition that the
invention made no progress. Ged died before he had met
with much encouragement; and his son was equally un¬
successful, although, as the practicability was made more
manifest, the very parties who had rejected his plans sub¬
sequently made extensive use of his plates. What was
Ged’s method of stereotyping is unknown, as he kept it
private; nor did he fully communicate the secret to his
partners.
Fifty years afterwards Mr Tilloch made a similar inven¬
tion ; but from private circumstances the design was laid
aside, not, however, before several volumes had been
printed from his stereotype plates at the press of Mr Foulis.
PRINTING,
550
Stereotyp- Some years after this, Lord Stanhope engaged an ingenious
ing. London printer, Mr Wilson, to prosecute the invention ;
's—and after many trials, the noble lord’s ingenuity succeeded
in bringing the invention to practical use.
When a work is expressly intended to be stereotyped,
the spaces, quadrats, and leads generally used are somewhat
different from those commonly employed, being cast of the
same height as the stem of the letter, in order that the base
of the plate may be more solid and of uniform thickness.
When low spaces, &c., are used, plaster is poured upon the
face of the type to fill up the interstices, and just befoie it
sets the superfluous plaster above the stem of the letter is
removed by a brush, which damages the face of the tj pe
not a little. The page is composed in the ordinary manner,
and very carefully corrected; it is then imposed in a
small chase with metal furniture, and the whole is placed
within a moulding-frame, somewhat less than half an inch
higher than the type. The surface of the type is then
rubbed with a soft brush holding a small quantity of very
thin oil.
The plaster of Paris (gypsum) of which the mould is
formed is of the finest quality, and may be purchased ready
prepared. Having been carefully mixed with water to the
thickness of cream, a small portion is gently poured upon
the surface of the page, and softly worked in with a brush,
care being taken that every part is fully covered, and that
no air-bubbles remain. Then a larger quantity is poured
on, and spread over the previous layer without disturbing
it; a straight-edge is then passed over the moulding-frame,
clearing away the superfluous plaster, and leaving that
within the frame of uniform thickness. It is then left to
set. When sufficiently dry, the moulding-frame is raised,
and the mould with it, from off the face of the page; the
mould is then dressed, and placed in a heated oven until
it be perfectly dry, and raised to an adequate temperature
for the casting. The oil with which the page is rubbed
prevents the plaster from adhering to the type.
The melting-pot is a square vessel of iron about two
inches and a half deep, having a separate lid, of which the
four corners are cut off, the inner face being turned true,
but the outer face hollow towards the centre. A floating
plate, of which the upper surface is turned, is placed at the
bottom of the pot. Over the melting-pit is a crane with a
rack, upon which a pair of nippers are made to run. These
lay hold of ears upon the melting-pot, closing with its weight,
and opening when relieved. The metal does not differ from
type-metal, and must be sufficiently fluxed to flow easily, but
not made too hot, or it will prove brittle. The melting-pot
having been heated in the same oven with the mould, and
consequently to the same temperature, the latter is placed
within it, the face being turned down upon the floating-
plate. A bar or other piece of iron is screwed down upon
that part of the lid which is turned hollow; and the whole
being suspended by the rack and crane, is swung over the
melting-pit, and gradually let down into the metal, which
flows gently into the pot through the openings left at the
corners. The metal flowing slowly in gradually expels all
the air; the mould immediately rises to the inner surface of
the lid; the floating-plate, being specifically lighter than the
metal, rises also to the edge of the mould; consequently the
metal which has run in between is of the exact thickness
of the depth of the mould, the upper surface being the field
upon which are the casts of the type, the under surface the
smooth face of the floating-plate, and the rest of the melt¬
ing-pot being filled with metal. The pot is allowed to re¬
main immersed ten minutes or a quarter of an hour, that
is, until the air is supposed to be perfectly expelled. It is
then drawn up, and swung to a board resting upon a trough
of water, and there allowed to cool. The cooling is a pro¬
cess requiring much care and attention. It is obvious that
unless the whole mass cool equally, the plate will be warped,
and consequently spoiled; it is equally clear that the heat Stereotyp.
will more readily radiate at the corners, and consequently ing.
that the centre will remain fluid after the other parts are
set, and that the contraction must be unequal. This is
provided against by the lid having been turned hollow in
the centre, and it will therefore allow the metal under it to
cool more rapidly. The mass having been turned out from
the pot, the metal under the plate is separated by a smart
blow or two of the mallet; the floating-plate will be readily
disengaged, and the mould be removed from the cast.
Some defects will invariably be found in the new plate ; but
these are removed by the picker, w'ho goes carefully over
it, clearing away the picks from the face of the letter, and
deepening the larger white lines with a graver, that they
may not blacken in working at press; for it must be re¬
membered that the quadrats and spaces used in stereotyp¬
ing are higher than those in moveable-type printing. If
the face of the plate has cooled evenly, and it is in other
respects a successful cast, it is placed, the face inwards, in
a turning-lathe or planing-machine, and the back rendered
a plane parallel to the face; the margins are then squared,
and the edges flanched. The plate is now ready for use.
If any errors or batters occur in the plates, they are cut out,
and the corrections made with moveable type let in and
soldered at the back.
A great improvement in the stereotype art was a number of
years ago introduced by Mr Thomas Allan, printer in Edin¬
burgh, into his establishment, by which a number of plates
are cast at once, whilst the risk of broken casts is consi¬
derably lessened. This is effected by means of a pot suf¬
ficiently deep to contain moulds placed in a perpendicular
position. The pot is an oblong square cast-iron box, widen¬
ing towards the mouth, and having placed inside, at each
end, a wedge-like block, of which one face is parallel to
the side, while the other is perfectly vertical. On the ver¬
tical side are perpendicular grooves, at distances rather
greater than the thickness of the stereotype moulds. Into
these grooves are inserted plates of malleable iron, by which
the interior of the box or pot is partitioned into spaces suf¬
ficiently wide to admit with ease the plaster moulds. The
moulds, when baked, being inserted into these spaces, a
cross bar of metal is placed over the top, instead of a cover,
which serves to prevent the moulds from being raised by
the liquid metal flowing beneath them; and it is then sus¬
pended upon the crane, and dipt into the metal-pit in the
usual way. By this method not only are the moulds saved
from all risk of breaking by being placed horizontally and
pressed between the two broad surfaces of a float-block
and cover, as in the method of single-page casting, but a
number of plates are produced at one cast, and thus addi¬
tional celerity is combined with greater certainty of sound
plates. The plates of the Encyclopcedia Britannica, which
is the most extensive work ever stereotyped, have been for
the most part produced by this process, in pots containing
each five moulds; and it is especially advantageous for
large plates, the risk of breakage by the old method increas-
in<T in a greater ratio than the increase in the size of the
page.
The plates are sometimes screwed down at the corners
upon blocks of wood, the height of which is the difference
between the thickness of the plate and the height of the
type. This answers very well for jobs and standing adver¬
tisements; but for ordinary book-work it is usual to have
the blocks formed of several separate pieces of mahogany
furnished on one side and at one end with brass or iron
catches (let in and screwed to the blocks), the upper part
of which is turned over so as to take hold of the flange of
the plate. But as w:ood is liable to warp and to other acci¬
dents, a plan has recently been devised of making hollow
blocks of type-metal of the requisite height and of difteren*
sizes, by means of which pages may be easily composed to
V
PRINTING.
Stereotyp- any required size, the plates being fastened on by brass
v ing' y holders. At a small expense, once incurred, the stereo-
v ^ type printer may furnish himself with blocks capable of
being made up to suit works of any measure.
There are many smaller instruments requisite, which it
is unnecessary to mention. The founder requires some
practical skill, which, however, it is not difficult to ac¬
quire ; and the excellence of the casts will depend upon
his personal knack and observation. The best metal for
stereotyping is composed of new metal and old type in
moieties. The price of prepared metal is about 28s. per
cwt. The following, however, are proportions which may
be used when the prepared metal cannot be procured:—•
1. From five to eight parts lead, one of regulus, one
fiftieth of block-tin.
2. One seventh of pure regulus, six sevenths of lead.
The best lead is that which comes from China, in
the lining of tea-chests.
The mixing of the metals is exceedingly injurious to the
workman, and should be avoided wherever it is possible.
The foundry should be thoroughly ventilated, as the fumes
from the melting-pit, and the moisture and smell of the
drying oven, are very noxious.
In some cases stereotyping is of great advantage; but
chiefly in books of numbers, in which it is of the utmost
importance that every figure should be correct. In this
case the proofs must be read again and again, until the cor¬
rectness is unquestionable; when once stereotyped, there is
no fear of alteration from the error of compositors or care¬
lessness of readers, but the book remains the same for ever.
Such works also are most expensive in getting up, and the
cost of composition very much exceeds that of stereotyping.
Books of logarithms may be especially mentioned, tables of
longitude, indexes to maps, and other works, which being
once written, remain unchangeably the same, such as ready
reckoners, interest tables, &c.; or when it is found expe¬
dient to have duplicates of the work where large numbers
are required, and it is necessary for speed to work on
double-sized paper, the cast and the moveable type are im¬
posed together, and are worked side by side at the same
moment, producing two copies instead of one. There is
also another advantage, for the stereotype remains without
further expense for another edition ; again, where it is
expedient to send duplicate plates to other countries to
be worked.
Woodcuts may be stereotyped with great advantage ;
for a small cut which has cost several guineas to engrave
may be multiplied indefinitely, and at a cost of only a few
shillings.
No printer should stereotype by the common process
who wishes his type to be a credit to his house. The wear
of the type in casting is very great, especially when low
spaces, &c., are used; the gypsum is at best a fine powder,
and grinds away the edge and face of the letter when
rubbed in with the brush, in a frightful manner. The let¬
ter can never be entirely freed from the plaster, and will
present a very dirty appearance ever after. The wear of
a fount of 1000 lb. weight, returned six times from the
foundry, is greater than would occur in six years’ constant
fair usage; besides which, the high spaces, quadrats, and
leads, are all extra expenses, for which the economical
bookseller makes no remuneration whatever.
The plan of stereotyping Bibles and prayer-books has
been nearly abandoned, and the entire sheets are kept
standing in moveable type, at a great expense, by the
Queen’s printer, and the universities of Oxford and Cam¬
bridge. Before every edition, however, is worked, each
sheet must undergo a careful reading, in order to guard
against accidents which may have occurred since the last
edition.
Such is the process of stereotyping at this time in corn-
551
mon use, and which will probably continue in nracfico in +
provincial and colonial printing-offices, by reason of the ing5'*'"
byteTortoen."1 and ^ kn°Wled8e
A greatly improved method has, however, been recentlv
introduced by Messrs Dellagana, by which all the incon¬
veniences incident to the existing system are obviated.
1 he page is composed with the ordinary spaces, leads &c
and there is therefore no additional charge for composition *
the destructive tampering with the face of the type is’
avoided ; the plaster-mould is not required; and there is no
necessity for re-imposition, as the new moulds can be taken
from the pages as they are imposed in the chases ; and the
forms can be returned to the printer within an hour from
the time of their being sent to the foundry. So great are
t le resources of this invention that the largest or the smallest
pages can be cast with equal facility, and either plane or
curved to suit the periphery of cylinder machines. The
pages, for instance, of The Times newspaper are each cast
in a single plate, in a curved form to fit the cylinders of the
great machines used in that establishment. The followin°-
is a brief account of the process :—•
A page of a newspaper or a sheet of bookwork (as im¬
posed), carefully cleaned and perfectly dry, is laid on an
iron chest previously filled with hot water. A fine brush,
having the whole of its surface slightly anointed with olive
oil, is rubbed over the face of the type to remove any picks
or other impurities from the pages, which are then ready for
moulding. A substance, in appearance resembling two or
three sheets of wrapper-paper pasted together, of a soft and
pulpy nature (the matrix), understood to be composed of
an earthy material very finely ground, and afterwards felted
together, and which is not affected by heat, in a damp state,
is laid smoothly on the face of the type, and carefully beaten
in with a brush until every letter is indented into this sub¬
stance, and the matrix is thus formed. The type, with the
matrix unremoved, is taken to a press and subjected to a
steady pressure, continued for two or three minutes. The
matrix is then removed from the type, which may now be
returned to the printer. Not more than ten minutes is re¬
quired for these operations. The matrix is next laid upon
a plate heated to 200° or 300°, and covered with a piece of
flannel (as a non-conductor of heat and an absorbent of the
moisture generated in drying) upon which is placed a thin
metal plate of the dimensions of the page or form, to keep
the matrix flat. It remains on this hot plate about two
minutes, and is then ready for casting. The matrix, with
its face upwards, is now placed in a “ register ” flat or curved,
as the plates are required to be plane or convex. The re¬
gister is formed of two iron plates, the inner surfaces of
which are accurately planed; these plates are joined to¬
gether by hinges at the further end. The matrix is
placed, face uppermost, on the lower of these plates, and is
secured on three sides by an iron guage, which varies in
height according to the intended thickness of the plate
about to be cast. The upper plate is closed over, and the
two, inclosing the matrix, are firmly clamped together by
an iron bar which passes over, with a screw in the centre,
which presses the two plates upon the guage. The register
swings upon trunnions; and thus prepared, is turned into a
vertical position, and the metal, at a temperature of 500°, is
poured in through a mouth. In one minute the metal is
set sufficiently hard to bear removal, the register is brought
back to a horizontal position, the upper plate is thrown back,
and the cast and matrix are taken out and placed (the ma¬
trix uppermost) on an iron table, which is flat or curved
like the register, otherwise the cast in cooling would con¬
tract or spring, and its flatness or curvature would not be
preserved. The matrix may now be carefully lifted off,
and, if required, again placed in the register for another
cast.
L
552
PRINTING.
Polytypage The curved casts for newspapers are fixed on the
cooling-table by four screws, and the dressing is per¬
formed by a tool on the lever principle, which cuts off
the flange or waste piece of metal at the top of the
page, and bevels it at the same time. For book-work, the
under surface of the cast is planed, as in the ordinary
mode. A little chiselling is required to lower the white and
break lines, to prevent their blacking the paper when worked.
The casts obtained by this process are remarkably true,
and require little “ bringing up.” The matrix is unin¬
jured by 'the casting, and may be used again for any
number of casts, or preserved for future use. 1 he power
of multiplying casts from the same matrix is of immense
advantage where large numbers are required to be printed
in a short space of time. As before stated, a matrix and
the first cast may be obtained in less than a quarter of an
hour, and several subsequent casts will not require more
than five or six minutes each. In half an hour, therefore,
several machines may be at work simultaneously.
It is of course not necessary that any cast should be
taken from the matrix ; and therefore when a second edi¬
tion of a book is doubtful, the matrix only need be made,
and may be kept until required, at a cost of not more than
one-third of a casting; and when used, may be put by
without inconvenience, and another cast taken when the
first is worked out or injured.
In book-work also this process will be found of great
advantage, as compared with the charge for re-composition.
The matrices of a w'ork of 500 pages would occupy no
more space than a ream of demy, and not weigh more than
10 lb. They will remain unchanged for years if preserved
free from damp or water.
The cost of casts by this process is about 10 per cent,
less than by the ordinary mode; and the proportions of
lead and regulus used in the composition of the metal
are those given above in recipe No. 2.
The great excellence of the imperial Austrian print¬
ing establishment in the art of stereotyping should not
escape mention. In the Exhibition of 1851 were some
magnificent moulds taken from type by the electrotyping
or galvano-plastic process. From these moulds other
copies in relief were obtained by doubling the process,
which are stated to produce beautiful work; or casts in
type-metal could be taken of great perfection. A curious
specimen was also exhibited, the work of the Rubeland
ducal foundry, of a stereotype-plate of cast-iron.
OF POLYTTPAGE, AND OTHER METHODS OF PRODUCING
PRINTING SURFACES ON METAL PLATES.
Many considerable improvements in stereotyping are to
be ascribed to French artists ; but stereotyping has never
been a favourite with them, and they have rather exerted
their inventive talents in a series of experiments which may
be classed under the general name of 'polytypage.
In 1780 Hoffman, a German residing in France, not
satisfied with his success in stereotyping, made many in¬
genious experiments in polytypage. Whilst he was thus
engaged, a practical printer named Carez discovered a
method which Hoffman afterwards pursued. The page,
after being composed in the ordinary manner, was attached,
with the face downwards, to the under side of a heavy
block of wood, suspended from a long beam. Immediately
under the page was an anvil, whereon was a tray of oiled
paper into which the workmen poured a portion of type
metal, attentively watching the cooling. When the metal
was on the point of setting, the page, block, and beam,
were brought down with a very smart blow, forcing the
face of the type into the setting metal, and producing a
very sharp matrix ; which again was made to take the place
of the type upon the block, was struck in a similar manner
upon the fused metal, and thus produced a perfect and ex- Polytypag.
cellent polytype plate. This having been properly dressed
at the edges and back, was affixed to the usual wooden
raiser and made type height, and might be printed separately
or in conjunction with moveable type. Several casts
might be made from the same mould. This process was
designated cliche.
Ign, a native of Alsace, who settled in Paris as a printer
in 1784, availing himself of the discoveries made in the
art of stereotyping, endeavoured to extend them by invent¬
ing logotypy, or the art of uniting several characters into
a single type. He printed on solid plates several sheets of
his Journal Polytype, and advertised Father Chenier’s
Recherches sur les Maures, 3 vols. 8vo, as a polytyped
book ; but being deprived of his printing-office in 1787 by
a decree of the council, he was prevented from executing
his design.
In 1791 M. Gegembre made considerable improvements
in the art of polytyping in printing the fifty-sous notes of
the Caisse Patriotique. He caused the whole print of the
notes to be engraved in relief upon a plate of steel, and
this engraving he pressed into a plate of copper, from
which polytype casts were taken. Any number of these
casts could be taken from the copper mould, and if by
chance the copper mould became injured, a new one could
be readily made from the steel engraving.
When the revolutionary government commenced issuing
assignats, it became necessary to have an immense number
of plates to work the enormous quantity required of these
documents. A design having been approved of, artists were
employed to engrave three hundred fac-similes. Of course,
if three hundred so-called fac-similes could be engraved,
other artists would find no difficulty in engraving another
hundred, nor could even the bank-officers tell which docu¬
ment was printed from a forged fac-simile and which from
the plates engraved by their authority. The consequence
was an utter want of confidence in the government paper.
To remedy this, the committee of assignats caused many
experiments to be instituted for the production of plates
which should be not only imitative and similar, but pro re
identical. The plan adopted was the engraving a plate in
intaglio on steel, from which copper matrices were obtained
in relief. From these perfect fac-similes of the original
engraving were struck and were worked by the roller-press
in the manner of copperplates. But it was a great defect
in this process, that the air compressed within the hollows
of the letters frequently destroyed the form in the repro¬
duction. Upon the suppression of assignats this esta¬
blishment was broken up; but some of the plates and
matrices are preserved in the public repositories of France.
Polytyping, as now practised in England, is confined to
the production of casts from metal plates in intaglio and
from woodcuts. Instead of the cumbrous machinery em¬
ployed by Carez, a fly-press is used, the woodcut is
fixed upon what may be called the platten, and a tray con¬
taining semi-fluid metal is placed upon the table of the
press immediately under the cut to be matriced. By a
slow motion the cut is impressed into the metal, and an
intaglio matrix is produced. The matrix is then attached
to a drop stamp to perform the cliche process, and by the
rapid descent of the stamp with the matrix attached into a
tray of molten metal, a polytype in relief is obtained. The
type-founders have adopted this process for the production
of casts of their ornamental designs; and Mr Bramston
has practised this mode so successfully that he is able to
take fac-simile polytype casts of the most elaborately-en¬
graved woodcuts, without in the slightest degree injuring
the original.
A method of producing raised surfaces for the purposes
of printing has of late years been extensively used in Paris
and London, chiefly for forming maps and rough designs
PRINTING.
IPolytypage f()1. t^e clleap illustrated press. The art is of French origin,
but has been patented in England. In a patent granted in
1853 to Mr Yizetelly it is described for “ improvernents
in producing plates for printing surfaces, by which the
manipulatory process of engraving is superseded.”
A plate of highly-polished zinc, copper, or steel is
thoroughly rubbed over with very fine pounce powder
moistened with water, and then with a soft dry piece of
linen it is again rubbed until no greasy appearance remains
on the surface, which is now in a fit state to receive the
transfer.
Where the engraving has been recently printed, say
within a month, the transfer is thus effected :—The print is
soaked for five minutes in a flat dish containing a liquid
composed of seven parts of water, one of azotic acid, and
six drops of phosphoric acid. It is then taken out and
placed between two sheets of blotting-paper, to absorb the
superfluous moisture, after which it is laid on the prepared
plate and covered with a sheet of soft paper, and subjected
to the strong pressure of the lithographic press. When
the transfer is thus effected, the plate is washed with a
sponge moistened in a solution of gum arabic, slightly
acidulated with nitric acid ; this preparation having re¬
mained on the plate for five minutes, is sponged off with
clean water. W hile the plate is still wet, a lithographic
roller charged with ink composed of bitumen of Judaea,
powdered very fine with a muller and mixed with linseed
oil, is passed over it. The linseed oil must be of the
purest quality, and be boiled for at least an hour, and after¬
wards filtered through a felt bag containing some animal
black. For zinc plates, lithographic transfer-ink and
melted virgin wax, well mixed and ground together, must
he substituted. When the plate is well rolled over with
this ink, it will be observed that the transfer only has taken
up the ink, the parts of the plate where the lines of the
print do not occur having no power to take it up. While
the ink is still wet, some resin, ground to an impalpable
powder, is distributed over the plate with a piece of cotton
wool or a camel’s hair brush, care being taken that it ad¬
heres to the inked transfer only, and not to the other parts
of the plate. The plate is now placed over a spirit-lamp,
and gradually heated until it becomes lukewarm, in which
state it is allowed to remain undisturbed for at least two
hours ; if expedition is not required, it will be better not to
disturb the plate for twelve hours, as the resin and ink will
then have thoroughly combined, and more completely pro¬
tect the portions of the plate covered by the transfer from
the corroding action of the acid, by which the surface in
relief is^ produced. Before the plate is subjected to this
“ biting” process, it is necessary to cover its back with a
varnish or other substance, to protect it from the action of
the acid. When this is done, it is placed in a slanting
position, and a liquid composed of nitric acid, diluted to
about 4 Reaumur for zinc and steel plates, and to about
12 for coppers, to which is added a table-spoonful of spirits
of wine to every half-pint of acidulated water, is applied
with a clean sponge to the surface of the plate. This
bathing is continued for a quarter of an hour, and pure
water is then poured over the plate until the acid is entirely
washed off. The plate is then again sponged over with
the slightly-acidulated gum-water, re-inked, submitted to
the action of the acidulated water, and washed with pure
water as above described ; and these, operations are repeated
four or five times, until the exposed portions of the plate
are so much bitten away by the acid as to leave the trans¬
fer sufficiently in relief to be printed from.
The “whites,”—i.e., the blank spaces in the engraving,—
must be lowered or removed to prevent their receiving the
ink in process of printing, and blacking the paper. This is
effected by covering the surface of the raised lines of the
transfer, and the sides also where practicable, with en-
vol. XVIII.
graver s varnish, which is composed of bitumen of Jiukea
dissolved in essence of turpentine, with the addition of
lamp-black to make it of a proper consistency, and allowed
to stand two hours before it is used. The plate is then
bathed with the solution of acidulated water and spirits of
wine, and washed as before described ; but in this operation
a stronger solution is used, being 8° instead of 4°. Where
the whites are very large, essence of spikenard (aspic) is
substituted for essence of turpentine, or they may be
lowered by scrapers or gouges, or cut out with a fine saw.
(jreat care must be taken that the bitumen is entirely dis¬
solved, and that the varnish is made of the proper con¬
sistency.
A raised printing surface being now produced, the plate
is cleaned with turpentine and well rubbed over with char¬
coal, after which it may be mounted on raisers to type
height, and used as a stereotype cast.
When an old print is to be transferred, it is treated in
the manner commonly employed by lithographic printers
prior to making a transfer, and which has been described
in the article Lithography.
Anastatic printing is a process by which a print, whether
from type or a copperplate, may be reproduced without
drawing or engraving. The print is saturated with a strong
solution of nitric acid ; it is then placed between sheets of
blotting-paper, and the superfluous fluid absorbed; after
which it is laid, face downwards, upon a polished plate of
zinc, and another placed over it. The plates are then passed
between iron rollers, and subjected to great pressure. The
nitric acid is thus squeezed out upon the zinc, except in
those parts which are protected by the ink of the old print.
The acid bites away the zinc, and a rough surface is pro¬
duced, the protected parts continuing bright and unaffected.
The plate is then wetted with a solution of gum in water.
The corroded surfaces retain the fluid, while the unaffected
portions remain dry. A roller charged with the ink used
by copperplate printers then rolled over the plate l the
hik covering the dry and being repelled by the wet surfaces.
This is repeated until the lines of the print are well covered
with the ink,—a process which is rapidly effected if the ink
of the original print is fresh, and has parted with a portion
of its oil under the pressure of the rollers. Impressions
may now be readily taken in the same manner as lithogra¬
phic prints.
PRINTING FOR THE BLIND.
The invention of printing for the blind forms a new era
in the history of literature. In European countries, one
individual in every 1200 or 1400 of the entire population
is blind, and in America one in every 2000. To open up
to this large and unfortunate class such a source of profit
and pleasure as reading could afford was long considered
very desirable, and also very doubtful; but while, of late
years, embossed books have very rapidly increased, it is
exceedingly gratifying to find that blind readers have far
more rapidly multiplied. The credit of this invention be¬
longs to France. In 1784 Valentine Haiiy printed the
first book at Paris with raised letters, and proved to the
world that those for whom such books were intended could
easily be taught to read with their fingers. He seems to
have caught the hint from a blind pianist of Vienna, who
distinguished the keys of her instrument by the sense of
touch. After many experiments as to the form of his raised
letters, he at last chose a character a little approaching the
Italic. A new institution was at once established,—Institu¬
tion Royale des Jeune% Aveugles,—and Haiiy was placed
at the head of it. Twenty-four of his pupils exhibited their
attainments in reading, writing, arithmetic, music, and geo¬
graphy, before the king and the royal family at Versailles
on the 26th December 1786, to the very great delight of
those high personages. In 1814, when Haiiy was pen-
4 A
553
Printing
for the
Blind.
554
PRINTING.
Printing
for the
Blind.
sioned off, Dr Guillie was chosen in his stead. This en¬
terprising directeur-yeneral modified Haiiy’s letters, and
prosecuted the publication of embossed books with renewed
vigour. Still, however, very little progress was made to¬
wards the extension of Haiiy’s system; and their books could
only be read by those possessing a very delicate touch. In
1806 M. Haiiy established schools for the blind in Germany
and St Petersburg, but they have made very slow progress.
It was in Scotland and the United States that improvements
were first made in embossed typography. To Mr James
Gall of Edinburgh belongs the merit of reviving and improv¬
ing this very useful art. After canvassing every form of
letter, he at last adopted his angular alphabet. Before 1826,
when Mr Gall began his experiments, not a single blind
person using the English language could read by embossed
printing. On the 28th September 1827 he published A
First Book for Teaching the Art of Beading to the Blind,
the first book printed for the blind in the English language.
In October 1834 this zealous individual published in a per¬
fected alphabet The Gospel by St John, for the Blind. The
text, which was embossed, and, unlike his former effort,
printed not with wooden but with metallic types, consisted
of 141 pages, with 27 lines on a page of 70 square inches.
This book was counted a great improvement, but it was
objected that the types were too angular. He afterwards
printed a number of books with serrated edges. It is un¬
questionably to Mr Gall, more than to any other man, that
the interest in the education of the blind was awakened
throughout Great Britain and America. While Mr Gall
was engaged in perfecting his plan in this country, Dr S.
G. Howe, of the Perkins Institution, Boston, United States,
was busily engaged in developing his system. In 1833 Dr
Howe began, like Gall, by taking Plaiiy’s invention as the
basis of his system, and soon effected those improvements
upon it which have given so wide a fame to the Boston
press. He chose the common Roman letter of the lower¬
case, reducing it by cutting off the flourishes, &c., until it
occupied but a space and a half instead of three. This
alphabet remains unchanged. So rapid was his progress,
that in 1836 he printed in relief the whole of the New Tes¬
tament for the first time in any language, in 4 small quarto
volumes, comprising 624 pages, for four dollars. More than
twelve times this amount has now been printed, and seven¬
teen of the American States have adopted Dr Howe’s
method.
The Society of Arts in Edinburgh awarded a medal, on
the 31st of May 1837, to Dr Fry of London for the inven¬
tion of an alphabet, which seems, however, to have been
in use in Philadelphia since 1833. Mr Alston of Glasgow
improved upon Fry’s alphabet, by reducing the size of the
letters, and sharpening the embossing. In 1840 Mr Alston
published the entire Old Testament in 15 quarto volumes,
of 2535 pages, and 37 lines to a page, in double pica type.
Alston, in his just pride, designated this “ the first Bible
ever printed for the blind in which he was wrong, how¬
ever, for Boston had claimed the honour years before.
Some 70 distinct volumes have been printed by the Glas¬
gow press; but since the death of Alston, on the 20th of
August 1846, it has almost ceased to work. Since 1837
it has supplied England, Ireland, and Scotland with em¬
bossed books in Roman type. The best of all the arbi¬
trary systems is that of T. M. Lucas of Bristol, who set it
on foot about 1835, and which “The London Society for
Teaching the Blind to Read” has been gradually improv¬
ing since its establishment in 1839. In May 1838 “ The
London and Blackheath Association for Embossing the
Scriptures” adopted the phonetic method of James Hartley
Frere. A cheap plan of embossing or stereotyping was
devised by Mr Frere in 1839. His books read from left
to right, and back, after the ancient Greek /SovarpocppSov
writing. Mr Moon, of the Brighton Blind Asylum, has
slightly improved on Mr Frere’s method. Dr Howe’s ty- Other
pography is judged, however, to be superior to the British Processes,
both in cheapness and in size. There are at present no
less than five different systems of typography in use in
Great Britain.
The following table shows the results of the six systems
of printing for the blind used in the English language, tak¬
ing the New Testament as a standard of comparison :—
Systems.
The New Tes¬
tament:—
Howe’s 
Alston’s ...
Gall’s 
Lucas’s....
Frere’s 
Moon’s 
No. of
Yols.
4to.
Ob. 4to
No. of
Pages.
430
623
841
723
No. of
Lines in
a Page.
42
28
27
25
No. of
Square
Inches
in a Page.
117
90
70
70
110
110
Price.
L. s. d.
0 16 0
2 0 0
2 0 0
2 0 0
2 10 0
4 10 0
(For an interesting account of the different systems of
printing for the blind, see the Reports of the Juries of the
Exhibition for 1851.)
OTHER PROCESSES.
To the magnificent establishment of the imperial printing-
office at Vienna we owe the introduction of several pro¬
cesses, which, though not founded on the use of type, be¬
long to the art of printing. The description of these new
arts is derived from the Reports of Jurors of the Exhibition
of 1851.
Galvano-plastic Process.—The Austrian department
contained some extraordinary prints of fossil fishes, which
were produced by the following process :—By means of suc¬
cessive layers of gutta percha applied to the stone inclosing
the petrified fish a mould is obtained, which being after¬
wards submitted to the action of a galvanic battery, is
quickly covered with coatings of copper, forming a plate
upon w hich all the marks of the fish are reproduced in re¬
lief, and which, when printed at the common press, gives
a result upon the paper identical with the object itself.
Galvanography.—The artist covers a plate of silvered
copper with several coats of a paint composed of any oxide,
—such as that of iron, burnt terra sienna, or black-lead,—
ground with linseed oil. The substance of these coats is
thick or thin according to the intensity to be given to the
lights or shades. The plate is then submitted to the ac¬
tion of the galvanic battery, from which another plate is ob¬
tained reproducing an intaglio copy, with all the uneven¬
ness of the original painting. This is an actual copper¬
plate resembling an aquatint engraving. It may be
touched up by the engraving-tool. This process has been
improved upon by outlines etched in the usual manner,
and the tones laid on with a roulette. A galvano-plastic
copy of this sunk plate is obtained. On this second raised
plate the artist completes his picture by means of chalks
and Indian ink, and puts in the lights and shades ; from this
a second galvano-plastic copy is produced. This second
copy or sunk plate, the third in the order of procedure,
serves, after being touched up, for printing from in the
copperplate press.
Galvanoglyphy.—Upon a plate of zinc coated with var¬
nish a drawing is etched: then ink or varnish is rolled over.
The ink adheres only to the parts it touches, every applica¬
tion when dry raising the coating and consequently deepen¬
ing the etched lines,—a galvanic battery produces a plate
in relief, which is printed at the common press.
Chemitypy.—A polished zinc plate is covered with an
etching-ground. The etching is bitten in with diluted
aquafortis. Remove the etching-ground, and carefully wash
out the aquafortis. Heat the plate thus cleansed over a
PRINTING.
Nature
Printing.
spirit-lamp, after covering with filings of a fusible metal,
until fusible metal has filled all the lines of the engraving.
555
When cold, scrape down to level of zinc plate until none of
the metal remains but what has entered into the engraving.
Place compound plate in solution of muriatic acid; and as
of the two metals one is positive the other negative, the
zinc alone is eaten away by the acid, and the fusible metal
which had filled the lines of the engraving is left in relief,
and may be printed by the common press.
Paneiconography.—On a polished plate of zinc draw
with lithographic crayon or ink, or transfer impressions from
lithography, wood engraving, or copperplates. The thick¬
ness of the drawn lines is increased by repeated rollings or
powdered resin. For relief-block, place plate in trough
of very dilute sulphuric or hydrochloric acid. The acid
eats away the unprotected parts of the plate, and leaves
raised lines of the protected parts.
NATURE-PRINTING.
Mr Henry Bradbury, who has had a principal share in
introducing this beautiful process into England, describes
it as a method of producing impressions of plants and other
natural objects, in a manner so truthful that only a close
inspection reveals the fact of their being copies. So deeply
sensible to the touch are the impressions, that it is difficult
to persuade those who are unacquainted with the manipula¬
tion that they are the production of the printing-press.
The process, in its application to the reproduction of botani¬
cal subjects, represents the size, form, and colour of the
plant, and all its most minute details, even to the smallest
fibres of the roots. The distinguishing feature of the pro¬
cess, compared with other modes of producing engraved
surfaces for printing purposes, consists, firstly, in imprinting
natural objects—such as plants, mosses, sea-weeds, feathers,
and embroideries—into plates of metal, causing, as it
were, the objects to engrave themselves by pressure ; and,
secondly, in being able to take such casts or copies of the
impressed plates as can be printed from at the ordinary
copperplate-press.
The art is by no means new in idea, many persons hav¬
ing attempted something analogous to the present process,
and produced results which were imperfect, merely because
science had not yet discovered an art necessary to its prac¬
tical development. It is to the discovery of electrotyping
that the existing art of nature-printing is due.
1 he progress of the art, and the persons to whose ingenuity
the steps were severally due, are stated by Mr Bradbury
thus :—
Professor Kniphof of Erfurt took impressions from leaves,
&c., which had been coloured with lamp-black, printers’
ink, &c., 1728-57.
Kyhl, a goldsmith of Copenhagen, took copies of natural
objects in plates of metal between two steel rollers. These
were not for the purposes of printing, but for reproduction
of embossing and ornamentation in metal. 1833.
In 1851 Dr Ferguson Branson of Sheffield read a paper
before the Society of Arts, in which he detailed some ex¬
periments in nature-printing. He had taken impressions
from plants, &c., in gutta percha, for the purpose of having
them printed. The experiment failed through the softness
of the material. Dr Branson then bethought himself of the
electrotype process ; but appears to have found it too tedious
and costly, and he abandoned the idea.
In 1849 Professor Leydolt of Vienna availed himself of
the facilities afforded by the imperial printing-office to carry
out experiments in the representation of flat objects of
mineralogy,—such as agates, fossils, and petrifactions,—and
obtained great results. Soon after, Haidinger and Abbate
suggested, the former the reproduction of plants, &c., and the
latter the representation by this means of different sorts of
ornamental woods on woven fabrics, paper, and plain wood ; Printing,!
and lastly, Andrew Wornng, of the imperial printing-office, Colours.
Vienna, perfected the application of these processes to 'w
printing, 1853. "
These circumstances are dwelt upon at some length, be¬
cause nature-printing is yet in its infancy, and appears
capable of development to a degree at which it will be an
impressorial art of greater importance than any which has
been invented since the art of printing itself. Worrino-’s
services were so highly estimated that the emperor rewarded
him with a munificent gift, and with the Order of Merit.
1 he plant, perfectly dry, or any other suitable subject, is
placed on a plate of fine rolled lead, the surface of which has
been polished by planing. The plate and subject are then
passed between rollers, by the pressure of which the sub¬
ject is forced into the surface of the lead. The leaden
plate is then subjected to a moderate heat, by the action of
which the subject is loosened from its bed and easily re¬
moved. This mould is then subjected to the galvano-
plastic process, the second cast being a perfect fac-simile of
the leaden mould. When the subject to be printed is of
one colour only, that pigment is rubbed in, and any super¬
fluity removed; but when it is of two or more colours, the
process is simple, but, it is believed, perfectly novel in any
process of printing heretofore practised. In the case, for
instance, of flowering plants, having stems, roots, leaves, and
flowers, the plan adopted in the inking of the plate is to
apply the darkest colour, which generally happens to be that
of the roots, first; the superfluous colour is cleaned off;
the next darkest colour, such, perhaps, as that of the stems,
is then applied, the superfluous colour of which is also
cleaned off; this mode is continued until every part of the
plant in the copperplate has received the right tint. In
this state, before the plate is printed, the colour in the dif¬
ferent parts of the copper looks as if the plant were em¬
bedded in the metal. The plate thus charged, with the
paper laid over it, is placed upon a copperplate-press, the
upper roller of which is covered with five or six layers of
blanket of compact fine texture. The effect of the press¬
ure is, that all the colours are printed by one impression ;
for when the paper is removed the plant is seen quite per¬
fect, highly embossed, with the roots, stems, and other
parts, each of its proper tint.
The great national work which the Austrian establish¬
ment has produced as the exemplar of the new art is truly
imperial. The Physiotypia Plantarum Austriacarum con¬
sists of 5 volumes large folio, containing 500 plates (about
600 plants), with a quarto volume of plates and text. The
first production of the English press, though it will bear
no comparison in extent with the imperial magnificence of
the Austrian work, fully equals it in beauty of execution.
It is The Ferns of Great Britain and Ireland, by Thomas
Moore, edited by Dr Bindley, imperial folio, with 51 plates.
It is printed by Mr Bradbury. (See notices of meetings
of the Royal Institution of Great Britain, part v., 1855; and
the printed Lecture delivered at the same Institution, May
11, 1855.)
PRINTING IN COLOURS.
One of the most beautiful aids to typography, the art of
printing in colours, has been unduly neglected in this
country ; at least as far as relates to the embellishing works
of ordinary excellence with vignettes, capitals, tail-pieces,
and other devices of fancy, in beautiful tints, in the man¬
ner of the early typographers. It is true that some very
beautiful works, illustrated with remarkable richness of
design and colour, have been produced; but these have been
exeomted rather as examples of the beautiful in art than as
books,—the work of the artist has been the principal ob¬
ject, and the work of the author the occasion and vehicle.
L
556
PRINTING.
Printing in In other works, chiefly ecclesiastical, the object has been to
Colours, reproduce in fac simile the rich illuminations of the
monkish scribes. But as regards the average printing
the literature of the day—the art of printing in colours has
been very much neglected. This may very easily be ac¬
counted for. To print in two colours occupies more than
twice the time necessary to print in one; and it also re¬
quires more skill and ingenuity. These unfortunately must
be paid for; and this pecuniary consideration is sufficient
to banish from our pages this lovely art. So did not our
forefathers; the// took pride in choosing the most tasteful
designs, the most harmonious colours, to illuminate their
productions, and beguile the reader into study by the illu¬
sive charms of gold, and blue, and crimson. Fortunately,
either time was of little value, or the exclusive possession
of the market enabled them to demand remunerating prices
tor the time thus well bestowed; but in the bustle and com¬
petition of our more mercantile days, time is money, and
blue and gold, scarlet and green, give way to the equally
useful but infinitely less beautiful uniformity of unredeem¬
ed black. To a country printer, however, some knowledge
of colour-printing would be of advantage, because, as his
founts of type are more limited, he can create unlimited
variety by a judicious use of colours in job-work; more¬
over, as he has usually much more time upon his hands,
his ingenuity would have ample scope for the production of
small works of vertu, in a taste which cannot be indulged
by the denizens of a busy metropolis.
Except in the execution of works of a very high order,
and the imitation of intricate and delicate patterns, print¬
ing in colours requires no addition to the ordinary accom¬
plishment of printing, other than considerable ingenuity
and a little practice in preparing the colours. The latter
may, it is true, be purchased of the ink-maker, prepared for
use; but the charge for them is enormous, and they re¬
quire constant replacement, whilst it is not possible to have
on hand every variety of tint. By the purchase of the
most simple materials from the oil-shop, the ingenious
printer has at his hand every colour that fancy can require,
at the most moderate cost, w ithout waste or delay. I he
appliances are few and cheap: a muller, a marble slab, and
a palette-knife; the materials, a can of printers’ varnish, to
be purchased of the ink-maker, which will keep any length
of time, and the raw colours hereafter given, which may be
purchased from time to time; care, however, being taken
that they are of the best quality, or they will fade and turn
rusty in a short time, and be a deformity instead of an or¬
nament to the work.
Useful tints of red may be prepared of orange lead,
vermilion, burnt sienna, Venetian red, Indian red, and lake.
Vermilion is the most brilliant of these reds ; but its beauty
depends very much upon the particular parcel used. The
pale vermilion is best for a bright tint, as the dark, when
mixed with the varnish, produces a dull red. Orange lead
and vermilion ground together produce a very bright tint,
which is more permanent than vermilion alone.
Yellows are prepared with yellow ochre, gamboge, and
chromate of lead. Of these, the brightest is the chrome ;
yellow ochre, when mixed with the varnish, produces a
very dull tint.
Blues are made from indigo, Prussian blue, and Antwerp
blue. Of these, indigo is exceedingly dark, and not very
easily lightened. Prussian blue is a very useful colour;
Antwerp blue is very light.
Greens may be produced from a mixture of any of the
blues and yellows, as gamboge and Prussian blue, chro¬
mate of lead and Prussian blue. These may be mixed in
any proportions until the required tint is produced ; but it
must be remembered that the varnish has a considerable
yellow tinge, and will produce a decided effect upon the
mixture. With a slight portion of Antwerp blue it will,
without the mixture of any ot tne yellows, produce a de- Printing in
cidedly greenish tinge. Colourt.
Purples of any degree of richness are made by judici-
ously mixing reds and blues.
Saepia produces a nice brown tint, burnt umber a very
hot brown, raw umber a much lighter brown, bistre a
brighter still. Neutral tints may be obtained by mixing
Prussian blue, lake, and gamboge. In fact, every pig¬
ment that painters use can also be used in printing, avoid¬
ing, as much as possible, all heavy colours.. In truth, if
the printer is desirous of imitating any particular colour,
or of producing any particular tint, he cannot do better
than consult the nearest artist in oil or water colours (oil
in preference), or in default of that, the neighbouring house-
painter.
The necessary colours having been procured, the me¬
thod of preparing them is very simple. Each must first be
well ground by the muller upon the slab, even although
they may have been purchased well powdered. The colour
should then be well mixed with the palette-knife with the
varnish, until the pigment has attained the required con¬
sistency, which will vary with the quality of the work to
be executed; for if it be a posting-bill or coarse job, the
ink should be very thin, and consequently a much larger
proportion of varnish should be used. If, however, the
work be a wood-cut, or in small type, the pigment should
be made as thick as possible. If the colour required be a
compound, the predominant tint should be first mixed with
the varnish, and the lighter tint added in small quantities,
until the exact shade required be produced. Thus, if the
colour be a dark green, the blue should be mixed up first,
and the yellow added; but if it be a very light green, then
the yellow should be first applied, and the blue added. If
the tint desired be exceedingly light, it will be found that
the quantity of raw material to be employed will not make
the mixture sufficiently thick to be applied to the type or
wood-block: in this case whitening is added to thin co¬
lours, and dry white lead to the heavier, in considerable
quantities, which must be adjusted in the course of mixing.
To insure thorough combination, the mixture should be
scraped into a corner of the slab, and a very small portion
of it spread with the palette-knife, and well ground with
the muller until no specks or lumps appear, then scraped
up and placed in another corner. This should especially
be done when white lead is used, as it will be found that
every little lump when crushed will produce a white streak
upon the slab. If this be not carefully done, independently
of its tendency to clog the type, it will very materially
alter the tint. When the pigment seems sufficiently mixed,
it is better to bray it out with the muller instead of the
usual brayer, and grind again each particular portion im¬
mediately before it is used. Colours may be worked either
w ith a ball or a roller. If the job be large and coarse, and
the ink consequently thin, the roller will answer every pur¬
pose ; but if it be small, and requiring much nicety in the
manipulation, decidedly with a ball; but in either case the
ink should be well distributed, and the form well beaten or
rolled. When two or more colours are employed, they
must be worked at as many different times. In this case
extreme nicety in the register and justification is required,
in order that every colour may fall in its just place, with¬
out overlaying any other tint employed in the print. This
would be a great dis-sight in any case, but most especially
where the combination of colours would produce a third ;
as, for instance, if any part of a blue line should unfortu¬
nately fall upon a yellow, a green outline would be the re¬
sult. The simplest way to guard against this is to have the
wood-blocks all cut to precisely the same size, with the print
in the proper place upon each; when, therefore, the first co¬
lour has been worked, the form is unlocked, the block taken
out, and the second block inserted ; it then falls at once into
PRINTING.
Printing its proper position. If the form consist of type, each line
in Colours, should be carefully composed in its proper body; that is, if
three colours be employed for as many different lines in
pica, small pica, and long primer, the one to be first
worked should be composed in pica letters, the other lines
in small pica and long primer quadrats. When the second
line is to be worked, its quadrats should be taken out and
letters inserted, while the type of the first line should be
removed and quadrats substituted ; and so of the third line.
The points on the tympan must never be moved. It is
clear, therefore, that if the paper be placed upon the same
point-holes as before, and if the form has never been moved,
the new line cannot fail to fall into its proper place. The
illustrative Plate III. has been worked upon this plan; the
black, being the largest body, was first printed, as it af¬
forded the best guide for subsequent working. The blue
was next worked, because it was much easier to adjust it to
the black, than to adjust the red so exactly that the blue
' should precisely surround it and yet not infringe upon or
retreat from the black, while there would be no difficulty
in making the other red portions fall in their proper places.
In these cases the paper must never be suffered to dry ;
indeed the sooner each colour succeeds the other the bet¬
ter. If it be covered with a wet blanket, and the edges
well sprinkled, the danger will be little; but if it should
dry and shrink in the slightest degree, it will be impos¬
sible to obtain register. For printing red-letter days in
almanacs and the rubrics in prayer-books (an almost ex¬
tinct practice), an especial type is used called rubrical; it
is cast about an m higher than ordinary type. The black
is first w’orked, quadrats having been inserted in the places
of the red letter, which are subsequently withdrawn, and
the rubrical type inserted. But as, in so small an inser¬
tion in so large a body this process does not attain any
very good register, and is expensive withal, the red-letter
days have been abandoned, and some other distinguishing
type (generally old English or black) has been substi¬
tuted, which sufficiently indicates the day. It would not
be possible here to give sufficient instructions to enable
a printer to execute landscapes, portraits, and other deli¬
cate subjects, in various colours and shades. The differ¬
ence between this and other colour-printing consists mainly
in the superior individual skill and ingenuity of the artist,
the excellence and truth of his engravings, and the superi¬
ority of his appliances. In truth, before the printer can
produce any great effect, he must be excellently qualified
as a painter, which it is not the province of an article on
printing to teach. It will be sufficient to state that the
lighter and more extensive tints, and especially those in
which transparent colours are used, are worked first; that
the colour is gradually deepened by successive blocks until
the required effects are produced; and that the outline is
printed last, which has the effect of giving sharpness and
finish to the design.
The curious reader is referred to Mr Savage’s beautiful
book on Decorative Printing, and to the many admirable
productions of Mr Baxter and Mr Vizetelly. Nor should
the accurate work and beautiful colours of Mr Delarue’s
playing-cards be passed over without notice. To Mr De-
larue, indeed, the revival of colour-printing as a practical art
is greatly due.
The lottery system and the stamp duties gave extensive
employment to the colour-printer, and also gave occasion
to a process which is denominated “ compound plate-print¬
ing.” The effects are produced by an ingenious system of
mechanism, by which several plates are made to separate
for the purpose of receiving the colours, and to combine
with perfect accuracy, for the purpose of transferring these
colours to the paper by a single impression. This process
is in daily use at the stamp and excise offices, and the most
familiar examples are to be seen in the intricate patterns
557
printed on the labels of reams of paper, or those of patent Bank-Note
medicines. The printing is effected by the cylinder print- Printing,
ing-machine with the greatest rapidity. i
There is no difficulty in printing in gold ; it is within
the power of any typographer. The type is composed and
made ready at press in the usual manner. Take the best
printer’s varnish, grind it to a thick consistency with burnt
sienna or brown umber; reduce this with gold-size, the
same as that used by gilders and japanners. The first ad¬
mixture is necessary because it has been found that the
number will not combine with the size. The type is then
rolled with this compound in the same manner that ordinary
ink is applied, and the impression is taken upon the paper.
Leaf-gold is then laid over it with a piece of cotton wool,
and pressed lightly upon it. When the varnish has had
time to set, a piece of cotton-wool is rubbed steadily over
the part printed, and the superfluous leaf is thereby re¬
moved, leaving the gold adhering to the varnish. The
print should then be passed between steel rollers, or hot-
pressed,—care being taken in the latter process that the
plates be not too hot, or a dull drossy surface will be pro¬
duced. Ihe sharpness of the print will vary with the
judgment of the printer in the quantity of sizing applied to
the type; for if the press-work be bad, the print will be
bad also. For inferior gold-printing bronze-powder is
extensively used. For this the varnish is made very much
thicker than for gold: the method of printing is the
same. After the impression has been given, the powder is
brushed over the print, and adheres thereto, whilst the
superfluity is easily removed. In printing the golden
“ Coronation Sun” with this powder, a very distressing
disease arose,—the hair became perfectly green, and the
men were very seriously affected ; great dare should there¬
fore be taken that particles of the powder be not allowed
to fly about the room. Dutch gold cannot be used as a
substitute for gold-leaf. When all these appliances cannot
readily be obtained, very fair gold-printing may be pro¬
duced by the following process:—Let the surface of the
type be heated by any convenient means—as by laying
upon it for a space a heated metal plate—and then cover it
carefully with leaf-gold by a ball of cotton-wool. Having
carefully sifted dry white-of-egg or resin, finely pulverized,
over the surface of the paper, place it on the tympan, and
bring it gently down upon the type. Dwell upon the pull.
The leaf-gold will be found perfectly adherent to the im¬
pression on the paper, and the superfluous part may be
brushed off. The sheet, after drying, should then be hot-
pressed. Some observation is required to ascertain the
proper heat to be given to the type: if it be insufficient,
the gold transfer will be imperfect and the tint light; if too
great (of which there should be no danger) the colour will
be dull.
BANK-NOTE PRINTING.
The Bank of England notes were formerly printed from
steel-plates ; but in 1853 the Bank adopted the surface or
letterpress mode of printing. The plates are produced by
the electrotype process. An original is first engraved in
metal in relief. This original is subjected to the galvano-
plastic process, by which a matrix is obtained, and from
this matrix a second cast is obtained in relief, a perfect
facsimile of the original engraved plate. From this plate
the bank-notes are printed. The metal of which these
plates are formed is exceedingly hard, frequently yielding
nearly one million impressions without being worn out.
The original engraving is never used for printing, but only
for the production of matrices; consequently it always re¬
mains unimpaired, and thus perfect identity is maintained
in the appearance of the notes.
£58 P R I N
Printing- The notes are printed at platten-machines possessing
Presses, great advantages over the ordinary printing-machines,
more particularly in the distribution of the ink. Three
machines are employed, two of which were manufactured
by Messrs Napier & Sons, and the other by Messrs Hop-
kinson & Cope. A tell-tale, or register, is attached to each
machine, which marks the number of impressions. These
registers are set by a clerk before the printing commences,
and are checked by him at the close of the day, when the
printer must account for (either in bank-notes or “ spoils”),
the number of impressions registered by the dial. I he
notes are printed upon dry paper, a process which has been
very greatly accelerated by the recent improvements intro¬
duced into the ink by Mr Winstone, who manufactures for
the bank.
The numbers and dates of the bank-notes are added in
an after-printing. This is effected at Messrs Napier &
Sons’ cylinder machines: a very ingenious mechanism
being attached to these machines which makes it impos¬
sible to commit any fraud by printing two notes of the
same number. The apparatus consists of a series of brass
discs, of which the rim is divided by channels into pro¬
jecting compartments, each containing a figure. The
numbers 1 to 9 having been printed in the course of
the revolution of the first disc, the second disc then pre¬
sents the figure 1, which, by combining with the 0 of the
first disc, the number 10 is formed. The second disc
now remains stationary until, in the course of the revolu¬
tion of the first disc, the numbers 1 to 19 have been
printed, when it presents the figure 2, and does not again
move until another revolution of the first disc completes
the numbers 20 to 29. Thus the two discs proceed until
99 notes have been numbered, when the third disc comes
into operation, and with the first two, produces 100, con¬
sequently the first disc performs one hundred revolutions
to ten of the second and one of the third. The notes may
be numbered indefinitely by this process, without the pos¬
sibility of error, the machine, meanwhile, being its own
check.
PRINTING-PRESSES.
In the description of the Stanhope press it has been
stated that many other presses upon different principles
have been since invented; most of these, however, contain
some application of the Stanhope power. The most power,
ful and durable, but the most
expensive, is the Columbian or
Clymer Press (fig. 6). The
power in this press is acquired by
an extremely massive lever, mov¬
ing on a pivot-bolt in the top of
the near staple, and passing over
the press to the further staple,
at which end the power is applied,
through the Stanhope coupling-
bar, by a bar-handle working
from the near side. The platten
is attached to the centre of the
lever by a square bar of iron, and
its vertical descent is preserved
by two projecting guides, one from
each cheek ; it is raised from the
form, and the iron bar carried Fig. 6.
back, by two levers,—the one attached to and above the
head, weighted with an eagle; and the other behind the
press, attached to the arm to which the coupling-bar is fixed,
and having a weight at the end. The great power of this
press adapts it to the working of large and solid forms ; but
I*'- \S !?eavy anc* slow* It is, it should be remarked, too
high for small premises.
TING.
The Albion Press (Fig. 7), manufactured by Hopkinson Printing.
and Cope, is much esteemed for its Machines,
exceeding lightness : it runs very
easily, the pull is short, the power
great, and the means whereby it is
attained so simple, that there is
little fear of the press getting out of
order. It is very easily taken down
for cleaning, and put
up again. The power
is gained by causingan
inclined piece of steel
to become perpendi¬
cular ; in so doing the
platten is forced down,
d the impression
takes place at the mo¬
ment the piece of steel
is brought into a ver¬
tical position. On the
return of the bar, the
platten is raised by a
spiral spring fixed on
the head of the press.
Fig. 7.
Cope and Sherwin’s Imperial is another very excellent
press, upon principles which do not greatly differ from the
Albion.
In Harrild’s Press the power is obtained by the straight¬
ening a knuckle or elbow-joint, in precisely the same manner
as the bent arm is straightened.
PRINTING-MACHINES.
As long as the thirst for literature was confined to books
and a few periodicals of limited sale and size, the ordinary
printing-presses sufficed to supply the demand ; nor was it
discovered that any further speed was requisite, until the
increased facility of conveyance, and the important events
at the close of the last century, created a demand for news
which the utmost exertions of the printers were unable to
supply ; for the attempt to increase the speed by the com¬
position of two distinct forms of type would avail little, so
long as the presses could turn out only 250 or 300 im¬
pressions each per hour. Accordingly for this branch of
the art were the first machines projected. Many schemes
were proposed for accelerating the movements of the
press ; but the first attempts at anything like the machine
afterwards introduced were made by William Nicholson,
a gentleman connected with periodical literature, who took
out a patent about 1790 for a printing-machine, of which
the chief points were the following: — The type being
rubbed or scraped narrower towards the bottom, was to
be fixed upon a cylinder, in order, as it were, to radiate
from the centre of it. This cylinder, with its type, was
to revolve in gear with another cylinder covered with soft
leather (the impression-cylinder); and the type received
its ink from another cylinder, to which inking apparatus
was applied. The paper was impressed by passing between
the type and impression cylinders. Most of these plans
were, when modified, adopted by after-constructors. This
machine was never brought into use.
Konig, an ingenious German, was the next who under¬
took to construct a machine ; and having made consider¬
able advance in, his plans, obtained a contract with Mr
Walters, the proprietor of The Times newspaper, for manu¬
facturing two for that journal. His machine was success¬
ful, and the number for the 28th November 1814 was
worked by it at the rate of 1100 impressions per hour. In
this Nicholson’s plan was so far altered, that the ordinary
type was used and laid upon a flat surface, and the impres¬
sion was given by the form passing under a cylinder of
PRINTING.
Printing- great size. Konig afterwards invented a machine in which
Machines. tjie sheet was printed on both sides before it left the ma-
chine ; but his arrangements for the equal distribution of
the ink were so complicated and clumsy (consisting of not
less than forty wheels), and the works of every part of the
machine so intricate, that it never came into practical use.
The first really useful machine was constructed by Messrs
Applegath and Cowper, being an extensive modification of
that of Konig ; its principal improvement consisting in the
application of two drums between the impression-cylinders,
one of which reverses the sheet, and the other secures the
register, by retaining it, after the impression of the first form,
just so long that it may pass on to the second cylinder in
exact time to be impressed thereby upon the second form;
and of the distribution of the ink upon a plane surface, in¬
stead of by a number of rollers, by which Konig’s compli¬
cated machinery was got rid of. These machines, with nu¬
merous modifications, according to the plans of different
makers, are now in general use.
For newspapers, machines are generally made to work
but one side at a time. It is manifest that a machine will
work a much greater number (more than double) of one
form than of two, and that the machinery will be lighter
and less expensive, and ot course require less motive power.
One form, therefore, of a newspaper, containing advertise¬
ments and the less important matter, is worked at leisure ;
and the second form, containing the leading article, import¬
ant news, and other matter of consequence, is i-eserved
until the last moment, and is then thrown off with immense
rapidity. For the usual description of book-work, machines
(perfecting-machines) are constructed to work both forms
at a time. In these, perfect register, and the exact and
even distribution of the ink, are of the greatest consequence,
and such immense rapidity is not necessary. These ma¬
chines, therefore, differ very much in construction, though
not in principle, from those used for newspapers.
The subjoined engraving (fig. 8) is a representation of
Middleton’s admirable perfecting-machine, which is the same
in principle as Applegath and Cowper’s, but with some im¬
provements. An explanation of this machine will enable
the reader to comprehend the construction of all the cylin¬
der machines, the same principle pervading all of them.
Upon friction-rollers placed within the frame which supports
the whole apparatus, traverses a carriage which conveys the
two forms of type, and attached to both ends of which are
tables for the distribution of the ink. A reciprocatino-
motion is given to this carriage by means of a pinion, which
works alternately upon the upper and under surface of a
rack. In gear with this carriage, and, supposing the paper
to be omitted, in immediate contact with the type, revolve
two cylinders of large dimensions, covered with blankets,
by which the impression is given ; these cylinders are
separated by two drums, but are kept in uniform and
steady motion by two large wheels (seen at the back of the
engraving), the teeth of which work within each other.
I he ink is distributed over the forms by an apparatus at¬
tached to each end of the frame, consisting of a trough
which contains the ink, in contact with the edge of which,
01 very nearly so, a metal roller called the ductor is made
to revolve slowly by means of a catgut, which passes over a
pulley attached to the axis of the impression-cylinder. A
composition-roller is made to rise into contact with the
ductor, and receive a portion of ink, with which it descends,
and communicates it to the inking-table as that passes
underneath it at the extremity of the traverse. Two com¬
position-rollers are placed somewhat diagonally across the
frame, and their spindles being of extra length, as the table
passes under them they are caused to revolve and also to
travel slightly across it, thus evenly distributing the ink all
over the surface of the inking-table, the cross motion re¬
moving any accidental accumulation of ink. The table
now traverses under four other composition-rollers, supply¬
ing them with an even quantity of ink, which they in turn
distribute over the type as it passes under them in going
and returning, the form being thus rolled no less than eight
times. These rollers are merely dropped into notches in
559
Printing-
Machines.
Apple [rath and Cowper’s Perfecting Machine, by Middleton.
the frame, their own weight sufficing to retain them in their
places, and to bear sufficiently hard upon the type to impart
the necessary quantity of ink. For the purpose of carrying
the paper round the different cylinders there are two dis^
tmct series of endless tapes, one of which, coming in con¬
tact with the left surface of a small roller,1 passes from thence
to the right surface of the first cylinder, and underneath it;
thence over the first and under the second drum, which
reverses the sheet, and has an apparatus attached to it for
making register; thence to the left surface of and under
(
rmireo* b ^escrlption cornnicnccs with that portion of the machine where the paper first enters the machinery, for endless tapes can of
right hand o/the readerf * ^ W°rdS ^ ^ &C'’ mUSt thei'efore be understood to refer to the position as respects the
560 P R I N
Printing- the second cylinder ; from this it passes to the right, until
Machines. arriVes at the roller first mentioned. The course of the
second series of tapes is different; for, following the course
of the first series, and in contact with it (supposing the
paper withdrawn) until it has passed with it under the se¬
cond cylinder, it then takes a different direction, and, turn¬
ing to the left, passes over the machine until it arrives at the
roller from which we have commenced the description.
Both series of tapes are kept tightly stretched by means of
various small rollers revolving in different parts of their
course. The paper being laid upon other t ipes from a
table at the right of the machine, is moved forward until it
comes in contact with the endless tapes, and being received
between them, it is passed under the first cylinder, and the
first side is then printed; thence passing over and under
the drums on to the second cylinder, it receives the im¬
pression upon the other side; thence it passes onward to
the point where the tapes take different directions, when it
is shot out printed on both sides, upon a board between the
cylinders and under the drums. The whole machine is put
in motion by means of a strap which passes over a wheel
under the frame, and mat/ be worked by the power of men,
but is mostly worked by steam. It is capable of doing very
fair work at the rate of from 2000 to 2400 impressions, or
from 1000 to 1200 perfect sheets per hour: it requires only
two boys, one to lay on and the other to take off the sheets.
T I N G.
The machine constructed by Messrs Applegath ^^Printing-
Cowper in 1827 for T/ie Times, two of which are still (wluMachines
for printing the supplements and advertising pages, differ
considerably from that just described. It has four impres¬
sion-cylinders, which are so arranged that two are in con¬
tact with the type as the table passes to the right, and two
as it passes to the left. As this machine prints the paper
on one side only, the systems of tapes are single. It will
print from 4000 to 5000 impressions per hour.
One of the principal impediments to great speed in this
form of printing-machines is the necessity for a reciprocating
motion in the type, table, and inking-table,—a great weight,
the vis motus of which has to be neutralized, and then the
vis inerticB overcome, at each end of the traverse. This
not only occasions a great waste of motive power, but
also causes breakages and serious accidents. Mr Apple¬
gath, finding these and other difficulties insuperable, aban¬
doned the principle of placing the type on a plane table
and the reciprocating motion, and constructed a machine
in which the type is placed on the surface of a cylinder of
large dimensions, which revolves on a vertical axis, with a
continuous rotatory motion. The Times has the credit of
being first in adopting this great improvement in newspaper
printing.
The following is a careful description of this vast and
complicated piece of machinery :—
Fig. 9.
Applegatti’s Vertical Machine.
In the centre of the machine (Fig. 9) is a vertical cylinder
or drum, 5 feet 4 inches in diameter. In contact with it, and
revolving each on its own vertical axis, are eight impression
cylinders, 13 inches in diameter, each of which has a set of
inking-rollers working in advance of it. The cylinders
move with the same velocity as the surface of the drum.
The columns of type are placed in a kind of iron galley,
or turtle, curved to fit the surface of the drum. The outer
surface of these galleys is not formed into a segment of a
circle, but into facets, each the width of a column; the wedge-
shaped interval, which is left between the top and bottom
of the types of every two adjoining columns, is compensated
by column-rules, made thicker at the top than at the bottom
in the same proportion. The middle column-rule is fixed.
The columns are locked-up in the galleys by means of
screws, and the column-rules press the types together
like key-stones in an arch. The fixed rule in the centre
prevents the types from rising. The galleys are then
PRINTING.
Printing- screwed on to the drum, the columns vertical. The outer
Machines, face of the forms is now, it must be remembered, a series of
facets, sides as it were of a polygon ; the surfaces of the
impression-cylinders are made to conform to these facets,
with sufficient accuracy, by paper overlays. When stereo¬
type plates are used, they are cast by Dellagana’s process,
in accurate segments of a circle, and the overlaying is un¬
necessary. The forms of types dc> not, of course, occupy
the whole circumference of the central drum: a large part
of the remainder is made the inking-table. The ink-box,
which is also vertical, supplies ink to a ductor-roller,
which works between two straight edges. As the drum
revolves, a portion of ink is taken from the ductor by two
vibrating rollers, and distributed on to the inking-table.
The inking-table precedes the type-forms, and as it passes
the inking-rollers attached to each impression-cylinder
come into contact with it, and receive ink from its surface.
The type-forms, following next, come into contact with
these inking-rollers, and take from them the ink they have
just received. The inking-table passes under the impres¬
sion-cylinders without touching them; but the type is
brought into contact with the paper upon them, and the
impression is given. Therefore, at every revolution of the
drum, the type is inked eight times, comes into contact with
eight impression-cylinders, and prints eight sheets of paper.
It is most difficult to convey, by any verbal description,
the singularly ingenious mechanism by which the sheets of
paper are conveyed to and round the impression-cylinders.
It must be remembered that the sheets are necessarily laid
on the feeding-table horizontally, and that they pass round
the cylinder vertically. The task will be rendered some¬
what simpler by reminding the reader that each impression-
cylinder is a complete machine within itself, acting with the
drum, but independent of the other cylinders ; and that, as
each has its own system of inking-rollers, so each has its
own system of feeding-drums and tapes. By looking closely
at the apparatus on the right front of the drawing, he may
be able to follow the description. The white paper is laid
on the feeding-table at the top; each sheet is placed by
the layer-on to the centre of a feeding-drum. At the right
moment, the sheet is advanced by finger-rollers until its
forward edge is brought between two small rollers, each
connected with a series of endless tapes, between which it
is passed vertically downwards. At the right moment its
further progress is arrested by two vertical slips of wood
called “ stoppers,” which start forward and press the sheet
against two fixed stoppers; and, at the same moment, the
two rollers and their tapes separate, and leave the sheet ex¬
tended vertically between the two pairs of stoppers. Ob-
verve that, up to this moment, the travel of the sheet has
been vertically downwards, and that its plane surface is
part of a radius from the axis of the central drum. The
problem now to be solved is, to give it a horizontal move¬
ment towards the centre, preserving its vertical position.
1 he instant the sheet is arrested vertically between the
stoppers, its top edge is caught by two pairs of small finger
or suspending rollers; at the same instant the stoppers se¬
parate, and the sheet is suspended for a moment between
these rollers; a slight inward motion is then given to the
suspenders, sufficient to bring the inner edge of the sheet
into the mouth of two sets of horizontal tapes, by which
it is carried round the impression-cylinder and printed. As
the sheet, after being printed, issues from the horizontal
tapes, it is delivered to other sets, by which it is conveyed
outwards, under the laying-on board ; arrived at the pro¬
per point, it is again caught at the top edge between sus¬
pending rollers, the tapes separate, and it hangs for a
moment; when the taker-off, who sits below the layer-on,
releases it by a slight jerk, and lays it on his board.
No description can give any adequate idea of the scene
presented by one of these machines in full work,—the maze
VOL. xvm.
of wheels and rollers, the intricate lines of swift-moving
tapes, the flight of sheets, and the din of machinery The
central drum moves at the rate of 6 feet per second, or one
revolution in 3 seconds; the impression-cylinders make 5
revolutmns in the same time. The layer-on delivers 2 sheets
every 5 seconds, consequently, 16 sheets are printed in
that brief space. 1 he diameter of an eight-feeder includ¬
ing the galleries for the layers-on, is 25 feet. The Time*
employs two of these eight-cylinder machines, each of
which averages 12,000 impressions per hour; and one nine-
cylinder, which prints 16,000.
I hese vast machines, however, are only useful when the
necessity of working a very large number with the utmost
rapidity overrides all consideration of cost and space. An
excellent machine, in which considerable speed is obtained
with comparative economy of expense and room, the in¬
vention of Messrs Hoe of New York, has been lately used
for newspapers and periodicals of long numbers. In prin¬
ciple, it does not differ from Applegath’s vertical, inasmuch
as that the type is fixed upon a central cylinder or drum,
which has a continuous rotatory motion, in contact with
impression-cylinders set around it. The chief difference is,
that the drum and impression-cylinders are not vertical, but
horizontal. I he machines are manufactured of different
sizes, according to the number of impression-cylinders re¬
quired. Those more generally made have six cylinders,
some have eight, and The Times has recently constructed
one with ten. This last machine is calculated to produce
20,000 impressions per hour. The following is a represen¬
tation of a six-cylinder machine (fig. 10):—
A horizontal central cylinder is mounted on a shaft with
appropriate bearings, and around it, arrayed at proper dis¬
tances, are six horizontal impression-cylinders. The move-
able types or stereo-casts are secured on a portion of the
central cylinder, about a quarter of its circumference, and
compensated by a balance-weight on the opposite side;
the remainder of the cylinder is used as the distributing-
table for the ink. This portion of the cylinder is lower than
the face of the type, in order that it may pass under the
impression-cylinders without being touched by them. The
ink is contained in an ink-box placed beneath the central
cylinder, and supplies the ink to the ductor-roller, from
which it is transferred by a vibrating distributing-roller to
the distributing-table. The ductor-roller receives a slow
and continuous rotary motion, so that it always presents a
uniform line of ink to the vibrating roller. The machine
being put in motion, the form of type on the central
cylinder is brought into contact with each of the six im¬
pression-cylinders in succession ; and six sheets of paper,
which have been introduced, one to each impression-
cylinder, are printed in one revolution of the central cy¬
linder. For each impression-cylinder there are two inking-
rollers, which roll over the distributing surface and take a
supply of ink ; at the proper time they rise, pass over the
type, and then fall on to the distributing surface.
Each page is locked up upon a detached segment of the
large cylinder called a “ turtle,” which constitutes the bed
and chase. The column-rules, like those for the vertical
machine, are wedge-shaped, and are held down to the
turtle by tongues projecting at intervals along their length,
and sliding in rebated grooves cut crosswise in the face of
the turtle, the space in the grooves between the column-
rules being filled with sliding blocks of metal, accurately
fitted, the outer surface level with the surface of the turtle,
the ends next the column-rules being cut away underneath
to receive a projection in the sides of the tongues. The
head and cross rules are segments of a circle of the same
curvature as the turtle. The types are secured by screws
and wedges.
Six persons, one to each impression-cylinder, are re¬
quired to supply the paper,—three on each side of the ma-
4 B
561
Printing-
Machines.
562
Printing-
Machines.
PRINTING.
cliine. The paper is conveyed from the laying-on board to
the impression-cylinders by gripers. The sheets when
printed are carried by tapes to six self-acting fly-frames,
which lay them regularly in piles.
Another American, M. S. Beach, has improved upon Printing.
Hoe’s machine, by converting it into a perfecting-ma- Machines,
chine. His improvement consists in placing the second
form upon the central type-drum, superseding the ne-
i'ig. 10.
Hoe’s Printing-Machine.
cessity for the balance-weight: the sheet, after being
printed on one side, is immediately drawn back and printed
on the other side from the second form, without checking
or changing the uniform revolution of the cylinder; and
thus the work done by it is doubled. The diameter of the
type-drum in this machine, which is calculated for 8 im¬
pression-cylinders, is only 4 feet; the type has therefore
to travel a less distance in one revolution of the drum ;
and the consequence is, that in travelling the same distance
in this machine, and at the same speed, 22,000 double
impressions would be produced in an hour. This account
is taken from the New York Sun, the machine itself not
having as yet found its way across the Atlantic.
A horizontal cylinder-machine, on the same system as
Hoe’s, made by Middleton, capable of printing 20,000 im¬
pressions per hour, is now used for printing The Morning
Herald. The type is secured on the central cylinder, 2£
feet in diameter, in the same way as in The Times vertical
machine ; the ink is supplied from a doctor below the
type-cylinder, and distributed upon an inking-table attached
to the type-cylinder, to which a slight lateral motion is com¬
municated by two straps, one on each side of the machine.
There are five impression-cylinders at equal distances round
the central cylinder, to which the paper is supplied from ten
feeders, on the same principle as in the other horizontal
machines, four on one end of the machine and six on the
other; the printed sheets are delivered on to five taking-
off boards, one to each two feeders, and received by five
lads. The machine is 26£ feet long, 5 feet wide, and 17^
high.
The machines of Mr Napier, intended for book-work,
are in good repute. They have the advantage of being
easily worked by two men, thus rendering steam-power un¬
necessary. They stand in a very small compass, and do
beautiful work. As far as regards motion and impression,
they do not greatly vary from the cylinder machine already
described; but in the method of conveying the paper, ob¬
taining register, and inking, they are altogether different.
The paper is laid to a certain gauge, when, in the revolu¬
tion of the cylinder, gripers are made to compress the edge
of the paper upon it, very much in the manner in which
the fore-finger closes on the thumb. It is by these means
conveyed with it during one revolution, in the course of
which it is printed on one side. At the commencement
of the second revolution these gripers open at the pre¬
cise moment, when the gripers attached to the second
cylinder close, and thus convey the sheet over the se¬
cond form. Tapes pass under the second cylinder, be¬
tween the blanket and the paper, and over a pulley
upon a bar, by the mere friction of which the sheet is
thrown out upon a board. These gripers are made to
act with such perfect certainty that the best possible re¬
gister is obtained. The inking apparatus consists of a
trough with a ductor and vibrating roller, which communi¬
cates the ink to composition-rollers, by the revolution of
which in contact with each other the ink is perfectly dis¬
tributed, and from these to the type. A cross motion is
communicated to the distributing-roller by means of a worm
in the elongated spindle. As but one impression is given
during the traverse of the table in each direction, the cylin¬
der which does not at the moment hold the paper would
be in contact with the type, had not Mr Napier added a
beautiful adjustment, whereby the cylinders rise and fall
alternately, so that the one not in use passes over the form
intact. This machine will work from 1000 to 1200 perfect
sheets per hour, and requires but two boys. Mr Napier
has constructed several other machines of great merit, one
of which, for newspapers, woll perfect 2000 sheets per hour
by the labour of two men.
Messrs Hopkinson and Cope have also produced a double¬
cylinder perfecting griper machine adapted for book-work
or newspapers. The peculiarity of this machine is, that it
is supplied with a set-off sheet apparatus, by which a “set¬
off sheet” is fed in with each sheet to be printed, which it
meets as the latter enters on the second cylinder, and, pass¬
ing round with it, prevents the ink on the printed side of
the paper setting off on the blanket of the cylinder, and be¬
ing thence transferred to the following sheet. This ap-
P R I
Prints paratus can be easily dispensed with when ordinary work is
being printed. They have also made a single cylinder
?rior- griper machine called a “ Desideratum.” It is supplied with a
pointing apparatus, which renders it available for book-work.
Before the invention of cylinder machines, the desire to
obtain increased speed led to many ingenious contrivances
for accelerating the action and economising the expense of
the ordinary printing-press; all of which, however, either
failed, or were superseded by the steam machine. There
are now in general use, for book-work of a quality superior
to that produced by the cylinder, several machine-presses
which are in every respect satisfactory. They generally
consist of two tables, on each of which a form is laid ; these
pass alternately under a self-acting platten : while one form
is receiving the impression, the other is delivering its printed
sheet to the taker-off, and receiving its white sheet from
the layer-on. This double operation is effected at the same
time, by the frisket being attached to the tympan at the
bottom (not at the top as in the common press). When the
tympan opens, it falls back inwards; the white paper is laid
on the frisket, the tympan closes upon it, it is printed ; but
when the tympan opens, the printed sheet is made to rise
PRINTS. See Engraving.
PRIOR, the superior of a convent of monks, or the next
under the abbot. Grand Prior is the superior of a large
abbey, where several heads are required.
PRIOR, Matthew, one of the most correct of our Eng¬
lish poets, was born at Winburn in Dorsetshire, on July
21, 1664. He was willing to leave his birth and his birth¬
place unsettled. On his father’s death, his uncle, who was
a vintner near Charing Cross, took charge of him, and sent
him for some time to Dr Busby at Westminster. The Earl
of Dorset having found him reading Horace, was so pleased
with his proficiency that he undertook the care and cost
of his education. He accordingly, in his eighteenth year,
entered St John’s College, Cambridge, where he distinguished
himself by writing a poem on the Deity, addressed to the
Earl of Exeter, in acknowledgment of a benefaction en¬
joyed by his college from the bounty of the Earl’s ancestor.
He published, in conjunction with Montague, The City
Mouse and Country Mouse, in 1687, in ridicule of The Hind
and Panther Dryden, which gained for both speedy
preferment. Prior took his bachelor’s degree in 1686, and
his master’s by mandate in 1700. In 1691 he was sent
as secretary to the embassy of the Hague, where he con¬
ducted himself so well that he was appointed, on his return,
a gentleman of King William’s bed-chamber. On the death
of Queen Mary in 1695, he added a long ode to the heaps of
elegy which already mourned her loss. He was secretary
to the embassy at the treaty of Ryswick in 1697, and next
year he met with great distinction at the court of France.
On his return he was made commissioner of trade. He ex¬
hausted all his powers of celebration in the Carmen Secu-
lare, published in 1700. King William was the subject;
and gratitude dictated what his reason did not refuse. Prior
was chosen representative of East Grimstead in 1701, when
he seems to have changed his party.
In the succeeding reign war took the place of negotiation,
and left Prior to polish his verses. He published soon after
a'volume of poems, with a high panegyric upon his deceased
patron, the Earl of Dorset. In 1706 he was excited, by
the victory of Ramillies, to another effort of poetry. The
Tories being then in power, and anxious to end the war,
employed Prior, in 1711, on the peace negotiations at
Utrecht, and he was subsequently induced to go privately
to Paris with pacific propositions. He accordingly attended
Bolingbroke to the French capital in the capacity of am¬
P R I 563
with it, and is taken off while the layer-on is placing another Priscianus
sheet on the frisket. The ink is conveyed to the type by a ||
similar apparatus to that used in cylinder machines. These Prism,
machine-presses do excellent work at the rate of 600 or ^
700 impressions per hour, and are made by the same firms
as supply cylinder-machines.
The “Scandinavian” machine-press differs from all
others in respect that the form of type is stationary, and
that the tympan and inking-roller are passed between the
form and the platten. As the power required to set this
press in motion is much less than that required where the
form and table travel, manual labour is sufficient; but only
one form can be worked at a time.
These are by no means all the machines that have been
devised or brought into use. They are, however, all that
it is necessary to mention, as the same principle is com¬
mon to all. Every maker is at liberty to manufacture al¬
most all of them, with such modifications as his own talents
may suggest, the patents, where any were taken out, having,
with few exceptions, expired.
(For the Reader’s marks of correction, see the article
Correction.) (t. c. h.)
bassador without the public distinction, and continued to
act without a title until the return from Paris of the Duke
of Shrewsbury, who “ refused to be associated with a man
so meanly born,” when Prior assumed the style and dignity
of ambassador. He was cheated, somehow, of his ambassa¬
dorial plate; and in a heroic poem addressed to her Ma¬
jesty Queen Anne, he makes some magnificent allusions
to the loss he had sustained. On the 1st August 1714 he
was recalled, and returned as soon as his debts would
let him. He was welcomed by a warrant for treason as
soon as he had set foot on shore, and was confined to his
own house, where he relieved the tedium by w'riting his
Alma. On regaining his liberty he was in danger of penury,
when his friends adopted the expedient of encouraging him
to publish his poems by subscription. The enterprise suc¬
ceeded ; and he now enjoyed the privilege of contemplative
tranquillity. He died at Wimpole, a seat of the Earl of
Oxford, on the 18th of September 1721, and was buried
in the Poets’ Corner in Westminster Abbey. Prior’s works
comprise tales, love verses, occasional poems, Alma and
Solomon. In the opinion of Mr Thackeray, Prior’s are
“ amongst the easiest, the richest, the most charmingly hu¬
morous of English lyrical poems.” Some of his tales, how¬
ever, are, to say the least, not over decent.
PRISCIANUS, one of the most celebrated of the an¬
cient grammarians, was surnamed Ccesariensis, either be¬
cause he was born at Caesarea, or had received his education
there. He flourished in the reign of Justin about the
middle of the fifth century, and taught grammar at Con¬
stantinople, where he received a salary from the court,
which makes it probable that he was a Christian. He has
left Commentariorum Grammaticorum libri xviii. ad Juli-
anum, besides eleven smaller pieces. His grammatical
works have been published by Krehl, Leipsic, 1819, in
2 vols.; and his smaller essays by Lindemann, Leyden,
1817.
PRISCILLIANISTS, a theosophic sect, who arose in
the Spanish church towards the close of the fourth cen¬
tury, and who professed tenets closely related to Gnosti¬
cism and Manichaeism. Their founder Priscillian, a re¬
spectable and wealthy Spaniard, seems to have received the
germ of his doctrines from one Marcus, who travelled thither
from Memphis. (See Neander’s History of the Church,
vol. iv.)
PRISM. See Geometry, part ii. § 2.
L
564
PRISON: PRISON DISCIPLINE.
Prison This is a department of jurisprudence and administrative
Discipline. science which in later times has totally changed its cha-
racter, and requires a new method ot treatment. From
being matter of mere speculation, it has become matter of
practice and of induction from observed facts. In eailiei
editions of the Encyclopaedia it was treated by one of those
accomplished and sagacious inquirers, whose able exposui e
of existing defects produced the many experiments and
improvements which supply the materials of this exposi¬
tion. Mr Mill found no system of prison discipline ac¬
knowledged and acted on, although Howard, Beccaria,
and Bentham had preceded him in endeavouring to esta¬
blish such a system. Hence he thought it necessary to
go back to the first principles of punishment, and realize
them into rules of practice for the future guidance of man¬
kind. Such a method any man who earnestly threw him¬
self into the subject and felt himself capable of handling it
was then quite entitled to adopt, because the practices he
had to censure were not caused by false doctrines about
prison discipline, but by a general neglect among mankind
to search for such doctrines at all, and a consequent dere¬
liction of the whole practice of punishment to accident,
routine, or the interests and passions of those invested with
power.
But of late years the efforts of the leaders of civilization
have borne with practical effect on this branch of the science
of government. However they may be open to criticism
as more or less excellent or imperfect, the various methods
of punishment have been carefully and conscientiously
studied. And this study has not been merely theoretical,
but has been a continuous commentary on practice and its
results, those having most to do with the actual administra¬
tion of punishment having been the fullest expounders of
its rules, through parliamentary reports and other published
statements. Hence it would be unbecoming, were it pro¬
fitable, at this time to embark in pure theories of prison
discipline. It is apprehended that it will be more accept¬
able to tell what has been done by the leaders of prison
reform, and to give an account of the results of their efforts,
so far as these can be ascertained.
It is proper, in the first place, briefly to note the extent
of the field now occupied by the term prison discipline.
It has been ever widening, and now nearly occupies every
department of punishment in this country and throughout
civilized Europe. Such other corporal punishments as are
now inflicted are additions to the punishment of imprison¬
ment. Where the law can be satisfied by a forfeiture of
money or property, imprisonment is still the alternative by
which it is extorted. Where, as in the case of the soldier,
chastisement is spoken of as a degrading punishment which
it is desirable to supersede, imprisonment appears as the
only available alternative. Forced labour of any kind is
but a form of imprisonment. Simple banishment is now
almost unknown. With transportation imprisonment was
always closely co-operative, as the means of detention until
the convict was removed, and as the sanction for keeping
him in order in the penal colony. Since transportation has
been virtually abolished as a punishment, imprisonment has
received a corresponding enlargement. The penal serf is a
prisoner, although in certain stages of his long punishment
he is permitted to spend a portion of each day in the open
air. Nay further, reformation having become a distinct
object of penal discipline, has suggested the establishment
for the young of institutions in which the reformatory pre¬
vails far above the penal element; but these are at the
same time institutions of restraint or imprisonment. There
is no broad line of distinction between reformatories and Prison
prisons, and the nature and management of both come na- discipline,
turally under the head of “ Prison Discipline.” There re-
mains only capital punishment, now fortunately so rare.
Here, too, the prison is necessarily brought into use, since
the criminal must be kept there until he is put to death.
But prison discipline has a far more important connection
with capital punishment. It is admitted on all hands that
the infliction of death is to be avoided wherever other means
can be found of punishing with equal effect. It is to the
resources of the science of prison discipline that we must
look for such effective punishment; and thus it is one of the
services of this science to reduce, if it should not even
some day be able to supersede, a method of punishment so
inimical to civilization.
The prison, as we now know it, is as entirely an institu- Ancient
tion of modern Europe as the church, the school, and the practice,
poor-house. Words occur, connected wdth events and cus¬
toms in the ancient world, which we can only translate into
modern language or thought by the use of the word
“ prison but the thing, as we now know it in the shape
of the county jail or the convict prison, was then neither
known nor anticipated. People were put in chains, or even
locked for a time within stone walls; but systematic com¬
mittal to prison as a specific punishment, in the way in
which a vagrant is sentenced to thirty days, or a thief to
twelve months, is a thing of which it may safely be said
that no trace can be found in the practices of ancient na¬
tions which have come down to us. We are told how “ the
princes were w roth w ith Jeremiah, and smote him, and pur
him in prison in the house of Jonathan the scribe, for they
had made that the prison.” (Jer. xxxvii. 15.) This is one
of the many instances occurring in Scripture where a tem¬
porary prison was found in any large house where a person
could be conveniently restrained. Travellers in the East
notice the same arrangement still. Systematic prisons are
seldom known ; but civil liberty is held cheap, and any one
who is strong enough may detain a casual prisoner. Our
representatives at eastern courts, finding it extremely in¬
convenient that they cannot get culprits of their own nation
punished according to the British practice in public prisons,
are accommodated with prisons of their own as a part of
the ambassadorial establishment, in pursuance of the policy
of orientals, which allows foreigners sojourning among them
the practice of their own institutions. Though there are
some instances in Scripture where the prison is spoken of
as a punishment in itself, yet its proper use was that of
mere temporary custody, that the prisoner might be forth¬
coming for ulterior purposes; and imprisonment is not laid
down as a specific punishment in Leviticus or elsewhere.
The imprisonment of Joseph in the king’s prison until judg¬
ment should be passed on him, has been sometimes men¬
tioned in illustration of the high civilization and just laws
of the Egyptian empire. Instead of being summarily pun¬
ished by the high officer whom he was charged with injur¬
ing, he was committed for trial, like a British culprit of the
present day.
That the Greeks were far from having an established Greece,
system of imprisonment is shown by this, that there are
several words in the language which may be translated by
the word prison, but which each possesses several other mean¬
ings. Anything resembling an actual prison seems chiefly
to have been employed among them in detaining citizens
until they paid penalties or debts to the state. They had
methods of public exposure in bondage, like the stocks or
pillory. Slave labour in rowing galleys, a frequent punish-
PRISON DISCIPLINE.
Prison ment in later times, seems to have been in use among
Discipline, them, and a people so maritime in their habits would have
an abundant demand for such labour. But where the pri¬
vileges of citizenship were so important, afflictive punish¬
ments among free men were rare, loss of caste and position
being a formidable penalty. Hence banishment was a
favourite punishment. That peculiar form of it called
ostracism is well known, and though so generally deemed
odious, has been ingeniously defended as a mild remedy by
which the state got rid in good time of any ambitious citizen,
whose growing power, if permitted to culminate, might end
in revolution and outrage.
Rome. The student in the Roman law cannot help remarking
the extreme meagreness of its penal department, whether
he compare it with the vast and magnificent organization
of the Justinian law of civil rights and obligation, or with
the elaborate provisions of modern penal systems. In the
Justinian law, indeed, the chief attention given to crimes is
for the purpose of expounding the civil rights of action and
possession arising out of them. Questions how far crimes
and punishments may affect property and rights of succes¬
sion are matters of elaborate inquiry, while the cursory and
fragmentary manner in which the law relating to criminals
and their treatment is set forth, shows how small were the
claims which this portion of the administration of justice
held on the attention of those great masters of jurispru¬
dence, who, in the other departments of law, dictated
the fundamental principles of legislation to all the na¬
tions of modern Europe. The department of the code
which treats of punishments (lib. ix., tit. 47) consists of a
few paragraphs, which read more like casual notices of
peculiar provincial practices, than an official announcement
ot the laws of an empire. Nor is the enlarged statement
of the law of punishment contained in the digest much
more satisfactory (lib. xlii., tit. 19). The analytical spirit
which ever pervades the Roman jurisprudence here de¬
velops itself in artificial classifications and arrangements.
But these are entirely arbitrary, referring to the nomencla¬
ture of the punishments, and the classes of persons who may
respectively be subjected to them ; while the proper objects
of punishment so sedulously kept in view at the present
day leave scarcely a trace of their having influenced the
penal lawyers of the empire. Perhaps the only instance
in which the demoralizing influence of a punishment was
seriously considered in dealing with it, is to be found in
the rule, that women were not to be put in prison or com¬
mitted to the custody of troops.
A powerful instrument of punishment towards the free
citizen was available in the three grades of capitis minutio,
or loss of caste. The first was the loss offamilia, or of the
privilege of membership of the family; and if the criminal were
the pater familias, or head of the family, he thus lost his au¬
thority not only over the minor members, but over the herd
o\ familiares, or slaves, more or less numerous according to
the wealth of the famiha. The next minutio was the loss of
citizenship ; the third was the loss of liberty ;—and at this
point, the man becoming a slave and a mere chattel, the
state was no longer troubled with his disposal, unless he
committed some atrocious crime. The Romans not only
banished out of any particular part of the empire, but they
also transported criminals to some spot where, like our own
convicts, they were forced to remain. Relegatio in insulam,
or transportation to an island, was a favourite form of this
punishment. They had several forms of penal labour, in
which the convicts might be fettered or unfettered,—a dis¬
tinction which was always counted very* material, though
it seems to have depended more on the rank of the
convict than the character of the offence. Some of the
establishments for penal labour were connected with the
great water-works of the Romans. A far larger number,
however, were in the mines, the condemnation to the
565
metella being a standing form of punishment. Penal Prison
labour was sometimes carried out also in quarries; and in Discipline.
Cicero s charge against Verres we have a powerful descrip-
t'on of the latomice, or prison quarries of Syracuse, whence
the stones were taken to build the town and harbour-
works: they seem to have resembled, in external charac¬
teristics, the convict establishment of Portland, with its
quarries and breakwater.
To how little an extent the prison, in the modern mean¬
ing of the term, was used by the Romans, is evident from
the great historical importance attributed to the one re¬
maining relic of a Roman prison in the subterranean cham¬
bers known to the present day as the Mamertine Caves.
They consist of two vaults, an upper and an under. The
former covers an area of 33 feet by 22, the other a semi¬
circle at a radius of 22 feet. Supposing these to be very
ancient, as Italian antiquaries maintain that they are, they
coincide aptly enough to the descriptions of old writers, who
speak of the caves as lightless, airless, and impregnated
with deadly odours. In such a place no considerable num¬
ber ot prisoners could have been confined,—no one prisoner
could have lived long. The prisoner committed to it was
put there in fact not to be imprisoned, but to undergo the
punishment of death. Often he was merely detained there
while the preparation for his execution went on outside ;
in other instances the place itself was left to do the work
of death, accomplished partly by starvation, partly by
smothering in foul air. We are told by Livy, that Ancus
Martius, an account of the growing wickedness and auda¬
city of the citizens, built a prison overhanging the Forum.
If the upper vault was a part or the whole of this prison,
the lower is attributed to Servius Tullius, after whom the
prison was called the Tullian. Above these vaults was
raised a lofty erection called the Robur, which seems to
have been a gigantic tower or scaffolding of oak, from
the top of which criminals were precipitated, as others were
from the Tarpeian rock. It was in the Tullian that Ju-
gurtha was starved to death. Lentulus and the other
abettors of Cateline were strangled, according to Sallust,
in the prison called the Tullian, as you ascend to the
right, where there is a depression of the ground,—a place
terrible for its darkness and evil odours. There is yet
another stage in the celebrity of these rude caverns. The
apostle Paul, who tells us that he lived in Rome in his own
hired house, in charge of a centurion, is held by the tra¬
ditions of the early church to have been afterwards put in
prison along with St Peter. This belief having been once
established, there was no other place which could be as¬
signed as their prison but the old Tullian. Hence the
caverns are consecrated ground, and have received the
visits of many devout pilgrims.
A set of very significant buildings, scattered over the
Roman empire, called ergastula, must sometimes have
had considerable resemblance to very bad modern prisons.
They were used for the punishment of criminal and re¬
fractory slaves, but also, and probably to a far greater ex¬
tent, as places of safe custody for newly-acquired slaves,
or for those who were too much in excess of the free popu¬
lation of the district to be safely allowed freedom of mo¬
tion. When we remember the large bodies of men, taken
often from the higher ranks of society, endowed with great
daring, and expert in the use of arms, who were drafted
into the ever-accumulating mass of the Roman slaves,
we must suppose that these ergastula were often buildings
of great strength and well guarded. But like the property
they contained, they were of course chiefly in the hands of
persons who administered them according to their own
private will and judgment. It is indeed in this great of¬
fensive feature of Roman society that we shall find the
reason why the penal department of the law could even
with bare safety be so lightly passed over. The institution
L
566 P R I S 0 N D ]
Prison of slavery threw into private hands the performance of by
Discipline, far the greater part of this department of work, and to a
corresponding extent relieved the state. The administra¬
tors of the imperial law had little further trouble with the
offender who had reached the condition of slavery. I o be
committed to slavery for a fixed period, as offenders aie
now committed to prison, was, were it practicable, nevei
thought of. Hence there was no measure of the punish¬
ment to the offence, and no distribution of separate punis h¬
ments for separate offences. The slave was permanent y
doomed to his fate. The criminal slaves thus became a
class into which men were drafted rather for their general
character and conduct, than to be punished for speci c
offences. Personal influence or clientage would do far
more to save from such a fate than innocence. It becomes
at once clear that when there were such opportunities for
removin<T criminals beyond the management of the state,
there was little inducement to the state to trouble itself, as
it now does, with the discussion of niceties of prison dis¬
cipline. An arrangement which professes to put the bad
part of the population into the hands of the good as their
owners and masters, has always fascinated by its simplicity
and its apparent efficiency. It caused the late master of po¬
sitive philosophy, August Comte, to maintain that the insti¬
tution of slavery was the greatest single step in the pro¬
gress of human civilization, since it superseded a great
amount of slaughter, with or without cannibalism. The
same spirit influenced the English vagrancy laws of the
reign of Henry and Elizabeth, and we shall see how deeply
it tainted the earlier stages of the transportation system.
Nay, its history and tendency are rendered worthy of atten¬
tion, through efforts partially to revive it in our own country
at the present day, by projects for abandoning to some extent
the strict just principle of English jurisprudence, which
always finds an offence committed before a punishment is
awarded, and for subjecting all persons of bad character
and habits to a partial slavery to the police authorities.
The manner in which this absolute slavery of the Romans
was pressed out by the modified serfdom of feudalism, which
in its own turn gradually merged into the freedom now en¬
joyed by a large portion of Europe, is an interesting his¬
torical problem, having so far reference to the present
matter that it is intimately connected with the origin of
prisons. It will be seen, indeed, that these institutions,
now among the most important objects of politics and
jurisprudence, arose quite fortuitously in the hands of men
who never dreamed either of repressive or reformatory dis¬
cipline, and scarcely ever formed to themselves the rudest
notions of afflictive punishment. We shall find that thus
modern Europe was covered with prisons long before it
occurred to any one to think that there was some deter¬
minate object to which they should be applied. This is a
fact remarkable and important, because, although it is upon
the prison—either in a pure or modified shape—that the
eyes of all penal reformers ever rest as the means by which
repression and reformation are to be carried out, yet few
remember that it has not been by any process of induction,
or from a general examination of all known or possible
methods of repression and reformation, that the prison thus
exclusively occupies the field, but because some fortuitous
events in feudal history brought the building so named into
existence as a feature of the social system of Europe.
This feature did not make its appearance until long after
the fall of Rome. In the properly dark age—the period of
transition—edifices built for safe custody were probably still
more scanty than in ancient Rome. The temporary and
fragile structure of the houses of that period, and the cha¬
racter even of the fortifications, which were only similar
houses surrounded by ditches and mounds or low ramparts,
were not consistent with the existence of strong stone
chambers.
SCIPLINE.
That great movement throughout Europe in the tenth Prison
and eleventh centuries, sometimes called the migration of Dlscipliue
the Normans, created the baronial or feudal system, and at
the same time established prisons. It was then that the Feudal
castle became a distinctive feature in the social system, orig*n of
and it is the peculiarity of the castle that it is in combina- P1^0118,
tion a house, a fortress, and a prison. In the Roman
empire the institution of slavery was, as it now is in Ame¬
rica, a vital matter, ever affecting the safety of the mighty
machinery of the empire, and demanding the utmost vigi¬
lance and energy of the executive to keep the upper hand,
and prevent the slaves from entering on a death-struggle for
mastery. Hence the slave-owner had the whole force of
the executive at his back to support his power over his
slaves. But the feudal lord was in a great measure left to
himself, both for protecting the lands of which he was the
feudatory, and for coercing his vassals; and for both pur¬
poses the prison castle was to him a useful institution.
Under the earliest Norman kings England was covered
with castles, and the invasions of their successors scattered
them over Wales, Scotland, and Ireland. All of these
edifices had a more or less amount of prison accommoda¬
tion ; and we take the term dungeon, generally employed
towards a prison as a term of censure, from the donjon, or
principal tower of a Norman fortress. As there were castles
of all sizes, from those of an independent monarch or a
reigning duke downwards, so were there prisons; and even
in the humblest square tower, built by the petty landowner
who had two or three over-lords between him and the
crown, the dungeon or prison-vault was an indispensable
feature. In the ruins of old castles on the Rhine and else¬
where the dungeons are ever a well-known feature, inter¬
esting from the romance naturally attached to them. Per¬
haps the most remarkable remains of the kind are those
under the new palace of the dukes of Baden at Baden-
Baden. They form a series of vaults in the rock far below
the ground, smoothly cut, and dry; and they have this re¬
markable feature, which makes them terrible almost to the
visitor going through them with a guide, that the door of
each is a mass of solid stone swinging smoothly on a pivot,
and closing so as scarcely to leave a perceptible trace of its
outline.
In the later stages of the feudal system, the existence
of any asserted right of imprisonment was, like many other
prerogatives, the object of contention between the greater
and lesser feudatories. It was jealously guarded, by those
who could hold it, as a material symbol of power. It was
largely exercised by the church, and was stoutly arrogated
by the municipal corporations as a privilege belonging to
their station in the feudal hierarchy. Even in this country
at the present day traces might be found of the arbitrary
distribution thus made of places of punishment through
their feudal origin. The actual vaults in which the abbot
or the baron of the sixteenth century confined his victims
would not now be tolerated as places of punishment; yet,
almost down to the present generation, the feudal castles
were the actual prisons in such places as Oxford, Cam¬
bridge, Norwich, Lincoln, Lancaster, Worcester, and Caer-
marthen. In Scotland there was, until lately, a crowd of
little prisons, which, although existing in towns, were the
appendages of some feudal estate, holding rank as a barony
or regality. Their dungeons, like other portions of their
fortresses, sometimes excited the fastidious attention of
the princes and nobles of the middle ages ; and the
chief object of this attention was to bring their potency
for cruel infliction up to the highest possible point. 1 here
were many eccentric inventions directed towards this end,
such as the kind of iron cage in which Louis XL shut
Cardinal Balue and the son of the Duke of Alen^on. In
such dens, too, if the ordinary sources of history are to
be credited, Edward I. shut up the sister of Robert
Prison Bruce, and that Countess of Buchan who had assisted at
Discipline. the Scottish king’s coronation. Of receptacles like these
'"•V'"*'' few vestiges of course are preserved; but the dungeons
which remain, built of solid stone or cut into the livin<>-
rock, are often of a character to make those who have any
respect for the promulgated laws of vitality question that
human life could have found support in them. Such are
the pozzt or wells in the ducal palace of Venice, described
by Sir John Hobhouse in his notes to Childe Harold. In
these, and such as these, however, pits in solid masonry or
the solid rock, with no circulation of air, it seems certain
that many a captive dragged out a protracted existence.
There were other smaller pits, which have been called
oubliettes, generally bottle-shaped, with narrow mouths,
broadening downwards, in which it is certain that the vic¬
tims could not live, and into which, indeed, they must
have been dropped to die by suffocation. These were
favourites with the church as a means of death without
bloodshed, and received the name indicative of their deadly
purpose vade in pace. J he next and more humane stage
was, building the victim into a niche in a wall, where suffo¬
cation would be much more speedy.
British and It would obviously be a vain task to estimate the amount
nrSe" °f cruelty and injustice executed through the edifices con-
* structed for oppression thus thickly scattered over Europe.
The instances revealed in general and local history, and in
criminal trials, only suggest the existence of a far larger
ciowd of victims, whose unknown fate will remain so until
all secrets are laid bare. It is one of the many instances
of that marvellous sagacity with which the liberty of the
subject has ever been guarded, and its lurking enemies
detected, in this country, that the earliest proceedings of a
constitutional character seek to provide remedies against
arbitrary and illegal imprisonments. The protection of the
subject from imprisonment, otherwise than in due course of
law, is one of the requisitions of the great charters, and the
object was pursued with ceaseless vigilance through the
passing of the Habeas Corpus Act in the reign of Charles
II., dowm to the almost perfect system of protection pos¬
sessed at the present day. Our familiarity with this system
lessens its importance in our eyes, and we are apt to forget
that it is a national peculiarity. It consists of two distinct
parts. One is the rule, that no person can be committed
to a prison unless a warrant for his imprisonment has been
granted by a magistrate. An accused person is liable to
detention by the officer of justice who apprehends him, but
he is in the personal custody of the officer, even should he
use a strong-room or lock-up to assist him in the detention.
It is the policy of the law to offer such a custodier few facili¬
ties for long detention, that he may the sooner bring his
captive before a magistrate, and especially he cannot place
him within the walls of an actual prison until such a war¬
rant is obtained. The next security is the habeas corpus,
or right to demand a trial, and have the advantage of inno¬
cence, or be subject to the fixed legal punishment of guilt,
as the result may be. In no other country do such safe¬
guards appear to have presented themselves, though occa¬
sional attempts have been made to imitate them. Where
there aie such constitutional protections, the proper re¬
gisters of admissions and liberations, with every particular
necessary for the identification of each prisoner, and his
enjoyment of his legal rights, cannot be neglected without
great peril. In countries where there are no such consti¬
tutional safeguards of liberty, the best devised systems of
official routine will sometimes go wrong or be neglected,
and acts of injustice will be unwittingly committed ; but in
despotic countries it has often been matter of state policy
that all means of identifying persons immured in prison
should be erased, so that from the moment of their appre¬
hension they cease to belong to the living world, and their
actual death is no event to any human being but the prison
PRISON DISCIPLINE.
567
officers surrounding them. One man thus mvsteriouslv p •
oT muchTL 7 7:ide",al cirai">^nces to be an object Disci^ne.
of much interest— the man with the iron mask •” and ^ ■-
several books have been written, in the vain attempt ’to dis¬
cover who he was. This prisoner was confined in the Bas-
tile, which, with the lettres de cachet, or royal warrants by
which prisoners were received into it, became as the tvoe
and representative of arbitrary imprisonment, odious both
m Prance and Britain. Yet in this great state fortress the
registers seem to have been preserved with more than usual
care, and it was less likely than many others to be the liv¬
ing tomb of men committed to oblivion. These registers
were found when the Bastile was destroyed, and much in¬
structive matter was derived from them. Nor was severity
always the rule in this dreaded fortress,—it was the scene
often of luxury, gaiety, and dissipation. What chiefly ex¬
cited indignation towards it was the reckless, easy manner
in which the fatal lettres de cachet were granted, to gratify
the ambition of mistresses, or to further personal malio-nity
or caprice. :
There are traces at early periods in French history of
attempts to obtain judicial checks on the power of imprison-
ment. In the reign of Louis XIV. a promise was extorted
by the Parliament that the case of every prisoner should be
brought under judicial cognisance within twenty-four hours
after his committal. The first revolution was inaugurated
with strong resolutions against arbitrary and indefinite im-
pnsonments, which produced no better practical result than
the release of the sufferers then in bondage. France has
never possessed any such thoroughly practical a protection
as our habeas corpus. There, as well as in the other great
European states, there are doubtless enlightened regula¬
tions emanating from central authority for obviating0 any
sufferings from the enmity or the carelessness of the in¬
ferior officers of justice. But there are no checks on the
cential power itself; and this is still the only country where
there is in the law a power separate from the executive
which can open the door of every prison. Through these
means the liberty of the subject has among us from time
immemorial been zealously guarded by constitutional
checks on the power of imprisonment.
The next stage is^ the protection of the prisoner from Defects in
neglect and cruelty after he is legally within the walls of’Eflglish
a prison; and there is reason to fear that in this depart- sptem-
ment we were long behind those governments where
everything is managed by official routine, springing from
a central authority. At all events, from the mere want
of responsibility and control, it is certain that there have
been scenes of lawless violence and of cruelty in British
prisons, which have been as pregnant with suffering to
the victims as any enforcement of the decrees of a tyran¬
nical autocracy in a secret dungeon could ever be. In
the reign of George I. a rumour spread in which the
keepers of the chief prisons of London were charged with
cruelty. Colonel Oglethorpe brought it before the House
of Commons, and obtained a committee of inquiry. The
committee went straight to the prisons themselves to make
their examination. Hogarth has a picture representing
them in a grated dungeon of the Fleet: they are seated,
some of them in court dress, at a table hastily adjusted
for the transaction of business. Some hideous instru¬
ments of torture are lying on it. A half-naked prisoner,
with one of these instruments on his head, is under ex¬
amination ; and the keeper Bambridge stands before them
as a detected criminal, angry and terrified. Bambridge was
a man of a savage and grasping nature, who, on whatever
condition of life he had been cast, would have never per¬
mitted humanity to interfere with his interests. He bought
the office of warden of the Fleet, and wanted to make the
most of his bargain. His chief victims were among the
debtors who had anything to part with ; and if they resisted
PRISON DISCIPLINE.
568
Prison his rapacity, as many of them did, he used the power un-
Discipline. fortunately in his possession to carry on with them a war
of extermination. But it was not the rapacity and cruelty
of one man that created the abuses of these London prisons,
but a general absence of control, and the like cruelties were
practised in them throughout. The committee stated it to
have become a general practice of the keepers ‘ unlawful y
to assume to themselves pretended authority as magistrates,
and not only to judge and decree punishments arbitral! y,
but also to execute the same unmercifully.” Among these
unmerciful -exercises of an illegal power, the following may
be taken as a specimen from the committee s
general attempt had been made to escape from the Mai-
shalsea, and those implicated in it were taken tojhe mar¬
shal’s lodge for examination and punishment. One ot
them was seen to go in perfectly well, and when he came
out again he was in the greatest disorder; his thumbs were
much swollen and very sore; and he declared that his be-
imi in that condition was that the keeper, in order to ex¬
tort from him a confession of the names of those who had
assisted him and others in their attempt to escape, had
screwed certain instruments of iron upon his thumbs so
close that they had forced the blood out of them with ex¬
quisite pain. After this he was carried into the strong¬
room, where, besides the other irons which he had on, they
fixed on his neck and hands an iron instrument called a
collar, like a pair of tongs ; and he being a large lusty man,
when they screwed the said instrument close, his eyes were
ready to start out of his head, the blood gushed out of his
ears and nose, he foamed at the mouth, the slabber wrent
down, and he made several motions to speak, but could not.
After these tortures he w-as confined in the strong-room lor
many days with a verv heavy pair of irons, called sheers, on
his legs.” (Pari. Hist. viii. 740.) Such a narrative oc¬
curring in the report of a parliamentary committee after
the accession of the House of Hanover, is at variance with
popular notions of the progress made by England in hu¬
manity and civil liberty. The committee were deeply
excited by the iniquities which they had to expose, and
perhaps exaggerated them. But the instruments of tor¬
ture—the thumb-screw, the collar “ like a pair of tongs,”
and the “sheers”—existed, and had doubtless been made
that they might be used. The committee, indeed, accused
these keepers of still deeper acts of cruelty, and among
others of a like kind, brought against them the following
charge, which reads like an imitation of the classical model
of Mezentius, who chained the living to the dead. “ One
particular instance of this sort of inhumanity was of
a person whom the keepers confined in that part of the
lower ward which was then separated from the rest, while
there were there two dead bodies which had been there
four days ; yet w as he kept there with them six days longer :
in which time the vermin devoured the flesh from the faces,
eat the eyes out of the heads of the carcases, which were
bloated, putrid, and turned green during the poor debtor’s
dismal confinement with them.” {Pori. Hist. viii. 741.)
Bambridge and another keeper were tried for murder, and
acquitted. The advisers of the crown naturally hesitated
to bring the whole weight of a bad, neglected system on
even the worst of the mere instruments who carried it out.
The blood of the English people was up, however, and in¬
dividual prosecutors pursued these men with relentless te¬
nacity. They were subjected to the rare and peculiar action
of “appeal for murder,” and in the end narrowly escaped
w ith their lives.
Progress of It is probable that after this inquiry the keepers of
improve- prisons became cautious, and avoided illegal cruelties;
but nothing was yet done to mitigate the ravages, physical
and mental, of which the very structure of the prisons ren¬
dered them instruments, until the days of Howard, whose
labours and their results are a historical epoch in prison
ment.
discipline all over the world. (For an account of his mis- Prison
sion we refer to the article Howard.) Perhaps the por- discipline,
tion of his revelations which not the least astonished his
countrymen was the superior cleanliness and order of those
places of detention in continental despotisms, which our
national pride could only think of as noisome dungeons,
where the victims of tyranny groaned in their chains. His
visit to the prisons of the Dutch was a real luxury to
Howard. That thoughtful, industrious, and humane people
had, without promulgating any great leading philosophy in
prison discipline, gradually found their way in simple prac¬
tice to institutions which in their features of industry, order,
and cleanliness, bear a closer resemblance to the best pri¬
sons of the present day than any others have done.
But in England the reform, even after Howard’s expo¬
sure, was so slow and partial that there are prisons around
which some of the evils condemned by universal acclama¬
tion, when he exposed them in 1774, still linger. We have
an account, more dreadful even than his, because more pic¬
turesque, from Mr Buxton, of the result of inquiries into
the condition of English prisons, published in the year 1818.
Along with a statement of corroborative facts seen by
him in the various prisons, he gives the following descrip¬
tion of the position of a person—guilty or innocent—whose
misfortune it is to be committed for examination to a Lon¬
don prison :—“ At night he is locked up in a narrow cell
with perhaps half-a-dozen of the worst thieves in London,
or as many vagrants, whose rags are alive and in actual
motion w ith vermin. He may find himself in bed, and in
bodily contact between a robber and a murderer; or be¬
tween a man with a foul disease on one side, and one with
an infectious disorder on the other. He may spend his
days deprived of free air and wholesome exercise. He
may be prohibited from following the handicraft on which
the subsistence of his family depends. He may be half-
starved for want of food and clothing and fuel. He may
be compelled to live with the vilest of mankind, and, in
self-defence, to adopt their habits, their language, and
their sentiments. He may become a villain by actual
compulsion. His health must be impaired, and may be
ruined by filth and contagion; and as for his morals, purity
itself could not continue pure, if exposed for any length ol
time to the society with which he must associate.” (Bux¬
ton’s Inquiry, p. 17.)
The renowned crusade of Mrs Fry at this time afforded
the world an astounding glimpse into the condition of the
London prisons. It was on the female department of New¬
gate that her energies were concentrated. There she found
nearly three hundred women, tried and untried—some sen¬
tenced to death—in two rooms. “Here they saw their
friends, and kept their multitudes of children; and they
had no other place for cooking, washing, eating, and sleep¬
ing. They slept on the floor, at times one hundred and
twenty in one ward, without so much as a mat for bedding;
and many of them were very nearly naked. She saw them
openly drinking spirits ; and her ears were offended by the
most terrible imprecations. Everything was filthy to ex¬
cess, and the smell was quite disgusting. Every one, even
the governor, was reluctant to go among them.” (Bux¬
ton’s Inquiry, p. 126.)
Mrs Fry’s Christian efforts to instruct these poor crea¬
tures, and impart to them the consolations of religion, are
well known. It was believed at the time that her personal
risk w as literally the same as if she had gone into a den
of beasts of prey, and she is entitled to the full honours of
the courage she displayed, although later experience of
the prison world may render us less surprised at the thank¬
fulness and docility with which she was received. Among
criminals in a prison, with their many sources of anxiety
and terror, their over-stretched nerves, and their hopeless
feeling of dependence on the will ot others, whoever appears
Prison with the character of authority and beneficence is likely
^iscipme. t0 fog welcomed with thankfulness and homage. When the
danger was encountered, and the unexpected results were
made public, it was a natural fallacy to suppose, that the
impassioned penitence and eager craving for religious con¬
solation represented a change of heart, and the simple
way had at last been found for taking by storm the secret
fortress of crime. When services such as Mrs Fry’s, how¬
ever, were more uniformly performed, their influence,
though of eminent importance, was found to have its limit.’
That such meteoric efforts should have from time to time
fed the public and the fashionable world with episodes of
lively interest, is one of the saddest reproaches to our
prison administration. What Mrs Fry did for these prisoners,
with a great heroic effort, was what should be always quietly
doing in every prison by those to whom it is a fixed duty.
Long after this period, from the indifference or self-will¬
edness of the local managers, a large number of the English
prisons remained almost unaltered. The prisons of the me¬
tropolis continued to be the most conspicuous for misman¬
agement. In their first report, issued in 1836, the inspec¬
tors of prisons said of Newgate :—“ The association of
prisoners of all ages and every shade of guilt in one indis-
ci iminate mass, is a frightful feature in the system which
prevails here; the first in magnitude, and the most per¬
nicious in effect. In this prison we find that the young and
the old, the inexperienced and the practical offender—
the criminal who is smitten with a conviction of his guilt,
and the hardened villain, whom scarcely any discipline can
subdue are congregated together with an utter disregard
to all moral distinctions, the interests of the prisoners, or
the welfare of the community.” And nine years after¬
wards they say in their tenth report—“ We are compelled
by an imperative sense of duty to advert, in terms of de¬
cided condemnation, to the lamentable condition of the
prisons or the city of London—Newgate, Gilt-spur Street
Compter, and the City bridewell—in which the master-
evil of goal association, and consequent contamination, still
continues to operate directly to the encouragement of crime.”
It is remarkable that in the present year (1859), it was
officially announced to the world, that in the male depart¬
ment of the prison of Newgate arrangements were at last
made for keeping the inmates apart from each other. The
ordinary, in his first report after this resolution, to the lord
mayor and aldermen, said,—“ I find the result at present to
be not only the entire suppression of the corrupt and de¬
moralizing effect of indiscriminate association, but a pecu¬
liar seriousness of demeanour is produced by separate con-
nement, which, except in a few instances, I never wit¬
nessed before.” It still remains to carry this improvement
into the femaie department—the scene of Mrs Fry’s labours.
ie English prisons did not in the meantime remain free
from the suspicion of abuses more positive in their character
than the mere neglect to reduce them to proper disci¬
pline. In many instances it was said that the prison, by
the known profusion and luxury prevailing in it, not only
ui e to terrify the criminal, but proved a disheartening
and deteriorating example to the honest, frugal work¬
man. In other cases it was maintained that prison officers,
reeling the absence of strict control, indulged in violence
and cruelty.. So lately as the year 1853 the borough
jad of Lirmingham encountered formidable charges of
this kind, and the difficulty of establishing the truth was a
memorable illustration of the necessity of a powerful ex¬
ternal control over the conduct of prison officers. In this
instance the investigations of the visiting justices and of
the inspector of prisons were alike ineffective, and at
length a commission of inquiry brought out the facts.
At an earlier period the governor of the prison was a
man who had obtained eminence for promulgating prin¬
ciples of prison discipline which possessed many good fea-
VOL. XVIII.
PEIS ON DISCIPLINE.
569
tures, but were supposed to require too confiding a re- p •
hance on the latent goodness of the criminal Tk n—8?-11
visiting justices of Birmingham entertained a suspicion Aat
then prison was made the experimental laboratory of an
amiable enthusiast. A reaction took place, and they dis
placed their governor, appointing a man of differentdm
racter. He was a navy officer, passionate and imperative
uho carried to his duty the one ruling principle,Pthat he
was not to be contradicted or baffled, but that what he
willed should be enforced, at whatever cost. Hence he
endeavoured to break the resistance of obstinate prisoners
by sheer cruelty. His conduct was investigated, and
nanated at length by the commission of inquiry. One form
o infhctKm described by them, carried out by means of
stiff neck-stocks, may be taken as an example:—“ They
were of various sizes, but those which appeared to have
been most commonly used were about 3£ inches deep at
the deepest part in front, somewhat more than 13 inches
long, and rather less than a quarter of an inch thick, made
of leather perfectly rigid. Very speedily after their intro¬
duction into the prison, they appear to have been converted
into ordinary implements of punishment for non-perform¬
ance of prison labour or breaches of prison discipline; the
pi isoner being first muffled in the strait jacket, having his
arms tied together on his breast, the leather stock fastened
tightly round his. neck, and being, moreover (when the
punishment was inflicted by day), in almost every case
strapped to the wall of his cell, in a standing position, by
means of strong leather straps passed round the upper parts
of the arms, and fastened to staples or hooks in the wall
so tightly as to draw back the arms into and keep them
in a constrained and necessarily painful position, at the
same time compressing them. ... So strapped to the
wall, prisoners—chiefly boys—were kept for periods of four,
five, or six hours, and in some instances for a w’hole day,
by way of punishment for the non-performance of the
crank labour, and for other prison offences chiefly of a tri¬
vial character. This mode of punishment, which was of
ordinary and indeed daily occurrence in the prison during
the year 1852 and the early part of 1853, which was un¬
questionably altogether illegal, and was of a very cruel,
painful, and irritating nature, was adopted and practised by
the governor, Lieutenant Austin, entirely of his own autho¬
rity, without the sanction of the visiting magistrates, and
to a great extent without their knowledge.”
I he first legislative step in prison reformation in Eng- Legislation
land was taken in 1773, by the passing of two acts, the as to pri-
first-fruit of Howard s labours, one of them for abolishing sons in
piison fees, and the protracted confinement of prisoners'^noLa<l.
till these were paid; the other for improving the sanitary
condition of the jails. Five years afterwards, a still more
decided step was ostensibly taken in the passing of an act
(19 Geo. III., c. 74) for the establishment of a peniten¬
tiary. It was the joint production of Howard, Sir William
Blackstone the commentator, and Mr Eden, a great autho¬
rity of that period in all matters connected with crime and
pauperism. The object, as emphatically laid down by
Blackstone, was, “ by sobriety, cleanliness, and medical
assistance, by a regular series of labour, by solitary confine¬
ment during the intervals of work, and by due religious
instruction, to preserve and amend the health of the un- *
happy offenders, to inure them to habits of industry, to
guard them from pernicious company, to accustom them
to serious reflection, and to teach them both the prin¬
ciples and practice of every Christian and moral duty.”
This act, however, remained dormant. Its immediate object
was to meet, by a penitentiary system at home, the diffi¬
culties occasioned by the stoppage of transportation to Ame¬
rica. The Australian system was, however, substituted in
the manner stated farther on, and the project of a peniten¬
tiary was abandoned. The idea was afterwards taken up by*
4 c
570
PRISON DISCIPLINE.
Prison Bentham, and urged with untiring zeal in his Panoptican
Discipline. Penitentiary-House and other works. He had a great love
and reverence for Howard, whose pupil he professed to le
in matters of prison discipline. But his publications teem
with original ideas and practical inventions of his own, and
lie grouped them together so as to present the world with
every feature which such a building should possess, anc
every rule applicable to its discipline and working, own to
the minutest particular. It is denied to the human intel¬
lect to possess the faculty of absolutely forecasting theie-
sults of experience, and proving, step by step, where they
are to lead; and hence the systems of discipline to which
the world has groped its way, through slow experiment,
have in a great measure differed from Bentham s an icipa-
tions. But there is, at the same time, between them a
sufficiency of coincidence to bestow on these a character o
marvellous sagacity, and to make them profitable reading to
the practical disciplinarian. Bentham offered to enter on a
contract with government for the detention of 1000convicts;
and an act of Parliament was passed in 1794 to carry out
the project, but again the act remained dormant. In the
meantime there were many parliamentary inquiries into
prisons and prison discipline. The building of the great
nenitentiarv of Millbank, which now contains accommoda¬
tion for 1300 prisoners, was begun in 1819. In 1822 a
committee was appointed to revise the whole of the law
as to jails in England and Wales, and the act 4 Geo. IV .,
c. 64, still the leading statute for the English local prisons,
was passed. By that acta direct communication was
opened between the secretary of state and the several ad¬
ministrators of prisons, over whom he has continued to
exercise a limited control, and returns were periodically
required to be made to him relative to the discipline and
condition of the various prisons, which were laid before
Parliament. An act was passed in 1835 (5 and 6
Will. IV., c. 38), giving a further central control over
prisons. Among other provisions, it gave the secretary of
state the power to revise and alter the rules of all prisons.
It provided for the appointment by the crown of inspectors,
authorized to inspect periodically and to report upon all
places in which persons can legally be confined—one of
the most important of the safeguards against irregularity or
abuse which the legislature has hitherto created. Soon
afterwards, the gradual decrease, and in the end the al¬
most total abolition of transportation, rendered necessary
the large convict establishments to be subsequently referred
to. With great deliberation, and after much inquiry, the
plans of the prison of Pentonville were adopted in 1842,
as those of a model prison, calculated to meet all the requi¬
sites of prison discipline which the science of the age had
devised. Parkhurst had been established in 1838 for young
offenders; and tothesewere added theestablishmentsof Port¬
land and Portsmouth, Dartmouth, Chatham, and Brixton.
Hulks. It is proper, as part of this brief history, to state that
from an early period the deficiency of prison accommodation
for convicts before their removal had rendered it neces¬
sary to find some other receptacle for them, and unfortu¬
nately none better suggested itself than the hulks of old
abandoned war-ships. It was necessary subsequently not
only to detain in them convicts awaiting their term of re-
, moval, but convicts for the shorter periods, such as seven
years, during the whole period of their sentence. In the
hulks numbers of the most hardened offenders were herded
together for years, with such consequences as may be
readily conceived. There is scarcely any defect in penal
discipline of which these establishments were not flagrant
and steady examples. A professed necessity kept them
in existence during a long period of public condemnation,
which was almost universal. They have only lately been
abandoned, and their example is not likely to be again
followed.
In the meantime, in Scotland, almost all the character- Prison
istic defects of the English jails flourished in an exaggerated Discipline,
shape. A parliamentary inquiry into the state of the Scot-
tish prisons occurred in 1826, but the first legislative relief Scotland,
was accomplished in 1836, when the prisons were brought,
like those of England, under the eye of a government in¬
spector. Mr Frederic Hill, the first person appointed to
that duty, summed up in the following terms the defects
which he found:—“ Want of the means of separating
prisoner from prisoner, and of preventing intercourse from
without; want of employment, and of provision for teaching
the prisoners a trade or other occupation by which to earn
an honest livelihood when restored to society; want of
mental, moral, and religious instruction, insecurity, the
luxurious diet, and the life of ease in some prisons when
compared with the food and labour of the lowest class of
honest and industrious people ; great expense of many of
the prisons ; incompetency of many of the keepers ; want
of female officers ; want of the means of inspection ; want
of cleanliness and ventilation ; sloth and injury to health,
induced by the long time the prisoners pass in bed, and
want of a uniform system.” Escapes were very frequent.
From a national distaste at the infliction, as well as the en¬
durance of restraint, there was a laxity about external com¬
munication, which would have seemed strange in England,
even before the improvementof prison discipline there. The
inspector in his second report, in reference to one of the
northern prisons, after mentioning that a prisoner had been
allowed to attend a public meeting, said,—“ It is stated
that prisoners were sometimes allowed to go to supper
parties, and this with the key of the prison in their pockets,
in order that they might return without disturbing the
jailer. A gentleman whom I met sometime after leaving
Dingwall told me, that happening to be at that town once
on the market-day, and standing at the window of the inn
opposite the jail, he was amazed to see a large fish appa¬
rently running up the wall of the prison. The fish having
reached one of the upper windows, disappeared ; and it then
occurred to the astonished spectator, that the fish owed its
ascent to the assistance of the inmates, and in this view
he was confirmed by the sight of a cord with a hook at the
end, which he saw descending from the prison window. A
bov who was stationed below took hold of the hook when
it got within reach, and, watching his opportunity when a
fishwoman was looking another way, fastened it in the
gills of one of her fish, which instantly rose in the air. ”
It was determined at last to make a sweeping reform of
the Scottish prisons, and it was accomplished in 1839 by
the act of 2 and 3 Viet., c. 42. The varied and multi¬
tudinous bodies, chiefly municipal, which had authoiity
over the prisons were suppressed, and a local board was
appointed for each county, to act along with, and to a cer¬
tain extent under the direction of, a general board for
the kingdom. The number of prisons, which amounted to
about 170, was speedily reduced to about /0. I\ew piisons
were built suited to carry out the separate system, which
is in force in every prison in Scotland, with the exception
of casual and temporary instances, where sufficient loom is
not found for it. In strictness and completeness of con¬
trol, the Scottish system is now nearly as far above as. it
was formerly below the English ; and it may safely, foi in¬
stance, be held, that in that part of the empire the abuses
which were revealed in the jail of Birmingham in 1854
would not have been permitted to occur.
It will readily be supposed that the prisons of Ireland Ireland,
had not advanced beyond those of the other parts of the
empire. Legislative improvements in that country gene¬
rally follow the model set by England ; and on this principle
an act was passed in 1826 for regulating the prisons o
Ireland, 7 Geo. IV., c. 74.
It will be easily seen from the preceding statements, and
.
PRISON DISCIPLINE.
The soli¬
tary sys-
Prison is indeed well known to every one, that there are great
Discipline, diversities in the practice of prison discipline, and in the
manner in which different prisons are managed, even in
Experi- this country. It is not the object of this paper to lay
ments in down a canon of prison discipline, by setting forth that
c^nlTne 1S* s5'stem which is to be held sound while all others are un¬
sound. It is rather the object to trace the progress which
the science has made through the suggestions and experi¬
ments of its masters, and to describe the practical character
of the discipline which at the present day is sanctioned by
the greatest amount of practical authority. We shall most
conveniently find our way to the character of this modified
system by glancing at some experiments in which extreme
systems were tried and found wanting.
The experiments which for several years have been
abundantly made in prison discipline have dealt with three
chief elements,—1st, Solitude ; 2d, Silence ; 3d, Labour.
Other adjuncts, in themselves more important, such as edu¬
cation and the ministrations of religion, are not properly mere
elements of discipline, however urgent it may be that the op¬
portunity of captivity may be taken for endeavouring to im¬
part them to those who otherwise are denied participation in
such blessings. Solitude and silence have been experimented
on separately and in combination. Solitude has, from acci¬
dent or design, often of course been an aggravation of im¬
prisonment before people thought of such experiments;
but solitude, as an element in prison discipline, means soli¬
tude carried out towards whole classes of prisoners, how¬
ever numerous, by arrangements which are costly and
troublesome, and are intended to promote good ends. A
prison on the solitary system must have a cell for each in¬
mate. I his system, which was carried to perfection in
America, was also practised in the Gloucester peniten¬
tiary towards the end of the eighteenth century. After¬
wards it was adopted in the bridewell of Glasgow, but in
a modified shape, since the solitaries received moral and
religious instruction in their cells. It was in Philadelphia
that the system was emphatically developed. The Quaker
population in that state succeeded in 1786 in their long
struggle for abolishing the punishment of death. All
punishments involving corporal violence, such as mutila¬
tion and the lash, wrere abolished at the same time; and in
looking round for some passive infliction, which should go
as far as possible to supply the place of these abrogated
terrors, the enemies of bloodshed and violence fell on the
practice of continued solitude without labour, books, or any
means of occupation to mind or body. On this principle
the Wallnut Street prison w'as first built with thirty cells.
The idea being welcomed as the simple solution of all diffi¬
culties in prison discipline, was presently followed in Marv-
land, Massachusetts, Maine, New Jersey, and Virginia.
Whatever imperfections appeared in it were attributed to the
limited scale of the experiment, and the Pennsylvanians
resolving to give it more scope, built the prisons of Pitts¬
burg and Cherryhill. New York at the same time arranged
to carry out the system on a great scale in the renowned
penitentiary of Auburn, founded in 1816. It is clear that,
however easy it may be, af sufficient cost, in such a place, to
isolate the tenant of every cell, yet to render this solitude en¬
tire and uninterrupted from day to day, and month to month,
is scarcely possible. Though machinery may be made to con¬
vey to the prisoner his food, and to remove what it is neces¬
sary to remove, it is scarcely possible but that, from some
accident, the attendant warder may be for a moment seen or
heard. The Americans, however, before allowing doubts
to be thrown on their idea, pushed it to its utmost conclu¬
sions with a relentless rigour, which in this country would
not be tolerated. One who had a favour for it in modera¬
tion says,—“ A trial of solitary confinement, day and night,
without labour, was made at Auburn in the year 1822, for
ten months, upon eighty of the most hardened convicts.
571
They were each confined m a cell only 7 feet long, 31 feet Pri.oa
wide, and 7 feet high. They were on no account to be Discipline,
permitted to eave the cell during that long period on any W—'
occasion. They had no means of obtaining any chano-e of
air, nor opportunities of taking exercise. The most& dis¬
astrous consequences were naturally the result. Several
persons became insane, health was impaired, and life en¬
dangered. The discipline of the prison at that period was
one of unmixed severity. There was no moral nor reli¬
gious instruction of any kind communicated within its walls,
nor any consolation administered by which the convict was
enabled to bear up against the cruelty of this treatment.
Nor was a trial of the same description which took place
in the state of Maine conducted under more advantageous
circumstances. I he night-rooms or cells at this prison are
literally pits entered from the top by a ladder through an
aperture about 2 feet square. The opening is secured by
an iron grate used as a trap-door. The only other orifice
is one at the bottom about an inch and a half in diameter,
for the admission of warm air from underneath. The cells
are 8 feet 9 inches long, 4 feet 6 inches wide, and 9 feet
8 inches high. Their gloom is indescribable. The diet
during confinement was bread and water only. Thus im¬
mured, and without any occupation, it will excite no sur¬
prise that a man who had been sentenced to pass seventy
days^in one of these miserable pits hung himself after four
days’ imprisonment. Another condemned to sixty days
also committed suicide on the twenty-fourth day. It be¬
came necessary to remove four others who were unable to
endure this cruelty, from the cell to the hospital, repeatedly,
before the expiration of their sentences.” (Crawford’s lie-
port on the Penitentiaries, United States, p. 16.) In fact,
it was a normal result of this system, that the over-tortured
mind found refuge in insanity; and so it came to pass that
a body of benevolent Quakers, seeking to abolish bloodshed
and violence, had by one simple idea discovered a more
efficient and protracted system of torture than the in¬
genuity of all the tyrants of the world had enabled them to
devise.
The other great experiment—the silent system—was 1^ silent
also devised by the Americans, who drove it to its utmost system,
conclusions with characteristic zeal. It was adopted at
Auburn as a resource against the destructive influence of
the solitary system, and was afterwards brought to perfec¬
tion in the no less renowned penitentiary of Sing-Sing.
J he principle of absolute solitude was still enforced while
the prisoners were in their cells; but they were drafted
out into large rooms, where they worked in common. In
these, the characteristic feature of the discipline was car¬
ried out by their working in total silence, never looking to
each other, or making any sign, and never even glancing
at a prison officer or a stranger visitor. To see a hundred
desperadoes thus pursuing their silent labours under the
vigilant inspection of no more than five or six officers, gave
the visitor an emphatic notion of the control which dis¬
cipline is capable of achieving over those who are so little
under their own control. If it did no other service, the
silent system taught confidence to prison disciplinarians,
and made them aware how futile all danger from their way¬
ward subjects might be rendered by method and firmness.
It has been maintained, and seems probable, that this sys¬
tem of relentless restraint was little less destructive to the
intellect than the absolute solitude it superseded. But it
was found accompanied by necessary conditions fatal to its
success. The only method of carrying out the discipline
was by giving the free use of the whip and the rod not
only to the superiors of the prison, but to the humblest
discipline officers. Messrs De Beaunont and De Toque-
ville, who were partial to the arrangement, say in their cele¬
brated Report on the American Penitentiary System,—“ At
Sing-Sing, the only punishment for those who infringe the
572
PRISON DISCIPLINE.
Prison established order is that of the whip. The application of
Discipline, this disciplinary means is there very frequent, and the least
fault is punished with its application. For various reasons,
this punishment is preferred to all others. It effects the
immediate submission of the delinquent; his labour is
not interrupted a single instant; the chastisement is pain¬
ful, but not injurious to health ; finally, it is believed that
no other punishment would produce the same effects.” In
a note to this passage, the authors say, that no register is
kept of disciplinary punishments.” Mr Crawford states
that a rule, had existed prohibiting the infliction of more
than thirty-nine lashes at a time, unless in the presence
of an inspector; but the punishment was thus found to
lose its prompt efficiency, and the restraint was removed.
“ The quantity of punishment is entirely dependent on the
will of the overseer, against whose acts there is no appeal.”
The very principle of the establishment, indeed, precluded
not only all appeal against it, but all knowledge of the fact
that punishment had been inflicted, unless such as the
officer inflicting it might think fit to reveal ; for it was a
crime for a prisoner to speak either to a stranger or an
official visitor to the prison. There was thus established
in the heart of a republic probably one of the most perfect
models of irresponsible power by man over his fellow which
the world had known. The nature of such a power may
be best judged, not by the abuses charged against it, for
no one can tell how much exaggeration there may be in
such charges, but by an instance of its moderate and legiti¬
mate use. An assistant keeper was charged with cruelty to
a pregnant female convict. There was no witness but him¬
self and the convict; and his own statement of the case—a
statement on which he was acquitted and retained in his
office—was as follows :—“ Mr Parks told me to flog her. I
then took a cow-skin and went into a room, telling the two
blacks to watch, and if she came at me with any dangerous
weapon, to defend me. She then went and sat down upon
the bed, appearing to me to be somewhat frightened, and
told me if I whipped her to death she would not move.
Her convict frock was open and large, so as to leave her
shoulders bare, it being warm weather; and I struck her
about three or four blows on the shoulder, and I think not
more, and on the naked skin, and then stopped and ad¬
monished her as to her conduct.” On receiving from her
some abusive language, he says,—“ I then gave her three or
four strokes with the cow-skin. She sat firm, and seemed
determined to brave it out, swearing that she would not
submit. I ceased again ; and observing that the blows left
marks upon her shoulders, and fearing I might break the
skin, and as she continued to rave, I struck her a few blows
above her knees, and in front, as she sat.” The woman’s
account of her chastisement was of course more formi¬
dable. She died, and it was certified on medical authority
that the whipping had caused her death. The managers
of the institution thought otherwise ; and on the man’s state-
men of the way in which he had used it, retained him in
his irresponsible power. They did so apparently for the
purpose of maintaining some rigid principle, and the general
tendency of the inquiry is to show that they had intention¬
ally deprived themselves, by the rules they had adopted, of
the means of ascertaining whether their officer was guilty
or innocent. (Crawford’s Report, 18, 19.)
It is questioned whether the silent system, when carried out
with the highest skill and the most implacable rigidity, ac¬
complished its purpose of precluding communications among
the prisoners. All who are practically acquainted with prison
discipline know that, under repression, the faculties left avail-
aWe—and there will always be some—attain an abnormal
power and sensitiveness, as the remaining senses do for the
service of those who are blind or deaf. It is almost impossible
to anticipate what may be achieved in this wray among hun-
dredsof restless creatures all bent on oneobject. The keepers
of prisons, where much more effective means than the silent Prison
system have been available for intercepting communications, Disciplin«
have remarked, that it seemed as if some supernatural 's—
agency were at work in the rapidity with which prisoners
make themselves acquainted with facts supposed to be
beyond their possible knowledge, and communicate them
among all their brethren. The inspectors of prisons on the
silent system, approaching however noiselessly, and peeping
through an inspection-hole covered with coloured glass into
a workshop, would, by a certain flutter in the demeanour
of the prisoners, see that their presence there was known;
and discoveries were sometimes made which showed a
thorough understanding of some concerted plot in the peni¬
tentiaries of America. It is understood that in that coun¬
try the silent system is no longer observed in its integrity.
It had its admirers in this country, who, however, had no
opportunity of carrying it out with a like rigour. It was long
avowedly the system of the Cold-Bath-Fields prison; but this
building, containing 1400 prisoners on short sentences, ever
coming and going, had in reality little in common with the
sepulchral silence of Sing-Sing.
This American experiment performed one eminent ser- Labour,
vice. It gave the first emphatic practical testimony to the
value of labour as an element in prison discipline. Per¬
haps the earliest work in which labour is spoken of not as a
punishment, but rather as a corrective and resource, is in an
Essay on The Prisons of the Religious Orders, by Mabillon,
a work in which there is an amount of practical sagacity
available even for the present day, which it is strange to
owe to a Benedictine monk of the seventeenth century,
whose chief studies lay in antiquities. ( Ouvrages Posthumes
de Mabillon, iii. 321.) Employment in productive industry
stands prominent among the prison reforms both of How¬
ard and Bentham, and it had been practised in the rasp-
houses and spin-houses of Holland. Now that it has
thoroughly established itself as a fundamental principle of
prison discipline, and is in fact almost the only large opera¬
tive principle about the value of which there are nowhere
two opinions, it seems marvellous that the inhabitants of
our jails should so long have been driven by forced idle¬
ness to spend their time in ribaldry, mendicancy, trickery,
mutual corruption, and all available vices. Labour draws
the prisoners off from mutual communication when they are
associated, and is the best solace and safeguard to the mind
against the ravages of solitude. It teaches the criminal,
while he is in custody, that lesson of duty and service
which he has not learned, or has not practised, in freedom;
and if his captivity be long, it may even communicate to
him the means of earning his bread by honest industry.
Nor, while thus beneficent in its operation, does it tend
sensibly to decrease the terrors of imprisonment; for, how¬
ever much the criminal may feel the blessing of occupation
after he is immured, it is not one of the characteristics of his
class to look forward to labour as a boon. It is a further
though secondary advantage of prison labour, that it econo¬
mizes the expense of punishment. To make prisoners
self-supporting is an object which has been frequently pur¬
sued of late, but without much success. It was accom¬
plished, however, in the American penitentiaries under the
silent system, and was one of the boasted advantages of
assembling the prisoners together in large bodies, where
they worked under the discipline of terror. In Belgium it
wras at one time the practice to farm the produce of prison
labour to contractors, who were allowed to hold out in¬
ducements to the prisoners to work hard, and thus plied
them with spirits and tobacco. When prisoners are kept
in separate cells, and the discipline proper to their condi¬
tion is deemed more important than the value of the work
done by them, the produce of their labour never repays
more than a small portion of the cost they occasion. This
is to be understood of criminals kept within the walls of
PRISON DISCIPLINE.
Prison
Discipline
Hard la¬
bour :
tread-
wheel,
crank.
stahlish-
ent of the
parate
stem.
prisons. Convicts who are undergoing in this country a
substitute for the transportation to Australia which used
to be their lot, can be gregariously employed in labour, of
many very effective kinds; but it has hitherto been found
most expedient to apply it to docks, harbours, and other
public works.
The efficiency of labour as an element of prison discipline
has sometimes been estimated so highly that it has been
deemed all-sufficient for the sole object in view. A crimi¬
nal, as the case is sometimes put, has incurred a debt to
society, which he is bound and should be entitled to work
off by the results of his industry. Such a debt would fall
upon the debtor with a weight very inadequate to its proper
magnitude; for great criminals, who are often very clever
men with extensive practical resources, could be rapidly
reducing the debt against them, while their stupider and
perhaps less guilty neighbours would find the effort entirely
hopeless. The established systems of prison discipline in
this country, far from admitting the principle, that the pri¬
soner’s labour is exacted as a material payment of his debt
to society, sometimes exact unproductive labour where that
debt is greatest. The application of “ hard labour,” or
unproductive and purely afflictive exertion, is one of the
least satisfactory problems in prison discipline. The shape
in which it was first practised on a large scale was the
tread-mill,—a great cylindrical wheel turned on its axis
by the tread of a certain number of prisoners. To this
form there was the objection, that it could not be modified
to the strength of individual prisoners,—all must take step
after step together upon the wheel as it revolves, and bear
the infliction, great or little as it might be, of mounting a
certain number of steps. A form of hard labour has been
introduced in the military prisons, called the shot-drill, con¬
sisting in the piling, removal, and re-piling of pyramids of
heavy shot. The standard form of hard labour, however,
in the ordinary prisons is now the crank. It consists of a
small flaked wheel, a little like the paddle-wheel of a steam-
vessel, which, as the prisoner turns a handle outside, re¬
volves within a box which is partly filled with gravel. The
continuous shovelling up of the gravel, as a paddle-wheel
tosses up the water, is the labour performed. The amount
of strength necessary to each revolution can be regulated
to the utmost nicety by the quantity of gravel raised. An
external register records the number of revolutions made,
and it is usual to place the register outside the prisoner’s
cell. Prisoners are not set to this hard labour at the dis¬
cretion of the prison authorities; they are condemned to
it as part of their sentence by the court which tries them.
This kind of afflictive labour is not a beneficent element of
prison discipline, and many are the plausible arguments
launched against it. But it has the stern support of practi¬
cal effectiveness. It was devised to increase the odiousness
of the prison to the criminal, and stimulate his efforts to
keep beyond its walls; and, by the testimony of practical
men, it has had this good effect.
Founded on the experience of the great experiments just
referred to, there came into practice, by a sort of general
assent, an arrangement which has been called “ the separate
system, although in reality it is not so much a system pro¬
mising positive results from itself, as a practical compromise,
keeping clear, on the one hand, of blind negligence, and on
the other, of those absolute principles, such as silence and
solitude, which were found to be so destructive. The first
object of this system is to keep the prisoners from contami¬
nating and criminal communication with each other. From
the old jails the youth who had just entered the borders of
crime often went forth an accomplished depredator. While
the experienced contaminated the young, they planned in the
dissolute idleness of the prison-yard, new depredations. Alto¬
gether there could be no doubt that, whether or not the terrors
of punishment restrained from crime, a residence in a prison
„
generally made a man more vicious. To extineuish at nr,™ „ •
ceil &f:rrtion’the srate
cell 01 loom for each prisoner. The arrangement is costlv Wb—'
but its cost must be met by those who think its advantages
worthy of being purchased. In his cell the prisoner is sup¬
plied with work and books. Since he is not to keep com¬
pany with Ins fellows, and yet is not doomed to the horrors
of solitude, arrangements must be made for furnishing him
with a limited amount of improving society; and this also
is costly. His most valuable visitor will be the prison chap¬
lain or the clergyman of his own faith. If there be in the
callous bosom of the reprobate any seeds of faith and o-0od-
ness, the decorous repose of a well-ordered prison, and the
judicious admonitions of a zealous minister, will give them
their best opportunity for quickening. How much hypo¬
crisy may often be developed on such occasions,—how many
times the deceitful heart is reconciled to virtue only so lono-
as the opportunities for vice are distant, are questions it is
unprofitable to ask. The opportunity should be given
liberally by a proper supply of able and zealous chaplains,
though the results must remain in impenetrable secrecv l
for to investigate the statistics of penitence and reward pro¬
fessions of reformation, would obviously lead to the grossest
acts of deception and hypocrisy. The clergyman’s efforts
are aided by the teacher, who probably imparts even to
the old offender the first rudiments of civilized knowledge.
The visits of the physician come at intervals, and the dis¬
cipline officers are instructed at stated times to enter each
cell. More rarely his cell will be entered by the chief of
the prison ; and at longer intervals a government inspector
or a director will visit him. Such are the usual provisions
for removing the character of solitude from separate con¬
finement. Besides its influence in obviating contamination,
some have sought, in a very rigid rule of separation, so far
to isolate prisoners that they shall not be aware of each
other’s presence under the same roof. It is desirable cer¬
tainly, that if a man becomes penitent, the full amount of
his iniquities should not be known to the companions who
are likely to seduce him from reformation; and it is still
of far greater moment that the fresh offender, who' desires
altogether to cancel his connection with the world of crime,
should not be seen within the prison walls, and afterwards
recognised by the hardened criminal. Whenever it is safe
to dispense with this pedantry, as some call it, of the sepa¬
rate system, there are countervailing advantages to the dis¬
cipline. A considerable quantity of vigorous daily exercise
is essential to prisoners under long imprisonment. If they
take this exercise wholly unseen by each other, it can only
be in narrow yards, where they spend a listless hour; while,
if paraded in common on a wider space, life and energy
may be communicated to their motions. For worship, and
sometimes for instruction, association without communi¬
cation has many advantages over rigid separation. But
these, indeed, are all matters at present under experiment
and discussion, and it is difficult to get further, without
crossing debateable land, than the general principle, that
the old, free, corrupting communication among imprisoned
criminals should be suppressed.
Among minor adjuncts, the cleanliness of modern prisons, Secondary
though occasionally it may be laughed at, is never directly arrange-
censured. It is essential to health, and its moral influence ments.
is beneficial. At the same time, it is no seductive luxury, for,
much as well-conditioned gentlefolks would feel the bless¬
ing of a clean, well-ventilated modern cell as a substitute
for the filthy dens of last century, the criminal classes are
little susceptible to the privilege, and it may be questioned
if the cleanness and comfort of the cell awaiting him in
prison ever crossed the thoughts of a criminal to reconcile
him to his actions. Ventilation, dryness, and an abundant
supply of light, are adjuncts of a similar character. Nothing,
indeed, is generally more surprising to one accustomed
574
PRISON DISCIPLINE.
Prison to associate safe custody with massive gloom, than the
Discipline, cheerful lightness of the galleries in a well-built modern
prison, and the absence of those features of exaggerate
architectural strength which belong to the traditional idea
of the castle dungeon. Small prisons, where there is no
systematic organization, still depend on their structural
strength ; but where there is a large staff and many pri¬
soners, the chief reliance is on the discipline; and it is
considered wholesome to let prisoners feel that they aie
not an object of terror, requiring very formidable pre¬
cautions. The harsh, fierce manner which characterized
the turnkey of old is now little known in any well-regu¬
lated prison. The officers, in exacting obedience to the
daily routine of discipline, should be unimpassioned as fate ,
and the criminal feels himself all the more helplessly pi o-
strate before the strength of the law, that he is an object
neither of fear nor of wrath.
It is scarcely necessary to say that the material means of
luxury, intemperance, or sensuality should be absolutely
unattainable. To graduate the restraints upon the appetites,
however, so as to render all sufferers in the same degree i»
impossible. The regulation food, for instance, cannot be
rendered other than a luxury to some; and, as a general
rule, prisoners, after a certain period, gain appetite, enjoy
their meals, and improve in physical condition. It is im¬
possible to avoid this unless the dangerous doctrine were
admitted, that it is proper to deteriorate their physical con¬
dition. The prison dietary is, or should be, adjusted to the
lowest quantity of plain food which will preseiye the human
bein<r in his normal condition. 1 he criminal at large
deteriorates this condition by his vices, but within the
walls of the prison he is not permitted to do so; and thus
the world is sometimes invited to see the ludicrous contrast
between a criminal fattening within a prison, while the
honest workman, who is only a little careless and dissipated,
is wasting under the influence of intemperance, filth, and
unwholesome diet, just as the prisoner was before he was
committed.
Such are some of the chief characteristics of a well-
regulated prison, according to received modern notions. In
estimating their efficiency, it must be kept in view that
they are, so far as their effects are visible, elements of
prison discipline only. They provide for the punishment
and for the good conduct of the prisoner. In doing so,
they save him from the contamination which he would have
caught in a prison under the old system ; but nothing is
more dangerous than to assume that his conduct in prison
is the outward sign of inward regeneration. The most
orderly and pliant under good discipline may be, and often is,
the most hardened villain within the walls. It is necessary
to look this unpleasant truth in the face, and to see in it
the proper boundaries of the function of prison discipline ;
hut it is right to remember that close imprisonment is
a punishment, among us at least, of comparatively short
duration. It seldom reaches, and scarcely ever exceeds,
two years. The careful scrutiny to which prisons are now
subjected has suggested that the separate system in its most
approved shape cannot be long enforced without the deterio¬
ration of the prisoner. As will be hereafter told, the
greater criminals are now to be subjected to years of train¬
ing instead of years of transportation, and it remains to be
seen whether prison discipline, directed into this new
channel, will accomplish new and enlarged effects.
Besides the adoption of a sound form of discipline as a
standing rule, there are many safeguards and precautions
necessary to the government of a prison. It is a place of
restraint where men must to some extent be under the abso¬
lute authority of their fellow-men. The most elementary
knowledge of human nature teaches that the kind of man
has not yet been found in this world, who can be trusted
with power absolute and uncontrolled over his fellow, and
Govern¬
ment of
prisons.
the history of prisons is an emphatic commentary on this Prison
text. On the amount and character of the control which Discipline-
shall best exact a due responsibility from prison officers,
there have been as many differences of opinion as upon
the various methods of discipline. Publicity, so valuable
and so largely drawn upon in this country, naturally sug¬
gests itself; but there cannot be primary simple publicity
in a prison. Though crowds might be admitted within the
walls at certain times, they could not be always present,
while the prisoner and his master are there at all times of
the day and night. Confluences of miscellaneous visitors,
indeed, while they woefully disturb the influence of a
proper discipline, can see or know scarcely anything of
what is really enacting within a prison. The old London
prisons, in their worst days, and the prisons on the silent
system in America, received visitors freely. The visits of
strangers to a prison must of necessity be limited, and
instead of a fallacious theory, that all the world are entitled
to the privilege, it is better fundamentally to draw a line
which shall limit it to the class of persons who are least
likely to be enticed by idle curiosity, and most likely to use
the opportunity for beneficial purposes.
The most important visitor, however, who can enter a
prison is an official inspector who is independent of the
rulers of the establishment, while he is entitled to in¬
vestigate all their proceedings, reporting the results of his
inquiries to the supreme government, through whom, in this
country, they find their way to Parliament. A large portion
of the prisons of the United Kingdom are governed by local
bodies of a corporate character, who are under more or less
responsibility to the government. I he most important
of the prisons, however,—those in which convicts are de¬
tained,—are, as we shall see directly, under official control.
In a country where there is so much parliamentary re¬
sponsibility, such official control is not considered constitu¬
tionally dangerous, and it has great advantages in its
efficiency and systematic regularity. Still there are distinct
appreciable advantages in a certain amount of prison
management being vested in independent men of the
country gentleman and retired citizen class, were it merely
that they may check the extreme and intolerant develop¬
ment of official theories, and give discussion and ventilation
to projects of prison discipline, both before and after they
are brought into practice.
The practice of imprisonment for debt must not be Imprison
wholly overlooked in tracing the progress of prison disci- ment for
pline in this country, though the peculiarities which at one e '
time communicated to it a too intense interest have be¬
come obsolete. It will be noticed that many of the
grossest irregularities and worst cruelties in the British
prisons were concentrated in this department. I hese ir¬
regularities and cruelties were characteristic of the eaily
defects in our prison system ; of the shyness of control and
interference, and the consequent latitude to all persons to
inflict or suffer to any extent, provided the infliction and the
suffering were according to law. As affording scenes of ty¬
ranny, suffering, recklessness, profligacy, and villany, the^
debtor’s prison has been a favourite with English writers of
fiction; and those even of the present generation will hand
down pictures from this favourite field of study which will
doubtless excite the indignation and astonishment of pos¬
terity. A revolution has been almost noiselessly made in this
department by the re-adjustment of the laws of debtor and
creditor. Formerly the creditor was denied access by form
of law to the debtor’s estate, and he took vengeance on
his person ; hence the industrious man might be kept idle,
separate from the means of supporting his family, or even
paying his creditor; and on the other hand the man of
fortune might live in jail, spending his money, and defying
his creditors to touch his estate. 1 he procedure for
realizing and appropriating the property of the debtor has
PRISON DISCIPLINE.
Prison
Discipline,
liscel-
aneous
mnish-
;nents.
now, however, been rendered more complete and effective.
At the same time, the honest and fair debtor can obtain a
speedy discharge under one of the bankruptcy or insol¬
vency statutes. It hence arises that those who are now
long detained in prison for debt are in some measure
criminals as well as debtors, having been guilty of fraud or
culpable recklessness. There is thus less reluctance to
subject them to the rigid discipline applicable to criminals,
with its cleanliness, order, and abstinence. The prison
tavern, a fixed characteristic of the old debtors’ prison, if it
now exists anywhere, must do so in defiance of authorized
regulations against it.
Having thus followed the practice of simple imprisonment
down to the present day, it will be proper to glance at
those other forms of punishment which have always been
more or less connected with it, in order that we may see
more distinctly the sources and character of the mixed
form of penal discipline which has lately come into opera¬
tion in tins country. It is obvious that detention within
the walls of a prison is a very costly punishment, which a
cruel or penurious government will abandon for a readier
and cheaper. Afflictive therefore as its practice has been
in England, its extensive use there is yet a testimony to the
national moderation and clemency. Nowhere else, unless
perhaps in Holland, did its use preponderate so much over
more violent methods of punishment. Although our criminal
code was eminently sanguinary, actual executions were
more rare than in most other countries. Excepting banish¬
ment and transportation, to which we shall presently come,
almost the only other forms of punishment much in use in
this country were the stocks and the pillory, which, in
addition to a certain amount of painful restraint, subjected
the victim to the brutality or spite of the miscellaneous
public. The brutalizing tendency of the pillory, the pro¬
per sphere of which was generally some public market¬
place, is at once obvious ; and, dependent on the immediate
impulses of a mob, it sometimes elicited cruelties which
ended in death, and at others was turned into an ovation
which reversed the object of the punishment A popular
publisher, in George III.’s reign, stood in the pillory
with a laced footman on either side attending to his
wants, and an obsequious crowd offering him homage.
These forms of punishment, along with that of public
whipping, have been long disused. Whipping has been
lately restored in another form. It is, except in some
special cases, only applicable to boys or very young men,
and is administered privately in the presence of responsible
officers.
The barbarous punishment of mutilation was not quite
unknown in Britain, although the occasions for its legal in¬
fliction were peculiar and rare. Torture, which was largely
used in other countries, was always very offensive to the
national feeling, and never established itself as a fixed insti¬
tution. By far its most extensive use was in examinations
of persons charged with witchcraft. Whenever that word
was employed, all concerned seemed to be driven by a panic
of terror and hatred entirely out of the bounds of reason
and humanity, and things were done by people of station
and good repute which cannot be excelled by any cruelties
on record. Apart from this one blot, it is ever a remem¬
brance of proud satisfaction in this country that, careless as
the administration of justice sometimes was, and afflictive
in its carelessness, our ancestors would not attempt to per¬
fect it by introducing the horrors of the “ question,” or pro¬
bationary torture. The vindication of this infliction has
ever been, that the object is to spare life by exciting through
torture the certain evidence of a confession. But apart from
the numberless instances in which the confession so ex¬
torted must have been false, the torture itself, which gene¬
rally reduced the victim to utter helplessness, was a punish¬
ment far worse than death. We may form a notion of what
57
j
11 was, only too painfully distinct, in the celebrated cases Prison
of Urban Grandier and the Galas family. Slavery at Discipline,
home is a form of punishment which has ever been inimical
to the constitution and habits of this country. Though we
have now forced labour in the convict establishments, the
form in which this punishment has been carried out among
our neighbours, by the convicts working here and there
in chains on streets, quays, or other public places, was
nearly as offensive to our people as slavery. Among the
continental governments, the mines have formed the easiest
form of punishing by slavery and forced labour. This, as
we have seen, was a method of punishment among the
Homans, and it is possible that there are mines in central
Europe which have never ceased from their time down¬
wards to receive convicts. There is no kind of place of
custody whence escape can be rendered so hopeless, and
none so secure from stray inquiries after the fate of those
who have been dropped into them, and left there to perish
forgotten. The Russian empire has the reputation of pos¬
sessing in its mines the most terrible places of punishment
in the world.
A well-known form of punishment in some European The galleys
states was the galleys. They were almost peculiar to Gagnes.
countries bordering on the Mediterranean, being unsuited
for more stormy seas. They were ill-shaped, narrow ves¬
sels, with benches for rowers. To these benches the
galley-slaves were chained. Fixed to their benches day
and night, the state ol filth and brutality in which they
existed is at once understood; and yet, with the free air
around them, their condition was less to be deplored than
that of victims of a higher rank, whose privilege it u^as
to occupy dungeons. Galley slavery was introduced into
France about the fourteenth century. Its head-quarters
were at Marseilles, where there was a renowned fleet
of these vessels. France sometimes engaged to take pri¬
soners from other countries into her galleys, which had
a high repute, and sometimes portions of the fleet were
let for the service of some Mediterranean power. The
neighbeuring states on the coast of Africa imitated the
happy idea, and kept fleets of galleys manned by Christian
captives. In 1748 the galleys were abolished, and the con¬
victs were confined in bagnes, which were either buildings
or old hulks. There they were, as formerly, chained to a
bench; and though sometimes required to work, they were
in general left in idleness. The natural taste of the French
for ingenious efforts of handicraft was remarkably developed
among these men, who made the bagnes of France famous
for the quaint toys and bijouterie fabricated in them. After
the first revolution, the travaux forces were adopted, and
the convicts were kept at systematic labour. The removal
of the convicts to these depots was both offensive and dan¬
gerous. At any great prison, such as the Bicetre, when a
sufficient number of convicts had accumulated to make what
was traditionally called a chiourme, they were rivetted to a
long chain, and sent off to walk to their destination attended
by guards: “ Woe,” says Vidocq, “to the females whom they
met, or the shops which they came near. The women were
assaulted in the grossest manner, the shops stripped in a
twinkling.” This method of transit was not abolished until
1836. The Memoirs of Vidocq, the celebrated secret agent
of police, give a lively description of the scenes in the prisons
of detention, in the passage of the chain, and in the bagnes.
If his own attempts to vindicate himself may be discredited,
there is no occasion to question the general fidelity of these
accounts, which are equally characteristic and horrible.
There is nothing too abominable for belief in places wdiere
600 convicts were after their labours herded together in one
great hall or apartment, with sentinels around to bar exit, but
no attempt at order or discipline within. France subsequently
produced many able expositors of prison discipline, and the
bagnes were by degrees improved. They were abolished
576
Prison
Discipline.
Origin of
trans porta-
tiun from
Britain.
America.
PRISON DISCIPLINE.
by the present imperial government in 1852; and the sys¬
tem of transportation was adopted in France just as it bad
virtually come to an end in this country. To those who
were already condemned it was thought fair to make trans¬
portation an alternative at their choice. Books were
opened for volunteers at the bagnes of Rochefort, Brest,
and Toulon. The result was the converse of what was
lately exhibited in this country when transportees were re¬
quired to stay at home. A rush was made on the books,
and 3000 names instantly adhibited. (Berenger, De la
Repression Penale, i. 378.) it might have suggested itself
as a question, whether a mode of punishment which convicts
adopted for themselves so zealously would be likely to
meet the legitimate purposes of punishment. Ihe French
convict settlement is in Guiana.
Before the date of this experiment Britain was the only
modern European power which systematically practised
transportation. It was long viewed with distrust, as in¬
fringing on an old constitutional rule against inflicting
punishments on British subjects beyond the realm,—a rule
suggested by the continental possessions of the Planta-
genets, and the opportunity which these afforded to the
crown of evading the English laws for the protection of
the liberty of the subject. An interval elapsed after this
danger had passed away before the possession of colonies
opened up the means of administering punishment abroad
in places over which Parliament and the law had rather
more control. Something like transportation is enacted in
the celebrated vagrancy statute of 39 Elizabeth. It provides
that where the said rogues “ shall be dangerous to the in¬
ferior sort of people,” or shall remain incorrigible “in their
roguish kind of life;” after the discipline of the act has
been applied to them, they may be committed to jail to
await the quarter-sessions, where the justices may ordain
that they “ be banished out of this realm, and all other the
dominions thereof,” and “ be conveyed into such parts be¬
yond the seas as shall be at any time hereafter for that pur¬
pose assigned by the Privy Council unto her Majesty.”
The earliest known enforcement of this law is attested
by a letter of King James L, written in 1619, and ad¬
dressed to the treasurer and council, commanding them
“ to send a hundred dissolute persons to Virginia, whom the
knight marshall shall deliver to them.” (Chalmers’ Pol. An.
of America, p. 46.) The term “transportation” was first
used in an act of a similar tenor passed early in the reign of
Charles II. It was adapted more systematically to the pur¬
poses of punishment by an act of 1718, which authorized
the criminal courts in clergyable offences, or those which
were nominally but not really punished with death, to give
over the offenders to contractors, who engaged to transport
them to the American colonies. The contractors were
vested with a property in the labour of the convicts, for
seven or fourteen years, and this right they sold, gene¬
rally by auction. These convicts became valuable to the
planters in those warm southern states, where the unwilling¬
ness of the inhabitants to devote themselves to any kind
of toil, and the consequent temptation to exact labour by
force, have ever been inimical to the interests of free¬
dom. Hence, before the greater attractions of Negro
slave labour were felt, there was much competition for
the convicts. Their value, indeed, led not only to
stretches of the law, but to an organized system of kid¬
napping along the British coast. Young lads thus seized
and carried off were passed through the ceremonial of an
apprenticeship, but the planters were under no responsi¬
bility, and virtually these apprentices were white slaves.
Ihese practices were suppressed about the middle of the
eighteenth century, but the legitimate traffic in convicts
continued to be vigorously pursued until the American war
of independence closed the market against it. Governor
Philip, when employed to find a substitute for it, remarked
that “the benefits of this regulation were various. The Prison
colonists received by it, at an easy rate, an assistance very Discipliu
necessary, and the mother-country was relieved from the v-«*
burden of subjects which at home were not only useless
but pernicious; besides which the mercantile returns, on
this account alone, are reported to have risen in later times
to a very considerable amount.” This he estimated at
L.40,000 a year, being the price of 2000 convicts sold at
an average amount of L.20 a head.
In looking over the world to find a spot fitted to succeed Africa,
the American colonies as the receptacle of convicts, the
west coast of Africa was the first to attract attention, and a
few criminals were actually sent thither. There were many
reasons, however, against such a selection ; among others,
was the insalubrity of the district; and although there were
people who thought it no objection to the place chosen for
a criminal population that it was one where they might be
short-lived, it was for the consideration of these, as well as
of others who thought it improper to subject convicts to a
form of punishment which might prove capital, that the
penal stations were to become important colonies, and should
be fitted for the permanent residence of free immigrants. The
great island-continent of Australia, newly made known to the
world by Captain Cook, was at length adopted for several
reasons; among others, because it was remote, it was salu¬
brious, qnd it was believed to possess undefined elements
of wealth, among which a large prosperous community
would arise capable of absorbing the criminality of Britain.
There probably never was an occasion in which hopes Australia,
were so fully entertained that the solution of the great dif¬
ficulty had been found, and crime was on the eve of exter¬
mination, as the juncture of commencing transportation in
this new shape. And as these hopes were the fruit of
much earnest reflection and discussion, they were undoubt¬
edly so far justified that the new system was a vast im¬
provement on the old. When convicts were sent to settled
colonies exercising a certain amount of free-will, the con¬
venience and profit of the colonists could alone be consulted.
Now the colony was to be made for the purposes of carry¬
ing out penal discipline, and the free emigrants who chose
to go to it must take it as they found it, and make their
convenience subservient to its primary objects. The chief
feature in which this difference became at once distinct was
that, while the transportees to America were handed abso¬
lutely over to individual owners, those sent to Australia
were to be put into the hands of a responsible public officer
—the governor of the colony.
The new system was officially organized by orders in
council dated 6th December 1786, issued under the powers
of an act which vested the selection of the proper place in
the hands of the king and council. The first fleet, as it
was termed, sailed in March 1787 from Plymouth, convey¬
ing 600 male and 250 female convicts. There was imme¬
diate evidence that, with whatever deliberation the quarter
of the globe had been selected, the subsequent proceedings
were rash and hasty; for so little preparation was made for
the reception of the colony that it had actually to search along
the coast for a proper site. It was supposed that Botany Bay,
of the fertility of which there had been a glowing descrip¬
tion, was to receive the new convict colony; but the governor,
Captain Philip, found a better site within the heights of
Port Jackson, where he founded the town of Sydney.
It appeared to be supposed that, going to a fruitful Early bis-
country, the convicts would soon be able to provide fortory.
themselves. They were accompanied by a staff' of agri-
cultifral superintendents, who were to direct them in the
cropping and general management of the land, as if they
were a body of agricultural labourers entering on posses¬
sion of a few established farms at home. But it was found
that the convicts could not do farm labour if it had been
duly set to their hands ; and that the agricultural superin-
PRISON DISCIPLINE.
Prison
Discipline
tendents could not have rendered Australian land available
■ if their hands had been the best farm labourers in England.
It was of course deemed necessary to provision the colonists
until they could raise food for themselves ; but so imperfectly
was this accomplished, that a famine placed them, from the
governor downwards, on starvation allowance, and only the
prudent firmness of the governor kept them from extirpa¬
tion until the arrival of a second fleet with convicts and
stores brought temporary relief. A large portion of this
second detachment died by the way; and it was said that
this mortality, by lessening the number to be fed, saved so
many lives on shore which must otherwise have yielded to
privation. Of the general condition, moral and material,
of the infant colony, the select committee on transportation
1838 afford the following brief description :—“ The
577
"ncourage
aents to
onvicts.
community was composed of the very dregs of society,—of
men proved by experience to be unfit to be at large in
any society, and who were sent from the British jails, and
turned loose to mix with one another in the desert, to¬
gether with a few task-masters who were to set them to
work in the open wilderness, and with the military who
were to keep them from revolt. The consequences of this
strange assemblage were vice, immorality, frightful disease,
hunger, dreadful mortality among the settlers; the convicts
were decimated by pestilence on the voyage, and again
decimated by famine on their arrival; and the most hideous
cruelty was practised towards the unfortunate natives.
Such is the early history of New South Wales.”
It was maintained at the time that this new form of
transportation created a lively terror among the criminal
population. Little was known about the actual fate of the
ship-loads of convicts despatched from time to time, until
Colonel Collins published his account of the colony in 1804,
but the little that transpired was a history of calamity. No
element as yet appeared in the arrangement attractive to
the minds of criminals. The mysterious disappearance of
their friends into a distant wilderness raised appalling prog¬
nostications, which were aggravated by an opinion current
among the favourers of the scheme, that somehow or other
it would be found that those who were sent out would
never return, and that this indeed was the most hopeful
feature of the scheme.
It was not intended, however, in the formation of the
new colony, that the convicts should continue to be dropped
on the barren shore of a wilderness. There was to be a
mixed colony, of which the convicts were to be a portion ;
and in the further stages of the experiment we have to look
to the position of the criminals, as affected by that of the
free colonists. But while it was contemplated that the
convicts should form merely one element in a miscellaneous
settlement, all the primary preparations were made for
them alone. The first step in free colonization was taken
in the year 1791, when the governor made three grants
of land to free settlers, giving at the same time one
grant to an emancipated convict. For some years grants
of land were given occasionally to free settlers or to
emancipated convicts, or emancipists, as they were termed.
There was no rule of preference, and the distribution
appears to have depended on the immediate expediency,
in the eyes of the governor for the time being, of mak¬
ing or withholding grants. The placing of the convict
in a position in which he could hold property by eman¬
cipating him, was in the same arbitrary position,—depend¬
ing on immediate circumstances and personal opinions
or predelictions. Writers who have entered on the local
politics of the colony have severely criticised the grounds
or motives on which classes of the population or particular
persons were encouraged or discouraged. Without enter¬
ing into these discussions, it is sufficient to note them
among other indications, that from the beginning there was Prison
no effort to mark distinctly the condition of the transported Discipline,
offenders. It became known that many of them had suf-
fered hardships which rendered their sentence a cruel and
protracted death; it was soon afterwards known that some
of them were comfortable landed proprietors, and that others
were making fortunes. In the year 1810 Governor Mac¬
quarie, who was charged with increasing the encourage¬
ment given by his predecessors to convicts, appointed an
emancipist named Andrew Thomson to the magistracy.
He vindicated this action on the ground that he intended
m an emphatic manner to restore the man to respectability
because he had earned it by his good conduct; but on the
other hand, it has been maintained that the man was made
a magistrate merely because he was active, clever, and suc¬
cessful.1 Soon afterwards, three emancipists, backed by a
recommendation from the governor, applied to the supreme
court for license to act before it as attorneys. The application
was strenuously resisted by Mr Bent, the head of the court,
who was presently afterwards recalled by the home govern¬
ment. Thus, in the earlier stages of the system, the con¬
vict was either a captive in the hands of the government,
who kept him in imprisonment, or at most allowed him the
limited freedom of a bondsman employed in public works;
or, when there was any relaxation of this condition, the
convict might be in the way to make his fortune or to be¬
come eminent and influential.
In the meantime, however, the influx of free settlers oper- The assign-
ated as a relief, by creating a middle stage, and rendering it ment sys-
no longer necessary that the convict should be either a pri- tem*
soner ora landed proprietor. The systemof theassignment of
convicts to the free settlers commenced. At first !t was ne¬
cessary to bribe them with privileges to take convicts off the
hands of government; but as the several Australian colonies
increased, there came to be a competition for assigned con¬
victs, rising in eagerness according to the order of their use¬
fulness. This was a restoration of the American system, but
with a large difference. The assignee held the convicts, not
in his own right, but as representing the government, and
under the conditions imposed by the government. Among
these there was a restraint on corporal punishment, which
could only be inflicted by a magistrate. The punishments
for offences against discipline were severe, and were very
readily inflicted by a magistrate on the master’s statement;
but often the distance from the magistracy nullified the
right to punish, and the only hold on the convict was the
risk of his being sent to one of the penal settlements, where
the irreclaimable, or, more properly speaking, those who
could not keep control over their vicious propensities, were
kept under strict and severe discipline. The assignee, in
fact, did not, like the American purchaser, obtain an actual
property in the person of the convict, which he might dis¬
pose of by sale or let out on hire.
It happened that the peculiar nature of the Australian
lands afforded, for a long time, facilities for advantageously
working assignment as a medium of penal discipline, such
as no other tract on the face of the globe, except perhaps
some portions of Russia and Northern Germany, could have
afforded. The available parts of the country were covered
with a natural pasture, very thin, but valuable from its vast
extent. It took five acres to feed a sheep; but countlessL
millions of acres were obtainable. This gave the greatest,
facilities for slave labour—that is to say, it gave, to the ut¬
most extent, those conditions in which a mere human being,
existing and placed upon the spot, is of value, independently
of his expending industry or ingenuity. Not only were many
shepherds and neatherds required to take charge of the
stock on these pastures, but a still humbler class, called hut-
keepers, were employed in numbers, to keep watch in the
vol. xvm.
1 See the statements and quotations in Lang’s Hist, of New South Wales, ch. v.
4 p
i
V
578 P RIS 0 N DI
Prison remote grazing-grounds. The convicts assigned to this
Discipline.function lived far apart from each other, and at great dis-
tances from all resorts of man. Thus they could not be
spreading contamination or concocting crime, unless they
deserted and became bush-rangers. Their luxuries were
tea and tobacco ; of the great incentive under which most
of them had become vicious, ardent liquors, they had
none, from the difficulty of taking such a commodity so far
inland. It is said that under no possible circumstances
could liquor be conveyed to the distant stations, because,
the carriers being convicts, and excessively addicted to drink¬
ing, no concealment could elude their vigilance, and no bribe
or punishment would induce them to spare the liquor com¬
mitted to their keeping. But as the colonies increased in
population and affluence, other less beneficial sources of
assignment opened. Among these was domestic service,
almost the only means, indeed, which offered for the dis¬
posal of the female convicts. There arose by degrees con¬
siderable industrial establishments, engaged in building,
mining, shipping, and curing the fat and skins produced in
the grazing districts. In these it was of great moment to
have skilled workmen, clerks, and book-keepers. The
practice in the assignment of convicts was, that on a con¬
vict vessel being reported to the governor, they were re¬
moved respectively to the male barracks or a female peni¬
tentiary, where the superintendent of convicts classified
them according to their several occupations and capabili¬
ties. They were then apportioned out according to the privi¬
leges, and, as far as these were consistent with each other,
the wishes of the settlers. It was naturally a great prize
to a man embarked in a difficult and lucrative business to
find, as he sometimes might, a clever criminal trained to it.
To the full services of such a person, when assigned to him,
he was of course entitled ; nor would he be bound to pay for
these services more than rations, and other allowances
settled by regulation. But there is no such thing as skil¬
ful and valuable labour extracted through pure slavery.
Though nominally a slave, some of the rewards of this kind
of labour must go to the worker before he will give it forth.
The expert housebreaker, and the receiver of stolen goods
who might have caused the criminality of hundreds of
thoughtless young people—the forger, long steeped in
guilt—could be very useful, and give valuable service, which
did not go without its reward. The poacher, transported
for assault—the workman, who, in hard times or under the
tyranny of a strike, had yielded to temptation, suffered the
hardships and privations of transportation, while he saw these
greater criminals rolling in luxury. Worse still: the honest,
hard-working mechanic, who had emigrated from inability to
combat w’ith the difficulties at home, sometimes found that
his own lot was little improved by the change, but saw the
country seat and the well-kept carriage of some great no¬
torious offender, and wrote home to his friends an account
of what he saw. In the curious autobiography of Hardy
Vaux, a London thief of great ability, who had been
twice transported to New South Wales, it appears that
through his abilities and plausibility he made himself very
comfortable there; and from his description of the state of
society, it is clear that any clever and expert criminal, it
able in some measure to restrain the indulgence of his
vicious propensities, could convert his punishment into a
means of enjoyment and success. The Parliamentary
Report already cited, referring to frauds of an oppressive
and cruel kind effected by wealthy emancipists, states that
“ the instruments were drawn up by convicts ; for in those
days amongst that class only could persons be found quali¬
fied to perform the duties of the legal profession.” A state
of society, in which emancipist capitalists transacted their
business through convict lawyers, is perhaps sufficiently
suggestive of triumphant vice; but there are plain broad
statements as to the condition of the convict colonies in the
SCIPLINE.
same report, a specimen at least of which should be re- Prison
corded. Thus, among the evils of the assignment system Discipline,
are enumerated—“ First, The assignment of convicts to y-*-'
their wives or other relations that have followed them to the
colony with the proceeds of the offences for which they
were transported, and upon which they have set up a pro¬
fitable business, have become wealthy, and thus have held
out to their acquaintances in this country strong tempta¬
tions to pursue a similar career of crime. Second, The em¬
ployment of convicts as clerks to the various departments
of government, where they have had means of acquiring
knowledge, of which the most corrupt and dangerous use has
been made. Third, The employment of convicts as clerks
to attorneys, with free access to the gaols, which has given
rise in the colony to an unparalleled system of bribery and
connivance at crime: atone time even the clerk of the attor¬
ney-general was a convict, and performed all the legal busi¬
ness of his master. And lastly, The entrusting to convicts of
the education of youth in the various public seminaries.”
Amid the evils spread by such a system among the free Discipline
settlers, it is clear that little could be carried on in the shape and punish-
either of the punishment or the reformation of the convicts. ments of
This is but one side, however, of the picture; the otherthe trans-
represents the convict amenable to what must have been P01*'6®8,
heavy punishment, if punishment can be entirely measured
by the amount of pain, misery, and degradation caused by
it. Of the convicts left with the government, or returned
on their hands as useless or incorrigible, a large number were
employed on public works, chiefly in the making of roads,
the first public requisite of a colony. Generally desperate
men in considerable bands, they were under strict military
control. They were divided into two classes,—those who
were in chain gangs, and those who were not. Of the
former, the committee of 1838 say,—“ They are locked up
from sunset to sunrise in the caravans or boxes used for
this description of persons, which hold from 20 to 28 men,
but in which the whole number can neither stand upright
nor sit down at the same time (except with their legs at
right angles to their bodies), and which, in some instances,
do not allow more than 18 inches in width for each indivi¬
dual to lie down upon on the bare boards; they are kept
to work under a strict military guard during the day, and
liable to suffer flagellation for trifling offences, such as an
exhibition of obstinacy, insolence, and the like; being in
chains, discipline is more easily preserved among them, and
escape more easily prevented than among the road parties
out of chains.” If it were asked why a method of super¬
intendence so barbarous and cruel was adopted, the answer
would be found partly anticipated in the concluding clause of
the quotation. In a community where all were so bad, those ,
above the average in wickedness could not be kept under the
necessary inspection and restraint unless by force and terror.
These chain bands, however, only consisted of what
might be called, in relation to the whole tribe of convicts,
the inferior class; there was a stage of penal discipline still
further on for the criminals—for those who were to the con¬
victs at large what these had been to the ordinary run of
the home population. Their punishment was accomplished
by a second transportation to what were called the penal
settlements: one, for the less aggravated cases, was at
Moreton Bay; another was the rocky and wooded island of
Norfolk ; a third, for the Van Diemen’s Land convicts, was
Port Arthur, a sterile peninsula, reached by a narrow strip
of land, on either side of which were chained a row of fero¬
cious dogs. All who were practically acquainted with
them seem to have had difficulty in expressing what they
felt of the horrors of these penal settlements. A convict
quaintly said of them : “ Let a man be what he wifi when
he comes here, he is soon as bad as the rest: a man’s heait
is taken from him, and there is given to him the heart of a
beast.” The reckless despair that came over these men was
PKISON DISCIPLINE.
Prison shown in the fact, frequently attested, that they would com-
Discipline. mit murders on their keepers or their companions for no
better motive than the excitement of the deed and the sub¬
sequent journey to the gallows, as a variation of the uni¬
form misery of their lot, or for the simple purpose of earning
release by the punishment of death. No force or vigilance
could prevent them from making desperate efforts to escape.
The Report of 1838 says of a return of the attempts to
escape from Macquarie harbour, a penal station then aban¬
doned: “From that return it appears that, of 116 who
absconded, 75 are supposed to have perished in the
woods; 1 was hanged for murdering and eating his com¬
panion ; 2 were shot by the military; 8 are known to have
been murdered, and 6 eaten by their companions; 24
escaped to the settled districts, 13 of whom were hanged
for bush-ranging and 10 for murder;—making a total of
101 out of 114 who came to an untimely fate.” At the end
of the Report there is a narrative, taken from the survivor,
of the escape and wanderings of one group of fugitives, de¬
scribing with horrible minuteness the manner in which one
after another was killed and eaten, until two remained
watching each other with hungry and murderous eyes for
days, until the opportunity came for one to strike his ex¬
hausted companion.
Demorali- Rut terrible as such a picture is, it does not exhaust—
zation. it does not even reach—the deepest shades of Australian
convict brutality. There were found to have spread
practices more dehumanizing than cannibalism itself. It
was long obvious that, in communities w here bands of men
were herded together, no vigilance or coercion could pre¬
vent some dire results; and although those who were the first
to face the difficulties of the question by an inquiry into
facts, must beforehand have anticipated with certainty some
revolting details, yet it may safely be said that they w;ere,
in the midst of their inquiry, appalled both by the systema¬
tic extent and application of the evil, and the depth to
which it had driven its roots through the colonial commu-
munity. Those who did face the difficulty were the com¬
mittee of ] 838 already referred to; and though they were
necessarily brief in their statements, it is clear that the
tenor of their recommendations was founded on the know¬
ledge not only that transportation, according to the system
then pursued, must be abolished, but that no statesman,
aware of the facts known to them, would ever re-establish
it, unless some new form in which it could be effected—a
form radically free of these terrible evils—could be found.
What rendered this, however, the less probable was,
that although coercion drove the convicts to occasional
violence, the crimes, which were the stamp of their deep
degradation, prevailed, wherever the discipline was relaxed
—wherever, in short, they were not rendered impracticable.
It was during the attempt of a well-meaning man, who was
permitted for a time to try “the law of kindness” on the
conduct of the convicts in one of the penal settlements, that
their degraded habits were most conspicuously developed:
these were found to have been deepening and expanding
under an external varnish of contentment and improvement.
The tighter the hand of the law was held over the convict,
the better he was.
Ficket-of- To modify the licentiousness of the increasing band of
save emancipists, the ticket-of-leave system was invented. In
ys 6m‘ place of an absolute pardon, the convict obtained a ticket or
license to be at large under certain restrictions, and to work
on his owm account. It could be earned only by good beha¬
viour, and was revocable for misconduct. It could be ob¬
tained after four years by a convict transported for seven ;
after six years where the sentence w7as for fourteen ; and at
the end of eight years when it was for life. Thus, in some
measure, the government got rid of the heavy charge of the
convicts during part of the long periods of their sentences,
and the convicts themselves had advantages to look forward
579
to and to icalize; while, on the other hand, a wholesome re- Prison
stiaint u'as kept over them for a long time after punishment Discipline,
had ceased. The conduct of the ticket-of-leave men was found -y—^
to be good in comparison with that of the emancipists ; but
that the extent of coercion to which they were subjected
made them so, was one of the disheartening features of
transportation. In the Report of 1838 it is”said, “ On
the whole, it appears from the evidence taken before your
committee, that assigned convicts conduct themselves
better than ticket-of-leave men, and ticket-of-leave men
than emancipists or expirees; and that, when transportation
does produce orderly conduct, it does so by imposing re¬
straint, and by the apprehension it produces of immediate
and severe punishment. I he orderliness of a convict in¬
creases, therefore, with the immediateness and severity of
the punishment, and with the general restraint to which he
is subjected, and at the same time decreases with the decrease
of temptation. Thus a convict is best behaved while at the
penal settlements, and his conduct deteriorates in proportion
as he obtains more and more freedom, and is worst when he
has obtained liberty by the expiration of his sentence.”
These were conditions not conformable with the intended Re-action
object of transportation. If it could only act through coer- against
cion and control, there was no occasion for seeking these transporta-
agencies so far away from home. When the Australiantion’
transportation was expected to supply the place of the
American on an increased scale and in an improved shape,
it was believed that the criminals would be absorbed into
the free colonial population. In reality the convict element
predominated, and gave its mark to the condition of the
Australian colonies ; and that, although a larger free colonial
population had arisen, from incidental causes, than the found¬
ers of the colony had contemplated. The convict connec¬
tion—consisting of emancipists, ticket-of-leave holders, and
emigrant families which had or formed connections with
these classes—were strong enough to make a party, and
sometimes strong enough to bear down the free settler
interest. It was natural that principles not only loose but
depraved should triumph with them. Those who had the
immediate charge of the convicts—soldiers and civilians—
almost became brutalized down to their level, and fit com¬
panions for them when they had earned their leave. In the
families of decent emigrants there were horrible revelations
of the corruption of the young from the employment of con¬
vict domestics. A local party at length arose whose bond
of union w as the extinction of transportation. It was joined
by many wealthy colonists, and was gradually swollen by a
large influx of middle-class emigrants. Another contem¬
porary influx of a humbler class promised to buyout trans¬
portation, by rendering the convicts worthless as labourers.
By the peculiar arrangements for disposing of the land in
Australia, a portion of the considerable price paid for it was
reserved as a fund for assisting working men to emigrate.
Those obtained were not all well suited to their purpose:
peasants of a docile, patient kind were wanted, where rest¬
less, clever, discontented mechanics were obtained ; but on
the whole they were more valuable than convicts. These
ceased, from the rapid enlargement of the demand for la¬
bour, to be numerically important. It was announced in
1838 that the number of fresh labourers wanted was 10,000,
and the number of convicts received in the ensuing year
would be but 3000. Many of the squatters were still favour¬
able to transportation, as a means of easily supplying them
W'ith the slave labour they desired. These, however, once
the supreme aristocracy of the country, were declining in
influence, from bad seasons and the preponderating influ¬
ence of other interests.
A conviction in the meantime arose at home that trans¬
portation was a wasteful and ineffective punishment. The
well-weighed Report of the select committee of the House
of Commons, already referred to, repeating, on the foun-
580
Prison
Discipline,
Gradual
abandon¬
ment of
transporta¬
tion.
'
PRISON DISCIPLINE.
dation of a close inquiry, defects which Bentham had anti¬
cipated thirty years earlier, strengthened this conviction.
The committee, after showing how this punishment might,
from arbitrary accidents quite independent of the guilt of
the convict, oscillate through every conceivable grade, from
sufferings beyond the endurance of the human frame at one
extremity, to affluent prosperity at the other, made the fol¬
lowing suggestive remarks :—“ Exile is least dreaded by the
most numerous class of offenders,—by those who may be
termed habitual criminals, and who compose what is pro¬
perly called the criminal population of this country,—
namely, regular thieves, pickpockets, burglars, and all per¬
sons who gain their livelihood by the repetition of offences,
and who consequently have lost all feelings of moral aver¬
sion to crime, and can only be restrained by fear. The
apprehension which this class of offenders feel for the pun¬
ishment of exile amounts merely to an aversion to break¬
ing off their criminal habits and connections in this country ;
on the other hand, to them the consequences of abstaining
from a life of crime would be, that they must equally sepa¬
rate themselves from their friends and associates of the
criminal class in this country, and lead a life of honest in¬
dustry in a country where wages are low and the price of
food is high. To such criminals this course of life must
seem almost as disagreeable as, if not more disagreeable
than, the chance of exile to Australia, where they under¬
stand that wages are high, and that their condition will be
a comfortable one ; that at all events they will obtain plenty
of food and clothing, and that they will meet a number of
ancient companions in crime, some of them in the most
prosperous circumstances. Consequently among such in¬
dividuals, especially among London thieves and the like,
the threat of expatriation produces little or no motive to
induce them to abstain from criminal acts.”
In the year 1840 it was found expedient to suspend the
transmission of convicts to New South Wales. The sys¬
tem of convict punishment was soon afterwards revised,
' with a view of bringing the number transported down to a
proportion with the limited field for their absorption. It
was resolved that the convicts, before being removed to a
colony, should be subjected to preliminary discipline at
home. When Pentonville prison was opened in 1842, the
secretary of state, Sir James Graham, explained in a state
paper that it was intended in that establishment to subject
convicts to a system of penal discipline, which should not
only be in itself a punishment in as far as it was a long im¬
prisonment, but would train them so as to render them
better fitted for their fate in a penal colony. They were to
be detained eighteen months in Pentonville, and then
drafted off to the penal colony most suitable to their dispo¬
sition and condition. It was soon found, however, that the
eighteen months’ detention would not reduce the number of
convicts so far as to enable the remainder to be absorbed by
the transportation fields, which were yearly narrowing. Ac¬
cordingly, it was resolved to give a second stage of the
convict’s sentence to labour in public works, and then to
transfer him to the modified restraint of a penal colony.
Such works were found at Gibraltar and Bermuda; and in
1846 it was resolved to create the great convict establish¬
ment connected with the Portland quarries and breakwater.
Having first undergone a long imprisonment, and then a
still longer discipline in the public works, the convict was
to become an exile, subsisting on the fruit of his own labour
in a penal colony, which he could not leave without ren-
dering himself liable to the punishment of a returned con¬
vict. Events at the Antipodes, however, defeated even this
modified use of the old transportation fields. The governor
of Van Diemen’s Land—the only convict colony which
still remained open—informed the home government that
the ticket-of-leave and conditional-pardon men were there
competing with the free labourers for a scanty subsistence,
and that the colony would be overrun with paupers, the Prison
greater portion of whom were also criminals. It was use- Discipline-
less to send to such a place men whose chance of restora- v'*1'
tion to virtue depended on their finding ready and lucrative
employment. Hence, from the beginning of the year 1848,
the transmission of convicts to Van Diemen’s Land ceased.
Thus had the seemingly inexhaustible resources of the
great Australian world for the absorption of our criminal
population collapsed with an embarrassing degree of sud¬
denness. Some further efforts were made ere it was en¬
tirely abandoned. A new settlement for convicts was pro¬
jected and nominally established in Northern Australia, but
for many sufficient reasons it was abandoned. In 1849 it
was proposed to land some convicts, who had undergone
their probation in prison and public works, in Australia.
The squatting interest, having a lingering partiality for con¬
vict labour, would have welcomed their arrival, but the
indignant remonstrances of the rest of the inhabitants were
effectual to prevent a landing. The opening of the gold
diggings immediately afterwards rendered the whole region
the most unsuitable place in the world for the reception of
convicts in any stage of their discipline. An attempt was
made to use the settlements in Southern Africa as a con¬
vict station, but it was effectually resisted. The isolated
colony of Western Australia continued to receive a small
number of exiles, but it now became clear that, in the mean¬
time at least, provision must be made for detaining our
worst criminals at home. Besides women, the government
had then about 6000 male convicts, ever increasing, on their
hands, and the task of disposing of them was serious. The
first difficulty was to meet the fact, that the sentences of
this large number of persons ordained them to be conveyed
beyond seas, a judgment which could not be carried out.
To provide against the further accumulation of such sen- penai
tences, the first Penal Servitude Act was passed in 1853, servitude,
substituting for the old sentences of transportation sen¬
tences to the new denomination of punishment for much
shorter periods. This act was in itself a standing admis¬
sion that the government, if it required the transportees to
take out their sentences at home, must in good faith mate¬
rially abbreviate them. Each transportee, when sentenced,
knew that though the period of his bondage was nominally
seven or ten or fifteen years, yet, if he conducted himself
well, the greater portion of it would be spent in the com¬
parative freedom of simple exile. The only practicable ar¬
rangement was to remit a large portion of the sentences.
The reception of this adjustment afforded curious evidence
of the charms of transportation to the criminal world. The
men received it with sullen discontent and remonstrances
about breach of faith. The effect of the disappointment
among the female convicts at Millbank was, as the direc¬
tors reported, to make them, “ without reason or provoca¬
tion, suddenly break into acts amounting to frenzy,—smash¬
ing their windows, tearing up their clothes, destroying every
useful article within their reach ; generally yelling, shout¬
ing, and singing as if they were maniacs.”
In the arrangement for abbreviating those transportation Home
sentences, it was deemed prudent that the government tickets of
should not altogether relinquish the hold it had over the leave,
criminal through the original duration of his sentence. Ac¬
cordingly it was resolved that the remission should be con¬
ditional on good behaviour. When the time for the con¬
vict’s release came, he received, not a free pardon, but a
license to be at large, from the secretary of state. The
ticket, which he carried with him as a certificate of this
license, informed him that it would be withdrawn, and he
would be subjected to endure his original sentence, not
merely if he lapsed into crime, but if he led a questionable
dissolute life and kept low company. 1 he men thus re¬
leased, called ticket-of-leave men, created a renowned
panic in the years 1854 and 1855. The public would not
9
Prison
Discipline.
Abolition
of trans¬
portation
sentences.
Arrange-
| ments for
home
i discipline.
J
PRISON DISCIPLINE.
581
look at the fact, that the license was intended for their pro¬
tection—that the men must have been releassd, since it was
impossible to send them abroad in terms of their original
sentences—and that the release was rendered conditional,
that a control might be had over their motions. The pub¬
lic dwelt with morbid panic on every separate crime com¬
mitted throughout the country, asserting that it was per¬
petrated by the hands of ticket-of-leave men, whom the
government had designedly let loose upon the world. On
one point the suspicions of the public had a plausible founda¬
tion. It was seen that the secretary of state was not in the
practice of withdrawing the license when the convict had
fallen into evil repute, unlesshe had actually been committing
new crimes. In fact, the secretary of state felt, when he
came to the practical exercise of the power vested in him,
that it was questionable in a constitutional view, and disliked
to take on himself the responsibility of visiting men with a
heavy punishment on the ground of their mere repute, and
of the opinion formed of them by police-officers.
The result of this public clamour was a very valuable
parliamentary inquiry into the whole condition of the con¬
vict question. People could not see that it was imprac¬
ticable, over the whole face of the globe, to have a new
convict colony, and it was well to exhaust that question by
practical inquiry. It was exhausted. Every man who had
a scheme to propose for the absorption of our convicts
abroad was invited to explain it. The result was, that no
one could point to a colony, or to any other foreign com¬
munity, where the convicts could be absorbed into society
as they used to be in America, and were to some extent in
Australia. On the other hand, it was easy to find places
suited for convict stations; that is to say, places where
great prisons could be built, and convict labour carried on
either within the prison or in the open air. But it was not
necessary that establishments like these should be placed
at the Antipodes. On the contrary, the nearer they were
to the centre of government, the more strict would be the
control over them, and the more effective their moral in¬
fluence over the criminal population of the country, who
would know them to be real places of punishment, cleared
of the atmosphere of attractive dubiety which is apt to
surround far-off penal settlements.
In consequence of this inquiry, the act of 1857 was
passed, abolishing sentences of transportation, and substi¬
tuting for it, in all cases, sentences of penal servitude. What
penal servitude is has never been defined, unless it be a
definition of it to say that the penal serf is a public slave
in the hands of the secretary of state for the home depart¬
ment. It may be carried into effect either at home or
abroad, and is capable at any time, shonld the means be¬
come available, of being rendered the same thing as trans¬
portation. It varies from periods of three years to the
whole period of life.
It will be seen that, although transportation to the Aus¬
tralian colonies came to an abrupt and unexpected conclu¬
sion, yet a concourse of circumstances had been gradually
diminishing its extent, and opportunity had been given for
finding a proper substitute. Thus for some time those
chiefly concerned have had before them the weighty pro¬
blem, how far the progress of the science of prison disci¬
pline is possessed of resources to meet the new burden
thrown upon it. The country was clearly in a better po¬
sition to meet the difficulty than on the former occasion,
when America was closed. The prospect of having to
throw the convict population on the resources of our pri¬
sons, such as they were in those days, was appalling. But
the progress which had been made was, as has been already
stated, strictly in the discipline of persons sentenced to
limited periods of close imprisonment, and it remained to
be seen how much of the science thus acquired would be
available for longer periods of detention.
In this view, the effect of the discipline in the model Prison
penitentiary at Pentonville was closely watched, and the Discipline,
conclusion adopted was, that the separate system, however
suitable it might be for carrying out the usual fixed periods
of imprisonment immediately followed by release, could
not to any good purpose be continued for the established
periods of transportation or penal servitude. Pentonville
was at first peopled by prisoners selected for their health
and strength, and at the healthiest age, who were kept there
for a limited period until they should be sent abroad. But
as the transportation fields narrowed, it was found necessary
to open the prison to all classes of convicts, and they were
kept there for considerable periods, uncertain as to their
future fate, and apprehensive in many instances that they
would have to endure the whole period of their sentences
in monotonous isolation. They became visibly deteriorated
both in body and mind, and the number who lapsed into
insanity became alarming, not. only for the sake of them¬
selves, but from the indication so afforded that a much
larger number, who had not reached the length of insanity,
were likely to be more or less mentally deteriorated. The
visiting physician, Dr Owen Rees, in his report for Sep¬
tember 1850, having observed that five cases of mania
and eight of mental delusion had occurred in nine months,
said that “ these numbers would appear to render it pro¬
bable that some cause for the production and development
of insanity is in operation in the prison which did not for¬
merly exist. This consideration, induced by the statistics
of the prison, would not, however, urge itself so forcibly on
the attention were it not that, in my inspections of the
men, made from time to time, I had observed an irritability
and discontent indicative of a mental condition very
different to that shown by prisoners in former years; and,
in more cases than I ever recollect before, a despondency
and want of mental tone requiring the attention and calling
for the anxiety of the medical officer.” Another question
at the same time suggested itself,—How far the separate
confinement fitted the prisoners to go back into society
with improved chances of well-doing? and this too reached
no satisfactory conclusion. The obedience, docility, and
general conformity with the discipline of the prison, which
entitled a prisoner to the approval of his officers, were no
test of his capacity for self-control. It was even found
that the ready compliance which made an inoffensive cap¬
tive, made a thoughtless, facile member of society, liable to
be immediately seduced into his old practices when he
found his old associates. It was perceptible that, when
convicts were taken immediately from a long course of
separate confinement to be associated in public works, they
had lost part of the activity and capacity of self-manage¬
ment which is possessed by the humblest class of free
workmen, and must be exhibited by them when they have
to co-operate with each other in labour. Increased atten¬
tion to diet, free air, and exercise, in some degree modified
these injurious influences. Some convicts at Pentonville
were set to garden-work avowedly as a relief to the
monotony of the cell. A more comprehensive and
effectual remedy was found in active exercise by walking
round a considerable area, an arrangement which of course
was so far an infringement on the rule of strict separation.
It was at last, however, resolved to limit the period during
which convicts were to be kept separate. A year was at
first the limit fixed, but in 1854 it was reduced to nine
months for males ; the deteriorating influences being
observed not to commence their work on women so
readily, it was considered safe to subject them to the
otherwise wholesome system of separation for a year.
This limitation only affected the class usually called
convicts, and criminals sentenced to imprisonment might
have to endure their whole sentence of a year, or even
two years, in separation. But it was held that the same
I
582 P RI S 0 N D
Prison deteriorating influence does not follow from the discipline
Discipline, when the whole punishment comes to an early conclusion,
and that it was the prospect of a long continuance of
punishment, uncertain in its nature and repressive of hope'
fulness, that made the separation tell so early on the convicts.
It is proper to state that neither the policy of the limitation
nor the sanitary opinions on which it has been founded
have escaped dispute. No one questions that any system
which deteriorates the prisoner either in body or mind is
unjustifiable, but the deterioration has been questioned.
In America it has been maintained that men who had
been kept years in a cell without ever breathing the open
air, as all prisoners confined for any considerable period in
Britain do, had not deteriorated; and that, without associ¬
ating them with each other, there are many sanitary influ¬
ences available for the protection of their health. Those
who thus believe it unnecessary, condemn the association
as subversive of the good effects of previous separation,
and a pernicious example to other prisoners, who know
that the greater criminals nominally sentenced to higher
punishments are in the enjoyment of privileges denied to
themselves. Sir John Kincaid, after more than ten years’
experience as a government inspector of prisons, says,
when reporting on male convicts detained in the prison of
Wakefield in Yorkshire, and on the female convicts of
Scotland—“ It appears to me that, so long as they are in
separate confinement, and under the beneficial influences
that are brought to bear upon them, they are generally
contented, industrious, and, such of them as are endowed
with minds capable of reflection, appear to be in a fair¬
way of adopting an amended course of life ; but when the
time arrives for their being entitled to association, they are
but a short time in it when they generally become more
idly disposed, discontented, and excitable, showing that
vices have been called into active operation which their
previous separate confinement had tended to subdue or
to eradicate. I am not prepared to say that prisoners
sentenced to long periods of imprisonment may not require
association ; I am only showing the results of it after nine
months’ separate confinement. I am of opinion, in which
I am supported by others well qualified to judge, that a
prisoner in ordinary health will not break down on a two
years’ imprisonment in a suitable separate cell, provided he
is allowed a fair amount of relaxation in air and exercise.”
The chairman of the English convict board, who is in a
great measure the author of the new arrangements, says
in his report for the same year—“ It may, however, be
doubted whether the period of nine months, to which the
course of discipline is now restricted, is sufficient for de¬
riving the full benefits which attend its enforcement for
twelve or fifteen months, which were the usual periods
some years ago. Though other causes have been more
obvious in relation to the falling-off in point of good con¬
duct which has been noticed during the last two or three
years, I believe that the less due preparation for being
brought into association has had its share. An important
period for reflection and instruction has thus been lost, and
I should be glad, when circumstances permit, to see twelve
months again established as the average period of deten¬
tion in separate confinement.” There is no doubt that the
true medium applicable to this branch of convict discipline
will soon be indisputably adjusted through a series of
cautiously-tried and carefully-watched experiments, remote
alike from the cruel carelessness of the old practice or the
audacious impiricism which succeeded it.
So far, then, the substitute in a system of discipline at
home for the punishment of transportation to the antipodes
has been supplied by the system of discipline applicable to
the criminals punished by imprisonment at home. It is
now necessary to give a general idea of those totally new
arrangements which have been adopted for carrying out
[SCIPLINE.
the remainder of the convicts’ sentence. It will be unne- Prison
cessary to state chronologically the changes made in these Discipline
arrangements, because they were at first influenced by the '^v^.
supposition that a portion of the convicts’ sentence was
still to be passed in a penal colony. It was seen at last,
however, that even the sole remaining convict settlement,
Western Australia, was unlikely to find room for the 600
which it was estimated to receive; while the number of
convicts sentenced in the United Kingdom in each year
amounts to more than 3000. Hence it was necessary to
adjust the stages of discipline so that they could all be
carried into effect at home. To meet this great difficulty,
a new method of administration was adopted for England,
where the bulk of the British convicts are kept. The con¬
vict prisons of Millbank, Pentonville, and Parkhurst had
been managed by separate boards, each consisting of seve¬
ral statesmen and other men of eminence acting gratui¬
tously. These were abolished in 1850, and the whole
administration of the convict department was vested in a
board of three official commissioners, appointed by, and re¬
sponsible to, the secretary of state for the home department.
Colonel Sir Joshua Jebb, who had long acted as surveyor-
general of the English prisons, was appointed chairman of
the board. Thus it fell to his lot to have the chief in¬
fluence in the organization of the new system, and by his
official position, as well as his zeal and ability, he may
be said to hold the leadership of the practice of prison
discipline in this country.
It was considered that the period of separation allotted
to the convict as the first stage of his sentence would serve
a double purpose. It would be in itself a heavy punish¬
ment, deterrent to evil-doers, and it would render the un¬
tamed human being amenable to order and discipline,
and more manageable during the subsequent stages. The
object of these stages is, by mixing other elements with
that of punishment, gradually to adapt the convict for the life
of a useful and, if possible, a religious and moral citizen ; and
if this should not be even to any extent accomplished, then
at all events, to keep him alike from doing mischief to
society and from deteriorating under the influence of prison
life. As in the separate system itself, the most material
ameliorating engine in this operation is labour. The kinds
of work which can be conducted in a separate cell are
limited and not very productive. A great deal of the labour
in separate confinement is, as we have seen, intended to
be afflictive only, and entirely unproductive in the economic
sense. The convicts’ labours have the greatest practical
amount of productiveness in view. Being no longer con¬
ducted in solitude, they have the economic advantage, of
division of process, and at the same time they fit the men
better for the real industrial pursuits of life, by far the
greater portion of all hand labour being conducted in com¬
bination, as in the instance of the mason, the carpenter,
the plasterer, the worker in metals, and the manufacturer
of most of the textile fabrics.
The country being prosperous, there was less than might
have been expected of the outcry which such projects have
usually to endure about the hardships to the honest work¬
man, who has to encounter the competition of the felon.
To the general economic influence of this objection there
is the conclusive general answer, that were the felons be¬
having as all good men desire they should behave, they
would themselves be honest, industrious workmen, com¬
peting with their brethren, and reducing their wages, were
it true that the increase of the number of producers, and
consequently of consumers, does decrease the rate of wages.
There could be no such general answer to the specific ob¬
jection, that government, bringing the large capital in¬
vested in convict management into the market, might unduly
press on particular crafts, especially the smaller and less
powerful. But it was easy, practically, to meet the objec-
PRISON DISCIPLINE.
Prison tion by avoiding underselling, and by a discreet selection of
liscipline. classes of produce, and of markets, in which the trade driven
by the convict establishments would be too trifling to be felt.
At the same time, there were many obvious advantages in
sending the great bulk of the convict labour into channels
where it would cause no competition with free labour. In
this view, convict labour has been devoted to the executing
of public works, which, though eminently valuable to the
country, might not have been undertaken but for the oppor¬
tunity thus afforded; and waste land has been reclaimed,
adding a certain average to the fertile soil of the country,
which would not have been added to it as a remunerative
speculation, and consequently would not have given employ¬
ment to free labourers.
’ublic The industrial disposal of convicts has been greatly aided
forks. by the works undertaken on Portland Isle, in consequence
of the recommendation of a commission on harbours of re¬
fuge, “ that a breakwater be constructed in Portland Bay,
sheltering an area of 1200 acres.” Subsequently fortifica¬
tions were added to the breakwater and the harbour-works.
The peninsula itself supplies the oolite rock so well known
as Portland stone for these works. Hence a quantity of
labour of various kinds has been concentrated within one
narrow corner to an extent rarely exemplified. It is the
nature of the oolite beds to require before the very fine
grained, compact building-stone is excavated, the removal
of masses of rough unequal stone. This, useless for other
purposes, is dropped into the sea as the material of the
great breakwater. There is thus a long gradation of labour,
from the roughest and the hardest that is undergone by the
most ignorant excavating navvy, up to the finest masonry,
and the other operations necessary for the finishing of the
fortifications and harbour-works. From the report for
1858 it appears that on the breakwater there had been
executed work to the value of L.31,836, being at the rate
of L.34 a man. On the fortifications the work was valued
at L.3165, 1 Is., or L.31,9s. per man. On the prison edifice
masons and labourers did work set down at the rate of
L.25, 12s. 8d. per man. Others working in-doors, as tailors,
shoemakers, cooks, and bakers, were estimated to have done
work worth L.21, 12s. 2d. each overhead. The greater
part of this labour cannot undergo the market test; and it
can only be taken for granted that the Convict Board have
accurately estimated it according to the methods with
which employers of constructive labour are familiar. It
used to be estimated that the average value of the work of
a convict in the hulks was about 2d. a day. That the
labour, while increasing so much in efficiency, has also in¬
creased in its penal influence, may be inferred from the
following remarks by Mr Dobie, the chaplain of the esta¬
blishment:—“I think the working of the large quarries to
provide stone for the breakwater meets the incorrigible
offender by visiting him with very severe toil, and for such
men scarcely anything could be more effectually deterring
than this hard and incessant labour. The execration with
which the idle have regarded this compulsory toil presents
the Portland prison as an important agent of terror to re¬
press crime. Many men, on leaving, do not hesitate to
admit that before they committed the crime which brought
them hither, they had no notion that they should be sub¬
jected to so severe a yoke ; and they have often added that
they should warn their old companions of their experience
of some two or three painful years.” Slave labour is na¬
turally meagre in results; and that labour should be exacted,
not only productive, but oppressive, at once suggests that
some operative cause, other than pure force, must have
been at work. Its nature will be explained further on. At
Portsmouth there is another convict establishment where
the labour is to some extent similar. According to the
governor’s report for 1858, it consists, “ in the dockyard, of
coaling and ballasting ships of war, unloading colliers, re¬
583
moving and stacking timber, attending ship-wrights, &c.; Prison
in the Royal Clarence victualling-yard, of loading and un- Discipline,
loading vessels, stowing casks, cleaning tanks, &c. ; and v—
about Haslar hospital, principally in works of an ornamental
character.” In the navy department convicts were employed
“ in scraping shot and shell, and performing various useful
services in the gun wharf.” “ Calculating the value of the
labour performed by actual measurement, or where mea¬
surement has been impossible, then by approximation,” he
sets it down as L.28,392, or L.32, 8s. per convict. At
Chatham a new prison, superseding the hulks, has been
opened for above a thousand convicts; and it is stated that
“ their labour will be devoted to the extensive new docks,
and other works which are proposed to the eastward of the
present dockyard.” It will readily be seen that these esta¬
blishments afford a wide range of industrial occupation.
The government, at the same time, hire vacant accommo¬
dation in county prisons, as at Leicester jail, and the house
of correction at Wakefield in which there are usually about
400 convicts.
It is of course important that when a criminal has ac¬
quired any skilled occupation, it should not be wasted to
the public, or deteriorated to himself, by his being set to
the rough drudgery which the untrained can perform better.
With the resources, however, at the command of the con¬
vict department, it will rarely happen that a man possesses
mechanical skill wdiich cannot be used. Overseers, clerks,
and the few educated and professional men who find their
way into the convict population, can to a considerable ex¬
tent be set to appropriate occupation, chiefly in the details
of the extensive businesses conducted by the convict de¬
partment. In prisons where extensive works are conducted,
there is the same economio advantage as in free workshops
and manufactories, in the organization of the labour not
being disturbed by the employment of the sick and aged,
who may at the same time be fit for other and lighter work.
The official staff who superintend the able-bodied convicts,
cannot also do justice to the condition and claims of the
disabled. Accordingly, the permanent!y diseased, the super¬
annuated, and those overtaken by the premature old age
brought on by the excesses, the privations, and the excite¬
ments of the felon’s life, are provided for in separate prisons.
One of these is the new prison of Working, which has been
or is nearly completed : the inmates destined for it were
removed from the hulks to a temporary prison at Lewes.
The other establishment for this class of prisoners is on the
breezy heights of Dartmoor, where they are to a great ex¬
tent occupied in reclaiming waste land and in farming.
The governor, in his last report, lamenting the death of an
intelligent farm-bailiff, says, “ this zealous and faithful public
servant has, by his unceasing energy and great practical
skill, produced inconceivable changes on this barren spot,
rendering that which only a few years since presented a
most sterile and forbidding character, now worthy of being
compared with Devon’s finest and most luxuriant farms.”
Convict boys are sent to the prison of Parkhurst, in the Isle
of WDht. The chief occupation of the prisoners there
is agriculture, but some are trained as masons, sawyers,
carpenters, painters, tailors, shoemakers, and brickmakers.
By a special statutory provision, the secretary of state sends
boys sentenced to long imprisonment, as well as convicts,
to this prison ; and it is very suggestive, that the officers of
the establishment, for the credit of their system of disci¬
pline, deem it necessary to draw a broad line of distinction
between the conduct and general condition of the convicts
whom they have for several years, and those whom, as
undergoing sentence of imprisonment, they can operate on
only for a period comparatively brief.
Such is a general view of the occupations of the male induce-
convicts in England. It will readily be felt that, if aments to
healthy development of productive labour, accompanied by exertion.
584
PRISON DISCIPLINE.
Prison
Discipline,
that good conduct which is its necessary attendant, has
been brought about by mere force, the phenomenon is new
in the moral history of mankind. The stimulus of reward,
and the still stronger stimulus of hope, have, however, ac¬
companied the coercion. The rewarding of malefactors,
or the mitigation of their sufferings, as the return for good
conduct in prison, is not a novelty. Difficulties, however,
have always been felt in the method and extent of the appli¬
cation of the principle. If carried far, so as materially to
affect the character and extent of a sentence, then it fol¬
lows that the awarding of punishment, which is jealously
restricted to judges bound by acts of Parliament, who pro¬
nounce their sentences under the highest responsibilities
in the face of the public, would be shared by the adminis¬
trators of prisons, whose functions are performed in pri¬
vacy, and who would naturally act on such evidence or
other operative inducement as might suit their own views
and wishes. True, the rulers of the prison could only
alter the sentence of the judge in the direction of mitiga¬
tion ; but even the discretionary possession of this power
might indirectly be turned to the increase of severity, for
the existence of such a power might be contemplated by
the bench, and the prisoner might be sentenced to a pun¬
ishment reducible by his future good conduct, while the
reduction might be justly earned, and yet withheld. These
considerations must always hamper the practical adoption
of schemes, of which there are not a few, for adjusting the
criminal’s fate, to his conduct and the character he has ac¬
quired, after he has been convicted.
Wherever there is danger of discretionary power being
abused, there is at least a partial corrective in a record of
the circumstances which give a ground for the exercise of
the power. A hasty or vindictive discipline officer, pre¬
suming him to be invested, without control, with the right
of mitigating or increasing a criminal’s punishment, would
be checked in the unjust or cruel exercise of his power by
the necessity of keeping a record of the events and cir-.
cumstances which lead to its exercise. The merit of
having invented such a record, in “ the mark system, ap¬
pears to be due to Captain Maconochie. This gentleman
has suggested a bold and original scheme of prison disci¬
pline, of which, as it has not, save in one feature, met with
practical acceptance, a criticism would, on the present oc¬
casion, be out of place. It may simply be remarked, that
those connected with the practical application of discipline
have, whether rightly or wrongly, felt that he proposes to
appeal to motives, too refined and too closely resembling
those by which only men of superior intellect and goodness
are led, to be effective upon those coarse natures which
have been led into crime by their signal deficiency in the
very springs of action to which he appeals. His method,
however, of recording the claims of prisoners by the mark
system is now extensively applied. It can be carried out
either by debiting the marks for misconduct, or by credit¬
ing them for good conduct. In either case, the character
recorded to the prisoner is a fund on which he is entitled
to draw. A certain number of marks gained within a fixed
period entitle the convict to the privileges of a class or
grade, which may be certified by a badge such as a ser¬
geant’s stripes. The rank so achieved is liable to be for¬
feited by misconduct.
It is the nature of criminals to be influenced by imme¬
diate results, and to be careless of remote consequences.
In the loss of a step in a graduated scale, the consequences
of misconduct are brought home with immediate emphasis.
They are often brought home by immediate consequences ;
and this leads to the nature of the fund on which the con¬
vict’s claims, as established by the mark system, enable
him to draw. While he is in separation, the conditions
under which he will be relieved from the dreary monotony
of his confinement, to enjoy a limited converse with his fel¬
lows, may be made a powerful instrument of discipline ; Prison
and so may the possibility of his losing this privilege after he Discipline,
has gained it. Other relaxations will follow. Pursuits v—
giving interest and a modified excitement to the prison
life may be to a certain extent introduced. Great influ¬
ence may be exercised in adjusting the nature and the
amount of labour required of him. Their food is generally
an object of intense interest and anxiety to prisoners, and
when they are actively employed, especially in the open
air, they enjoy it with a relish to which they have been
utter strangers in their outside life of dissipation. Even
within a very limited gradation in the luxuriousness of
their diet, and without the admission of any stimulants, a
large range of reward and punishment can be reached.
Another method of reward is the crediting of certain sums
of money or gratuities, at stated intervals, forming a fund
for the benefit of the convict on his release.
The most potent of all rewards, however, is release. It
is the only one which, even at a distance, is strong enough
to stimulate the prisoner in his immediate actions and con¬
duct. But the largeness of the reward renders it one diffi¬
cult to deal with. It has been seen already that an abbre¬
viation of the sentences of certain convicts, rendered ne¬
cessary bv a concourse of circumstances, created great
unpopularity under the name of the ticket-of-Ieave system,
and was productive of considerable embarrassment. This
occasion, however, afforded a valuable opportunity for test¬
ing, under close and skilful observation, the efficiency of
the practice of abbreviating sentences as a means of influ¬
ence and control over the convicts. After their first dis¬
appointment in the loss of the prospect of removal to Aus¬
tralia, the opportunity of earning a shortened sentence in¬
fluenced their conduct, and gave an impulse to their
industry. The act of 1853, which introduced sentences of
penal servitude, made the duration of these much shorter
than sentences of transportation, with the view of making
the new punishment, which was to be endured at home, as
nearly as possible equivalent to the removal abroad. It
was determined at the same time by the executive authori¬
ties, that these shorter sentences should run their course,
and that the punishment of the criminal, as pronounced
from the bench, should not be subsequently altered except
for some special cause. The proceedings of the Convict
Board, and the reports made by their officers, show that
they felt this rule materially to abridge their influence in
training the men to good conduct and industry. In their
last report, referring to the year 1855, when the numbers
committed under the new form of sentence began to bear
a considerable and noticeable proportion of the whole, they
state that the change in the feeling and bearing of the men
bore some resemblance to the old characteristics of the
hulks, their object being to get through their time, and go
away with “ thank you for nothing,” as they expressed it.
In Portland prison it is stated that in the autumn of 1855,
“a bad and insubordinate feeling was displayed by a number
of men under the new sentence of penal servitude: these
C mibined to strike work, assigning as a reason, that they
were disappointed as to their periods of imprisonment; and
stating that when tried, and in some instances since trial,
they had been led to expect that, by good conduct, they
would get part of their sentence remitted.”
After the act of 1857, abolishing the name of transporta
tion, and recasting the punishment of convicts in periods of
penal servitude, the principle of remitting part of the sen¬
tence for good behaviour was re-adopted by the govern¬
ment. Care, however, was taken to leave no undue room for
a discretionary exercise of the power. A scale of remissions
was adjusted in proportion to the different lengths of the sen¬
tences, fixing the period to be deducted from each, in case
of certified good conduct. For instance, the convict whose
sentence was for five years, if he behaved well, was entitled to
PRISON DI
Prison release after four years, and the convict sentenced to seven
Discipline, years after six. The scale of abbreviations, with an ex-
V*'/ planatory statement, was transmitted by the secretary of state
to all the judges, who, in pronouncing their sentences, knew,
and, if they thought proper, may have informed the convicts,
that the sentence extended to a certain period, should their
conduct while enduring it be pronounced bad, but that if
they earned a good character it became a shorter sentence.
Female These brief notices of convict organization refer to the
convicts, establishments for male convicts;, but the discipline of
convict women has, with some differences, followed the
same course. Criminal women are fewer than criminal
men, but they are more difficult to deal with. They are
inapt to follow the sombre routine of discipline, and where
they are collected in considerable numbers there are al¬
ways a few of them in chronic rebellion against the laws of
the prison, to which male prisoners of the deepest dye of
guilt are giving implicit obedience. Even while some open¬
ing in the Australian colonies seemed to remain for the
male convicts there wTas none for the female, and it was
necessary some years ago to look in the face the alternative
of detaining them in this country. The mark system and
appropriate stages of discipline have been applied to them,
but it is difficult to give them an equivalent for what the
organization of the male convicts derives from public works.
To bring them a stage nearer to the condition of free per¬
sons than they can be brought in the prison, an establish¬
ment has been formed at Fulham for their reception, after
they have passed through Millbank and the female prison
of Brixton. It is called “ The Refuge,” and its chief
peculiarity is, that its resemblance to an ordinary prison is
as small as the necessary security admits of. The convicts
being selected for their good behaviour, advanced to en¬
joyments which may be forfeited by misconduct, and ap¬
proaching the conclusion of their sentences, require com¬
paratively little restraint, and enjoy a corresponding free¬
dom within the walls.
Scotland. It is perhaps propitious to the progress of the important
science of their discipline, that the convicts throughout the
United Kingdom are not under one administration, but
that opportunity may be given for testing the success of
different methods of management, each conducted with a
close observation of the others. The male convicts of
Scotland are removed to England, but no women have
been removed from Scotland since the summer of 1855,
and those who have since accumulated have been under
the management of the General Board of Prisons. They now
amount to about 300. The system of advancement from
stage to stage has been adopted towards them, so far as the
limited accommodation at the disposal of the board has
permitted ; and new buildings, planned with a special view
to their discipline, have just been completed as additions to
the general prison at Perth.
Ireland. In Ireland the convicts, both male and female, are under
the administration of the directors of convict prisons there,
a board established in 1854. They have several prisons,—
Montjoy (with a male and female department), Phillipston,
Grange-Gorman, and Spike Island where men are em¬
ployed as at Portland, in fortification and harbour-works.
They have made and put to use moveable iron prisons,
which can be shifted to suit the occupation of the inmates
in the improvement of land and public works. The ar¬
rangement resembles the old road gangs in Australia, and
not least in the convicts sleeping in one apartment, an
arrangement avoided in all other places of convict custody.
The Irish system of convict discipline has followed the
English in general, but has gone further in the direction of
relaxation, bringing the convicts nearer to the condition of
free citizens. They are entertained with lectures and other
intellectual and educational relaxations. They are per¬
mitted, too, after an advanced stage and evidence of con-
VOL. XVIII.
SCIP LINE.
tinned good conduct, to pursue occupations beyond the Prison
bounds of the prison establishments, and are entrusted with Discipline,
messages and commissions in which they have to account ^
for pecuniary transactions. The directors are very con¬
fident in the success of their method, and it will no doubt
be fairly tested. The nature and habits of the people are
different from those of the British, and the same methods
of discipline may not suit both. Indeed, the adaptation of
discipline to local and social peculiarities opens some of the
most difficult problems of the science. In the instructive
book of M. Berenger these difficulties are illustrated with
reference to the varied population of France, where the
degraded thief, and the Corsican assassin who is yet a
gentleman and looks upon his honour as unsullied, have to
be imprisoned under the same roof.
Every one who has paid even small attention to the Prospects
distribution of the penal population from twenty to thirty from n®"'
years ago, when one portion of them were kept at home arrange-
in ill-managed prisons, and another portion were hustled ments’
off to the opposite side of the world, will at once perceive
how great is the change operated by late arrangements.
Of the improvements in simple prison discipline we have
the experience of several years. That there have been
advantages in the improvement admits of no doubt; but
they do not fulfil in many respects, the hope of sanguine
philanthropists. Whoever obtains the opinions of the
most intelligent officers connected with criminal admin¬
istration, will find in them a settled conviction that there
is at least one class, forming a large proportion of the
criminality of this country,—the hardened professional
thieves,—on whom prison discipline has had scarcely any
reformatory effect, however much its terrors may have
restrained them. The system of long isolation under
training, which has but recently begun, and is an entire
novelty in penal practice, has to prove its own results, and
it would be premature to come to a conclusion on its
efficacy. But it is easy to believe that four, six, or ten
years, or more if necessary, devoted to suitable training,
may produce effects to which imprisonments for like num¬
bers of months were totally inadequate. It will be curious
to see the influence of habit on the thief or swindler who
has been compelled, during a long period of years, to turn
his hand to productive industry. If there be elements of
change in himself, there will be perhaps as much in the
conditions by which he is surrounded. The criminal classes
are ephemeral, growing prematurely old, and dropping out
of their social circle from various causes after a brief career ;
so that when the convict returns to society after a long
detention, he will find a new generation at work, who have
opened new departments of criminal business with which
he is not immediately familiar.
For such discharged convicts as are desirous to do well, Discharged
the chances that they may find a clear path towards the convicts,
means of living by honest industry form an anxious pro¬
blem, not yet solved, to the authorities on prison discipline.
There is a strong and natural dislike to them in the minds
both of employers and fellow-workmen. Efforts to relieve
them from the consequences of this feeling on the other
hand are apt to incur the reproach of favouring the criminal
above the honest labourer. In Ireland, it appears that
convicts are not disliked as labourers, while the police look
after them ; but the habits of the rest of the empire revolt
against this as a form of espionage, and the expirees specially^
looked after by the authorities would have less chance of
employment than those left unwatched. The employment
of expirees in establishments supported by the government
has been spoken of, but rejected, as such assemblages of
men, who at least were hardened offenders, would be a
dangerous pressure on their resolutions to improve, and
would afford them both the temptation and the means to
relapse into crime. Among the French the system of
*5 E
,
5SG P R IS 0 N D ]
Prison patronage,—that is to say,of private persons who are wealthy
Discipline. an(j benevolenttakingindividual expirees in hand,and watch-
fully assisting them to gain an honest living,—has been re¬
commended as the strongest available remedy for the evil
in the meantime. A few societies having the same objects
in view have sprung up in this country, such as the Lon¬
don Reformatory, the Elizabeth Fry, and the Discharged
Prisoners’ Aid Society. In some of these institutions the
expirees are admitted for a time as to a place of re¬
fuge, whence they can look about and secure a safe retreat
tfom destitution and crime at home or abroad ; while others
merely give council and pecuniary aid to enable them to
commence their reformed life.
Rpforma- After the reformatory spirit in prison discipline had for
tories for years operated on the criminal population generally, and
the young, been to some measure wasted upon old offenders, it lately
took a more hopeful direction by concentrating itself upon
the young. When a man has been caught stealing, the
chance is, that he is an irreclaimable thief; but a boy
caught stealing may yet be trained to honesty. The usual
material out of which the old confirmed thief is made, is
the child trained in crime by the necessities of an aban¬
doned infancy. Thrown upon the streets as orphans or the
neglected offspring of dissolute parents, children find that
they must live. Mendicancy and crime are the only means
of achieving this object, and there are plenty to teach them
these businesses. The more the child possesses industrial
energy, the more actively and intelligently will he push his
profession, and the more formidable a depredator will he
become. It is in this way that the great family of crime
is kept up. The parents are in prison or in the convict
establishments while their children are learning their he¬
reditary trade. Perhaps the parents may not have reached
the sphere of systematic crime, but drunkenness, idleness,
and general viciousness have gradually crept upon them,
poisoning the sources of the domestic affections, and dead¬
ening the sense of duty; and so the next generation, en¬
tering early on professional crime, brings the race at last
down to the grade of criminality. It has been shown by
experience that such children, even if they have begun
their career of vice, are not confirmed criminals; and it
they are early enough taken in hand, the energies which
they would have directed to plunder may be turned to pro¬
ductive industry.
If the adoption in different parts of the world of the same
idea, without those who have started it receiving hints from
each other, or knowing each other’s proceedings, be evi¬
dence that the idea is true and just, the principle of juvenile
reformatories has such a sanction. It has been adopted
and carried out in many places, under the notion that it was
quite original, though such institutions were flourishing
elsewhere. How old they may be it would be now difficult
to tell. The principle in some measure influenced the men
who from time to time bequeathed fortunes to found great
hospitals ; but it is a sort of law of political economy, that
what is thus vested to remain for perpetuity ceases to be
available for destitution, whatever might be the founders
intention, and becomes a sort of property in the hands of
the managers, who give its benefits to those having influence
to obtain them. An institution for the really destitute
must be under the watchful eye of those who contribute to
or are taxed for it. The first reformatory proper, which
has received much notice, was founded about the year 1813
by Johannes Falk, a native of Dantzic, whose heart is said
to have been opened to the condition of the street children
by the loss of four of his own within a few days. His esta¬
blishment was avowedly a refuge for criminal children and
the children of criminals. Several other small establish¬
ments of the same kind followed this in different parts of
Germany, more than one “ saving institution,” as they
were called, being promoted by Count Adalbert van der
SCIPLINE.
Recke-Vollmarstein. In 1824 a larger establishment, the Prison
“ Society for the Education of Children Morally Neglected,” Discipline,
was founded at Berlin. The Prussian government afterwards v^—
took the matter up, and several reformatories of different
kinds, but all having more or less the training, support, and
education of children of the destitute and criminal classes in
view, were established under government auspices. In the
meantime the principle had made great progress in the United
States. In 1823 it was reported by the Society for the Preven¬
tion of Pauperism in New York, “ that it is highly expedient
that a house of refuge for juvenile delinquents should, as
soon as practicable, be established in the immediate vicinity
of New York and in 1826 the state legislature passed an
act “ for incorporating the Society for the Reformation of
Juvenile Delinquents in the city of New York.” This was
followed by several others ; and the Refuges became an im¬
portant feature in the United States. They are not merely
places of voluntary refuge, but children can be committed
to them ; a practice which was not adopted without consider¬
able hesitation and objection, applied especially to the in¬
stances where children not charged with specific crimes
were removed from their parents. (See Lieber’s trans¬
lation of De Beaumont and De Toqueville’s Penitentiary
System.) The French had for some time established a
distinction between adult and juvenile offenders, those
under sixteen being considered as unfit objects of punish¬
ment, from having acted without discretion. After various
minor efforts in the same direction, the Reformatory of Metrai
for criminal boys, was established in the year 1840, by M.
Demetz, who has worthily earned a high reputation by the
skilful organization and great success of the institution.
In Britain there was a peculiar call for institutions of this
kind, because even the reforms in prison discipline pressed
it harder on the young. The jail was improved, but it was
improved for criminals. The old bridewells and houses of
correction did perhaps little for the reformation of their in¬
mates, but they were considered as distinct from the felon’s
jail,—as places rather for the disorderly and the mendicant
than for thorough criminals,—and committal thither did not
involve the same infamy as imprisonment within the walls
which, now under improved and uniform management, inclose
all classes of the committed. The reformatory system had
a small and peculiar beginning. The earliest noticed symp¬
toms of its commencement were a humble school in Lon¬
don, and a rather larger one in Aberdeen, where the desti¬
tute children of the streets were induced to take education
by at the same time receiving food. The example spread
and became fashionable, ragged schools, as they were at first
termed, quickly following each other. It became soon a
serious consideration what was to become of their inmates
at the termination of their attendance, when they might go
forth with perhaps a smattering of education, and good
moral and religious principles, but destitute of the means
of self-support. The English poor-law commissioners had
observed that when an untrained pauper boy was, according
to the old practice, apprenticed off with a fee to a common
weaver or other unskilled workman, he usually came back
on the parish as a pauper adult; and they promulgated, and
to some extent practised, the principle, that a training in
skilled labour is necessary to keep a destitute boy from
pauperism. This principle was rigidly acted on in the
united industrial school of Edinburgh, where it was held
better that a small number should be returned productive
members to society, than a larger number merely supported
and occupied in unskilled pursuits; and the example has
been extensively followed elsewhere.
The industrial schools saved from their fate the children
who were likely to reach the prison through the commission
of crime ; the next step was to make them supersede the
prison by receiving juvenile criminals. I o accomplish this
end, it was necessary to make them places of coercion, wheie
P R I
Prisrend the inmates could be legally detained for the proper period.
|| The first step in reformatory school legislation was Mr
Privy Dunlop’s act of 1854, authorizing magistrates in Scotland
Council. t0 commit vagrant children, whose parents do not find
security for their good conduct, to certified reformatory
schools. This was immediately followed by Lord Palmer¬
ston’s act, applicable both to England and Scotland, which
authorized the removal to reformatory schools, for periods
P R I 587
varying from two to five years, of young people under six- Privy-
teen convicted of crimes and sentenced to short imprison- Council,
ments. A marked distinction was thus from the first esta-
blished between two classes of reformatories—the one for
the protection of destitute children likely to commit crime,
the other for the punishment, followed by a course of re¬
formatory discipline, of those who have actually committed
offences. (j. h. b.)
PRISREND, or Perserin, a town of European Turkey,
capital of a sanjak of the same name in Albania, on the
right bank of the Rieka, an affluent of the White Drin, 82
miles E. of Scutari, and 92 N.E. of Durazzo. It is fortified;
and on a neighbouring hill stands a castle, where the Turk¬
ish governor resides. Prisrend is the seat of a Roman
Catholic bishop. Fire-arms are manufactured here, and
are highly prized. A considerable trade is carried on as
well with the surrounding regions of Albania as with
Rumelia and Servia. Large fairs are held here annually
in November. Pop. 8000.
PRISTINA, a fortified town of European Turkey, in
Servia, at the southern extremity of the fertile plain of
Cossova, 92 miles E.N.E. of Scutari, and 152 N.W. of
Salonika. It is the seat of a pasha, and of a Greek bishop,
and has several mosques, bazaars, baths, and other build¬
ings. Pop. 12,000.
PRITZWALK, a town of Prussia, in the province of
Brandenburg, and circle of Potsdam, on the Domnitz, 66
miles N.W. of Berlin. It is surrounded by walls, and
entered by three gates. Woollen and linen fabrics are
manufactured here. Pop. 4811.
PRIVAS, a town of France, capital of the department
of Ardeche, stands in the midst of barren and rugged hills,
on a steep ridge separating the valley of the Ouveze from
that of a small affluent, 26 miles S.W. of Valence. It has
one principal street, running along the ridge, and termi¬
nating at either end in terraces planted with trees. Thotigh
presenting an imposing appearance from a distance, Privas
is smaller than the capital of any other department in
France; and the only conspicuous building is the court¬
house, which has a Grecian portico. In the town and its
vicinity there are many mills for reeling and throwing silk,
which is produced in abundance in the surrounding country.
There are also manufactures of woollen stuff, brandy, and
leather ; and an active trade is carried on in these articles,
as well as in cattle and rural produce. In the civil wars of
the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries in France, Priyas,
which was then a strongly-fortified town, played a conspicu¬
ous part, being always favourable to the Protestant party.
In 1612 a synod of the Reformed churches in France was
held here. In 1629 it was bravely defended by a small
garrison under St Andre de Montbrun against Louis XIII.,
but after a siege of two months, had to be abandoned.
Montbrun, being soon after taken, was hanged ; and the for¬
tifications of Privas were levelled to the ground. Pop.
(1856) 4804.
PRIVATEER, a private ship of war, fitted out and pro¬
vided with military stores by a private individual; and the
persons engaged are permitted to retain their captures in¬
stead of pay, allowing the admiral his share. Privateers may
not attempt anything against the laws of nations; as to assault
an enemy in a port or haven under the protection of any
prince or republic, whether he be friend, ally, or neutral.
PRIVITZ, or Prividia, a town of Hungary, in the
county of Lower Neutra and government of Pressburg, 23
miles W.N.W. of Neusohl. It has a church, Piarist col¬
lege, grammar school, and manufactures of cloth. There
is some trade in corn. Pop. 4730.
PRIVY COUNCIL («'.<?., Secret Council), as at present
constituted, is an assembly of natural-born subjects of Great
Britain, unlimited in number, appointed by the will of the
sovereign, on whose nomination, after taking the prescribed
oath, the appointment is completed. The dissolution of
the Privy Council, or the dismissal of an individual mem¬
ber,—as of the erasure of his name from the council-book
by the sovereign,—depends upon the Queen’s pleasure.
The duration of the council is naturally during the life
of the sovereign ; but it is now continued for six months
further, by 6 Anne, c. 7, unless dissolved by the succes¬
sor. The present usage is for every privy councillor in
one reign to be re-sworn at the commencement of the
next. From the original twelve members who for cen¬
turies managed the most delicate state affairs, the Privy
Council was afterwards inconveniently increased. Charles
II. attempted to limit it to thirty members ; but it was found
too divided and too extensive for an effective state council,
and was soon abandoned. The Privy Council now generally
includes the members of the royal family, the archbishops
of Canterbury and York, the Bishop of London, the great
officers of state, the lord chancellor, and the judges of the
courts of equity, the chief justices of the courts of common
law, the ecclesiastical and admiralty judges, and the judge
advocate; since 1843 some of the puisne judges to assist in
the business of the judicial committee ; also the speaker of
the House of Commons, the ambassadors, with many of the
ministers plenipotentiary and some of the governors of the
principal colonies, the commander-in-chief, the master-
general of the ordnance, the first lord, with usually a junior
lord, of the Admiralty, and the members of the cabinet.
There are likewise several offices with which a seat in the
Privy Council is conferred,—as the vice-president of the
Board of Trade, the paymaster of the forces, and the newly-
created offices of president of the Poor-Law Board and pre¬
sident of the Board of Health. There is in no case either
salary or emolument attached to the office.
The duty of a privy councillor, as defined by the oath,
is to advise according to his best discretion for the Queen’s
honour and the public good; to keep the Queen’s council
secret; to avoid corruption; to help and strengthen that
which shall be resolved; to withstand attempts to the con¬
trary ; and to do all that a true counsellor should for his
sovereign. Some of the royal family are not sworn; they
are merely introduced. < r -n •
A considerable proportion of the business of the Privy
Council is transacted by committees of council, such as the
Cabinet Council, the Judicial Committee, the Board of
Quarantine, the Court of Claims, the Board of Trade,
the Judicial Committee of Council, and the Committee of
Council on Education. Meetings of the council are held
at intervals of three or four weeks at her Majesty’s residence,
when her Majesty is attended by her ministers and the
officers of state. What is done by the Privy Council when
the Queen is personally present, are said to be “ acts of the
Queen in council.” The council collectively is styled
“ Her Majesty’s most Honourable Privy Council;” and
the members individually are entitled to the piefix of
“ Right Honourable.” They rank next after the knights
of the Garter; and on taking out his dedimus, the privy
councillor has the right of acting as a magistrate of any
county. (See Murray’s Official Hand-Book; and Warrens
Blackstone’s Commen*"ries, c. xxi.)
588
PROBABILITY
Probability The doctrine of probability is an extensive and very im-
v'—portant branch of mathematical science, the object ot which
is to reduce to calculation the reasons which we have foi
believing or expecting any contingent event, or for assent¬
ing to any conclusion which is not necessarily true. When
it is considered that the whole edifice of human science, with
the exception of a few sell-evident truths, such as the axioms
of geometry, is nothing more than an assemblage of propo¬
sitions which can only be pronounced to be more or less pro¬
bable, the importance of a calculus which enables us to ap¬
preciate exactly the degree of probability existing in each
case, will be readily understood.
Our reasons for judging an event to be probable or im¬
probable, are derived from two distinct sources; first, an
a priori knowledge of the causes or circumstances which
determine its occurrence; and, secondly, when the causes
are unknown, experience ol what has already happened in
the same circumstances, or in circumstances apparently si¬
milar. Suppose, for example, a hundred white balls to be
placed in an urn along with fifty black balls, and that a per¬
son, blindfold, proceeds to draw a ball, there is to us, who
are acquainted with the contents of the urn, a determinate
probability that the ball which is drawn will be white. The
balls being supposed to be all in precisely the same circum¬
stances with respect to facility of drawing, we assume that
there is the same chance of drawing any one ball as of draw¬
ing any other ; and, consequently, since there are two white
balls for each black ball, and therefore two chances of draw¬
ing one of the first colour for each chance of drawing one
of the second, we conclude the event which consists in the
drawing of a white ball to be twice as probable as the op¬
posite event, or the drawing of a black ball. In this case
our knowledge ot the contents of the urn enables us to
judge of the probable result of the drawing. Suppose, how¬
ever, that antecedently to the drawing, we were entirely ig¬
norant of the contents of the urn, but that after a great
number of trials have been made, (the ball drawn being al¬
ways replaced in the urn after each trial, in order that the
circumstances may be the same in all the trials) it has been
observed that a white ball has been drawn twice as often
as a black ball, we presume that the urn contains twice as
many white as black balls, and consequently affords twice
as many chances of drawing a white ball as of drawing a
black; and this presumption becomes stronger in propor¬
tion to the number of instances included in the observation.
In this case experience makes up for the want of a priori
knowledge, and affords a measure of the probability of the
result of a future trial.
It is only in a comparatively small number of cases that
all the possible ways in which an event may happen aie
known a priori, and in which, consequently, the ratio of the
number of chances favouring the event to the whole num¬
ber of existing chances is determinate. In fact, most °f fnc
questions of this class to which the calculus can be apphec,
are connected with lotteries and games of hazard. 1 lie re¬
sults obtained from the analysis of such questions cannot be
considered as being of any great value in themselves, but
they frequently throw light on subjects ot far higher impor¬
tance which present analogous combinations. It is true that
the mathematical theory comes in aid ot moral considerations,
and demonstrates the ruinous tendency of gambling even
when the conditions of the play are equal, mathematically
speaking; but, unfortunately, those who indulge a passion
for this vice are seldom capable of appreciating the force ot
such arguments. The principal advantage which has resulted Probability
from the application of analysis to games of chance is the ex- ''v—
tension and improvement of the calculus to which it has led.
The calculation of the probabilities of events, the chances
of which are not known a priori, but inferred from experi¬
ence, is founded on the presumed constancy of the laws of
nature, in obedience to which events depending on constant
though unknown causes, are always reproduced in the same
order when considered in large numbers. Among the vari¬
ous phenomena of the physical and moral world, nothing is
more remarkable than the constancy which is observed to
prevail in the recurrence of events of the same kind. The
ratio of male to female births furnishes a noted instance.
If we consider only a small number of births, nothing can be
more uncertain than the result; but taking a very large num¬
ber, as those of a whole kingdom in the course of a year,
the proportion of males to females is found to be almost inva¬
riable, and nearly as 21 to 20. The mean duration of hu¬
man life affords another familiar example. Notwithstand¬
ing the proverbial uncertainty of life, the differences of con¬
stitutions, and the various accidents to which mankind are
exposed, the average duration of the lives of a large num¬
ber of individuals living in the same country is always found
to be very nearly the same, insomuch that pecuniary risks
depending on it, if undertaken in sufficiently large numbers,
are among the least uncertain of all commercial speculations.
A similar constancy is remarked in the resultsof statistical in¬
quiries of every kind. The number of crimes of the same spe¬
cies committed in a year, the ratio of the number of acquit¬
tals to the number of trials, the number of conflagrations, ot
ships lost in a particular trade, ofletters which pass through the
post-office, of patients admitted into the public hospitals; in ev¬
ery case the numbers in a given time are observed to fluctuate
between very narrow limits, and to approach nearer and near¬
er, as the observation is more extended, to fixed mean values.
This constant approximation to fixed ratios, which is
proved by all experience, in the recurrence of events of the
same kind, enables us to apply the calculus of probabilities
to many of the most interesting questions connected with our
social and political institutions ; and to determine the aver¬
age result of a series of coming events with as much precision
as if their chances were determinate, and known a priori, like
that ofobtaining a given point with the throw of a die. What¬
ever be the nature of the phenomenon under consideration,
whether it belong to the physical or moral order of things,
the calculus is equally applicable when the requisite data
have been determined from experience.
The foundations of the mathematical theory of probabili¬
ties were laid by Pascal and Fermat about the middle of
the 17th century. Among some other questions relating
to chances, the following was proposed to Pascal. “ Two
persons sit down to play on the condition that the one who
first gains three games shall be the winner of the stakes.
The first having gained two games, and the second one,
they agree to leave off and divide the stakes in proportion
to their respective probabilities of winning: what share is
each entitled to take ?” Pascal solved the question, but by
a method which was applicable only to the particular case.
Fermat, to whom it was communicated by Pascal, employ¬
ed the direct and general method of combinations, and gave
a solution which could be applied to the case of any num¬
ber of players. His reasoning, however, did not at first
appear to Pascal to be satisfactory, and a correspondence
on the subject took place between these two illustrious
PROBABILITY.
589
Probability geometers, which is preserved in their respective works, and
throws some light on the history of mathematics in that age.1
About the same period Huygens composed his tract De
Batiociniis in Ludis Alece, which was first published in the
Exercitationes Geometricce of Schooten in 1658, This was
the first systematic treatise which appeared on the doctrine
of chances. It contained an analysis of the various ques¬
tions which had been solved by Pascal and Fermat, and
at the end five new questions were proposed, the solutions
of which, simple as they may now appear, were then attend¬
ed with considerable difficulty. The analysis of two of them
was in fact given for the first time by Montmort, half a cen¬
tury after their publication. Huy gen’s tract was translated
into English and published in 1692, with some additional re¬
marks relative to the advantage of the banker in the game
of Pharaon, in an Essay on the Laws of Chance, edited and
supposed to have been written by Motte, then Secretary of
the Royal Society.
James Bernoulli appears to have been the first who per¬
ceived that the theory of probability may be applied to much
more important purposes than to regulate the stakes and ex¬
pectations of gamesters, and that the phenomena, both of the
moral and physical world, anomalous and irregular as they
appear when viewed in detail, exhibit, when considered in
large numbers, a constancy of succession which renders their
occurrence capable of being submitted to numerical esti¬
mation. The Ars Cotijectandi, published in 1713, seven
years after the death of the author, contains a number of in¬
teresting questions relative to combinations and infinite
series ; but the most remarkable result which it contains is a
theorem respecting the indefinite repetition of events, which
may be said to form the basis of all the higher applications
of the theory. It consists in this, that if a series of trials be
instituted respecting an event which must either happen or
fail in each trial, the probability becomes greater and greater,
as the number of trials is increased, that the ratio of the
number of times it happens, to the whole number of trials,
will be equal to its a priori probability in a single trial ;
and that the number of trials may be made so great as to
give a probability, approaching as nearly to certainty as we
please, that the difference between the ratio of its occurren¬
ces to the number of trials, and the fraction which measures
its a priori probability, will be less than any assigned quan¬
tity. Bernoulli informs us, that the solution of this impor¬
tant theorem had engaged his attention during a period ot
twenty years.
In the interval between the death of Bernoulli and the
appearance of the Ars Conjectandi, Montmort published
his Essai d'Analyse sur les Jeux de Hazard. The first
edition was in 1708 ; the second, which is considerably ex¬
tended, and enriched by several letters of John and Nicolas
Bernoulli, appeared in 1713. The work possesses consi¬
derable merit; but being chiefly confined to the examina¬
tion of the conditions of games of chance, many of which
are now forgotten, it has lost much of its original interest.
About the same time, Demoivre began to turn his atten¬
tion to the subject of probability, and his labours, which
were continued during a long life, contributed greatly to the
advancement of the general theory, as well as the extension
of some of its most interesting applications. Demoivre’s
first publication on the subject was a Latin memoir De Men-
sura Sortis, in the Transactions of the Royal Society for
1711. His Essay on the Doctrine of Chances fast appeared
in 1716 ; a second edition in 1738 ; but the third and most
valuable, including also his Treatise on Annuities on Lives,
is dated 1756. This work contains a great variety of ques¬
tions relating to chances, solved with much clearness and
elegance ; but it is chiefly remarkable for the theory of re¬
curring series, there given for the first time, which is of im¬
portant use in investigations of this kind, and is in fact Probability
equivalent to the methods employed in the modern calculus
for the integration of equations of finite differences having
constant co-efficients. Of the particular results obtained by
Demoivre, one of the most important in reference to theory,
is an extension of the theorem of James Bernoulli, above
mentioned. It follows from Bernoulli’s theorem, that if we
have a given probability that the ratio of the number of
occurrences of an event to the whole number of trials, will
approach to the a priori probability of the event within
certain given limits, those limits will become narrower and
narrower, as the number of trials is multiplied; but in order
to complete the theorem, it is necessary to assign the nu¬
merical value of the probability that in a large number of
future trials, the number of occurrences will fall within as¬
signed limits. For this purpose we must find the product
of the natural numbers 1, 2, 3, 4, &c., up to the number of
trials ; an operation which, if attempted by direct multipli¬
cation, becomes very laborious, even when the number of
trials is inconsiderable, and when the number is great, as
10,000 for example, is altogether beyond the reach of human
industry. A formula was however discovered by Stirling,
by means of which an approximate value of the product is
found by the summation of a few of the first terms of a series
which converges the more rapidly as the number of trials is
greater. With the aid of this formula, Demoivre was en¬
abled to assign the probability in question, and thus give a
practical value to the theorem of Bernoulli.
The objects and important applications of the theory of
probabilities having been made known by the works now
mentioned, the subject has ever since been regarded as one
of the most curious and interesting branches of mathemati¬
cal speculation, and accordingly has received more or less
attention from almost every mathematician of eminence. A
great variety of questions connected with it and especially
relating to lotteries, are interspersed in the volumes of the
Paris and Berlin Memoirs, (particularly the latter,) by John
and Nicolas Bernoulli, Euler, Lambert, Beguelin, and others.
D’Alembert has likewise treated of the theory in several of
the volumes of his Opuscula; and it is not a little remarkable,
that in some instances its first principles should have been
misunderstood by so ingenious and profound a writer. In
the St. Petersburg Memoirs, (vol. v.) there is an interesting
paper by Daniel Bernoulli on the relative values of the ex¬
pectations of individuals who engage in play, or stake sums
on contingent benefits, when regard is had to the difference
of their fortunes; a consideration which, in many cases, it
is necessary to take into account; for it is obvious, that the
value of a sum of money to an individual, depends not mere¬
ly on its absolute amount, but also on his previous wealth.
On this principle Bernoulli has founded a theory of moral
expectation, which admits of numerous and important appli¬
cations to the ordinary affairs of life. The Transactions of
the Royal Society for the years 1763 and 1764, contain two
papers by the Rev. Mr. Bayes, with additions to the latter
by Dr. Price, which deserve to be noticed, inasmuch as the
principles on which the probability of an event is determin¬
ed, when the event depends on causes of which the exis¬
tence and influence are only presumed from experience,
are there for the first time correctly laid down. The ques¬
tion proposed and solved by Bayes was this : a series of ex¬
periments having been made relative to an event, to deter¬
mine the presumption there is, that the fraction which mea¬
sures its probability falls within given limits.
One of the earliest applications of the theory of probabi¬
lity was to determine, from observations of mortality, the
average duration of human life, and the value of pecuniary
interests depending on its continuance or failure. This
particular application appears to have been first thought of,
1 (Euvres de Blaise Pascal, tome iv. Paris, 1819} Opera Petri de Fermat, lolosse, 1979.
590
PROBABILITY.
Probability or at least attempted to be carried into practical effect, in
's—Holland, by Hudde and the celebrated pensionary DeWitt;
but the first tables of mortality, with the corresponding va¬
lues of annuities on single lives, were constructed by our
illustrious countryman Dr. Halley, and published in the
Philosophical Transactions for 1693. For the history of
this branch of the subject, we refer to the two articles, An¬
nuities and Mortality in this work. We may remark,
however, that although the English writers, who have ex¬
pressly treated of it, have almost without exception confin¬
ed themselves to the explanation of the methods of comput¬
ing annuity tables, and of determining from them the values
of sums depending on life contingencies, the aid which this
branch of economy derives from the general theory of proba¬
bilities, is by no means confined to the consideration of such
elementary questions. The number of observations neces¬
sary to inspire confidence in the tables, the extent to which
risks may be safely undertaken, the comparative weights of
different sets of observations, and the probable limits of de¬
parture from the average results of previous observations in a
given number of future instances, are all questions of the ut¬
most importance, which come within the scope of the calculus,
and cannot, in fact, be justly appreciated by any other means.
The application of the theory of probability to the subject
of jurisprudence, and the verdicts of juries and decisions of
tribunals, has been discussed by the Marquis Condorcet in va¬
rious articles in the Encyclopedic Methodique; but more
especially in his Essai sur Vapplication de VAnalyse d la
Probabilite des Decisions rendues d la Pluralite des Voix,
Paris 1785; a work of great ingenuity, and abounding with
interesting remarks on subjects of the highest importance to
humanity. James Bernoulli, it appears, had intended to
treat jurisprudence as a branch of probability in the Ars
Conjectandiy but his premature death prevented that work
from being completed. There is a memoir on the subject
by his nephew Nicolas, in the Leipsic Acts for 1711. The
most important questions to be determined, are the number
of jurors of which a jury ought to consist, and the majority
which should be required to agree in a verdict in order to
afford, on the one hand, the greatest probability that an ac¬
cused person will not be wrongly condemned ; and, on the
other, to give to society the greatest security that its inter¬
ests will not be compromised, by allowing too great facili¬
ties for the guilty to escape. This important subject has
been treated more profoundly, and with numerical elements
derived from much better data than existed in the time of
Condorcet, in a recent work by Poisson, to which we shall
presently allude. ,
Another of the moral subjects to which the theory of pro¬
bability has been applied, and connected with the preceding,
is the appreciation of the evidence of testimony. In mat-
lei's of this kind, it is easy to see that the calculus must be
founded almost entirely upon hypothetical data. The vera¬
city of a witness can scarcely be made the subject of direct
experiment; and by reason of the complicated circumstan¬
ces with which the facts forming the subject of testimony
are usually accompanied, and the numberless ways in which
mankind are influenced by their passions, credulity, or ig¬
norance, it is perhaps equally impossible to deduce an aver¬
age value from the comparison of a great number ot state¬
ments which have been ascertained to be true or false. Nu¬
merical results can therefore only be obtained by having re¬
course to hypotheses, and consequently must be considered
as only probable approximations. The knowledge, however,
which is thus obtained of the various combinations of the
quantities concerned, affords important aid in guiding our
judgments in complicated cases, and when we have to de¬
cide upon conflicting testimony. Approximations deduced
from a train of accurate and systematic reasoning, are al¬
ways to be preferred to the most specious arguments drawn Probability
from any other source.
The analysis of probability has been applied with signal
advantage in many researches of Natural Philosophy, but
especially in appreciating the mean errors of observations.
Owing to the imperfections of sense and ofinstruments, phy¬
sical magnitudes are only susceptible of being measured with¬
in certain limits of accuracy*; and where the last degree of
precision is indispensable, as in practical astronomy, it is on¬
ly by means of a very great number of measures, compared
with one another, and combined according to the methods
which this calculus points out, that we can obtain the near¬
est approximation to the true values which the observations
are capable of giving. The mean errors of observations were
treated as questions of probability by Lagrange in the Turin
Memoirs for 1773 ; but it is to Laplace that the theory owes
its principal extension and most important results. The me¬
thod of combining numerous equations of condition now
universally followed, known as the method of minimum
squares, and which Laplace has demonstrated to be that
which leaves the least probable amount of error in the final
equations, was made known by Legendre in an Appendix to
his Nouvelles Methodes pour la Determination des Orbites
des Cometes, published in 1806. A similar method, however,
or rather the same, (for they are identical in principle,) had
been discovered by Gauss, and employed by him for several
years before the work of Legendre made its appearance.1
Laplace’s great work, the Theorie Analytique des Proba-
bilites, first published in 1812, is one of the most remarkable
productions that has ever appeared in abstract science. The
principles of the calculus, as well as the peculiar methods
of analysis which it requires, and the most interesting and
difficult questions which it presents, are here discussed in a
far more general manner than had been attempted by any
former writer on the subject; and it may be said, accord¬
ingly, to have placed the theory under an entirely new aspect.
It is much to be regretted that so little pains have been taken
by the illustrious author to render the work intelligible to the
genera] ity of mathematical readers. Consisting for the greater
part of separate memoirs presented at different times to the
Academy of Sciences, arranged without regard to symmetry
or order, it abounds with repetitions which only serve to em¬
barrass the student; whilethedeficiency of explanation com¬
bined with the subtlety of the analysis, and the inherent intri¬
cacy of the subject, render it often a painfully difficult task to
seize the force of the demonstrations. Notwithstanding these
defects, however, it forms one of the most splendid creations
of mathematical genius ; and is alike admirable, whether we
regard the extension which has been given to the calculus,
or the results which have been arrived at, or the tone of
lofty philosophy in which subjects bearing on some of the
most important concerns of mankind are treated.
Next to the Theorie Analytique of Laplace, the most im¬
portant work which has hitherto appeared on the subject of
probability is the recent one of Poisson, entitled, Recherches
sur la Probabilite desJugements, (Paris 1837.) Although it
might be inferred from the title that this work relates only to
a single though very interesting application of the theory, the
greater part of it is devoted to the development and demon¬
stration of the general principles, and the discussion of the
principal questions which present themselves in the differ¬
ent applications ; and it is only in the last of the five books
of which it consists that the special subject to which the title
refers is taken into consideration. In applying the theory
to the decisions of tribunals, Condorcet and Laplace had been
unable to obtain positive results from the want of authentic
data; but the recent publication by the French government
of the Comptes Generaux de VAdministration de la Justice
Criminelle, in France, having furnished an immense collec-
Theoria Motus Corporum Ccelestiiun, p. 221.
PROBABILITY.
Probability tion of facts from which the requisite data could be obtained,
^ Poisson was led to consider the subject anew, and the results
of his investigations, which are of singular interest, are given
in the work now mentioned. Poisson had already given a
theory of the mean errors of observations in the Additions
to the Connaissance des Terns for 1827 and 1832.
It is in these two works of Laplace and Poisson that the
higher and more abstruse parts of the theory of probabilities
must be studied. A very clear exposition of the principles,
accompanied with many interesting remarks on the uses and
applications of the theory, is given by Lacroix in his valu¬
able little work, Trait4 Elimentaire du Calcid des Proba-
bilites, Paris 1822.
Since the time of Demoivre, the English treatises on the
general theory of probability have neither been numerous,
nor, with one or two exceptions, very important. Simpson’s
Laws of Chance (1740) contains a considerable number of
examples, in the solution of which the author displays his
usual acuteness and originality, but as they belong entirely
to that class in which the chances are known a priori, they
give no idea of the most interesting applications of the theory.
Dodson’s MathematicalR(pository contains a large selection
of the same kind. The Essay in the Library of Useful
Knowledge, by Mr. Lubbock, gives a more comprehensive
and philosophical, though an elementary view of the sub¬
ject ; but by far the most valuable work in the language is
the Treatise in the Encyclopedia Metropolitana, by Pro¬
fessor De Morgan, 1837. In this very able production, Mr.
De Morgan has treated the subject in its utmost generality,
and embodied, within a moderate compass, the substance of
the great work of Laplace.
Within the limits to which the present article must be
confined, it would be hopeless to attempt giving a complete
view of a branch of science which embraces so manf com¬
plicated and intricate subjects of research, and which re¬
quires the aid of some of the most abstruse and recondite
theories of the modern mathematics. In the higher appli¬
cations of the theory, the analysis of many of the questions
which arise, in order to be made intelligible, would require
an extent of development and a parade of mathematical for¬
mulae altogether incompatible with the plan and scope of
this work. All that we can propose to ourselves, therefore,
is to explain as briefly as may appear consistent with perspi¬
cuity, the general principles of the theory, and to give an
outline of the manner in which these are applied to some of
the more important questions which have been investigated
by Laplace and Poisson. The examples will be selected
with a view to shew the nature of the principal results of the
mathematical theory, as w ell as the peculiar methods of ana¬
lysis which are of most general application.
SECT. I. GENERAL, PRINCIPLES OF THE THEORY OF
PROBABILITY.
1. The term probable, in its popular acceptation, is used
in reference to any unknown or future event, to denote that
in our judgment the event is more likely to be true than
not, or more likely to happen than not to happen. With¬
out attempting to make an accurate enumeration of the va¬
rious circumstances which are favourable or unfavourable
to its occurrence, or to balance their respective influences,
we suppose there is a preponderance on one side, and ac-
c&rdingly pronounce it to be probable that the event has
occurred, or will occur, or the contrary.
2. If we can see no reason why an event is more likely
to happen than not to happen, we say it is a chance whe¬
ther the event will happen or not; or if it may happen in
more ways than one, and we have no reason for suppos¬
ing it will happen in any one of these ways rather than in
another, we say it is a chance whether it will happen in any
assigned way or in any other. Suppose, for example, an
unknown number of balls of different colours to be placed
591
in an urn from which a ball is about to be extracted by a Probability
person blindfold. Here we have no reason for supposing ^ '
that the ball about to be drawn will be of one colour rather
than another, that it will be white rather than black,
or red ; and accordingly say it is a chance whether the ball
will come out of a particular colour, or a different. In this
instance, then, the term chance denotes, simply, the absence
of a known cause. If, however, we are made acquainted
with the number of balls in the urn, and the number there
are of each of the different colours, the term is used in a
definite sense. For instance, suppose the urn to contain
ten balls, of which nine are white, and the remaining one
black, we say there are nine chances in favour of drawing a
white ball, and one chance only in favour of drawing the
black ball. Chance, in this sense, denotes a way of hap¬
pening, or a particular case or combination that may arise
out of a number of other possible cases or combinations; and
an event becomes probable or improbable according as the
number of chances in its favour is greater or less than the
number against it. Chance and presumption are also fre¬
quently used synonymously with probability.
3. The mathematical probability of any event is the ratio
of the number of ways in which that event may happen
to the whole number of ways in which it may either hap¬
pen or fail. Thus, recurring to the previous example, the
event, namely, the drawing of a ball from an urn con¬
taining 9 white balls and 1 black, may happen in 10 dif¬
ferent ways, inasmuch as any one of the 10 balls may be
drawn ; but m one only of those ways will the event be a
black ball; and therefore the probability of drawing the
black ball is In like manner, as there are 9 differ¬
ent ways in which a white ball may be drawn, or 9
chances of drawing a white ball, and ten chances in all, the
probability of drawing a white ball at the first trial is
It follows immediately from this definition, that the proba¬
bility of drawing a ball of either colour will remain the same,
however the number of balls in the urn may be increased,
provided those of each colour are increased in the same pro¬
portion. For instance, suppose the number of white balls
to be 45, and the number of black balls to be 5 ; the num¬
ber of chances in favour of drawing a black ball is 5,
while there are 50 chances in all, consequently the pro¬
bability of a black ball being drawn is In the same
manner, the probability of drawing a white ball is ;
the same as before. Generally, let E and F be two con¬
trary events, that is to say, such that the one or the other
of them must necessarily happen, and both cannot happen
together ; and let a be the number of chances or combina¬
tions which produce the event E, and b be the number of
combinations which produce the event F, or cause the fail¬
ure of E; then the probability that E will happen is
a-f-& ’
and the probability that F will happen, or that E will not
happen is In future, the term probability will be us¬
ed only to signify mathematical probability.
4. It is to be carefully remarked, that the different
chances or combinations which form the elements of pro¬
bability are supposed to be perfectly equal. If this equa¬
lity does not hold, and there is any circumstance respect¬
ing the event under consideration which renders one com¬
bination or set of combinations more likely to occur than
another, the different combinations must be multiplied by
numbers proportional to their respective facilities, after
which the units in each multiplier may be regarded as so
many distinct chances, from which the probability of the
event will be found by the above formula. This is equiva¬
lent to saying that a combination or chance which is twice
as likely to happen as another, must be regarded as two
equal and similar combinations in comparison of that other;
a proposition which is sufficiently obvious.
592
PROBABILITY.
Probability 5. Jt follows from the above definition, that the probabi-
lity of any contingent event is measured by a fraction less
than unity, and may have any value between 0 and 1. It
follows, also, that the sum of the two fractions which mea¬
sure the probabilities of two contrary events is equal to
unit, which is the measure of certainty, inasmuch as either
the one or the other necessarily occurs. Thus, in the last
example, the probability of the event E is and that of
the contrary event F is and Hence
if n denote the probability of any event E, and q the pro¬
bability of the contrary event F, we have q=\-p- _ This
consequence of the definition is of great importance in the
calculation of probabilities. .
6. We have here supposed the result 01 a trial to be ne¬
cessarily one or other ot two events E and b ; but it is easy
to imagine the trial to be of such a kind that it may give
rise to any one of a number of events E, F, G, H, &c. each
having a given number of chances in its favour. This case
is represented bv supposing an urn to contain balls of as
many different colours or sorts as there are different events.
Let the urn be conceived to contain a balls of the sort
which produces the event E, b of the sort which produces
F c of the sort which produces G, and so on ; and let a +
t+c+rf, &c. =k, so that k is the whole number of balls in
the urn. The probabilities of the different events E, F, G,
H, &c. are then, respectively, by the definition,
a h c £ &c
T’ T k ’ k'
the sum of which =1. In fact, if a ball be drawn at all,
it must be of one or other of the different sorts contained in
the urn ; and consequently the sum of all the probabilities
amounts to unit or certainty. . .
7 When an event is compounded of two or more simple
events independent of each other, the probability of the
compound event is equal to the product of the probabilities
of the several simple events of which it is compounded.
Let us imagine two urns, A and B, of which A contains a
white balls and b black, and B contains a white and b
black. Make a + b=c, and a' +&'=c', and let the corn-
pound event whose probability is to be determined be the
drawing of a white ball from both urns. Now, as each of
the c balls in A may be drawn with any one of the c balls
in B, the whole number of ways in which the balls in A
may be differently combined by pairs with the balls in B,
or the whole number of possible cases is cc'. But the num¬
ber of cases favourable to the compound event is evidently
the number of different ways in which a white ball may be
drawn from A with a white ball from B, and therefore equal
to aa’. Hence by the definition (4), the probability that a
. aa' XT -p
white ball will be drawn from both urns is — . JNow, it
» denote the probability of drawing a white ball from A,
and 7/ that of drawing a white ball from B, we have by the
a a' , W >
definition p~ —,andp'=r whence —PP *
In general, let p denote the probability of an event E,
v’ that of another event E', p" that of a third E , and so
on ; then the probability of the concourse of the events E,
E', E", &c., or the probability that they will all happen, is
/> Xjo' X p", &c.; that is to say, the probability of an event
compounded of any number of simple and independen
events, is the product of the respective probabilities o
the several simple events. -r? -rv
The probabilities that the several simple events E, E ,
E," &c., will not all happen, or that some of them will hap¬
pen and others fail, are easily determined in the same man¬
ner; it will be sufficient to indicate their several expres¬
sions. Suppose there are only three simple events, of which Probability
the probabilities are respectively p, p\ and p" ; and let
q=.\—p, q'=\—p', c['~\—p". The product ^9" ex¬
presses the probability of the compound event which con¬
sists in E happening and E' and E both failing; qp q",
is the probability that E' will happen, and that E and E"
will both fail; ppp' is the probability they will all three
happen ; 1 pp'p" is the probability they will not all three
happen, or that one of them at least will fail; qq q' Vo the
probability they will all fail; and 1—qq'q ' is the probabi¬
lity they will not all three fail, or that one at least of them
will happen.
8. As an example of the application of this rule, suppose
it were required to assign the probability of throwing aces,
at one throw', with two common dice. As a common die
has six symmetrical faces, there are in respect of each die
six w'ays equally possible, in which the simple event may
happen. The probability therefore of throwing ace with
one die is that is, p=\- In respect of the second die,
wTe have also p'~^ ; hence the probability of the compound
event, or that aces will be thrown is pp'=l X &=3V T}ie
probability that aces will not be thrown at any assigned trial
is therefore (5) 1—^=1^ 5 and the odds against throwing
aces at any given trial are 35 to 1.
Again, suppose two numbers, each consisting of 7 di¬
gits, to be taken at random, (for instance from a table of
logarithms), and let it be proposed to assign the proba¬
bility that the substraction of the one from the other will
be performed without its being necessary, in any case,
to increase the upper figure. Here, as each digit may
have any one of the ten values from 0 to 9 both inclusive,
and as each of those values in the upper line may be com¬
bined with any one of them in the lower line, there are 100
different combinations or equally possible cases for each par¬
tial substraction. Now, if the upper figure be 0, there is
only one of those cases favourable to the event, or which
will admit of the substraction being performed, namely,
when the figure below is also 0. If the upper figure be 1,
there are two cases favourable, namely, those in which
the under figure is 0 or 1. If the upper figure be 2, there
are three favourable cases, namely, when the under figure
is 0, 1, or 2. Proceeding in this way through all the di¬
gits, the whole number of favourable cases is found to be
1-f 2-f-3 4-4+5+ 6+ 7 + 8 + 9 +10~55.
Hence, for each partial substraction there are 55 favourable
cases out of 100 possible cases; therefore (4) the probabi¬
lity that any one of the figures in the upper line is not less
than the corresponding figure in the under line is ; and
we have pz=p'=p"=&c.=^% for the probability of each
of the seven simple events or partial substractions, whence,
by (7), the probability of the compound event is
pxp' xp" X &c.= (-^y=(-55r=0I52243,
which is less than B\-, and greater than B1B.
9. When an .event may happen in several different ways,
each independent of the others, the probability of the event
is the sum of all the partial probabilities taken in respect
of each of the different ways.
Suppose there are n different urns A1? A2, A, A„,
each containing balls of two colours, white and black, and
let the whole number of balls in each urn respectively, be
and the number of white balls in each be
otj, a2, a5,.
and let the event E be the extraction of a white ball in
drawing a ball from any urn at random. In this case there
are n different ivays, all equally probable, in which the event
may happen, for it may be drawn wuth equal facility from
any one of the urns. The probability that the ball will be
PROBABILITY.
593
Probability (jrawn from any given urn, A15 is therefore — ; and if it
be drawn from this urn, the probability of its being white is
—; therefore, by (7), the probability of a white ball being
ci
1 tz
drawn from A2 is — . -i. In like manner the probabi¬
lity of a white ball being drawn from A2 is shewn to be
•— • —; from A, to be — . —, and so on. Denoting-
n 6*2 n cs
therefore by p the whole probability of the event E, the
proposition affirms that
p=l(ii+^+^ +—).
n vci ca c )
To prove this, let the fractions ^ &c. be reduced
to a common denominator, and suppose the equivalent frac¬
tions to be
y 7 y y
We may now conceive the urns Aj, Ae, A3...Anto be re¬
placed by others, each containing the same number, y, of
balls, and of which the first contains aj white balls, the se¬
cond a2, and so on; and it is evident that the chance of a white
ball being drawn from this new system of urns will be pre¬
cisely the same as it was for a white ball being drawn from
the first system. Now the probability of drawing a white
ball from the new system will not be altered by placing the
whole of the ny balls in a single urn, for they may still be
conceived as arranged in groups, disposed in any manner
whatever, each group containing the same number of balls,
and the same proportion of white to black as were in the
separate urns ; and as each group contains the same num¬
ber of balls, the chance of laying the hand on any one group
is the same as that of laying it on any other. The probabi¬
lity of drawing a white ball from the single urn, is therefore
the same as for drawing it from the group of separate urns
which contain each the same number of balls. But the pro¬
bability of drawing it from the single urn is the ratio of the
number of white balls contained in the urn to the number of
both colours, therefore (this probability being p) we have
1 . ,
P—“(“l +a2 + a3 +an) >
iiy
&c., their respective
whence, substituting for —,
y
values, —, —> &c., we have
c c
P=l(^ + ^+ii +!■).
n \c1 6*2 c5 cj
As a particular case suppose three urns A, B, C to be placed
together, of which A contains 2 white balls and 1 black ;
B 3 white bails and 2 black, and C 4 white and 3 black,
and let it be required to determine the probability p of a
white ball being drawn from the group by a person who is
ignorant of the contents of the different urns. As there is no
reason for selecting one urn in preference to another, the pro¬
bability that he will put his hand into the urn A is ^ ; and if
he draw from this urn the probability that a white ball will
be drawn is §, there being 2 cases favourable to that event,
and 3 cases in all. The probability of both events is there¬
fore £ § = f. In like manner, the probability of the ball
being drawn from B is ^ ; and if drawn from B the proba¬
bility of its being white is f ; therefore, the probability of
this compound event is ^ X z — Lastly, the probability
of the ball being drawn from C is ^; and if drawn from C
the probability of its being white is $ ; therefore, the pro¬
bability of this compound event is ^ x f = 24r- Hence,
VOL. XVIII.
by the proposition now demonstrated, the complete pro- Probability
bability of the event E is 11
/>=§+!+ ^f- A95.
If all the balls had been placed in a single urn, the proba¬
bility of drawing a white ball would have been T9-, for there
are 3 + 5 -f- 7 — 15 balls in all, of which 2 -f- 3 -p 4 9
are white. But ~ ^ ; a fraction which differs sensibly
from ^4, the measure of the probability of the same event
when the balls are distributed in the manner above supposed
amongst the different urns. The distinction between the two
cases is important.
10. The rule laid down in (7) for finding the probability
of a compound event applies alike whether the simple events
are determined simultaneously or in succession. In fact,
when the simple events are entirely independent of each
other, the chances which determine the compound event are
not influenced in any way by the intervention of time. Sup¬
pose, for example, the compound event to be the throwing
of a certain number of points with a given number m of
dice; the chances for and against the event are obviously
the same whether the m dice are thrown at once, or a single
die is thrown m times successively. But as the determin¬
ation of the probability of a compound event is in general
facilitated by supposing the simple events to be decided one
after the other, it will be convenient to view the subject in
this light in explaining the method of forming the differ¬
ent combinations of the chances by which the probabilities
of compound events are determined.
SECT. IT. OF THE PROBABILITY OF EVENTS DEPENDING ON
A REPETITION OF TRIALS, OR COMPOUNDED OF ANY
NUMBER OF SIMPLE EVENTS, THE CHANCES IN RESPECT
OF WHICH ARE KNOWN A PRIORI, AND CONSTANT.
11. Suppose an urn to contain a + 5 balls, a white and
b black, and let a ball be successively drawn, and replaced
in the urn after each drawing, in order that the chances in
favour of drawing a ball of either colour may be the same
in every trial, and let it be required to find the respective
probabilities of the different possible results of any number
of drawings.
Let us first suppose the number of trials to be two. The
event may happen in any of these four different ways: first
white, secondwhite; first white, second black; first black,se¬
cond white ; first black, second black. Assuming W to re¬
present the simple event which consists in the drawing of a
white ball, and B that of a black ball, and supposing the or¬
der of the arrangement of the two letters to correspond with
the order of succession of the simple events, the four pos¬
sible cases or combinations will be represented thus :—
WW, WB, BW, BB.
Now let the probability of drawing a white ball in any
trial be p, and that of drawing a black ball be q, (whence,
r>z=.——> a— ; | the probabilities of the four possible
1 a+b * a + b)
compound events are by (7) respectively as under:
probability of WW —p x p = p2
ofWB = p X q ~ pq
of BW — q X p — pq
of BB — q x q = q*
If we disregard the order of succession, and consider the two
arrangements WB and BW, which are equally probable, as
forming the same compound event, namely, a ball of both
colours in the two trials, the probability of this event, by
(9), becomes 2 pq. The sum of the probabilities of all the
possible arrangements is therefore
+ Zpq + q°- = (p + qY ;
whence it appears that the probabilities of the different ar¬
rangements in two trials are respectively the terms of the
development of the binomial, (p-\-qY‘
Let us next suppose the number of trials to be three.
4 F
594
PROBABILITY.
Probability The different arrangements that may be formed of the
simple events in three trials, with the probability ot each
respectively, are as follows :—•
WWW, probability of which —ppp^=pr’
WWB,   z=ppq=p'1q
WBW,  —pqp—p^q
BWW,   —qpp—p^q
WBB,  —pqq—pq1,
BWB,  —qpq—pq1
bbw,  -qqp-pf
B B B,   =qqq=qz
It thus appears that the probability of obtaining two events
of one kind, and one of the other, is the same in whatever
order they succeed each other, and, in fact, is independent
of the order. Disregarding, then, the order of succession,
and considering the combination of two white balls with
one black, in whatever order they may be arranged, as the
same compound event, the probability of its occurrence in
any order whatever, being the sum of its probabilities in
each particular order (9), is In like manner, regard¬
ing the combination of two black balls with one white, in any
order of arrangement, as the same compound event, its pro¬
bability is Spg2. The compound event resulting from three
trials must then happen in one of four different ways, namely,
3 white balls; 2 white, combined withl black, in any order;
2 black, combined with one white, in any order; or, lastly,
3 black; and the sum of the probabilities of these different
cases is
jo3 + 3jo2?+3;V-f O'5=(> + ?) 3 •
Hence the probabilities of all the different possible combi¬
nations in three trials are respectively given by the deve¬
lopment of the binomial (/»+S')5*
12. In general, let jo denote the probability of any simple
event E, then the probability of E happening twice in two
trials is jo2, of happening thrice in 3 trials _p5, and of hap¬
pening m times in m successive trials, pm. In like manner,
the probability of the contrary event F being q (p-\-q—\),
the probability of F happening n times in n successive trials
is qn. Hence (7) the probability of E happening m times,
and then F happening«times in succession, vam-\-n trials,
is pmqn. But the probability of these events happening in
any assigned order is the same as that of their happening in
any other assigned order ; therefore p™^1 is the measure of
the probability that E will occur m times, and F will occur
n times in a determinate order. Now, let m-\-n—h, and let
U be the number of different ways in which m events E, and
n events F, can be combined in h trials, and P be the proba¬
bility of any oneof these combinations whatever, or the proba¬
bility of E occurring m times, and F occurring n times in h
trials, without regard to the order in which they succeed
each other, we have then
P=Uj»”Y‘.
In order to determine the value of U, we may suppose
the events in question to be so many different things repre¬
sented by the letters A, B, C, D, E, &c. of which there are
m of one kind, and n of another, and Yaakem-\-n—h; then
by the algebraic theory of combinations, we have
1.2.3 h
.2.3 mx 1 • 2.3 n
This value of U is symmetrical in respect of m and n, and
may be otherwise written in either of the two following
forms,
h(h—1)(^—2) /t—m+1
—' 1.2.3  ! m ’
/i(4_l)(^_2) h—n -f-1
U_ 1.2.3   n "5
which shew that the probability P, or the product \]pmqn
is the (m-j-l)th term of the development of the bino¬
mial (p+qf arranged according to the increasing powers
of/>, or the (ra-pl)th term of the same development ar¬
ranged according to the increasing powers of q. Hence Probability
we conclude that when p and q remain constant, the pro- “v—^
babilities of all the different compound events which can
be formed by the combination of the simple events E and
F in h trials, are expressed by the different terms of the
formula {p + q)h expanded by the binomial theorem.
The whole number of possible cases is evidently ^+1,
for in h experiments, E may occur h times, h—1 times,
h 2 times h—h times ; this last being the case in
w'hich the contrary event F occurs in all the trials. The
different cases are unequally probable, both by reason of the
greater or smaller number of combinations by which they
may be produced, and which in reference to each case is
represented by U, and by reason of the inequality between
p and q. It will be shewn afterwards, that when p=q, and
h is a whole number, the most probable case is that in w'hich
the occurrences of E and F are equal; and if h is an odd
number, the two most probable cases are those in which
the difference in the number of occurrences of E and the
number of occurrences of F is unity.
13. In order to place the proposition now demonstrated
in a clearer light, let us consider separately the different
terms of the development of (/> + (?)* namely,
ph -f hph~lq
1 . 2
-pn-*q
jJ1^1—^ ^—n 1 vh-
+ 1 .2.3   n F
nqn
■+qh-
The first term pA expresses the probability that the event
E will in every one of the h trials. The second term Iip'-'q
expresses the probability that E will occur h—1 times, and
F once, without distinction of order; that is to say F may
happen at the first or last or any intermediate trial. If a
determinate succession is proposed, for example, that of
h—1 times the event E in succession, and F in the next trial,
the probability of the event in the assigned order is found
by suppressing the coefficient h, and is consequently pP~~^q.
The third term expresses the probability
that the result of h trials will be h—2 times the event E,
and twice the event F, without distinction of order. If a
particular order be assigned, it is necessary to suppress the
coefficient, and the probability of the simple events occur¬
ring in that particular order is pp-^q2.
h(h—\)(h—2) h—n + \ . n
The general term •—-—-—^—    P* q ex_
presses the probability that the result of h trials will be
[h—n) times the event E, and n times the event F in any
order. The probability of {h—n) times E and n times F
in an assigned order is ph~~nqn.
14. If we suppose the event E to be such that the chances
in favour of its happening or failing are equal, that is, if
p—q—\, the different terms of the binomial (p-\-q)h, on sup¬
pressing the coefficients, become all equal; so that a parti¬
cular order being assigned in each of the possible cases or
combinations, all the cases become equally probable. Thus,
suppose a shilling to be tossed 100 times in succession, the
probability of head turning up in every trial is (^)10 °. The
probability of 50 heads and 50 tails in any assigned order
is (A)50 X (A)50 = (A)100; if w+«=100, the probability
of m heads and n tails is also (^)7”(^)n= (a)”1"*”” —(^)^ ° 0*
Hence the probability of any compound event formed by
the combination of two simple contrary events succeeding
each other in an assigned order, and each having the same
probability, is independent of the ratio of the simple events,
and depends only on the number of trials. Before the trials,
it is an even wager that head will be turned up in succession
100 times, and that the result of 100 trials will be 50 heads
and 50 tails in a given order of succession, or any proportion
PROBABILITY.
Probability of heads to tails in an order arbitrarily chosen. This con-
sideration is frequently lost sight of in reasoning about those
events of the natural world, which are termed extraordinary
and miraculous. If in tossing a shilling 100 times into the
air, the number of heads turned up is found nearly equal to
the number of tails, the event excites no surprise ; some¬
thing like it was expected. On the contrary, if the diffe¬
rence between the number of heads and the number of tails
is considerable, the event is termed extraordinary ; and if
head turned up in every trial without exception, we should
scarcely be persuaded that such an event was entirely the re¬
sult of chance, and independent of a special cause. Never¬
theless, the a priori probability that every trial will give
head, is precisely the same as the probability of throwing
any given number of heads and tails in an assigned order of
succession. It will, however, be proved afterwards, that if
such an event as throwing head 100 times in succession wrere
actually observed, the probability of a special cause having
intervened, would approach very nearly to certainty.
15. Hitherto we have supposed the compound event to
be formed by the combination of two simple events only,
E and F, one of which necessarily excludes the other. Let
us now suppose there are any number of simple events, E1}
E2, E5, &c. of which the respective probabilities are^j, p2,
p3, &c. and such that one or other of them necessarily hap¬
pens in each trial, so that /?! +P3 +> &c.= 1, and de¬
termine the probability of any assigned combination of them
in a given number of trials. This case may be represented
by supposing an urn to contain a number of balls of as many
different colours as there are distinct events ; the event E,
will be the drawing of a ball of the colour i, and its proba¬
bility pt will be the fraction whose numerator is equal to the
number of balls of the colour i, and denominator the whole
number of balls in the urn. Now the probability of the
event E, happening m times in succession is£>7 by (12) ;
that of E2 happening n times in succession isjo2 ; that of
E3 happening r times in succession jo3 ; and so on. There¬
fore (7) the probability of the compound event which is
formed by the occurrence of m times E15 n times E2, r times
E3, and so on, these events succeeding each other in or¬
der, is the product p™ p^ p^. See. But the probability of
the simple events succeeding each other in any paiticular
order is the same as that of their succeeding in any other
assigned order (12) ; consequently, if U' denote the num¬
ber of different ways in which m events Ej, n events E2, r
events E3, Sec. can be combined, or succeed each other,
and P' be the probability of the compound event in any order
whatever, we have,
. „ P'=U'p™ pZ pr3, Sec.
Assuming n—m-\-n^-r^-, Sec. we have also by the theory
of combinations,
tt/_ 1.2.3 k 
1.2.3...m x 1.2.3...« X 1.2.3...r x &c.
the factor U' being the coefficient of the term which has for
its multiplier p™ p£ p', Sec. in the expansion of the mul¬
tinomial (p1-\-p2+p5 + 8ec.)h, whence
^ 1.2.3 h
~ 1.2.3...mX 1.2.3...rcx 1.2.3...r x 8ec.P™P" ^’&C*
We shall now proceed to give some examples of the ap¬
plications of the preceding formulae.
16. Let it be proposed to assign the probability P, of
throwing ace once, and not oftener, in four successive throws
of the same die—Simpson, p. 15.
Here, the chance of throwing ace in a single trial being
k, we havep—},, and consequently and also h — A.
Now the compound event being the occurrence of the sim¬
ple event E, whose probability is p, once, and of the con¬
trary event F three times, the probability of the compound
event is that term of the development of Qo-f §')4 which is
multiplied by pq3. If, therefore, in the formula,
P=
1.2.3 h
1.2.3...mxlT2.3 nPm^
we make^, q=l A=4, m=l, n=3, we shall have
P-1--2 • 3 -4-X -Ly /AY-125
1 x 1 • 2.3 6 V 6 / 324’
which is the probability required, and the same as that of
throwing one ace, and not more than one, at a single throw
with 4 dice.
The probability of the contrary event, that is to say, the
probability of either not throwing an ace at all, or of throw¬
ing more aces than one is 1—iff = ; and therefore the
odds against throwing one ace and no more in 4 throws of a
common die are 199 to 125, or 8 to 5 very nearly.
1 /. It in this example it had been proposed to assign the
probability ol throwing ace once at least, instead of once
and not more, it would have been necessary to have includ¬
ed those cases in which the ace occurs twice, or three times,
or in each of the four trials. The binomial (jO+5)4 gives
P4 + -f-
the first term of which expresses the probability of throw¬
ing ace four times in succession ; the second that of throw¬
ing ace three times, and another number once; the third
that of throwing ace twice, and a different face twice; the
fourth that of throwing ace once, and a different face three
times ; and the fifth that of throwing a different face in each
of the four trials. But as every one of these compound
events, excepting the last, satisfies the condition of ace be¬
ing thrown once at least, the whole probability of that event
must be the sum of the probabilities of the different events
by which it may be produced (9) and is consequently
1 Y , /t/' 1 \3 5 , e/1 W5\2 . \/5\3 671
595
Probability
1296
In general, the sum of the first rc-f 1 terms of (p + ^)* ex¬
presses the probability of obtaining not less than/i—n events,
the probability of each of which isp, or not more than n con¬
trary events, the probability of each of which is q.
Since p+<7= 1, the sum of all the terms of the series pro¬
duced by the expansion of (p+q)h is equal to unit, and
therefore the sum of any number of the terms is equal to
unit diminished by the sum of the remaining terms. This
consideration frequently gives the means of abridging the
calculations. Thus, in the preceding example, instead of
expanding the binomial (£-f or(jer to fjn(j tjle pro^a.
bilities of throwing 4 aces, 3 aces, 2 aces, and 1 ace only,
in a series of 4 trials, we might have sought the probability
of not throwing ace at all. The probability of not throwing
ace in a single trial is and therefore (7) that of not throw¬
ing it in 4 trials is (^)4 = j^55. Hence the probability of
the contrary event, namely, that ace will be thrown once
or oftener, is 1—iWff —tVsb 5 the same as before.
18. Let a shilling be tossed ; what is the probability that
more than 3 heads will turn up in the first 10 trials? In
this case,pz=J, q—%, A—10 ; therefore (p-\-q)h =(i-fl)10
4 °(1 + I)10, Now the last term of this development
expresses the probability that head will not turn up in any
one of the ten trials; the last but one, the probability that
it will turn up once ; the last but two, the probability that
it will turn up twice; and the last but three, the probabil¬
ity that it will turn up three times ; therefore the four last
terms include all the different ways in which the ten trials
give not more than three heads ; and their sum consequently
expresses the probability that not more than 3 heads will
be thrown. Now the last four (or first four) terms of the
expansion of (1-f-l)10 are
HL9 10.9 ,_8
1 ’ 1U ’ 1.2’ 1.2 3’
and their sum is 176, which multiplied by (1)10=T^?,
gives for the probability that not more than 3 heads
wall turn up ; whence the probability of the contrary event
596
PROBABILITY.
Probability 0r that more than 3 heads will be thrown, is 1—
v''*-'' WVi—M ’ anc^ ^ie °^s f'avour of throwing heads more
than three times in 10 trials are 53 to 11.
19. A and B engage in play; the probability of A’s
winning a game is p, and the probability of B’s winning a
game is q; required the probability P, of A’s winning m
games before B wins n games, the play being supposed to
terminate when either of those events has occurred.
It is evident that the question must be decided at the
latest, by the (m-f w—l)th game ; for supposing m + w—2
games to have been played, there is only one combination
according to which the match can remain undecided, name¬
ly, that in which A has won m—1, and B n-—1 games ; and
in this case the next game necessarily decides the match.
Suppose m-\-x games to have been played. The proba¬
bility that of these games m have been won by A, and x by
B, is represented by the term of the binomial (p + S')”*"*"*
in which the factoroccurs (13) ; which term is
1.2.3 vi + x
    '  pmqx.
1.2. 3 mx 1 • ^ • 3 xr
But A cannot win m games out of m-{-x exactly unless he
wins the last game, for otherwise he must have won m games
out of m-\-x—1, if not out of a smaller number. In order
therefore that A may win m games out of m + x exactly, it
is necessary in the first place that he wins m—1 out of
m-\-x—1 in any order, and then that he wins also the next
game. Now the probability of his winning m—1 games out
of m-\-x—1 in any order (13) is
and the probability of his winning the following game is p,
whence the probability of both events is (7)
1.2.3 m-ir-x—1
1.2.3 m—1x1 -2.3 x^ y ’
which, therefore, expresses the probability of A’s winning
m games out of m-f-a; exactly.
If we suppose a;=0, this formula becomes pm, which is
the probability of A’s winning m games in succession. If
xz=. 1, it becomes mp'nq, the probability that A wins m games
out ofm-\-\. If a?=2, it becomes ~ j—2 ^ ^ pr°"
bability that A wins m games out of w-j- 2. If x=3, it be-
Q=:^n | \-\-np-\-
W(”+1)p2.
Probability
}•
comes
m(m -f- l)(m + 2)
pmq*, the probability that A wins
1.2.3
m games out of m-f-3 ; and so on. Continuing this process
till we arrive at the term multiplied by pmq*, the sum of the
probabilities of all the different compound events is
m(m 4-1) ^ ( ni{rn + 1) ...m + x-\
Pm| l+mq-fr
■}"
1.2 * 1 1.2 ... x
which expresses the probability of A’s winning m games
out of a number not greater than m-\-x.
Now it has been shewn, that the match is necessarily
decided by —1) games; consequently the solution
of the question is obtained by substituting n—1 for x in
the last formula, which will then express the probability
of A’s winning m games in any order, out of a number not
greater than m -(- n—1. On making this substitution, we
obtain
>=//"! l+mq-f- >--V
+
1 .2
1 )...m4-n-
-1
1.2 ... n—1
The probability Q that the match will be decided in fa¬
vour of B, or that B will win n games out of a number not
greater than m-\-n—1, is found by changing m into n, and
p into q, and is therefore
1 .2
1) m + n—2 .
 "t" 1.2   ni—1 “
21 , ,
As an example, let us suppose p= -, ?= ~, m=4, and
«=2. The probability of A’s winning the match, or the
value of P, becomes
/2\4 ( , ,1) 112
(a) {1+4'3}- 243i
and the probability of B’s winning the match, or the value
of Q,
/1\2 r 4 2.3/2\2 2.3.4 /2\3 ) 13l
(3) {1 + 3+n2U) + 1.2.3(3) j — 243*
In this example the skill of A is supposed to be twice as
great as that of B, and the number of games that must be
wron by him in order to gain the match is also twice as great
as the number required to be won by B in order that B may
gain ; one might therefore suppose, that when they begin
to play the chances in favour of each are equal. But the
result shews that the chances in favour of A are fewer than
those in favour of B in the proportion of 112 to 131; whence
it appears that it would be unsafe to wager that a player
who has two chances in his favour while his adversary has
only one, will gain four games before his adversary shall
have gained two.
Suppose A and B, engaged in play, agree to leave off be¬
fore the match is decided, it is evident that the stakes ought
to be shared between them in proportion to their respective
probabilities of winning, and consequently the share of each
is found from either of the above expressions for P and Q.
This was one of the questions proposed by the Chevalier
de Mere to the celebrated Pascal, to which allusion has al¬
ready been made.
20 An urn contains n-\-\ balls, marked with the num¬
bers 0, 1, 2, 3 n‘, a ball is successively drawn and re¬
placed in the urn, so that the chance of drawing any given
number remains the same in each trial, what is the probability
that in /< trials the sum ofthe numbers drawn willbe equal tos?1
The solution of this problem depends on the number of
ways in which the number s can be formed by the addition of
h different numbers, each of which may have any value from
0 to n. If we suppose the numbers marked on the balls to
be indexes of a certain quantity x, and develope the expres¬
sion (x° -\-xl-\-x2 Jrxn)h, the coefficient of any term of
the development will indicate the number of different ways
in which the balls may be drawn, so that the sum of the num¬
bers drawn in h trials shall be equal to the sum of the in¬
dexes of x in that term. If, therefore, we denote by N the
coefficient of that term of the development in which the sum
of the indexes is s, then N will be the number of cases fa¬
vourable to the event. But the whole number of possible
cases is (/j + l)*; therefore the probability of the event is
N-=-(ra+ 1)A.
On account of the particular form of the polynomial in
question, the value of N is found without difficulty.
] ,^”+1
Because x0-X-xx4-x'1 — , therefore
1—x
(a;0-}-a;1 4-a;2 + a:n)A=(l—a:n+1)A(l—a?)-*. Now, ex¬
pressing these two factors in series, we have (1—x"+1)A
— I—4a;n+1 + ^ ^ x2(”+fi-7-af^+b+&c.
1.2
1.2.3
, N T /<(/<-fl) , /<^+l)(^ + 2)^ , c,, .
(1—*•)-*=!+/**+ ±r^-’x2+ - 7.2:3~^+& ?
and the coefficients of the several terms of the product of
1 Demoivre, Miscellanea Analytica, p 196 ; Laplace, Essai sur les Prubabilites, p. 253, et seq.
-Ax
Probability these two series in which the sum of the indexes is ^ will
be found as follows
(1.) Multiply the first term of the first series by that term
of the second series of which the argument is#*; the coeffi¬
cient of the product will be ^ • • • • A + -1
/ . 1.2.3   ,
(2.) Multiply the second term of the first series by that
term of the second series which has for its argument
the coefficient of the product will be
A(A + l)(A-{-2) /t -|- s—n—2
1.2.3   5—n—1
(3.) Multiply the third term of the first series by that
term of the second series which has for its argument
#,-2(n+1>; the coefficient of the product will be
A(A—1) A(A -(-1 )(A 2) /i-f-s—2n—3
1.2 1.2.3   s—2n—2
(4.) Proceed in the same manner with the fourth term of
the first series, and so on with the others, advancing at each
new multiplication one term to the right in the first series,
and w-f- 1 terms to the left in the second series, until a term
is reached in the first series, the exponent of x in which is
equal to, or greater than s. The sum of the several products
thus obtained will be the value of N. We have therefore
■jy A(A-f- l)(A-l-2) A-f-s—1
~ 17273 777 ^ '
A , A(A +1 )(A+2) A+s—n—2
1.2.3   s—n—\
-2n—3
probability.
-Tx
A(A—1) wA(A+l)(A + 2) A+s-
^ 1.2 * 1.2.3   .7727772
—&c.
The series now found for N may be changed into another,
having a more elegant form, by reducing all the terms to
others having the common denominator 1.2.3 h 1.
This will be accomplished by leaving out of the numerator
and denominator of the first term all the numbers after A 1
to s, (including s\ when s is greater than A—1, or by in¬
serting the numbers between s and A—1 (the last included),
when s^lA—1; by leaving out of the numerator and deno¬
minator of the second term all the numbers from A 1 to
s—n, or by inserting those numbers; and so on with the
other terms. If we then make the common denominator
1.2.3...A—\—k, we shall have
^'= ^ ('s~H)('9+2)('s+3) (s+A—1)
— i {s—n)(s—n +1) (s—n+A—2)
h(h—1)
—2w—1 )(s—2n) (s—2n -f- A—3)
^ 1.2A
— &c.
to be continued till the last factor of one of the terms be¬
comes 0 or negative. If we also make
5 4-A—1=7
s—n -f- A—2 ~T—(n 4* 1) —7
s—2n 4- A—3 - f~2(n -|- 1) =/"
s—2>n 4- A—4 =f—3(n 4-1) ==f"
&c.
and write the factors in each of the terms in the reverse
order, the above value of N will become
N=+/(/-l)<y-2) </-/1+2)I
 (f-i+2) |
+/'cr—i)cr—2) 
1)(/"'—2)-
-f &c.
.cr-A+2)
A(A-l)(A-2)
1 . 2.3A
597
21. As an example of the application of this formula, let Probability
1 fibe t0 aSSTthe Pcrobability of throwing the point
16 with 4 common dice. (Simpson, p. 53.) ^
A die having no face marked 0, it is necessary, in order
to adopt the formula to this case, to suppose the number of
points on each face to be diminished by unit, which is equi¬
valent to supposing s—A to be substituted for 5. The num-
bers are then 0, 1,2, 3, 4, 5, and we have n=5, A=4, and
s_(lo—4)=12. Hence
7=54-A—1=15
/=/—(»+0=9
f'=/_2(n+l)=3
7 —f- ^(ra-f-l)——3,
Substituting these values in the formula,
and A—1.2
we find
3,
N=15.14.13x g(=4-455)
—9.8
7 x £(=—336)
+3.2.1xt^7.(= + 6)
or N= 125. Now the probability of the event is N-=-(«4-1 )*;
and in the present case (w-j-ljA==64=1296 ; consequently
the probability required, namely that of throwing the point
16 with 4 dice, is ——.
’ 1296
22. In the numerical solution of questions of this sort, it
sometimes happens that the labour may be abridged by
computing the probability of throwing a different point from
that which is proposed, but which has the same number of
chances in its favour. For example, let it be proposed to
determine the probability that in throwing 10 dice the sum
of the points will be 50. In this case, the smallest number
of points that can possibly be thrown is 10, and the greatest
60; and the chances in favour of throwing 10 and of throw¬
ing 60 are obviously equal. The probability of throwing
any given number of points above 10 is also evidently the
same as that of throwing the number which is as much under
60; and consequently the probability of throwing 50 is the
same as the probability of throwing 20, these numbers being
at equal distances from the extremes. Now to find the pro¬
bability of throwing 20 with 10 dice, or, which is the same,
the probability that in ] 0 successive drawings from an urn
containing 6 balls, marked with the numbers 0, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5,
the sum of the numbers drawn will be 10, we have An 10,
nzz5, $=10; whence f= 19, fr= 13, f" =7,/'" negative,
and A=1.2...9. Substituting these numbers in the series
for N, and observing that since7'—A4-2z=—1, the third
term becomes negative, we have
.T 19.18.17.16.15.14.13.12.11 „ „ v
N= t^ 7 = 77—= 7 -(=92378)
1.2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8
13.12.11.10.9.8,7.6.5
(=-7150),
1 . 2 . 3 . 4 .5.6.7.8.9
and consequently N= 85228. Dividing this by(w4-1)*=610
= 60466176, the probability of throwing 20, or of throwing
85228 1
50, with 10 dice is found = or between —- and
60466176 709
1
Tib*
23. The probability that the whole number of points
drawn in A trials will not exceed s is found by substituting
for £ ihe different values 0, 1, 2 £ in the series for N,
and taking the sum of the results. This labour, however,
may be avoided by means of a property of the figurate num¬
bers. It is well known that the sum of the series of num¬
bers obtained by giving n every value from n=l to (r
being any number whatever) in the formula
598
Probability
PROBABILITY.
n(n-\-  
l 7 2 • 3 ^77 1
is expressed by this other formula
 (v + m)(v4-m+ 1)
f7 2 ~T~3  (*7+' 1) (77+2) ;
or, which is the same thing, that the sum of the series ob¬
tained by giving x successively every value from «=! + «
to x— l+tt + « in the formula
x{x—l)(.r—2) {x—w)
1.2.3 m+1
is expressed by this other formula
(a,+ —1) x—u
3..
.m + 2’
1.2
in which x— 1 + u + V. , T/ x
Comparing the different terms of the series for N (20) with
these last formulae, it will be evident, that on giving 5 every
value successively, from 0 to s in the value of^ and denot¬
ing by N' the sum of all the results, we shall have
Tr , (/+1 1)(/-—2)...(f—h 4- 2)
—"i i o q 4 /i
R b Probability
Let 1—u—- and q—-, we shall then have log (1—«):
y C
log £—log y, and log ^log b—log c; whence
log_y
—log b—log c
Substituting in this general formula the particular numbers
given in the question, namely 4—5, c=6 ; and supposing
log 2
u=%, and consequently/3=1, y=2, we have h=
whence, by computing from the logarithmic tables, 4=^3-8.
From this it follows, that in four trials the probability of
throwing ace once at least, is greater than the probability
of not throwing it at all.
If the question had been to determine in how many throws
with two dice one may undertake, on an equality of chance,
to throw aces at least once, we should have had <1—
ff, and consequently 4—35, and c=36. Substituting these
numbers in the general formula, and observing, that in this
=24-6.
1.2.3
c/v+i)f(/'/-o(/-2)'
(/
1.2.3
'+or(/'-
h
.!)(/"—2)...Of'—S+2) ^ Mh-V)
k
X
1.2
**• 1.2.3.4
—&c.
for the probability that the number of points thrown will
not be greater than s.
As an example, let 4 —10, s=5, n=5; we have then
/= .9+4 1 = 14, f =/—(w +1 )=8, whence f'—h + 2=0,
and consequently the second term vanishes. Hence
,, 15.14.13.12.11.10.9.8.7. 6 _onnq
N'= 1.2. 3 . 4 . 5 .'6 . 7.8.9.10 “ 00 ‘
The probability, therefore, of the sum of the numbers
drawn in 10 drawings not exceeding 5, is 3003-^(6)10, or
 . And this is also the probability that in throw-
60466176
ing 10 common dice the sum of the points does not exceed
16. (Simpson, p. 60.)
24. In the preceding questions the number of trials, de¬
noted by 4, has been supposed to be given ; and the ob¬
ject, in every case, has been to determine the value of a
o-iven term, or of a given number of terms of the series pro¬
duced by the development of the binomial (p+q)h- But
there is a numerous class of questions in respect of which
the exponent 4 is unknown, and is required to be deter¬
mined from the condition that an assigned term, or the sum
of a certain number of assigned terms of the development,
must have a given value. For example, let it be proposed
to determine how often a common die must be thrown in
order to give the probability of ace turning up once at least,
equal to a given fraction u. Here the probability of throw¬
ing ace in any throw being we have/>=5f, and q~%-
Now, as every term of the development of (p-f-(/y‘» except¬
ing the last, gives a combination in which ace occurs once
or oftener, the question requires a value to be found for 4,
such, that the sum of the first 4 terms of that development,
shall be equal to u. This may be done, in general, by the
common methods of trial and error; but in the present case,
the last term being the only one not included among those
which contain a chance of throwing ace, it is evident that
it is only necessary to find the last term alone in order to
have the probability of not throwing ace in 4 trials, which by
the question is 1—u. The last term of the development
is (f; therefore we must have the equation qh—\—u;
whence 4 log g=log (1—w,) and 4=log (1—u) -7-log q.
log 2
case also 0=1, T=2, we get i= ]og 36_]og 3.
The probability of not throwing aces once is therefore
greater than the opposite probability or that of throwing
aces once or oftener, when the number of throw’s is 24, but
less when the number is 25.
These two questions are celebrated in the early history of
the theory of Probability, from the circumstance that the
Chevalier de Mere, by whom they were proposed to Pascal,
declared the two results above stated to be inconsistent with
each other, and thence took occasion to question the accu¬
racy of the theory of combinations by means of which they
had been obtained. He reasoned thus : Since the proba¬
bility of throwing ace with one die is and that of throw¬
ing aces with two dice ^ of \ — ; therefore, if there be a
given probability in favour of throwing ace in four throws with
one die, there must likewise be the same probability of throw’-
ing aces with two dice in 6 X 4=24 throws ; in other words,
the chances in favour of an event E in a single trial, being
six times more numerous than those in favour of F, there
will be as many chances in favour of F in six trials as there are
in favour of E in one. The error consists in supposing that
the number oftrials must increase or diminish exactly in the
inverse ratio of the probability ofobtaining the proposed point.1
25. The general question may be enunciated as follow’s :
Let p=the probability an event E wall happen, q the proba¬
bility it will fail; how many trials are required to give a
probability=?^ that E will happen 4 times.
Let ar=the number required. Taking the sum of all the
terms of the development of {jp-\-qf in which the exponent
of p is less than 4, we shall have the probability that the
event does not happen 4 times in x trials. This sum must
consequently be made equal to 1—u ; therefore, beginning
the last term, and writing the terms in the reverse order,
we have the equation
, x (x—1) „
q*+x g P+ P 
I ^J*-—1) • • • 4+2) j-a+i k-\ i_u
+ 1 . 2 (4—1) q F
Let jo= e q, and this equation becomes
Ii+^+*J-±)e* +*(^)-lK*-*+g)
e*-11
q ( 1+*e+r7~2~   ^1 . 2. (4—1)
= 1—u
from w hich the value of x may be found by the ordinary
methods of converging series.
If/>=<7=^, then e=l ; and if we also suppose and
consequently 1—u—^, the equation will become
1 Pascal, (Euvres, tom. iv- p. 387 ; Lacroix, Elementaire, p. 36.
PROBABILITY.
599
Probability
1 + *+*-T7? o+»'•
But the first side of this equation is the expansion of (1 X 1 )x
continued to k terms ; therefore, since the sum of the first k
terms is equal to one-half of the whole series, and the terms
of the first half of the series are the same as those of the
last, it follows that the whole number of terms must be 2£.
But the whole number of terms in the expansion of (1 +1)*
is cc+l; therefore 2&=a;-f 1, and#=2£—1. Suppose
10, then £=19 ; hence in tossing a shilling it is an even bet
that head will turn up 10 times in 19 throws.
SECT. III. OE THE PROBABILITY OP EVENTS DEPENDING
ON A REPETITION OP TRIALS, OR COMPOUNDED OF ANY
NUMBER OF SIMPLE EVENTS, THE CHANCES IN RESPECT
OF WHICH ARE KNOWN A PRIORI, AND VARY IN THE DIF¬
FERENT TRIALS.
26. Let us suppose the trials to consist in drawing balls
from an urn containing a white balls, and b black balls, and
that when a ball is extracted it is not returned to the urn.
Make 6=c, and let the extraction of a white ball be the
event W, and that of a black ball the event B. At the first
trial the probability of W is—(4), and that of B, —. But at
the second trial, the number of balls in the urn is diminish¬
ed by 1 ; and the probability of drawing a white ball at the
second trial is therefore not the same as it was in the first,
but is influenced by the event which has already taken
place. If W happened at the first trial, the number of
white balls remaining in the urn is then a—1 ; the num¬
ber of black is b, and the number of both colours c—1.
The probability of W at the next trial is therefore
a *-,and that of B is In like manner, if B happened
c+-Y
-1
At the first trial, the probability of W at the second is
c—1’
and that of B is
b—\
c^-['
Hence (7) the different combinations
(7) the probability of WWW is xh _ Probability
bability of drawing a black ball after two white have been
drawn is -—- (for there are now c—2 balls in the urn, of
which b are white) ; therefore the probability of WWB is
a(a—1)J ,
——. On forming in this manner all the differ¬
ent possible combinations which can result from three trials,
we find
WWW, probability,
WWB,
WBW,
a(a—l)(o—2)
BWW,
BBW,
BWB,
WBB,
BBB,
c(c—l)(c—2)’
a(a—1)6
c(c—i)(c—2) ’
ab(a—1)
c(c—l)(c—2) ’
ba(a—1)
C(C_1)(C_2) ’
6(6—\)a
- c(c—l)(c—2)’
ba(b—1)
“ c(c—l)(c—2) ’
a6(6—1)
- "c(c—l)(c—2) ’
_ 6(6—I )(6—2)
which can arise from two trials are the following :
WW, WB, BW, BB,
the probabilities of which are respectively,
a(a—1) ab ba 6(6—I)
c(c—1)’ c(c—1)’ c(c—1 y 1)‘
Now if we neglect the order of succession in the two cases
in which W and B are combined, the probability of the
compound event which consists of the extraction of a ball
of each colour in the two trials, is — r-r, and the probabi-
c(c—l)
lities of the three possible combinations are respectively:—
a(a—1) 2ab 6(6—1)
c(c—1)’ c(c—1)’ c(c—1)
Comparing these with the probabilities of the same com¬
binations when the chances are constant, or the ball is re¬
turned to the urn after each drawing, namely
a2 2ab 62
c2> c2 > c2>
the analogy of the two cases is obvious.
After two balls have been drawn, the whole number re¬
maining in the urn is c—2 ; but the number of each colour
depends on the two events that have already occurred. If
two white balls have been drawn, the probability of draw¬
ing a white ball at the next trial will be -; but we have
just seen that the probability of W W is ; therefore
~ c(c—l)(c—2)
If we disregard the order of succession in those combina¬
tions into which W and B both enter, and consider the oc¬
currence of W twice and B once as the same compound
event; and also the occurrence of W once and B twice as
the same compound event, in whatever order they occur,
„ , 3a(a—1)6 , .
the probability of the former will be ——j———, and of
3a6(6—1)
the latter —  ^r.
c(c—l)(c—2)
27. In general, if m’-\-n’ balls have been drawn, of which
m' have been found to be white and n' black, the number
of white balls in the urn will now be a—m', the number of
black 6—n!, and the whole number of both colours c—m'—n'.
Hence the probability of drawing a white ball in the next
trial will be —^7—-,; and that of drawing a black ball
c—m—n
^ n . Now if in these two fractions we substitute
c—m!—n'
successively for m' and n' all the different numbers from
0 to m 1 and n—1 respectively, the product of the m-\-n
numbers thus obtained will (7) be the probability of drawings
white balls and n black in an assigned order, in trials
Let this probability be denoted by K, and we shall have
a(a-l)(a-2) (q-w + I) X 6(6-l)(6-2) (6-w+I)
^ c(c—l)(c—2) (c—m—ft-j-l)
whatever the given order may be. Hence, if w e denote by
P the nrobability of m white balls and n black being drawn
in any^order whatever, in 6 trials, we shall have P=UK,
J _ 1.2.3 h
where, as in (12), U= x ^ 3~ m x i . 2.3 n
the co-efficient of that term of the binomial + which
has for its argument pm qn; this co-efficient expressing all
the different arrangements which can be formed of m things
of one kind, and n things of another. .... „
28. When the urn is supposed to contain balls of more
than two different colours, the probability of any proposed
number of each colour being drawn in a given number of
trials is found with the same facility. Suppose it to contain
a of the first colour, cto of the second, of the third, and
so1 on and let ^ &c.=c; then the probability that
600
PROBABILITY.
Probability in mn r -\-Szc.'zzh trials, there will be drawn m of the
first colour, n of the second, r of the third, &c. is
U'Xa,(a1—!)(«!—2) (a1—m+1)
X a^riz—] )(««-—2) (a^—n+l)
X «3(«3 —1 )(«3—2) («3—r+ 1 )
X «4(a4—l)(a4—2) («4—^ + 1)
X &c.
~c(c—l)(c—2) (c—/i+O
where, as in (15),
lT _  1.2.3 h 
“1.2.3 m X 1 • 2.3 n x 1.2.3 r x &c. *
29. The following examples will shew the use of the pre¬
ceding formulae.
Suppose a bag to contain 16 balls, of which 8 are white
and 8 black, what is the probability that in drawing 8 balls
from the bag the whole of them will be white ?
Applying the formula (27) to the solution of this ques¬
tion, we have a—8, 5=8, c—\6, m = 8, w=0, and as the
probability required is that of drawing white balls only, b
cannot enter into any of the factors of the numerator;
hence
y 8. 7. 6. 5. 4.3. 2.1  1
“16.15.14.13.12.11 . 10. 9“ 12870 ’
and since m=h, U=l, the probability sought, is therefore
izLiP .
Let there be a heap of 20 cards, wherein are t diamonds,
6 hearts, 4 spades, and 3 clubs ; required the probability
that in drawing 8 of them at a venture there shall come out
3 diamonds and 2 hearts? (Simpson, p. 21.)
The probability required in this case being that of draw¬
ing 3 diamonds, 2 hearts, and 3 other cards which are nei¬
ther diamonds nor hearts, the spades and clubs may be con¬
sidered as forming one parcel, containing 7 cards. We have
then in the formula (28) aj =7, a2=:6, a3=7, e=20; mz=.3,
w=2, r=3, /<=:8 ; therefore
U'=
1.2.3.4.5.6.7.8
1.2.3x1.2x1-2.3
=560,
and the probability required becomes,
7*6. 5x6. 5x7.6. 5 —1225
20.19.18.17.16.15.14.13 3978
The odds against the event are therefore 2753 to 1225, or
nearly 9 to 4.
Let 4 cards be drawn from a pack of 52; what is the
probability of drawing one of each sort ?
In this case we have ax—\3, a2=13, a3 = 13, a4 = l3,
c=52 ; also m—\, n—\, r=l, szrl, h—i, whence 11'=
1 * 1~ l~~t = an<^ Probability re(luired becomes, on
substituting these numbers in the formula (28),
_ 13.13.13.13 2197 1
X 52.51.50.49“ 20825“ 9 near Y-
The odds against this event are nearly 8 to 1.
30. The following question, proposed by Huygens, and
solved by Demoivre and Bernoulli (Ars Conjectandi, p. 59),
belongs to the class of problems now under consideration.
An urn contains 12 balls, of which 4 are white and 8
black. Three gamesters A, B, and C agree that the first
who, blindfold, shall draw a white ball shall be the winner of
the stakes. They also agree that A shall draw first, B second,
C third, A fourth, and so on; and the balls drawn are not
replaced in the urn. It is proposed to find their respective
probabilities of Manning.
Here the play terminates as soon as a white ball is drawn,
and it must therefore terminate with the 9th trial, if not
sooner, inasmuch as, after 8 black balls have been drawn,
the urn will contain only white balls, and the probability of
drawing a white ball at the next trial will become certainty.
The Question will therefore be solved, if we determine the
probabilities of the play ending with the 1st, 2d, 3d, 4th, &c. Probability
games respectively, and take the sum of the probabilities v
of its ending with the 1st, 4th, and 7th, for the probability of
A’s wanning; the sum of the probabilities of its ending with
the 2d, 5th, and 8th, for the probability of B’s wanning; and
the sum of the probabilities of its ending with the 3d, 6th,
and 9th, for the probability of C’s winning.
For the sake of rendering the solution more general, let
a be the number of white balls in the urn, b the number of
black, and let«-f- b-=rc. The probability of drawing a white
ball at the first trial, or of the play ending with the first
trial, is then —.
c
The probability of the play ending with the second trial
is compounded of the probability of a black ball being drawn
at the first trial, and a white at the second ; and the proba¬
bility of both events (26) is —jy
The probability of the play ending with the third trial is
compounded of three separate probabilities, namely, that a
black ball will be drawm at the first trial; that a black ball
will be drawn at the second ; that a white ball will be drawn
at the third ;—and the probability of the concourse of these
. 5(5—\)a
events W ■» ■(e_1)(,;_2)-
In general the probability of a black ball being drawn in
x—1 trials successively, and a white ball at the *th is
5(5—1)(5—2) (5—£ + 2)« , ,
 . Substituting for a, 5, and
c(c—l)(c—2)  (c—tf+l 6
c in this formula the numbers proposed by Huygens, we
obtain in respect of the 1st, 4th, and 7th trials, or the pro¬
bability in favour of A,
I4. 6 4 8.7. 6.5.4.3 £_ 77 .
12 'r 12.11 .10' 9 T 12.11 . 10.9.8.7'6 _ 165 ’
in respect of the 2d, 5th, and 8th trials, or the probability
in favour of B,
8 4 8. 7. 6.5 4 8.7. 6.5.4.3.2 4
+
12.11.10.9
8 +
12.11.10.9.8.7.6’ 5
12 11
53
“ 165’
and in respect of the 3d, 6th, and 9th trials, or the proba¬
bility in favour of C,
8.7 4 8. 7. 6.5.4 4 . 8.7.6 .5.4.3.2.1
12.11’ 10 + 12.11 . 10.9.8
A- 35
’ 4 “ 165’
Y +
12.11.10.9.8.7.6.5
The chances in favour of A, B, and C, are therefore pro¬
portional to the numbers 77, 53, 35, respectively.
If the condition of the play had been that the ball was to
be returned to the urn after each trial, the chances in fa¬
vour of the three gamesters would have been easily found
by the formula (12) to be respectively as the numbers 9,
6, and 4.
SECT. IV. OF MATHEMATICAL AKD MORAL EXPECTATION'.
31. In the theory of probability, the term expectation is
used to denote the product found by multiplying the value
of a casual benefit into the probability of the event on
which it is contingent taking place. But the value of a be¬
nefit may be estimated either with respect to its absolute
amount, or to the amount of relative advantage it affords the
individual who receives it. This consideration has led to a
distinction between mathematical and moral expectation.
When we place the circumstances of the individual entirely
out of consideration, and have regard merely to the abstract
or absolute value of the benefit, the product of its amount
by the probability of obtaining it is the mathematicalexpec-
PROBABILITY.
601
Probability of the individual; but when a relative value is as-
signed to the benefit, the product of this relative value by
the probability of obtaining it is called the moral expecta¬
tion, because it is estimated by certain moral considerations
respecting the circumstances or fortune of the individual in
whose favour the expectation exists, on the principle that a
sum of money which may be relatively of very little import¬
ance to a man in possession of a large fortune may be of
great importance to another who is less favourably circum¬
stanced. We shall first consider the mathematical expecta¬
tion.
32. Suppose A and B to engage in play ; let p be the pro¬
bability of A’s winning a game, q the probability of B’s win¬
ning it, and s a sum of money staked on the issue of the
game. By the definition, the mathematical expectation of
A is ps, and that of B is qs. Now if we suppose these expec¬
tations to be purchased by A and B, the sums they ought
respectively to pay for them, or in other words to stake on
the issue of the game, must be proportional to their respec¬
tive expectations, in order that they may play on equal terms.
Let therefore a be the sum staked by A, and b the sum
staked by B, we have thenps:qs::a : b, and consequently
pb—qa. Now suppose a + b—s, or that the sum played for
is the amount of the stakes; then, since b is the sum A ex¬
pects to gain, and p is the probability of his gaining it, pb is
the mathematical value of A’s expectation of gain. In like
manner qa is the mathematical value of B’s expectation of
gain. Hence it follows, that when the sum staked by each is
proportional to his probability of winning, the mathematical
expectations of the two players are equal; so that after the
stakes have been placed, and before the event is decided,
they might exchange places without advantage or disadvan¬
tage to either. It follows likewise, that since the sum which
the one must gain is just that which the other must lose, the
product qa, which is B’s expectation of gain, may be regard¬
ed as A’s expectation of loss ; or (if taken with a negative
sign) as part of A’s whole expectation, which then becomes
pb—qa. But —qa—0‘, whence the condition of A before
the event is decided is not altered by the circumstance of
his having staked on the issue of the play.
33. This conclusion at first sight appears paradoxical; for
it is certain, that after the stakes are placed, A must either
gain the sum b or lose a, and therefore his fortune will of
necessity either be increased by the gain of his adversary’s
stake, or diminished by the loss of his own. The explana¬
tion depends on theorems which will afterwards be demon¬
strated relative to the repetition of trials, from which it re¬
sults, that though in a single trial the player must either
lose or gain, yet on multiplying sufficiently the number of
games, a probability will at length be obtained, approaching
as nearly to certainty as we please, that the sum gained or
lost in the long run will not exceed a certain given fraction
(which may be as small as we please) of the whole sum
staked, provided the play is undertaken on terms of mathe¬
matical equality. But this indefinite repetition of the ha¬
zard is practically impossible ; and innumerable cases may
easily be imagined, in which an individual will be guided
by other considerations than the mere mathematical value
of the expectation in undertaking or declining a risk. A
person of moderate fortune would scarcely be persuaded to
risk L.500 for the expectation of gaining L.5, though the
chances might be 100 to 1 in favour of the event which
would produce that sum ; but numbers would be found wil¬
ling enough to pay L.5 for the expectation of gaining L.500,
the chances being 100 to 1 against them. In both cases,
however, the expectation would be purchased at its real
abstract value. According to the formula of mathematical
expectation, the man whose sole fortune consists of a lot¬
tery ticket which has an equal chance of turning up a prize
of L.20,000 or a blank, is in an equally advantageous posi¬
tion as he who is in possession of L.10,000 ; yet no man
VOL. XVIII.
of ordinary prudence, if offered his choice of the two states, Probability
would hesitate as to which he ought to give the preference.
Common sense will prevent a man from risking a sum, the
loss of which would be attended with great privations, even
when, mathematically speaking, the chances are consider¬
ably in his favour. It is also obvious that two individuals
whose fortunes are very unequal cannot engage in play with
the same advantage, although the chances in favour of each,
in respect of a single game, are precisely the same. The
one who has a large fortune can repeat the hazard so often
as to obtain a probability almost equal to certainty that his
loss will not amount to any given sum; whereas the other,
who cannot continue the play in case of loss, runs the risk
of being ruined. It is thus evident, that in a multitude of
cases the abstract theory of probability is not alone sufficient
to give the value of an expectation, and that in dealing with
contingent events, an individual must be guided to a cer¬
tain extent by considerations of relative advantage.
34. Various hypotheses have been imagined for the pur¬
pose of reducing such relative or moral considerations to ac¬
curate calculation ; but that which appears the most natu¬
ral, and applicable to the greatest number of cases, consists
in supposing the relative value of any infinitely small sum
to be directly proportional to its absolute value, and inversely
as the fortune of the individual who has an expectation of
receiving it. This principle was first proposed by Daniel
Bernoulli in the Petersburg Commentaries (vol. v.), and is
there applied by him to the solution of a number of ques¬
tions of great practical interest.
Let x be the absolute value of the capital, or, as it is de¬
nominated by Laplace, the physical fortune, of an individu-
' al; then, according to the hypothesis of Bernoulli, the mo¬
ral advantage which he derives from an infinitely small incre¬
ment of fortune z=dx, is measured by the expression c—,c
x
being a constant to be determined by the nature of the ques¬
tion. Now, if we suppose the physical fortune to arise from
the accumulation of the elements dx, and denote by y the
relative or moral value of the fortune, of which the absolute
or physical value is x, we shall have
(~—c log. constant.
x
To determine the constant, we may suppose y=o, when x
has a given value =a; this gives o=e log. a-{-constant,
whence y—c (log. x—log. a), or y—c log. ; and it is to
be observed, that those values of x and y can never become
negative, for as Bernoulli has remarked, it is only the per¬
son who is dying of hunger that can be said to possess ab¬
solutely nothing. In every other circumstance the mere pos¬
session of existence may be accounted a moral advantage, to
which, however, it would be absurd to attempt to assign a nu¬
merical value.
35. From the above formula, it is easy to deduce a nu¬
merical expression for the value of a moral expectation. Let
a be the original fortune of the individual, and a, /3, y, &c.
sums to be received on the occurrence of certain contin¬
gent events, E, F, G, &c. This being supposed, if the event
E happens, the absolute fortune of the individual becomes
a+a, and its relative value, therefore, according to the for¬
mula is c log. ^±-a. If F happens, his absolute fortune be-
comes a 4-/3, to which the corresponding relative value is
dog. and so on. Now, let the probabilities of the
events E, F, G, &c. be respectively p, q, r, Sec. (assuming
«_i_ 7 a. r-F &c. = 1, so that one or other of the events will ne¬
cessarily happen), and let Y represent the relative fortune ot
the individual arising from his expectation, then, since the
4 G
602
PROBABILITY.
Probability value of a benefit in expectation is equal to the amount of
the benefit multiplied by the probability of obtaining it, we
have
=c jplog.
CL -j— &
+ <7 1°£
<24-/3 . a-\-y , „ i
 -\-r log.     + &c* r
a a )
Let also X denote the absolute value of Y; then, by the
formula, we have Y=c log. —. On comparing these two
values of Y, we get
_ X , $4“<* , 4~i . n
loS- —=pl°g-—— +7 ^g. -—+/• log. — b &c.;
cl a tk ll
and on passing to numbers,
X (a + ayia + ^ja + yy^c.
a — aP+q-\-r+kc. >
therefore, since p + 5'4-r+ &c- =L
X=(a + ay(a + l3y(a + yy, &c.
In this expression X denotes the absolute value of the
original fortune and of the expectation added together; if,
therefore, we deduct a from X, the difference will be the
value of the expectation, or the sum which, if it were to be
received certainly, would procure the individual the same
relative advantage as his expectation.
36. If the sums a, /3, y, &c. are supposed to be very small
in comparison of a, so that quantities of the order (—J may
be neglected, the preceding equation becomes
X=ap+9+’-+ &c- 4-ap+«+r&c—11 pa + g/3 -f-ry 4- &c. j
whence, since/>4-<7+r4- &c.= l,
X=a-\-pa + ql3+ry-\- See.
Deducting from this the original fortune a, the remainder
pa-{-q(3+ry-{-Sec. is the value of the expectation, or the sum
equivalent to the moral advantage. But the value of the ma¬
thematical expectation of the benefits a, £, y, Sec. of which the
probabilities are respectively^, q, r, &c. is also pa-\-q^-\-ry
-)-&c. (31), therefore, when the contingent benefits are very
small in comparison of the original fortune, the moral ad¬
vantage and the mathematical expectation are sensibly the
same.
37 From the formula X=(« 4- a)p(a -j- /3)7(<z 4-y)r &c. Ber-
Titmlh deduces the consequence that gambling or betting is
attended with a moral disadvantage, even when the chances
of gain or loss, mathematically speaking, are perfectly equal.
To shew this, he proposes the following question. A, whose
fortune is 100 crowns, bets 50 crowns with B, on the issue
of an event of which the probability is j, on these terms:
if the event happens, A is to receive from B 50 crowns ; if
it fails, he is to pay B 50 crowns ; what is the relative va¬
lue of A’s fortune, after undertaking the bet, and before the.
event is decided? In this case, we have a —100, a=50,
£=—50, y=0; a\sop=^, q=±, r=0; and the formula (35)
becomes
X=(100-f-50)^ x (100—50)2,
whence Xrr^/lSO X 50=87 ; and, consequently, the con¬
dition of A is worse by 13 crowns than it was before he ha¬
zarded the bet. The moral disadvantage is therefore equi¬
valent to this sum, though the terms of the play, according
to the mathematical theory, are equal.
38. The conclusion arrived at in this particular case is
easily shewn to be universally true. Let a be the capital
of the player, p his probability of winning, q his probability
of .using, and s the sum at stake. In order that he may
play on terms of mathematical equality, the part of the
stakes contributed by himself, or the sum which he can lose,
must be ps (32), and the part contributed by his adversary,
or that which he may gain, must be qs. The equation in
(35) therefore becomes
rential of which (making s variable) is
d log. ^—pqds r 1
X = (<Z + qs)p X (a—psp , Probability
and if it can be shewn that this value of X is less than a, it
will follow that his condition is rendered worse in conse¬
quence of having staked on the game. Now, dividing by
a, and taking the logarithm of both sides of the equation, we
get log. -p log. (l + |r) +? log- (1—?)’ the diffe‘
x a a'
But the second side of this equation is evidently negative ;
therefore d log. X-j-a is negative ; consequently the loga¬
rithm of X-j-« is negative, and X must be less than a. In
all cases, therefore, the bet, if on even terms, produces a
moral disadvantage.
39. Another consequence deduced by Bernoulli from this
theory of mox-al expectation, is, that when property of any
kind is exposed to a risk or hazard, it is more advantageous
to expose it in parts to several risks independent of each
other, than to expose the whole at once to a single risk, al¬
though the probability of loss be in both cases precisely the
same. To prove this, he takes the following example. Amer-
chant has a capital of L.4000, besides goods of the value of
L.8000, which must be transported by sea. The probabi¬
lity of the loss of a vessel in the voyage being -j1^, let it be
proposed to find the value of the moral expectation of the
merchant in the case of the goods being embarked in a single
vessel, and also in the case of one half being embarked in one
vessel and the other half in another. Supposing the mer¬
chandise embarked in one ship, the absolute fortune of the
merchant will be increased to L.12,000 in the event of the
safe arrival of the ship, and will be reduced to L.4000 in the
event of its being lost. The probability of the first of these
events is -j9g, and of the second -Aj; therefore his absolute
fortune becomes, in virtue of his expectation,
X=(12,000)'i95 X (4000)*,
whence X= 10751. Deducting his other capital, L.4000,
there remains L.6751 for the value of the moral expectation
in respect of the venture.
Let us next suppose the merchandise embarked in equal
parts in two ships. In this case there are three compound
events to be considered, 1st, Both vessels may arrive in safety;
9 9 81
the probability of which Jq * Jq = 2d, One may
arrive in safety and the other be lost; the probability of
9 1
which, as it may happen in two ways, (11) is 2 X — X —
18
3d, Both may be lost; the probability of which is
100
1 1
1
— X Jq = If the first of these events happen, the
capital of the merchant will become L.4000-|-L.8000=
L.12,000 ; if the second happen it will be L.4000-j-L.4000
= L.8000 ; and if the third happen it will be only L.4000.
With these numbers the formula becomes
X = (12,000)*15 X (8OOO)*83 X (4000)T*,
whence X= 11033. Deducting his other capital, which was
exposed to no risk, there remains L.7033 for the value of the
moral expectation. This sum exceeds the former by L.282 ;
and it is easily found by following the same process of rea¬
soning, that in proportion as the risk is divided among a
greater number of ships, the moral expectation is increas¬
ed, and approaches its limit, which is the value of the ma¬
thematical expectation, or j9g of L.8000=L.7200.
40. The theory of moral expectation enables us likewise to
assign the circumstances in which it is advantageous or
PROBABILITY.
■Probabilityotherwise, to insure property against particular hazards.
There are three principal questions to be considered in refe¬
rence to this subject; 1. The amount >f premium the insur¬
ed may pay without disadvantage , 2- The ratio of his for¬
tune to the value of the sum exposed io risk, in order that it
may be advantageous to insure at a given premium ; and 3.
The capital which the insurer )r underwriter ought to pos¬
sess, in order that he may insure a given risk with probable
advantage to himself, and safety to the insured.
Let s be the value of a cargo which a merchant embarks in
a ship, p the probability of the safe arrival c-f the vessel, and
a his capital independently of s. The mathematical value of
the premium for insurance is qs; for, if we denote the pre¬
mium hyp, then y is the sum the insurer will gain if the vessel
reaches its destination in safety, and s—y is the sum he will
lose if it does not; and by the theorem for the mathematical
expectation—-y) ; whence, since 1,
If, therefore, the merchant insures the cargo, his absolute for¬
tune becomes «-f ^—qs—a-\-ps-, and if he does not insure,
it is the value of X in the equation X=-(a-|-5)J,a<?. Hence
it will be advantageous or otherv/ise to insure according as
B-f-ys is greater or less than (a-f ^)pa7. Now the logarithm
of the first of these expressions, or log (a-\-ps), is equiva¬
lent to the integral ; and the logarithm of the se-
603
cond, or y log (a-f-s) + £ log a, is equivalent to but
since is a proper fraction, a-\-ps is less than and
therefore the first integral is greater than the second. Con¬
sequently a-\-ps is, in general, greater than (a-{-,s)paJ, and
the insurance is attended with advantage. Let us now as¬
sume #:= a-f/w—and# will be the sum the mer¬
chant could afford to pay the insurer above the mathemati¬
cal value of the risk without moral disadvantage. If he pays
less than qs-^-x, his relative fortune is increased by insur¬
ing ; and if he pays more he is a loser. In practice the pre¬
mium may be considered as less than qs-\-x, but greater
than qs; so that while the insured pays more than the ma¬
thematical value of the risk, he gains a moral advantage by
the transaction.
To solve the second question, let e be the premium de¬
manded for insuring the amount s; then, the other capi¬
tal of the merchant being a, his fortune after being insured
is a-\-s—em, while if he takes the risk on himself, its value
becomes If, therefore, the value of a be deter¬
mined from the equation a-ps—e=(a-J-^)pa?, we shall have
the amount of capital he ought to possess in order that it
may be morally a matter of indifference to him whether he
insures or not. As an example, let the value of the mer¬
chandise, or 5, be L.10,000, e=L,800, andThe
eauation then becomes
a +9200=(a+10,000)^a2,iJ;
whence a is found by approximation =5043. It follows,
therefore, that unless his other capital amount to L.5043, it
would be disadvantageous to neglect insuring, although the
premium demanded exceed the mathematical value of the
risk (which is x L-10,000=L.500) by L.300.
The third question, the amount of capital the underwriter
ought to possess, is determined precisely in the same way.
Let b be his capital. After accepting the risk of the sum s
for the premium e, his capital will become b-\-e in the case
of the vessel arriving in safety, and b—s-f-e in the case of
its being lost. The formula of the moral expectation there¬
fore becomes X=(&+e)p(5—s-\-e)q-, and in order that there
may be neither advantage nor disadvantage in undertaking
the risk, this value of X must be equal to his original capi¬
tal, b. Supposing, therefore, s, e, p, q, to have the same sig¬
nifications as above, the equation from which b is to be de-Probability
termined is 6=(& + 800)^(5_9200)^, whence 5=14243.   
Unless, therefore, the capital of the insurer amounts to
L. 14,243, there would be a moral disadvantage in undertak¬
ing the risk of insuring a cargo worth L.10,000 for a pre¬
mium of L.800 ; and it is easy to see, that if a smaller pre¬
mium were demanded, the capital ought to be still greater.
On making <?=600, (which still exceeds the mathematical
value of the risk), the value of b becomes L.29,878. Hence
it follows, that a company possessing a large capital may not
only with safety engage in speculations which might prove
ruinous to another whose resources are more limited, but
even derive from them a sure profit.1
41. The theory of moral expectation which we have now
been considering had its origin in a problem proposed by
Nicolas Bernoulli to Montmort, which, from its having been
discussed at great length by Daniel Bernoulli in the Peters-
burg Memoirs, has been usually called the Petersburg prob¬
lem. It is this ; A and B play at heads and tails. A agrees
to pay B 2 crowns if head turn up at the first throw; 4
crowns if it turn up at the second, and not before; 8 if
it turn up at the third, and not before; and, in general,
2n crowns if it turn up at the nth throw, and not before :
required the value of B’s expectation ? Here the proba¬
bility of head turning up at the first throw is |; the proba¬
bility of its turning up at the second, and not at the first, is
2 X 2 —i 5 ^le probability of its not turning up either at the
first or second, and of its turning up at the third, ^ X^X|
=^, and so on. Hence the probabilities of B receiving 2,
4, 8, 16 2" crowns
. . 1 1 1 1 1
are respectively , —, —   consequently (31)
the mathematical value of B’s expectation is
If ><2+ f *4+ ■g" x8+ 16", +JrX2” crowns.
Now, as no limit can be assigned to n, inasmuch as it is
possible vnat head may not turn up till after a very great,
or any assignable number, of throws, this series, of which
each term is unity, may go on for ever, and consequently
the value of B’s expectation becomes infinite. Yet it is ob¬
vious that no one would pay any considerable sum for the
expectation. This disagreement between the dictates of
common sense and the results of the mathematical theory,
appeared to Montmort to involve a great paradox ; although
the question differs in this respect from no other question
of chances in which the contingent benefit is very great, and
the probability of receiving it very small. If the play could
be repeated an infinite number of times, B might undertake
to pay without disadvantage any sum, however large, for his
expectation. A result, however, more in accordance with or¬
dinary notions, is ’obtained from the principle of Bernoulli.
Let a be the amount of B’s fortune before the play begins,
x the value of his expectation, or the sum he pays A in con¬
sideration of the agreement, and make z=a—x. If head
turn up at the first throw, B’s fortune becomes z-j-2; if at
the second, and not before, z+22; if at the third, and not
before, z + 23; and so on. But the probabilities of these
events being respectively , -g- —, the formula
for the moral expectation becomes (35)
X=(z+2)i(z+22y(z+2*y .... (z+2n)Z’t.
Now the sum which B ought to pay will be determined by
making the value of his moral expectation, after the bet,
and before the play begins, equal to his previous fortune ;
we have therefore a=X, that is,
a=(z+2)2(z+2rf(z+23)8 
’ See the Commentarii Aead. Petropolitance, tom. v.; Laplace, Theorie des Prob. p. 432; Lacroix, Traits Elementaire, p. 132.
604
Probability
PROBABILITY.
1
2n  
22
The general term of this series being =
n / z \ —
^e equation may be put under the form
a-(22 + 2^ + 2» + 2 ^....) x(l + |
and since the logarithm of the first factor of this expression
T + 4 + TB + &c-)log2’or=4{1
los
(i + T + |- + R; + &c-)log 2> or=4-{ 1_+2(y)
+3(y) +4(yV+&c'}log2=Y(1—y) log2=
2 log 2, we have log a=2 log 2+ log ^1 +
(1+t)+t1os(1+y)+&c
from which a value of z may be found by trial and error
for any given value of a. Suppose z=100 ; on computing
the first 10 terms of the series there results a=\07’89,
whence (since x=a—z) a;=7-89 ; that is to say, if B pos¬
sessed only 100 crowns before beginning the play, it would
be morally disadvantageous for him to risk 8 crowns for the
expectation, although its mathematical value be infinitely
great. If we suppose z=1000, the sum of 11 terms gives
a=1011, nearly ; so that if B possessed a fortune of 1011
crowns, the value of the moral expectation would, to him,
be About 11 crowns.
It is scarcely necessary to remark, that the results de¬
duced from the principle of Bernoulli are of a character
widely different from those which are calculated according
to the mathematical expectation. The latter gives the pre¬
cise value of a contingent benefit, without any assumption or
hypothesis respecting the personal circumstances of the indi¬
vidual who may gain or lose it; whereas the considerations
of relative advantage, of which it is the object of Bernoulli’s
theory to take account, are entirely arbitrary, and by their
very nature incapable of being made the subject of accurate
computation. It is evidently impossible to have regard to,
or appreciate, all the circumstances which may render the
same sum of money a more important benefit to one man than
to another; and consequently every rule that can be given for
the purpose must be liable to numerous exceptions. The
principle, however, is thus far valuable, that it gives in the
most common cases a plausible and judicious estimate of
the value of things which are not susceptible of exact ap¬
preciation ; and it has the advantage of being readily sub¬
mitted to analysis. A different principle, proposed by the
celebrated naturalist Buffon, consists in making the value
itself of a casual benefit, instead of its infinitely small ele¬
ments, inversely proportional to the fortune of the expec¬
tant ; but as this hypothesis has seldom been adopted, it is
unnecessary to discuss it in this place.
SECT. V OF THE PROBABILITY OF FUTURE EVENTS DE¬
DUCED FROM EXPERIENCE.
42. In the preceding part of this article it has been as¬
sumed, in every case, that the number of chances favour¬
able and unfavourable to the occurrence of a contingent
event is known a priori, and consequently, that the proba¬
bility of the event, or the ratio of the number of favourable
cases to the whole number of cases possible, can be abso¬
lutely determined. But in numerous applications of the
theory of probabilities, and these, generally speaking, by far
the most important, the ratio of the chances in favour of an
event to those which oppose it is altogether unknown; and
we can form no idea of the probability of the event except¬
ing from a comparison of the number of instances in which
it has been observed to happen, with the whole number of
instances in which it has been observed to happen and fail.
In order to assign the probability of a contingent event in Probability
such cases, it is necessary to consider all the different causes v'—
or combinations of circumstances by which the event could
possibly be produced, and to determine its probabilities suc¬
cessively on the hypotheses that each of these causes exists,
to the exclusion of all the others. The comparative facili¬
ties which these hypotheses give to the occurrence of the
event which has actually arrived, will then enable us to de¬
termine the relative probabilities of the different hypothe¬
ses, and consequently their absolute probabilities, since their
sum is necessarily equal to unity; and when the probabili¬
ties of the different hypotheses, and of the occurrence of the
event on each hypothesis, have been determined, the pro¬
bability of the event occurring in a future trial will be found
by the methods already explained.
43. Taking a simple case, let us suppose an urn to contain
4 counters, which are either white or black ; that the num¬
ber of each colour is unknown, but in four successive draw¬
ings (the counter drawn being replaced in the urn after
each trial) a white counter has been drawn three times, and
a black one once ; and let it be proposed to assign the pro¬
bability of drawing a counter of either colour at the next
trial.
In the present case three hypotheses may be formed re¬
lative to the number of white and black counters in the urn.
1st, The urn may contain 3 white counters and 1 black;
2d, It may contain 2 white and 2 black; 3d, It may con¬
tain 1 white and 3 black ; for a counter of each colour hav¬
ing been drawn, the other two possible cases, namely, that
they are all white or all black, are excluded by the observa¬
tion. Now, let px, p2, p3, be the probabilities respectively of
drawing a white counter on each hypothesis, and the
probabilities of drawing a black. Supposing the first hypo¬
thesis to be true, or that the compound event which has been
observed was produced by the cause indicated by that hypo¬
thesis, we have jtq—f, q\—\ \ and the probability of the ob¬
served event, or that 3 white counters and 1 black would be
drawn, (12) is \p? The second hypothesis gives
p2—\, q2—\, whence 4jo/The third hypothesis
gives/?3=£, 93=f> whence \p3 q3—^. The probabilities
of the observed compound event, on each of the three hy¬
potheses, are therefore, respectively, , ^4-, 54 ; and the
question now arises, how are the probabilities of the differ¬
ent hypotheses to be estimated ? As we have no data, a
priori, for determining this question, we must assume the
probabilities of the different hypotheses to be respective¬
ly proportional to the probabilities they severally give of
the observed compound event; in other words, we must
assume the probability of any hypothesis to be greater or less
according as it affords a greater or smaller number of com¬
binations favourable to the event which has been observed
to take place. Thus, if C and be two independent causes
from which an observed event E may be supposed to arise,
and C furnishes 20 different combinations out of a given num¬
ber, favourable to the occurrence of E, while furnishes
only 10 such combinations out of the same number, we na¬
turally infer that the probability of the cause C having ope¬
rated to produce E, is twice as great as the probability that
the event was produced by the operation of the cause Cj.
Applying this principle to the present example, the probabi¬
lities of the three hypotheses are respectively proportional
to the three fractions or to the numbers 27, 16,
3 ; and as no other hypotheses are admissible, the sum of
their probabilities must be unity ; therefore, making s-j the
probability of the first hypothesis, zr2 that of the second, and
«r3 that of the third, we have
27 16
Wl-46’ ^“46’ ^”46’
44. Having found the probabilities of the different hy¬
potheses, that of drawing a white counter at the next trial
PROBABILITY.
605
Probability Is obtained without difficulty; for according to what was
shewn in (9), the probability of this simple event must be
equal to the sum of its probabilities relative to the different
hypotheses, each multiplied into the probability of the hvpo-
thesis itself- Now it has been seen that, on the first hypo¬
thesis, the probability of drawing a white ball is f; on the
second f, and on the third ^; and that the probabilities of
the hypotheses are respectively ^ ; therefore the
probability of a white counter being drawn at the next
trial is
3 27 2 1_6 1 116
4X46 + TX46 +T X46~184‘
In like manner, the probability of a black counter being
drawn at the next trial is
1 27 'A. 16 i A A- 68 .
4 X 46+T X 46+T X 46 “ f84 5
and the sum of these two fractions is unity, as it ought to be,
since the counter drawn must necessarily be white or black.
45. The reasoning which has been employed in this par¬
ticular case is of general application. Let E be an observed
event, simple or compound, of which the particular cause is
unknown, but which may be ascribed to any one of the «
causes, C15 C2, C3, CB, which, before the event has
happened, are all equally probable, and such that the opera¬
tion of any one of them excludes that of the others, so that
the event E is produced by one of them alone, and not by the
joint agency of several of them. Let the probabilities of the
observed event E on the hypothesis that it has proceeded
from each of those causes be respectively P,, P2,
so that if the cause, for instance, Q wTere the true one, the
probability of the event E, previous to the observation,
would be P< ; and let the probabilities (as determined by the
event) of the existence of the different causes be respective¬
ly zj-j, sr2, ®-3, srn. From the principle laid down in
the preceding paragraph, namely, that the probabilities of
the different causes or hypotheses are proportional to the
probabilities they respectively give of the observed event,
we have
zr1 : ®-2 : sr3 • Pi : Pg : Pj   P«
whence, making P, P2, + P3 + PM =2P<, and observ¬
ing that ®-1-f-w2 4-arn=i (since it is assumed
that there are no other causes than those specified from
which the event could arise), we have
_Pi _P2 _P3 P,,
^“"sP,’ ^“sP/ ^“sP/'
-2P/
determinate probability P, that the event E will happ en ; Probability
but so long as this probability falls short of certainty, its v—v—^
existence also implies that of another probability, 1 P,
that the contrary event F will happen. If we make P=l’
the existence ot the cause C would necessarily involve the
occurrence of E ; and it is in this particular sense that the
word cause is ordinarily used. In the theory of probabi¬
lities the causes of events are considered only in reference
to the number of chances they afford for the occurrence of
those events which they may possibly, but do not neces¬
sarily, produce.
47. The following example may serve to illustrate the
method of applying the preceding formulse. An urn con¬
tains 7i balls, which are known to be either white or black.
A ball is drawn at random and found to be w hite ; required
the probability of drawing a white ball at the next trial ?
In this case, the number of hypotheses that may be made
respecting the contents of the urn, is ti ; for we may sup¬
pose that it contained one, or two, or any number of white
balls from 1 to ?i, and each of these cases may be consider¬
ed as a distinct cause of the observed event E. Let these
causes or hypotheses be Cj, C2, C3, C„, and let us sup¬
pose the true cause was C,, or that the urn contained f white
balls. On this hypothesis the probability of the observed
i i
event E is -, whence Pf= -; and therefore, making i succes-
n n
sively equal to 1,2, 3,....rc, we have 2P,= -(1-f-2-f-3..-b«).
But the sum of this arithmetical series is
1), and consequently,
P, 2z
1)
, therefore
whence it appears that the probability of each hypothesis re¬
specting the cause of the observed event is found by divid¬
ing the probability of the event on the supposition that that
particular cause alone existed, by the sum of its probabili¬
ties in respect of all the causes. Let us now assume the
probabilities of a future event E' (which may be the same
with E or different, but depending on the same causes) in
respect of the several hypotheses, to be, j»j,/>2, jo3, .pn ;
so that if the particular cause C* be the true one, the proba¬
bility of E'is ; and let n be the probability ofE' in respect
of all the causes, then by (9), n will be equal to the sum of
the probabilities  -Pn relative to the different
hypotheses, each multiplied by the probability of the hypo¬
thesis ; that is to say we shall have
n=Pi^i +Po.^2+p^z 
or IlrrS^w,, the symbol 2 indicating the sum of all the dif¬
ferent values of p and sr in respect of the different causes
c15 c2, c3, c„.
46. It may be worth while to remark that the word cause is
not here used in its ordinary acceptation to denote the com¬
bination of circumstances, physical or moral, of w hich the
event is a necessary consequence. In the sense we have
used the term, the cause C is that which gives rise to the
2P, «(«-{-1)
which is the probability of the assumption that the event
proceeded from the cause Ct, or that the urn contained t
2
white balls. If we suppose t=n we have zrn—  for the
r « + 1
probability that all the balls are white; and if we also sup¬
pose n=3, this becomes ^ ; whence if an urn contain 3 balls
which must be either black or white, and a white ball be
drawn at the first trial, it is an even wager, after the trial,
that all the balls are white.
48. Having found, from the observed event E, the pro¬
babilities of the different hypotheses, we have now to deter¬
mine the probability n of the event E' (the drawing of a
white ball) at the next trial. Here two cases present them¬
selves ; according as the ball is replaced in the urn, or is not;
or in general, according as the law of the chances remains
constant during the series of trials or varies.
1st, Let us suppose that the ball has been replaced in the
urn. In this case the probability of the event E', on the hy-
l
pothesis that the urn contains i white balls, is—-; that is to
say pt=—. But the probability tx, of this hypothesis, as
2i . - 2*2
found above, is
«(« + !)
; therefore/?, a-,—
77~{n-\-1)
; wffience
2i2
the general formula (45) n_ Sp,®-,becomesn—, —
2 y{2. Now Xi2—2,1(7+1)—2*. Butbythepro-
wz(«q-i)
perty of the figurate numbers referred to in (23), the sum
of the series of numbers obtained by giving * every value
„ , n(ra-f-l) . , ,
from i=l to i~n in the formula ----- - is expressed by
”(„+IX”+2) , therefore
1.2.3 V ' **
606
PROBABILITY.
Probability \ye have also as above
V'“V~/ X,= 1+2+3 +n=^+l\
consequently,
V}-2 n(n ~1~ 2) n(n-±-1) n(n-j- l)(2«-j- 1 j
3 2 = 2 3
and therefore
2 w(«-4-1)(2»4-1) 2w+l
' ~ 3u '
n=
w2(»+l)'' 2 . 3
2d, Suppose the ball which has been extracted is not re¬
placed in the urn. In this case, on the hypothesis that the
urn at first contained i white balls, the probability of draw-
i—1 _ i ]
ing a white ball at the next tidal is  ; that is, p<= ;
n—l n—1
and the probability of the hypothesis is the same as in thefor-
2i . „ 2i(i—l)
mer case, or zrt-=—7——; therefore sr(—
*(« + 1)
(n—!)«(«-}-1)’
2i(i—1). Now
and consequently!!=  ——  —
1 J (n—1 >(«+!)
the value of —1) will evidently be found by writing
n—1 for n in the above expression for whence
• (n—1)«(^4-1) , , « .
—1;=v , and, therefore, in this case
n:
X
(n—\)n(n + \) _ 2
(n—l)rc(ra-j-l)" 3 3
When w is a very large number, the ratio of 2«+l to
3w, the value of PI in the former case, does not sensibly
differ from §, and therefore in both cases IT=f. Hence it
follows, that if an event, depending on unknown causes, can
happen only in one of two ways, and it has been observed
to happen once, the odds are two to one in favour of its
happening in the same way at the next occurrence.
49- The expression for zr in (43) was determined on the
supposition that previously to the experiments being made,
we are entirely ignorant of the relative numbers of the two
sorts of balls in the urn, and have no reason to suppose one
hypothesis more probable than another. If, however, we
happen to know, previously to the experiment, that the dif¬
ferent causes C,, C2, C5, &c. have not all the same num¬
ber of chances in their favour, or that the probabilities of
the different hypotheses have relative values, it becomes ne¬
cessary to introduce those relative values, in consequence
of which wj, zr2, &c., will receive a modification. Let us
conceive a number of urns, each containing balls of two
colours, black and white, to be distributed in ?i groups,
Aj, A2, A, A„, in such a manner that the ratio of
the number of white balls to the number of black balls
is the same in respect of each urn belonging to the same
group, and consequently that the probability of drawing
a ball of either colour is the same from whichever urn
in the group it may happen to be drawn, but different in
respect of the different groups ; and let the probabilities of
drawing a white ball from each of the different groups be x*e-
spectively Pj, P2, P3, Pn. Now, let us suppose there
are al urns in the group Al( a2 in the group A2, and so on,
and let s — the whole number of urns, so that s=ax -f-«2
•Jfaz -ha„i then, if we make—rrX., —=z\Q, and so
s s
on, Xj will be the a priori probability that a ball drawn from —x)ndx=
any urn at random, will be drawn from the group A!; X„
the probability it will be drawn from the group A2 ; and,
in general, X, the probability it will be drawn from the group
A,. I his being premised, suppose a trial to be made, and
t lat the event E is a white ball ; the probability zr, of the
hypothesis that the ball was drawn from the group A, is
found as follows. The a priori probability of the ball be¬
ing drawn from the group A, is X,; and if the ball is actu- Probability
ally drawn from that group, the probability of its being
white is P,; therefore the probability of both events is
X P
X, P<; and consequently (45), the symbol of sum-
mation 2 extending to all the values of i from i— 1 to i—n.
50. In the applications of the theory to physical or moral
events, the different groups of urns here imagined may be
regarded as so many independent causes Cj, C2, C3, &c.
by any one of which the event E might have been produced ;
zr4 is the probability that the event was produced by the par¬
ticular cause C4; P, is the probability that the cause C, if it
had alone existed, would have produced the observed event
E; and X, is the probability, previously to the experiment,
that C4 would be the efficient cause. The formula zr(—
X P
-AA., therefore, shews that the probability of any one of
2X<r<
the possible causes (C,) of an observed event is equal to the
product of the probability (P4) of the event taking place if
that cause acted alone multiplied into the probability \ that
the cause C,is the true one, and divided by the sum (SXjP,) of
all the similar products formed relatively to each ofthe causes
from which the event can be supposed to arise.
51. The formulae now obtained can only be used when
the number of hypotheses is finite ; but in the applications
of the theory it most frequently happens that an infinite
number of hypotheses may be made respecting the causes of
an observed event, as would be the case in the above ex¬
ample if the number of balls in the urn had been unknown.
In such cases, in order to find the values of ar and n, it be¬
comes necessary to transform the sums 2 into definite in¬
tegrals, which is accomplished by means of the theorem
2X—A X dx, where X is a function of x. Suppose a ball
to have been drawn a great number of times in succession
from an urn (the number in which is unknown) and re¬
placed in the urn after each drawing, and that the result
has been a white ball m times and a black ball times, the
probable constitution of the urn, and thence the probability
of drawing a white ball at a future trial will be found as
follows. Assume the hypothesis that the ratio of the num¬
ber of white balls to the whole number in the urn is a;: 1,
and let zr be the probability of the hypothesis. On this
hypothesis the probability of drawing a white ball in any
trial is x, and that of drawing a black ball 1—x, and
consequently, the probability of drawing m white and n
black in m-f «trials is Ua:m(l—x)n by(12). Wehave there¬
fore for the probability of the observed compound event
P=Ua,m(l—a:)" ; whence in consequence of the above
formula for transforming a sum into a definite integral
XP=U/Am(l—a;)"(?a:(U being independent of x) and
therefore
xm (1 —x)n
2 P Jox’n (1 —x)n dx’
The value of the integral in the denominator of this frac¬
tion is obtained by the usual method of integrating by parts.
Since
a.TO+1(l—x)n n
" “    a;m+1(l—xY-'dx,
mq- 1
therefore
— xm(\—x)ndx
xm+l( 1 —a")n
m-\-1
4- -—— f xm+l(\-x)n~ldxy
In like manner we get^/a:m+I( 1—x)n~ldx
= ~ *m'yi 1 + ^
Continuing this operation ?i times, or till the exponent of
(1—x) becomes n—ji—Q, the last integral will be
PROBABILITY.
Probability
fxm+ndx=
^m+n+l
607
1
therefore, collecting the several terms into one sum, we have
+70—x)n t nxm+2( 1—x)n-1
2 . ] . a?m+n+1
+  
y7cm(l—x)ndx —
m-\-\
n(n—1)(??—2)..
+
(/«-f !)(/« +2) 
When a’r=0, all the terms of this series vanish, and when
arrrl they all vanish excepting the last; therefore between
the limits and a?=rl, the value of the integral is the
last term of the series when x in that term = 1 ; that is to
say,
To1 x-(l—xydx=^n~l 2);  2 • 1
For the sake of brevity, let the symbol [a"] be adopted to
represent, the continued product 1.2. '6...x of the natural
numbers from 1 to a?,1 whence by analogy [x+y] will repre¬
sent the continued product of the same series from 1 to the
number denoted by x+y. Multiplying, then, the numera¬
tor and denominator of the above expression by 1.2.3...
we get
rxxm(\—xYdx- MM .
wdience the probability of the hypothesis, in consequence of
the equation above found, becomes
r nr -1 J^C1—XY-
[mj \n\ v '
From this value of ^ we are enabled to deduce that of IT,
the probability of drawing a white ball at the next trial. By
(45) n=r2z3j». Now, since by hypothesis the number of
white balls in the urn is to the whole number of both co¬
lours in the ratio of a; to 1, the probability of drawing a
white ball isar; consequentlyjo^ar, and therefore n=2jrar=:
f\ , [m -4- 71 -j- 1 I ,
Jo ^xdxzz—j — /o —xydx. But the value
of/o1 a;ra+](l—xydx will evidently be obtained by substi¬
tuting m -f 1 for 7n in the expression found for xm
(1—xydx. This substitution gives
/l^wi+i(i—x)ndx=
whence, observing that [m + 1] [m] = ra1, and
1]—^-p?iq-2, we have
of E to that of F to be in the ratio of a: to we have Probability
then, as before, for the probability of the hypothesis, sr-
L"+1 ] m ^N ^
[m] [W] xm([—xr- Now on this hypothesis the probabi¬
lity of E in the next instance is x, and that of F is 1 x
whence the probability of m' times E and n' times F in the
next h' trials being denoted by p, we have (12) p=z\]' xm’
(1—x)n', making U'= — 1 ' 2 ’ 3”‘h'
un
2.3... m' x 1 • 2.3...n'
[»/] o']'
We have therefore zrp~U' xm + m'
.. MM
y; x)n n f°r the probability of the compound event on
this hypothesis. To find its probability n on the infinite
number of hypotheses formed by supposing x to increase by
infinitely small increments from x~0 to xz=l, we have
n~2zrp— Jq srpdx. On substituting for wp the value just
found, we get n=U' a-+"'(l—*)«+"'<&, and
it is manifest that the value of this integral will be obtained
by substituting for wz, and n-\-n' for n in the value
°?fo ^""(l—x^ndx found above. This substitution gives
[A+A'+r]
whence we conclude
n_Tt/ lm + n’’] [^ +1 ]
[nf\ [V] [[A-f-A'-f-1]
The most probable hypothesis will be found by making
the value of zr a maximum, or its differential coefficient equal
to zero. Differentiating the equation zr=: MfJJ} xm(i—xy
and making ^ =0, we get 7n(l—x)=:nx, whence x =
m rni
y-j-y. The most probable supposition, therefore, respect¬
ing the contents of the urn is, that the two sorts of balls are
in the same proportions as have been shewn by the previous
drawings. We shall have further occasion for these for¬
mulae when we come to consider the cases in which m and
n are large numbers.
m4-l
n— d——.
The probability of the contrary event, or of drawing a
72 y i
black ball, is 1—n=r -. As the numbers m and n
m-\-n-\-2
become larger, these two fractions approach nearer and
nearer to their limits and , which are the apriori
m + n wi-fw r
probabilities p and q of the respective events when the ratio
of the number of white balls in the urn is to that of the black
balls as m to n.
52. The probability of drawing m! white balls and n‘
black balls in + future trials is found in a similar man¬
ner, and the problem may be thus stated. E and F are two
contrary events, depending on constant but unknown causes;
and it has been observed, that in m-\-rv=.h successive in¬
stances the event E has occurred vi times and F n times,
required the probability that in m' -\-n'=h' future instances,
E will occur m' times and F n' times.
Assume, as in the last case, the facility of the occurrence
SECT. VI OF BENEFITS DEPENDING ON THE PKOBABEE
DURATION OF HUMAN LIFE.
53. In applying the principles of the theory of probabi¬
lity to the determination of the values of benefits depend¬
ing on life, the fundamental element which it is necessary
to determine from observation is the probability that an in¬
dividual at every given age within the observed limits of
the duration of life, will live over a given portion of time,
for instance one year ; for when this has been determined
for each year of age, the probability that an individual, or
any number of individuals, will live over any assigned num¬
ber of years, is easily deduced. Thus, if the probabilities
that an individual A, whose age is y, will live over 1, 2,
3...a: years, be denoted respectively by/>2, p^...px \ and
if?!’ ?2» <75...S'* denote the same probabilities in respect
of an individual whose age is 1 years; r1,r2,r5...rr, the
same in respectof an individual whose age is y-j-2 years, and
so on ; then, since the probability p^ which A has of living
over 2 years is obviously compounded of the probability/»j
of his living over 1 year, and of the probability q\ that, hav¬
ing attained the age y+\, he will live another year, we
This convenient notation has been adopted by Mr. De Morgan.
PROBABILITY.
608
Probability have, by (7), p2=piq1. Again, the probability p5 that A
will live over three years, being compounded of the proba¬
bility p2 that he wiH live over two years, and of the proba¬
bility r1 that, having attained the age y-j-2 years, he will
survive another year, we haver.l=.p1 <7l r1. In like
manner p^—p^ qx sl, and so on ; so that the probabili¬
ties />2, p3, p^.-px are successively derived frompx,
rv s,, &c. which are supposed to be the data of observation.
If a large number n of individuals, all born in the same
year, were selected, and if it were observed that the num¬
ber of them remaining alive at the end of the first year is
nv at the end of the second year n„, at the end of the
third w3, and so on, then the probabilities pv p2, p3, &c.
would be given directly by the observation, being respec-
71 IX 71 r~
tivelv equal to the quotients —, —, —, &c. But the most
accurate observations of mortality are furnished by the ex¬
perience of the annuity and assurance offices, where they
are not made on an isolated number, diminishing, and con¬
sequently giving a less valuable result every year, but on a
comparison of the numbers which, in a series of years, en¬
ter upon and survive each year of age. This observation
givesp j, qvrl, s,, &c, whence p2, p5, p±, &c. are found,
as above, for every year of life.1
54. The values of annuities on lives, and of reversionary
sums to be paid on the failure of lives, are found by com¬
bining the probabilities pv p2, p3, &c. with the rate of in¬
terest of money. Let r=. the rate of interest, that is to say,
the interest of L.l for a year, and v= the present value of
L.l to be received at the end of a year, we shall then have
l~(l +r)’ ‘Now an annuity, payable yearly, is always
understood in this sense, that the first payment becomes due
at the end of a year after the annuity is created. Suppose
then the annuity to be L.l, the present value of the first
payment, if it were to be received certainly, is v; but the
receipt of this sum is contingent on the annuitant being
alive at the end of the year, the probability of which we sup¬
pose to be pi ; therefore (7) the present value of L.l sub¬
ject to the contingency, is vpx. In like manner, the present
value of L.l to be received certainly at the end of x years
is if ; but the annuity will only be received at the end of
the ath year if the annuitant be then living, the probability
of which is/?,; therefore the present value of that particu¬
lar payment is ifpx. Hence if A denote the present value
of the annuity, or the sum in hand which is equivalent to
all the future payments, we shall have A='2'ifpx', the sum
2 including all values of x from xnl to xzz the number for
which /?=0. If the annuity be a pounds, its value is ob¬
viously = a2vxpx=aA.
55. The series denoted by ^vxpx may be divided into two
parts, 2vnpn + where ?i is to be taken from 1 to n, and
z from rc -j- 1 to the number for which p vanishes. The first gives
the value of the temporary annuity on the given life for n
years, and the second the value of the deferred annuity, that
is to say, of the annuity to commence n years hence if the
individual shall be then living, and to continue during the
remainder of his life. Let A be the value of the annuity
on the life of a person now aged y years for the whole of
life, A(£") the value of a temporary annuity on the same life
for n years, and A<dn) the value of an annuity deferred n
years on the same life, we have then A^=A(<n)-L A(<fn).
To find A<dn>, let An be the value of an annuity on a life
aged y-\-n years. If the person now aged y years lives over
« years, the value of an annuity on the remainder of his
life will then be A,,. The present value of this sum, if it
were to be received certainly, is vnAn, and the probability
of receiving it is/?„ ; therefore its value ist^nA,,. Hence
A(d«) —vnpnAn, and A(<n)=A—vnpnAn\
so that the values of temporary and deferred annuities are Probability
readily computed from tables of A and p for all the diffe-
rent ages.
56. The equation A=A^) + A<dnl gives a formula by
which the values of A are readily deduced from one ano¬
ther. Let nz=. \ ; we have then A=A^P+zpjAr But
A(n>, the value of an annuity for one year, is merely the
value of the first payment to be received in the event of the
given life surviving one year. Its value is therefore vp\ ; and
we have consequently A j, or AzzvpfX -j-Aj).
This formula, which gives the value of an annuity at any
age in terms of the next higher age, and greatly facilitates
the computation of the annuity tables, is due to Euler.
57. The value of an annuity on the joint lives of any num¬
ber of individuals, that is, to continue only while they are all
living, is calculated precisely in the same manner as the an¬
nuity on a single life. Let there be any number of individuals,
A, B, C, D, &c. and let the probabilities of each living over
one year be respectively p^ qv r1} sv &c. and let Pi be
the probability that they will all live over one year ; then
P1 = p1 x X x sv &c.
P3= p2 X qQ X r2 X s2, &c.
Px=: pxX qxX rxX sx, &c.
and the value of an annuity of L.1 on the joint lives is
S^P,, from x= 1 to x=: the number which renders any one
of the probabilities/?, q, r, s, &c. nothing.
58. The value of an annuity on the survivor of any num¬
ber of given lives, that is, to continue so long as any one of
them exists, is thus found. The probability that A will be
alive at the end of the a;th year being px, the probabi¬
lity that he will not be alive at the end of that time is
1—px. The probability that all the lives will be extinct
at the end of the a?th year is therefore
0—P*)0—^X1—r*)(l—0> &c.
and the probability that they will not all be extinct, or that
at least one of them will be in being, is
1—(1—^*), &c*
which becomes by multiplication
Px+qx+rx-\-sx + &ic.
•—Px(ix—pxrx —qxrx—q xsx —rx$ x —& c.
+Px qx rx +px qxsx +qx rxsx +&C.
—px qx rx sx —&c.
-j-&c.
Multiplying each of the terms by v*, and taking the sums of
the respective products from x=], and observing that
Y.vxpxqx is the value of the annuity on the joint lives of
A and B, 'Lvxpxqxrx that on the joint lives of A, B, and
. C, and so on, we have this rule :—
The value of an annuity on the survivor of any number
of lives is equal to the sum of the annuities on each of the
lives, minus the sum of the annuities on each pair of joint
lives, plus the sum of the annuities on the joint lives taken
by threes, and so on. When there are only two lives, the
value of the annuity on the life of the survivor becomes
Si?*/?* +1>vxqx —2vxpx qx .
59- Let V denote the value of an assurance on the life
of A, or the present worth of L.l to be received at the end
of the year in which A shall die. In respect of any year,
the a?th, after the present, the probability of A dying in the
course of that year is/?*_i—-/?*. For let u be the probabi¬
lity that a life x—1 years older than A will live over one
year, then 1—u is the probability of a life of that age not liv¬
ing over one year; therefore /?*_j being the probability of A
living over x—1 years, /?*_i(l—u) is the chance of his liv¬
ing over x—1 years, and dying in the following year (7).
But/?*_i(l—u)—px-\—px-\u ; and by (53), px^\U—px ;
therefore px—\—px is the chance that A will survive x—1
For further details on this subject, see Mortality, vol. xv p. 637.
Probability years and not survive x years. Nowv* is the value of L.l
to be received certainly at the end of the arth year ; there¬
fore in respect of the ath year the value of the expectation
is i?*); whence we have for the value of the as¬
surance
Y='Evx(px_1—px),
from a?=l to x= the number which makes/)z=0. Now, if
we observe that p0=l, and 'Zvxpx^i =vlvx~1 * * *px_l, it will be
obvious that 'Zvxpx_\=:v(\-{-It^pj.) ; whence, denoting
1vxpx by A, (A being as in (54) the value of the annuity
on the given life), we have
V“r(l-}-A)—A; or V=;v—(1—v)A.
60. The values of assurances on joint lives, (that is, to be
paid at the end of the year in which any one of the lives shall
fail), or on the survivor of any number of joint lives, are cal¬
culated from the corresponding annuities by means of the same
formula. Thus, let A' be the value of an annuity of L.l
on any number of joint lives, and V' the value of an assur¬
ance of L.l on the same joint lives, then Y'—v—(1—v)A'.
If A" be the annuity, and V" the assurance on the life of
the survivor of any number of given lives, we have still
Y"=v—(1—r)A".
61. Assurances on lives are usually paid not in single pay¬
ments, but by equal yearly payments, the first being made
at the time the contract is entered into, and the succeeding
ones at the end of each future year during the life of the
assured. The present value of the sum which the assured
contracts to pay is therefore equal to the first payment add¬
ed to the value of an annuity of the same amount on his life ;
and if the assurance is made on terms of mathematical equa¬
lity, this sum must be precisely equal to the value of the
assurance in a single payment. Therefore, if y denote the
amount of the yearly payment, we have the equation
y(l+A)=:V; whence y=:V-h(l + A).
62. The value of a temporary assurance for n years, that
is, of an assurance to be paid only in the event of the indi¬
vidual dying before the end of n years is thus found. Let
Y be the present value of L.l, to be paid on the death of a
person now aged y years, and Vn the present value of L.l,
to be paid on the death of a person now aged y-\-n years.
At the end of n years from the present time, the value of
L.l assured on the life of a person now aged y years
will be Vn, if he be then living. But the present value of
L.l to be received certainly at the end of n years is 'rin ; and
the probability that the life will continue n years is pn\ there¬
fore the present value of V„, subject to the contingency of
the life continuing n years, is vnp,yn. If, therefore, we sub¬
tract this from V, we shall have the value of the temporary
assurance in a single payment, namely V—
The equivalent annual premium is found by observing,
that as the first payment is made immediately, and n pay¬
ments are to be made in all, the value of all the premiums
after the first is that of a temporary annuity of the same
amount for n—1 years. Denoting therefore the annual
premium by u, and the value of a temporary annuity for
n—1 years by A<tra'>, the value of all the premiums is
«-j-= m(1-j-) A<tn') ; and we have consequently
u(l 4-A<*w'>)=V—tfpyrn, whence
v—v*py\
it— —.
1 + A<to>
63. The following question is of frequent occurrence.
Required the present value of a sum of money to be receiv¬
ed at the end of the year in which A dies, provided he die
while B is living.
Let the sum be L.l, W= its present value, px— the
probability of A living over x years, and qx— the probabi¬
lity of B living over x years. The chance of receiving the
PROBABILITY. • 609
sum at the end of any given year, the Ml,, depends on two rrotability
contingencies; 1. A may die in the course of thAi cmrl v —
T. 0 . - - course of that year, and
B live over it; 2. A and B may both die in that year, A
dying first. The probability of A dying in the xlh year
has been shewn (59) to be p^—p,; whence (7) the
probability of the first contingency is (px_,__nx)« . The
probability that A and B will both die in the .rth year is
\P -t—i* P x—\ 7 j ) j and for so short a period as one year,
it may be considered an even chance whether A or B will
die first, whatever be the difference of their ages ; therefore
the probability in respect of the second contingency is
\(Px~i—Px)(.qx—\—qx)- Hence the whole probability of
the sum being received at the end of the xth year, is
(px—\ P x)qx + k(Px—l—Px)(qx—l qx) = \(px—\—Pa)
K^x+i-f-qx)i which being developed, and multiplied by v*,
becomes
JL77 J
2V
(Pi
-\qx-i+Px-iq x —p x q z-\—p xqx)i
and the sum of all the values of this expression from
•£= 1, gives the value of W.
It has been already shewn (59) that ?.vx(px_i—px)—
v—(1—V)A, where A= the annuity on the life of A. In like
manner, if we denote by AB the value of an annuity on the
joint lives of A and B, we shall have ^vx {p^q^—p^q*)
—v—(1—^)AB, which is the value of an assurance to be
paid on the death of the first dying. Assume p' such that
P'x—P'\Px—\-> then p'x is evidently the probability that an
individual A'one year younger than A, will live over x year
(53), and2vx/)^_1g'x = —= -^-A'B; denoting by
   P \ P \
A'B the value of an annuity on the joint lives of A' and B.
Again, let q'xzzq\qx—\, then q'x is the probability that
B', who is one year younger than B, will live over x years,
and 1vxpxqx_\ = —■ 'Zvxpxq,x— AB'; denoting by AB'the
Y1
value of an annuity on the joint lives of A and B'. Collect¬
ing the different terms, we have therefore
jY’—(1—v)AB-f^- A'B — ~ AB' }’ whence W
P'\
is easily computed from tables of annuities on joint lives.
If A and B are both of the same age, the two last terms
destroy each other, and W is equal to ^ the value of L.l, to
be paid on the failure of the joint lives, as it evidently ought
to be, since there is in this case the same chance of A dy¬
ing before B as of B dying before A.
The formula gives the value of L.l in a single payment;
the equivalent yearly payment is W divided by 1+AB, for
the contract ceases on the failure of the joint lives by the
death of either.
It would be easy to extend the formula to the case of an
assurance to be paid on the contingency of the failure of
any number of lives during the continuance of any number
of other lives, or of an assurance to continue only during a
stated time ; but as it is not our purpose to give solutions
of the various problems of this kind which may occur in
practice, but merely to shew the manner in which the ge¬
neral principles of the theory are applied to them, we shall
not pursue the subject farther, but refer the reader to the
article Annuities, and to the standard works of Baily1 and
Milne,2 in which it is treated in detail.
SECT. VII. OF THE APPLICATION OF THE THEORY OF PRO¬
BABILITY TO TESTIMONY, AND TO THE DECISIONS OF
JURIES AND TRIBUNALS.
64. The case of a witness making an assertion may be
represented by an urn containing balls of two colours, the
1 The Doctrine of Life Annuities and Assurances analytically investigated and practically explained, fyc. By Francis Baily. London
1S13.
* A Treatise on the Valuation of Annuities and Assurances on Lives and Survivorships, fyc. By Joshua Milne. London, 1815.
VOL. XVIII. 4 H
610
PROBABILITY.
Probability ratio of the number of one coiour to that of the other being
unknown, but presumed from the result of a number of ex¬
periments, which consist in drawing a ball at random, and
replacing it in the urn after each trial. A true assertion
being represented by a ball of one colour, and a false one
by a ball of the other, it follows from the theorem in (51),
that if a witness has made m + n assertions, of which m are
true and n false, the probability of a future assertion being
true is
ra-fl
—, and that of its being false
n-\-\
Let
w -f«-J- 2' w + ft + 2
the first of these fractions be represented by v, and the se¬
cond by w, then v is the measure of the veracity of the in¬
dividual, or the probability of his speaking the truth, and
w the opposite probability, since In general, the
existing data are insufficient to enable us to determine the
numerical values of v and w in this manner; and therefore
in applying the formulae to particular cases, wre must assign
arbitrary values to these quantities, founded on previous
knowledge of the moral character of the individual, or on
some notions, more or less sanctioned by experience, of the
relative number of true and false statements made by men
in general, placed in similar circumstances.
65. Having assumed v and w, let us suppose a witness to J 1
testify that an event has taken place, the a priori probabi- ^
lity of which is p, and let it be proposed to determine the
probability of the event after the testimony. In this case
the event observed (E) is the assertion of the witness, and
two hypotheses only can be made respecting its cause ; 1st,
that the event testified really took place ; and 2d, that it
did not. On the first hypothesis the witness has spoken
the truth, the probability of w'hich is v; and an event has
occurred of which the probability is p ; therefore (7) the
probability (PJ of the coincidence is vp. On the second
hypothesis, the witness has testified falsely, the probability
of which is w; and the event attested did not happen, the
probability of which is q: therefore the probability (P2) of
the coincidence is icq. Hence, by the formula (47) w-j =:
P(_i_2P4)the probability of the first hypothesis becomes
vp and the probability (^2) of the second
to tv). But it is obvious, that however great the improba- Probability
bility of a witness giving false testimony may be supposed,
the improbability of a physical event may be any number of
times greater ; in other words, however small a value may
be given to w, the value of p may still be any number of
times smaller ; so that notwithstanding the veracity of the
witness, the probability of the event after the testimony,
namely zrlz=p-7-w may be less than any assignable quan¬
tity. On this principle mankind do not easily give credence
to a witness asserting a very extraordinary or improbable
event. The odds against the occurrence of the event may
be so great, that the testimony of no single witness, how¬
ever respectable his character, would suffice to induce be¬
lief.
67. In the case of the character of a witness being alto¬
gether unknown, we may suppose v to have all possible values
within certain limits, and to find the value of a-j by integrat¬
ing the fractionJ'nxdv between those limits. Since
——, we have Csr.dv— ) which on substitut-
vp + wq J 1 J vp + wq
ing 1. v and 1—p for w and q respectively, becomes
pvdv
the integral of which is
-/>-}-(2j»—\)v
H +} + c;
C being a constant, the value of which will be determined
vp+ioq * ' ' ' vp+wq.
The sum of these two probabilities is unit, a condition
which ought evidently to be fulfilled, since no other hypo¬
thesis can be made, and consequently one or other of the
two must be true. It is to be observed, that these values
of a- j and a-2 are the respective probabilities, after the tes¬
timony has been given, that the event attested took place,
and that it did not.
rp p(v—vp—wq)
Since aq “ ; we have a-x—p —
vp + wq
-p)—wq\
vp + wq
vp—wq
=. but +„=
2v—1, therefore —pz
This fraction being
from the assumed limits. If v be supposed to vary between
the limits vnO and v—\, then
>■*= 2^=r{27=t|0S"i^ };
and if we assume we have f-nxdx—\(\.—|log.3j,
which, since the logarithm is the Napierian logarithm, and
Nap. log. 3=1.0986, becomes f X .4507=.676, or nearly §.
Whence we see, that on this hypothesis the probability of
the event is diminished in consequence of the testimony.
68. The credit due to the testimony of a witness depends
not merely on his good faith, but also on the probability that
he is not himself deceived with respect to the event he as¬
serts. The chances of a witness being deceived through
credulity or ignorance are much more numerous in general
than the chances of intentional fraud ; and this must be
the case more particularly when the event is ot such a na¬
ture that it may happen in various ways which may be mis¬
taken one for another : as for instance, in the case of a lot¬
tery ticket being drawn, and the witness asserting that it
bears a particular number, which might with equal proba¬
bility be any other number on the wheel. Ihe following
question will illustrate the method of applying the calculus
when a distinction is made between these sources of error.
An urn contains s balls, of which a\ are marked Aj, a3
marked A2 an marked A„. A ball having been drawn
at random, a witness of the drawing affirms that the ball
drawn is marked Am; required the probability ot the testi¬
mony being true.
Here we have s=a1+ a3 + (?* being the
number of the different indices or sorts ot balls); so that if
we make p^zza^s, p^a^—s .pm—an-T-s, thenis
the a priori probability that the ball drawn is ot the class
marked A,, jo2 the probability that it belongs to the class
whose index is A0, and so on. It is evident that n diffe-
vp—wq
p(2v—1)7
vp+wq
positive or negative, according as 2ft—1 is greater or less
than unity, or as v is greater or less than it follows that
ifft^'L, then zr,z^P j that is to say, the probability of the
event after the testimony is greater than its a priori proba¬
bility when the veracity of the witness is greater than
On the contrary, if the veracity of the witness is less than     , e .1
A, the effect of the testimony is to render the probability of rent hypotheses may be made respecting the index ot the
the event less than its a priori probability. hall which has been drawn, tor it may >e ong o any one o
66. If the event asserted by the witness be of such a na- the different classes At, A2... A„, Let the probabilities ot
ture that its occurrence is a priori extremely improbable, these hypotheses be respective y zs Q...zrn, (t u
so that jo is a very small fraction, and q consequently ap- spect of any particular index 1, ^ is the probahUity alter u e
proaches nearly to unity, although at the same time theve- assertion that the ball drawn is mai e anc ^
racity of the witness be ereat, and measured by a fraction probabilities ot the assertion on each o YP0 ieses ,
approaching to unity, the value of sr, becomes nearly equal respectively P,, P2...Pn, (that is, it the ball drawn be mar -
to p-i-w, (for on this supposition • ft is nearly equal ed A„ then Pf is the probability t le wi ness wi
PROBABILITY.
Probability to be marked Am). Lastly, let v be the veracity of the wit-
ness, and u the probability that he has not been deceived.
(1.) Let us first consider the hypothesis that the ball drawn
is marked Am, and consequently that the assertion is true.
In order to find Pm, the probability of the assertion being
made, there are four cases to be considered. 1st, we may
suppose the witness is not deceived himself (m), and that he
speaks the truth (v). The probability of the assertion in
this case is uv. 2d, The witness knows the truth, but in¬
tends to deceive, or testifies falsely. In this case the proba¬
bility of the assertion being made, on the hypothesis under
consideration, is 0. 3d, The witness has been deceived him¬
self, but intends to speak the truth. In this case also the proba¬
bility of the assertion being made is 0. 4th, The witness has
been deceived himself, and intends to deceive. In this case
the assertion might be made ; and to find the probability of
its being made we have to consider, that since the witness
has been deceived, he must have supposed some other index
than Am to have been drawn; and since he intends to de¬
ceive, he must assert some other index to be drawn than
that which he supposes to be drawn. Setting aside, there¬
fore, the index which he supposes to have been drawn, there
remain n—1 others, any one of which he is as likely to name
as any other. The probability, therefore, of his naming Am
when he intends to deceive is l-r-(?2—1). Hence the pio-
bability of the assertion in this case is compounded of the
probabilities of three simple events, as follows: 1. Probabi¬
lity the witness is deceived =( 1—u) ; 2. Probability he in¬
tends to deceive =(1—v)\ 3. Probability he names Am
= 1-: (n—!)• Theprobability of the assertion is therefore in
this case =(1—w)(l—v)-i-(n—1), Adding this to the pro¬
bability found in the first case, we have Pm, the whole pro¬
bability of the assertion being made on the hypothesis that
the index of the ball drawn was Am, namely
611
r,—uv4-   ^
m ^ n—[
(2.) Let us now consider one of the remaining hypotheses,
and suppose that the ball actually drawn was marked A,, and
not Am, as attested by the witness. As before, there are
four possible cases for consideration. 1st, The witness
knows the fact and speaks the truth. In this case the as¬
sertion could not be made, or its probability is 0. 2d, The
witness knows the fact, and intends to deceive. In this case
the probability of his asserting Am to be drawn is compound¬
ed of the probability that he is not deceived (m), the proba¬
bility that he testifies falsely (1—v), and the probability that,
knowing the index A, to be drawn, he selects Am from among
the —l which remain after rejecting Af, (1 -4-(ra—1)). The
probability of the assertion being made in this case is there¬
fore m(1——1). 3d, The witness is deceived, and
intends to speak the truth. By reasoning as in the last
case, it is easy to see that the probability of the assertion
being made in this case is v (1^—u)-i-(n—j), 4th, The wit¬
ness is deceived, and intends to deceive. The probability
of the assertion being made in this case will be found by con¬
sidering, that as the witness is himself deceived, he must
suppose some particular index to be drawn different from A„
(which is drawm by hypothesis), for instance Ae, the proba¬
bility of which is 1-i-(rc—1) ; and intending to deceive, he
must fix on some index different from Ae, which he sup¬
poses to be drawn ; and he announces Am, the probability
of which selection is also !-;-(«—1). The probability,
therefore, that the witness supposes Ae to be drawn, and
annnounces Am, is l—(n—l)2. But it is evident, that
whatever can be affirmed with respect to the particular in¬
dex A„ may be affirmed with equal truth of every one of
the other n indexes, excepting A„ which is actually drawn,
(since by hypothesis the witness is deceived), and Am, which
he announces, (since by hypothesis he lies). There are
therefore n—2 different ways in which he may at the same
time be deceived, and intend to deceive, and announce Am;
consequently the probability of this announcement in any of Probability
these ways is («_2)^(^1 )\ Multiplying this into the
probabihty of his being deceived (1—«), and the probability
of his giving false testimony (\—v), the probability of the
assertion in this case becomes 2) pjence
the whole probability of the assertion, in^ all the cases in¬
cluded in the hypothesis that the ball actually drawn was
marked A„ is
P,=
u(\—?;)
+
0—(1—«)(1—f) (n-
n—1 + (n—l)2
-2)
As this expression will evidently be the probability of the
assertion on any other of the n—1 hypotheses that the ball
actually drawn was marked with an index different from Am,
the sum of the probabilities of the assertion on all these hy¬
potheses is 2P,, where i is successively each of the num¬
bers 1, 2, 3,...n, excepting m.
We have now to find arm, the probability of the first hypo¬
thesis. Since the hypotheses, in the present question, are not
all equally probable a priori, we must have recourse to the
formula(49)sr^AjPf-f-SAfP*, and consequently in the present
case we have
AmPm
*rm~' AmPm + 2AiP ’
the sign of summation S including every value of i from
0 to n, excepting i—m. Now the value of P, being the
same in respect of each of the hypotheses which suppose
the assertion untrue, SXjP^P^A,; and the sum of all the
values of \ from e'=:0 to i~n being 1, on excluding
Am—a,n-^-s, we have SAj=:(^—am)-f-s. Substituting this,
together with the values of Pm and P„ as above found, and
making u'~V—u, v'—l—v, the formula becomes, after the
proper reduction,
am f (n—1 )w-|-mVT
■ZT)U    —    .
am{(n—l^uv-if-u'v‘^ -f-(<s—«m)’
which is the probability of the hypothesis that a ball mark¬
ed Am was drawn, or that the testimony is true.
When there are no two balls in the urn having the same
index, the numbers a^, az, &c. become each =1, and
s—n. In this case the formula gives
_ (n—1 'juv -f- mV
m {n— l)wr-J-wV-j- (ft— 1) (u'v -f- uv's) -f- (w—2) u'v*'
which, on observing that uv-^u'v-^-uv'-\-u'v’zz\} becomes
by reduction
(1—M)(l_v)
■zrm—uv-{-
n—1
This is the probability of the truth of the testimony of a
witness, who affirms that the number m is drawn from an
urn which contains n balls, numbered l, 2, It is ob¬
vious, that when u and vare fractions approaching to unity,
and n is a considerable number, the second term becomes
very small, and may be neglected. The probability then
becomes simply zrm—uv.
69- We now proceed to consider the probability of an event
attested by several witnesses; and first let us suppose the wit¬
nesses to agree in their testimony. The measures of the ve¬
racity of the several witnesses being respectively vx, v2, v3,
&c., and the a priori probability of the event being p, we
have by (58) for its probability after the testimony of the
first witness,
 viP_ 
ari *?iP+(i—viX]—
In order to find the probability of the event after the se¬
cond witness gives his testimony, we may suppose the a
priori probability to be changed from p to ar, by the testi¬
mony of the first witness, and the same formula gives
612 PROBABILITY.
Probability Tb,rr, 
Let a third witness now come forward, and give testi¬
mony in favour of the same event. Its probability after his
testimony will become in like manner
^ =   
UjWj+ll—t>3Xl—arj rlr2v3p+(l-i;1)(l-w2Xl-w3)(l-p)
In general, let sr* be the probability of an event after it
has been attested by a; witnesses, and let Vj, be the veracity
of the last witness, then being the probability of the
event after x—1 eyewitnesses have each testified in its fa¬
vour, we have
V{V   vxp
Vr*~V<VQ...Vxp + {\—Vl){\—V2)...(\—Vx){\—p)'
If we suppose the witnesses all equally credible, or that
...—v*, this becomes
that an event is within the range of fortuitous occurrence, Probability
and that there exists a single chance in its favour out ofv-—'
any number of millions of chances, it may then happen in
any one trial; nay, a number of trials may be assigned,
such that its non-occurrence would be many times more im¬
probable than the contrary.
71. Let us next consider the case of a number of wit¬
nesses contradicting each other. If the first witness an¬
nounces an event of which the probability is p, then the
probability, after the testimony, of its having happened is
w,, and the probability that it has not happened 1—w,. Sup¬
pose a second witness now to appear, and testify that the
event has not happened, and let the probability of the truth
of his testimony be denoted by ; then 1—ar, being the
probability before his testimony was given that what he as¬
serts is true, and v2 being the measure of his veracity, we
have, as in (69), vr'^^^J^'-^^whenee,since
    1
—r'p_p(l_r)*(l_p) - 1+ /I—v\x \—p
' v J p
Now, if then (1—v)-r-r = l, and zrx—p; whence
it appears that the probability of an event is not increased
by the testimony of any number of witnesses, when the vera¬
city of each is only ^; but when v is greater than the event
becomes more probable as the number ofwitnesses is greater,
and when u is a considerable fraction, its probability in¬
creases very rapidly with the number of witnesses.
70. When the values of v and p are given, that of x in
the last formula may be found so as to render isr, of any
given value. Hence we may find the number of witnesses
required to make it an even wager, whether an event ex¬
ceedingly improbable, and in favour of which they give una¬
nimous testimony, has happened or not. For example,
let the odds against the event be a million million to one,
that is, let p—
1
1
1,000,000,000,001 1012+1
, and let v the
9
veracity ofeach witness In order that w* may equal
we must have
p
— 1. Now
= —> and
v 9
\—p
P
1 12 * »
log — or x log 9=12 and therefore x — —=12-6
— = 10l2, therefore X 1012= 1; whence x log
•95424
nearly, so that 13 independent witnesses would suffice to
render it more probable that the event really took place
than that it did not.
This example is given by Mr. Babbage, (Ninth Bridge-
water Treatise, Note E), with a view to shew the fallacy
of Hume’s celebrated argument respecting miracles. What
the example proves is simply this, that if we suppose an urn
to contain a million million of white balls, and only one black
ball, and that on a ball being drawn at random from the
urn, thirteen eyewitnesses of the drawing, each of whom
makes only one false statement in ten, without collusion,
and independently of each other, affirm to A, who was not
present at the drawing, that the ball drawn was black, then
A would have rather a stronger reason for believing than
for disbelieving the testimony. But it is sufficiently obvious,
that the event attested in this case, though exceedingly im¬
probable a priori, cannot be regarded as in any way mira¬
culous. On the contrary, the black ball might be drawn
with the same facility, and was a priori as likely to be drawn,
aa any other specified ball in the urn. Let it be granted
vxp
r, there results
+ O—^X1—P)
, _ (i—wKO—p)
(l—.vdv2(\.—p)+vl{\—vs)p
for the measure of the probability that the event has not
happened. The probability that it has happened is there¬
fore 1—sf 2> and accordingly if be less than there
is a stronger reason for believing that the event happened
than that it did not. The method of forming the expression
for the probability of the event, after it has been attested
or denied by a third witness, or any number of successive wit¬
nesses, is obvious.
If we suppose the values of and v2 to be equal, the ex¬
pression becomes zr'2='l—p, which is the a priori probabi¬
lity that the event did not happen. It is obvious that this
must be the case, inasmuch as two contradictory testimonies
of equal weight neutralize each other. In general, the pro¬
bability of an event which is affirmed by m witnesses, and
denied by n witnesses, all equally credible, is the same as
that of an event which is affirmed by m—n witnesses who
agree in their testimony.
72. When a relation has been transmitted through a se¬
ries of narrators, of whom the first only has a direct know¬
ledge of the event, and each of the others derives his know¬
ledge from the relation of the preceding, the probability of
the event is diminished by every succeeding relation In
order to obtain a general expression for the probability of
traditionary testimony, we may take the event considered
in (68), namely the extraction of a ball marked Am from an
urn containing s balls, of which cqare marked A,, a2 mark¬
ed A2,...an marked A„, there being in all n different in¬
dices. Now suppose the relation to have passed through a
chain of narrators, T, Tt, T2,...T,, in number of
whom the first only was an eyewitness of the event, each
of the others receiving his knowledge of it from the one pre¬
ceding him, and communicating it in his turn to the suc¬
ceeding, the question is to determine the probability that a
ball marked Am was drawn, after this event has been nar¬
rated by T*, the last witness of the series.
73. In order to apply the general formula of (68) to this
case, it is necessary to remark that the event observed is the
attestation of T, of his having been informed by T^—i that
the ball drawn from the urn, the drawing of which was seen
by T, was marked Am. There are n different hypotheses
respecting the index of the ball actually drawn, but it is
only necessary to consider two of them, namely, the hypo¬
thesis that the ball actually drawn was marked Am, and any
one of the other hypotheses which consist in supposing that
a ball with a different index from Am was drawn, for ex¬
ample A,. Let the probability of the attestation, on the hy-
PROBABILITY.
613
Probability pothesis that the index of the ball drawn was Am, be denot-
^ ed by yx, and its probability on the hypothesis that the in¬
dex was A, by ?/,, (yx and y'x corresponding to Pm and
P( in (68), which express the same probabilities in respect
of the eyewitness T), then by (68), the probability of the
hypothesis that Am was drawn is
_ VVx
But since yrx is the same for all the hypotheses that the in¬
dex drawn was different from Am, 'Z\y'x—y'x'Z\i; and by
(68) I,\=(s—am)-{-s, and \m—am~s, therefore
_ amVx 
Wm _ anl/x +
We have now to find yx and y'a in terms of x. Let tT,
Vq, &c. be the respective probabilities of T, T15 T2, &c.
speaking the truth, then the probability of T, speaking the
truth is and the probability that he does not 1—rx, whether
because he is dishonest, and intends to deceive, or because
he has mistaken the statement of the preceding witness. Now
there are two ways in which it may happen that Am is announ¬
ced by Tx. First, if he speaks the truth, and has been inform¬
ed by the preceding narrator Tx_i that Am was the index
drawn ; secondly, if he lies, and has been informed by T^i
that a different index from Am was drawn. Assuming yx—.\
to have the same signification with respect to Tx_j that yx
has been assumed to have with respect to Tx, (that is to say,
the probability of the assertion being made by on the
hypothesis that the ball actually drawn was Am), the proba¬
bility of the first of these combinations is vx yx—\' With re¬
spect to the second case, it is to be observed, that if T* an¬
nounces a different index from that which has been announ¬
ced to him by T^_i, the chance of his announcing Am out
of n—1 indexes different from that announced by Tx_i is
\-~{n—1) ; and on multiplying this by the probability
1—vx that the testimony of T* is false, and by the probability
1—yx_\ that T,_! has announced a different index from Am,
we have, for the probability of the second combination
(l-vr)(l—yx—\)-^r{n—1). The wl ole probability of T, tes¬
tifying that Am was drawn, is therefore, on the first hypo¬
thesis, given by the equation,
V,)(l^r-l) : (w—!)•
This is an equation of finite differences of the first order,
the complete integral of which is
1 , C(nvx—l)(«w,2—l)...(ravx_i—l)(wvx—l)1
+ _ (n—l)x
In order to determine the arbitrary constant C, it is to be ob¬
served, that, since ?/,, yq...yx, as well as Vy, v2...vx apply to
the narrators Tt, T2...Tj. respectively, if we suppose x=zo
the resulting value of the integral will be the probability
that Am was announced by the eyewitness T, on the hy¬
pothesis that Am was actually drawn. Let this probability
be Pm ; then the equation becomes Pmr=C+1-j-w whence
C=r(«Pm—1 )-f-«. If, therefore, we make
(mjj —1 ){nv2—\ )...(wrx_] —1 )(m?x—1)
A“ (n—\y
we obtain, on the first hypothesis, for any value of x,
Vx— {1 —l)X}-=-».
In the same manner we find the probability y'x of the
tpsi-imnnv mven bv Tx, on the hypothesis that the ball ac¬
tually drlwn was A, The probability of the event, after
being testified by tbe eyewitness^ being on this hypothesis
Pi, we have,
y'x— {l + C^Pi—
Substituting these values of y, and y'x in the expression Probability
above found for srm, we obtain for the probability of the event '
observed by T, and narrated by Tx, the narration having
passed from one to another in the manner supposed,
^     am\y •3rn(^m—1)X)
l)X]+(s—am)[l + (rePrZI)xJ'
74. Since
nvx —1
n—1
n—1 ’
and since vx is always less
than unity, and n always greater than unity, each of the
terms of the series represented by X, whether positive or
negative, is a proper fraction, whence the value of X be¬
comes smaller and smaller as x increases. Supposes in¬
finite, then X=0, and ■srrn—am-±-s, which is the a priori pro¬
bability of the event. Hence we see that the probability of
an event transmitted through a series of traditionary evi¬
dence becomes weaker at every step, and ultimately equal
to the simple probability of the event, independent of any
testimony.
75. When the urn is supposed to contain only n balls,
each having a different index, the expression for zrm is great¬
ly simplified ; for, in this case, am—\,s—n; therefore,(since
Pm-F(»—1)?,—1) the denominator becomes??, and we have
consequently zrm— £l -}-(«Pm—1)X] -f-w, which coincides
with the value of yx found above, that is to say, with the
probability of the event being testified by Tx on the hypo¬
thesis that it actually happened. Laplace, in solving this
particular case of the problem, (p. 456) assumes that the
probabilities here denoted by yx and wmare identical. They
are, however, as is evident from the above analysis, quite
distinct in their nature, and their values are only equal in the
particular case in which s—am is to am in the ratio of m—I
to 1. (Poisson, p. 112.)
76. The question of determining the probability that the
verdict of a jury is correct, is precisely analogous to that of
finding the probability of an event attested by one or more
witnesses. Let us first take the case of a single juror, and
assume u— the probability that the juror gives a cor¬
rect verdict, (that is, correct in respect of the facts), and
p— the probability that the accused is guilty before being
put on his trial. Suppose the verdict guilty to be return¬
ed ; two hypotheses may be made respecting the cause of
the verdict, first, that the accused is guilty; secondly, that
he is innocent. On the first hypothesis, the accused will
be condemned if the juror gives a right verdict, the probabi¬
lity of which is u. On the second hypothesis, the accused
will be condemned if the juror gives a wrong verdict, the
probability of which is 1—u. But the a priori probabili¬
ties of these causes (the guilt or innocence of the accused)
being respectively p and 1—p, we have by (49)
 up _ (\—u)(\—p)
T**--up-\-(\—w)(l—py 2 up-\-{\—m)(1—p)
Vy being the probability of the first hypothesis, or the pro¬
bability that the accused is guilty after the verdict has been
given, and ■arg the probability resulting from the verdict that
the accused is innocent.
77. Suppose the verdict not guilty to be given, and let
■sr and ar'2 be the probabilities after the verdict of the two
hypotheses. On the first hypothesis, namely, that the ac¬
cused is guilty, this verdict will be given if the juror gives
a wrong verdict, of which the probability is 1—u; and on
the second hypothesis, theverdict will be given if the juror
gives a right verdict, of which the probability is u ; and the
1 This is easily verified; for on changing x into x—1 in the integral, and forming the expression vx y»_i +(1 v±) (! —y,*_i)-h(w »)»
there results an identic*^ conation.
614
PROBABILITY.
Probability probabilities of these hypotheses before the verdict being
respectively p and 1—p as before, we have
, _ 0—«)p _ «0—p)
1 (l—u)p+u(l—p)
From the above value of
p{l—p)(2u—\)
•sr
2 (l—u)p + u(l—p)
t, we obtain — p —
up + (l—u)(l—p)
; a fraction which is positive or negative
according as u is greater or less than Hence it appears
that the guilt of the accused is only rendered more probable
by the verdict guilty being pronounced, when the probabi¬
lity that the juror gives a correct verdict is greater than
In like manner it is shewn that w'i (the presumption of the
guilt of the accused after a verdict of acquittal), is greater
than p when u is less than
78. The a priori probability of the condemnation of the
accused before he is put on his trial is «/> + (!—u)(l—p);
for there are two ways in which this condemnation may
take place ; first, if the accused be guilty, and the juror give
a correct verdict, the probability of which concurrence is
up ; and, secondly, if the accused be innocent, and the ju¬
ror give a wrong verdict, the probability of which is (1—li)
(1—p'). Therefore, making c rr the probability of a ver¬
dict of condemnation, wre have c=Mp + (l—M)(l—p) 5 and
for a verdict of acquittal, 1—c=(l—w)p-f-M(l—p).
79. Let us next suppose that after the verdict of the first
juror has been pronounced, the accused is put on his trial be¬
fore a second juror, and letM2 be the probability the second
juror gives a correct verdict, and c2 be the probability the ac¬
cused will be pronounced guilty by him. After the verdict
guilty has been pronounced by the first juror, the probabi¬
lity of the guilt of the accused is wq, and it is evident that
c2 will be found by substituting uq for u, and sr, for p in
the above value of c, v/hence c2=w2^1-F(l—«2)(1—^i)>
The probability of a verdict of condemnation by both ju¬
rors is cc2 ; therefore, (observing that ar1=«^-i-c), we have
for this probability
cc2=uw2p+(l—w)(l—m2)(1—
The probability of the guilt of the accused after a verdict
of acquittal has been pronounced by the first juror being w'j,
the probability of a verdict of acquittal being given by the
second juror is 1—c2=(l—u^zr' —sj-'J ; therefore,
(observing that ir'i ~(1—u)p-i-(l—c), we havefor the pro¬
bability of a verdict of acquittal by both jurors
V1 C)(l — ^ M)0 U2 ')P'\'UU2(y ’P)'
Adding the probability of a verdict of condemnation by both
jurors, to that of acquittal by both, we have «m2 + (1—«)
(1—Uq) for the probability of both giving the same verdict.
This result is independent of and is evidently true a priori,
inasmuch as there are two ways in which the same verdict
may be given, namely, when both jurors are right, and when
both are wrong.
The probability of acquittal by the second juror, after a
verdict of guilty by the first, is 1—c2 = (l—“2)^i +
tt2(l—jsq); multiplying by c, and substituting for o and
•zt! their values, we have for the probability of a verdict of
guilty by the first, and not guilty by the second,.
c(l—Ce)^1—M2>+0—M)M2(1—f)'
In like manner, if the accused has been acquitted by the
first juror, the presumption of his guilt becomes zr'p and the
probability of a verdict guilty by the second is c2—upsr'^
+ (1—m2)0—w'\) » therefore the probability of a verdict
of not guilty by the first, and of guilty by the second is
(1—C)c2 = (l—+ M2)(i—i?)-
The sum of these two expressions gives for the probability
of a discordant verdict, «(1—w2) + 0—u)u2.
80. If we now suppose u—u2, and make 1—u—w, the
probability that the two jurors will agree in their verdict,
whether they are both right or both wrong, is u2 j and
the probability of a discordant verdict mo-\-uw—eluw. The Probability
sum of the two expressions is u1 ■\-‘luw-\-w2=z(u-\-w)2 ; and
therefore the probabilities of the different cases are respec¬
tively given by the development of the binomial (tt-j-w)2.
By pursuing this reasoning, it is easy to see that if there
be any number h whatever of jurors, or voters on any ques¬
tion which admits only of simple affirmation or negation, all
being supposed to possess the same integrity and know¬
ledge, so that there is the same probability u of a correct
decision in respect of each, the probablities of the different
cases are found by the development of the binomial («-j-zc)A.
The probability of a correct verdict being pronounced una¬
nimously is uh ; of an erroneous one being pronounced una¬
nimously is id'; and the probability that a correct verdict
will be given by m of the jurors, and an erroneous one by
, _ 1.2.3 h
n, is Uumwn, where U = -—-—    ——  .
1.2.3...WX 1.2.6...n
81. The probability that the accused will be pronounced
guilty by m jurors, and acquitted by n, on the supposition
that the value of u is the same for each juror, is thus found.
There are two ways in which this event may take place;
1st, if the accused be guilty (the probability of which is p),
and m jurors decide correctly, and n wrongly (the probabi¬
lity of which is Uumwn) ; the probability of the condemna¬
tion taking place in this way is therefore \Jumivnp. 2d, If
the accused be innocent (the probability of which is q) and
n jurors decide rightly, and m wrongly (the probability of
which is Uu”wm)-, the probability of the event taking place
in this way is therefore \Junwmq. Let G therefore denote
the whole probability of the verdict, and we have
G=U (umwnp -f unwmq).
Hence the probability that the accused will be condemned
unanimously by a jury consisting of A jurors is uhp-\-wkq ;
and the probability that he will be unanimously acquitted
uhq-{-?vhp.
82. Suppose the accused to have been pronounced guilty
by m jurors, and not guilty by n jurors, the probability of
the verdict of the majority being correct is found from the
formula in (49). Two hypotheses may be maue : 1st, the
accused is guilty ; 2d, he is innocent. The probability Pj
of the observed event (the condemnation by m, and acquit¬
tal by n jurors) on the first hypothesis is Vumwn ; and the
a priori probabilities of the two hypotheses (or the proba¬
bilities denoted by Xj and X2 in (49), being/) and q ; there¬
fore if zjq denote the probability of the verdict being cor¬
rect, that is, the probability of the first hypothesis after the
verdict has been pronounced, and zr2 the probability of its
being wrong, we shall have (49)
uwp
unwmq
1 umwnp -j- unwmq umwnp -|- unw q
If the verdict has been pronounced unanimously, then
m~h and w=0, and the formulae become
vJ'q
up
muhp-\-whq
uhp ivhq
If p—q—\, and m—n=i, we have then
un+iw n u'
J -|- UnWn+l U* -p W*
But this is the probability of a verdict being correct which
has been pronounced unanimously by i jurors ; whence it
follows that the probability of a decision rendered by a given
majority being correct, is the same as that of a decision ren¬
dered unanimously by a jury equal in number to the differ¬
ence between the majority and minority, and is therefore
independent of the total number of jurors. This, however,
is only true on the supposition that the value of u is known
a priori ; for if u be not absolutely known, the weight of the
PROBABILITY.
Probability verdict depends on the ratio of the majority to thewhole num-
her of jurors. This is in accordance with common notions,
for it will readily be admitted that a verdict given unani¬
mously by a jury of 10 will be entitled to much more weight
than one pronounced by a jury consisting of a large num¬
ber, as 100, in which 55 are of one opinion, and 45 of the
opposite. In this case, the opinion of the minority throws
great doubt on the correctness of the verdict. It is to be
observed, however, that the probability of a verdict being
given by a small majority becomes less and less as the num¬
ber of jurors is increased.
83. When the number who dissent from the opinion of
the majority is unknown, and we merely know that the ma¬
jority exceeds the minority by at least «jurors, the proba¬
bility of the verdict being correct is found as follows. Sup¬
pose the verdict to be guilty. On the hypothesis that it is
correct, the probability of the accused being found guilty
by h—x, and not guilty by x jurors, is by the formula in (80),
UNow, if we give x successively all the values
0, 1, 2,...rc, where n—\{li—i), and assume U0 to denote the
value of U when ar=0, U A its value when x—1, and so on ;
and also make W=the probability of the accused being
pronounced guilty by h—n at least, we shall have
W — \]Buh + U j uh~l ZC+Ug uh
, + U„«A
In like manner, if W' denote the probability of a verdict
guilty by h—n jurors at least, on the hypothesis that the
accused is not guilty, we shall have,
W'= UX + U j uwh~l Uaulioh~<i   -j- Unur‘wh~Jn;
I—xV
X J?xm(l—.r)ndx
for the probability of the hypothesis. But (82) the proba-
bdity on this hypothesis of the accused bein^ euiltv U
 xy b 13
xm(\ x)n4-xn(l x)m ’ this by the probabil¬
ity of the hypothesis, sr*, we obtain for the probability of
the verdict being correct xm(l—x)n-±-J^xm(\ x)ndx \
and, therefore, for the probability of the verdict being cor¬
rect on all the hypotheses from to ,r—1,
n=7iljm(1—
f^xm(l—x)ndx'
Hence the probability that a verdict given by a majority
m out of m-\-n=h jurors is wrong, is
2 —x)ndx
f0lxm (l—x)ndx
which, on effecting the integrations by the formula in (51)
becomes after reduction
If,. h+l . (^+1)^ . (h+l)h(h-l)
2*+i ( + 1 + i • o +
615
Probability
1—n=
+
1-2 1 1 •2•3
(h + l)h(h—1) (h—n + 2) )
1 * 2*3  n j •
Assuming h (the number of jurors) =12, and making n
successively 0, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, the series gives
whence, p and g being as above the a priori probabilities
of the two hypotheses, the probability that the verdict guilty
is correct, when pronounced by A—« jurors at least, becomes
Wp-KWp+W'?.)
84. It is evident that no application can be made of these
formulae without assigning arbitrary values to u andp, un¬
less, indeed, we have data for determining their mean values
from experience. With respect to p, we may assume, for
the sake of shewing the general consequences of the formu¬
lae, its value to be ^ ; for it cannot well be supposed less than
■£, or that a person brought before a jury is more likely to be
innocent than guilty; and if it much exceeds ^ and ap¬
proaches to unity, a verdict of guilty may be expected from
any jury, however constituted. When a mean value of u
cannot be determined from experience, the only way of ob¬
taining numerical results, is to suppose u to have all possible
values within given limits, and to integrate the equations
between those limits. As it seems unreasonable to suppose
that a juror is more likely to give a wrong verdict than a
right one, we may assume that u cannot be less than
Suppose, then, that u increases by infinitely small increments
from to u=l, and let it be proposed to determine the
probability that a decision is correct when the accused has
been pronounced guilty by m jurors, and not guilty by n.
Here an infinite number of hypotheses may be made re¬
specting the value of u, and we must therefore have recourse
to the formulae in (51.) Let u=x be one of those hypo¬
theses, Px= the probability on that hypothesis of the event
observed (that is, of the accused being pronounced guilty
by m, and not guilty by w jurors,) the probability of
the assumed hypothesis, and n = the mean probability of
the correctness of the verdict from all the hypotheses. By
the formulae in (81) we have
P,—U jV"(l—x)np-\-xn{\—x)m(\—£>)},
and as all the hypotheses are supposed equally probable,
we have (45) zr„=PJ,-i-2Pf. But between the proposed
limits t?x—pj'^xm(\—x)ndx -{- (1—■p)J'k1^1 (1—x)mdx-,
if, therefore, we make p—\, we shall have by reason of
f^xn{ 1—x)mdx=j^xm{\—x)'!<£r,2P*=i- 1—x)dx,
and therefore
1 14 92 378 1093 2380
8192’ 8192’ 8192’ 8192’ 8192’ 8l92’
for the respective probabilities of the error of a verdict when
pronounced unanimously by 12 jurors, by a majority of 11
to 1, of 10 to 2, of 9 to 3, of 8 to 4, and of 7 to 5. In the
last case the probability of the error is nearly =f.
85. From these results it appears that the chance of a
verdict being wrong which has been pronounced unanimous¬
ly by twelve jurors is very small; but it is to be remarked,
that they have been deduced on the supposition that the
unanimity proceeds from agreement in the same opinion, and
that the jurors are unbiassed by each other. In this country,
where unanimity is compelled by law, the mean probability
of a correct verdict can scarcely be considered as greater than
that of a verdict pronounced by a simple majority; for,
though in most cases the verdict may be supposed to repre¬
sent the opinion of a larger majority than seven, it may
happen, not unfrequently, that a smaller number than five,
possessing greater energy or perseverance, may persuade the
others into a surrender of their judgment. In fact, unless
the presumption of the guilt of the accused be very great,
it would scarcely be possible, without concert, to procure an
unanimous verdict in any case. It is also to be observed,
that the assumption of all values of u from |to 1 being equal¬
ly probable, may lead to results widely different from the
truth. The mean value of u, which depends on the general
intelligence of the class of persons from amongst whom the
lists of jurors are made up, can only be rightly determined
from data furnished by experience. One of the elements,
however, which require to be known for this purpose, is the
number of jurors who concur in and dissent from, the verdict.
The forced unanimity of the law renders it impossible to obtain
this element from the records of the English courts; but in
France and Belgium, where the majority and minority are
known and recorded, the same obstacle does not exist, and
the “ Comptes Generaux de VAdministration de la Justice
Criminelle,” published by the French Government, have
enabled Poisson to deduce mean values of u and p for that
country, and consequently to obtain the necessary data for
one of the most interesting applications of the theory of
Probabilities. The general results were as follows : During
ii
616
PROBABILITY.
Probability the six years from 1825 to 1830 inclusive, the system of cri-
minal legislation in France underwent no change ; the jury
consisted of 12, and a simple majority was only required to
concur, though when it happened that the majority was the
least possible, the Court had power to overrule the verdict.
On comparing, according to the rules of the theory, the ver¬
dicts given in the cases tried before the criminal courts
during those six years, it was found that for the whole of
France, the probability (u) of a juror giving a correct
verdict was a little greater than § with respect to crimes
against the person, and nearly equal to with respect to
crimes against property ; without distinction of the species
of crime, it was found to be a very little below The other
element, the probability (/>) of the guilt of the accused be¬
fore the trial, was found not much to exceed ^ (being be¬
tween 0.53 and 0.54) with respect to crimes against the
person, while it a little exceeded § in respect of crimes
against property. Without distinction of crime, its value
was very nearly 0.64.
86. On substituting these values of u and p (namely
«=4> jo==.64, whence w=\, q=.36) in the formula in (81),
and making m=7, n=5, and consequently
1.2.3 12 792
U~ 1.2.3...7x1 .2.3...S =792, - •>- G=
(37 X .64-|-35 X.36)= .07 nearly. Hence it maybe ex¬
pected, that in a hundred trials it will happen only seven
times that the accused will be pronounced guilty by the
smallest possible majority. If mrz 12, and wirO, we shall
have ttA7=.02027(j nearly, for the probability of
an unanimous verdict of guilty, and uhq-\-tt/‘p=.0114 for
the probability of an unanimous verdict of not guilty.
Making the same substitutions in the formula in (82), we
have for the probability of a verdict guilty being correct,
from which 5 jurors out of 12 dissent, ; and ■sre—^r
for the probability of its being wrong.
Substituting the same values in the series represented by
W and W' in (83), and supposing n to have all values
37
from w=0 to n=z5, there results W= — X7254, W'=
1 , Wp 126915984 118
— X 23 12^, whence - 127992033 “119
nearly. This is the probability that a verdict guilty, pro¬
nounced by a majority of seven against five at least, is correct.
The probability of the same verdict being wrong, is there¬
fore ; so that out of 119 verdicts, respecting which we
know nothing else, than that seven at least of the jury con¬
curred in finding the accused guilty, we may expect one to
be wrong, or that one person out of 119 so condemned will
be innocent.
made the greatest or the least in the series. If we suppose Probability
p~q, and consequently 7=2’ (since1) the
probabilities of the different cases become respectively
TS’
rV’
whence it appears, that the most probable combination is
that which corresponds to 6p2q'2, or in which each of the
simple events occurs twice, the probability of this combina¬
tion being T65, while that of either of the simple events oc¬
curring four times in succession is only -jtj.
When the number of trials is 5, the probabilities of the
several cases are respectively
p5, 5p4q, I0p3q2, I0p2q3, 5pq*, qs,
which, when p~q^ become
32’
3%’
) 0
32’
352’
3^’
so that there are two different combinations equally pro¬
bable, namely, that in which E occurs three times and F
twice, and that in which E occurs twice and F three times ;
and of the six possible combinations these two are the most
probable, having in their favour a number of chances twice
as great as the two cases in which one of the events occurs
only once, and the other four times, and ten times greater
than the two cases in which either of the simple events oc¬
curs in each of the five trials.
From these two instances it may be inferred in general,
that when h is an even number, the most probable com¬
pound event is that of which the probability is represented
by the middle term of the developement of (t? + <7)*» and
that when h is an odd number, there are two compound
events equally probable, and more probable than any other,
namely, those corresponding to the terms which occupy the
middle of the series, supposing in both cases p~q> This
supposition gives (/>-f-<7)*n(l + l)fc(-|)*; therefore in the
case in which h is an even number, the general expression
for the greatest term is
h(Ji—\){h—2) (h—^-}-l) j.j_
1.2.3   ’
and when h is odd, the general expression for either of the
two equal terms, which are greater than any of the other
terms, is
A(A_1)(A_2) {A_i(£+1)+1] /1W
1.2.3   I(A+1)
88. When p and q are unequal, the greatest term of the
expansion of (p + q)11 will not occupy the middle of the
series, but its place may be found by comparing two con¬
secutive terms. Let h—m-\-n. The general term of the
series then becomes
1.2.3 A
1.2.3 mxl -2.3 n** q J
             _ and the term immediately preceding is
SECT. VTII. OF THE SOLUTION OF QUESTIONS INVOLVING < J 1 j, °
LARGE NUMBERS.   1.2- 3 Jl 
87. The probabilities of the different compound events 1 • 2.3 (»*+ 1) X 1 • 2.3 (n 1)
which can result from the combination of any number of Dividing the first of these by the second, we get for the
simple events, Et, E2, E,, &c. being (13) measured respec- quotient (m-\-\)q ^-np, which, therefore, is the ratio of two
lively by the several terms of the developement of the mul- consecutive terms taken at any part of the series. If this
tinomial (jo+ &c.)A, the most probable of those com- ratio be greater than 1, the term which has been taken
pound events will be that which corresponds to the term as the dividend is greater than the preceding one which
having the greatest numerical value. Let us consider the has been taken as the divisor ; and it is evident that the
case of two simple contrary events E and F, the proba- terms must go on increasing, from the beginning of the se~
bilities of which are respectively p and q, and suppose the ries, so long as the ratio in question is greater than 1. But
number of occurrences to be 4. Neglecting the order of if the ratio be less than 1, the preceding term is greater than
occurrence, the different combinations, with their respec- the succeeding, and the terms will become less and less as
live probabilities, are the following : they are nearer the end of the series. Let(ra-f \)q~~np—\;
EEEE, EEEF, EEFF, EFFF, FFFF, then, since jt?-|-<7=1, and »*-{-?*=:A, we have tt=(A-f-1)9,
jt>4, dp3q, &p*q2, 4j»<75, q*. and consequently the ratio of any term to the next preced-
Now it is evident that the numerical values of these proba- ing is greater or less than 1 according as n is less or
bilities depend on the ratio of ja to q, as well as on the co- greater than (A -f-1 )q. Now n is necessarily a whole num-
efficient by which they are multiplied, and that values may her therefore if (A-f l)<7beawholenumber,take»=:(A-|- 1)^,
be given to p and q, such that any one of the terms may be and the two terms of the series given by the expansion
PROBABILITY.
Probability of (p + q)*, in which the exponents of <7 are n—1 and n, will
be equal to each other, and each greater than any other
term of the series. But if (4+ l)^ be not a whole number,
let (4+1)9—x be the nearest whole number less than
(A-J-1)9, and make n=(h -|-1)9—then the greatest term
of the developement will be that in which the exponent of
9 is n.
Since«=(A+l )q-x,we have 9=(rc +a:)-^-(A-j-1), whence
, n-\-x m+\—x q n + x
p—\ —■ 15—-—, and therefore -r= ' 
A+l A+l P ?»+l—x
Now x is by hypothesis less than 1, therefore if m and n
are large numbers, we have, very nearly, 9 \p—n : m; or,
since mrzhp, n—hq. It follows therefore, that
the greatest term of the developement of the binomial
g)A is that in which the exponents of p and q are to each
other in the ratio of p to q, or more nearly in that ratio
than are any other two numbers whose sum is h. In other
words, the most probable combination of two simple events,
E and F, in any number of trials, is that in which the num¬
ber of occurrences of E is to the number of occurrences of
F in the ratio of their respective probabilities.
89- In the same manner it may be shewn, that when
there are more than two simple events, of which one must
occur in every trial, the most probable result of any number
of trials is that combination in which the number of repe¬
titions of each simple event is in proportion to its probabi¬
lity in a single trial. Thus, the probabilities of the simple
events being respectively^, 9, r, &c. the most probable com¬
pound event is that whose probability is expressed by that
term of the expansion of q-\-r~^-8cc.),‘, which has for
its argument php, qhQ, rkr, &c.
90. Having determined the form of the greatest term of
the series, we have next to find a method of approximating
to its numerical value ; for its coefficient containing the pro¬
duct of the natural numbers from 1 to h inclusive, its di¬
rect calculation becomes impracticable even when h is only
a moderately large number. The theorem which gives the
approximate value of this product is known by the name of
Stirling's Theorem, having been discovered by that mathe¬
matician. As its investigation is a matter of pure analysis,
we shall not stop to give it here, but refer the reader to the
Treatise on Differences and Series, by Sir John Herschel,
in the translation of Lacroix’s Elementary Treatise on the
The theorem
617
Differential and Integral Calculus, p. 568.1
is as follows: Let x be any number, then
1 • 2.3 x=xxe—s/2irx(\+ ~ +
1
12x 288x'
+ &c.)
where e is the number of which the Napierean logarithm
is unit, or the number 2-71828, and n the ratio of the cir¬
cumference of a circle to the diameter, or 3T4159.
When a; is a large number, the term divided by I2x be¬
comes very small, and the series within the brackets may be
considered as equal to unity. In this case, then, the for¬
mula becomes
1*2.3 x=2xxe~x,s/2nx,
which gives a sufficient approximation in most cases. If,
for example, #=1000, the result will be within a 12000th
part of the truth.
Now, let E and F be two events of such a nature that the
one or the other must happen in every trial; let p and 9 be
their respective probabilities, and P the probability that in
m-\-n—h trials, E will happen m times and F n times ; then
by (12) we have
1.2.3 h
1.2.3 rax 1 • 2 • 3 n
FT
When ra, n, and h are large numbers, the value of this Probability
coefficient may be computed from the above formula, which
gives v
whence
p  hhe~htjh
~ ramnne-("»+») y/ (ffxmn)
1 • 2.3 A=AV-V2^A,
1 • 2 • 3 w=rame-nV2^ra,
1 • 2.3 n-=.nne-n<F%m,
^=C£Hv)V
2nmn
This expression represents any term of the series(/>q-9)\
The greatest term, which corresponds to the most probable
result, is (88) that in which ra and n are to each other in
the ratio of p to 9, or when m-=.hp, and nz=.hq. Let the
greatest term therefore be denoted by P0, that is to say, let
P0 be the chance of the most probable result of h trials, and
we shall have
To—V(h-T-2nmri), or ¥0—\/{\-i-2'nhpq).
This last formula shews that the absolute probability of that
combination which has the greatest number of chances in
its favour becomes less and less as the number of trials is
increased; for the fraction 1 -f-A, to the square root of
which the probability is proportional, diminishes as A is in¬
creased.
91 • As an example, suppose a shilling to be tossed 100
times in succession. In this case p=q~^, hp=50, hqz=50,
and the most probable result of the trials is 50 times head
and 50 times tail. We have then A=100, ra=50, and
V'(A-i-27rra?«) = l-f-y^(50?r) for the measure of the probabi¬
lity that the event will happen in this way exactly. On cal¬
culation, this is found =.07979; whence it appears, that
although 50 heads and 50 tails is a more probable result of
100 trials than any other combination which can be named,
its absolute probability is measured by a very small fraction.
The probability of the contrary event, or that there will not
be thrown 50 heads and 50 tails exactly, is 1 —07979=.92021,
so that the odds against the event are about 92 to 8, or 23
to 2. Had the number of trials been 1000, the probability
of 500 times head and 500 times tail exactly, though more
likely to occur than any other combination, would have been
fbundl-4-v'(5005r); that is tosay,Vl0 times, or rather more
than 3 times less than in the former case. In general, when
the chances in favour of the simple events are equal, the pro¬
bability of the combination which is more likely to happen
than any other, is inversely proportional to the square root of
the number of trials.
92. The formulae in (90) enable us also to determine the
ratio of the greatest term of the developement of (p + 9)A
to any other term of the series, and consequently the rela¬
tion of the probabilities of the different compound events.
Let m : n :: p : q, whence m=hp and n=hq, and let P, de¬
note the probability that in A trials the event E will occur
(ra—#) times, and the event F (n^-x) times, the probabi¬
lities of the simple events E and F being respectively p and
9. By (13) we have
p   ^ .2.3 A  —xr,n-\-x^
1.2.3 (ra—#) X 1 • 2.3 (n + x) r
which by (90) becomes
 hhe—h y/ (2-xh) 
P*=
(jn X)m—xtr-i,m—i>) + c2.*{m—x)x{n+x)n+*e-(n+x)^2«(n+x)
y^pm—xqn+x whence, substituting ra=A for p, and n-r-A
for 9, and leaving out the factors common to the numera¬
tor and denominator, we find,
P, — 'J ^A_j(ra—x)-m+x-'(n -f- mm-
in+*.
1 Stirling’s investigation of the theorem, or rather of its equivalent, to find the sum of the logarithms of a series of numbers in arithme¬
tical progression, is given in his Methodus Differentialis, p. 135.
YOL. XVIII. 4 I
618
PROBABILITY.
x x2
2 m
!)log(m—x) 5 and
—&c.
m
Probability Now log (m—t)—m+/—i — (-
log (m—x)— log m—
therefore log (m—^)—m+x—j —
(_m + 1) log m—(—m+x—^) ^ + L. + &c.);
whence, neglecting terms divided by m2, m3, &c., m being
supposed to be a large number in comparison with x,
OC^ X
log (m—x)-m+*-l=(—rn + L) logm + a^—— + — ;
therefore, on passing to numbers,
*5 X
(m—«)-'n+-r-i =m-m+x-i xe*~ 2m X e ^;
2 m
The calculation of e~hxi^2mn is as follows: Assume Probability
t2 ==hx~-~2mn. We have x=l000—960=40.
log 40=1.60206
2
since e 2m = 1 +
+
2.4ttr
+ &c.
(m—x)
—m+x—l — ™—m+x—i -
(l+ —
V 2m
\
r
In like manner, by changing m into n, and x into
we get
(n + £)-n-x-i ~n-n-*-i e
^ 2n J
Multiplying the first of these two expressions by m"
and the second by nn+x, we have
x2
(m—#)—”H-*—i x mm~x=m~
(I+A-)
(«-f a:)—n+‘r—i Xnn+xzzn-le
\ 2n )
whence, substituting these values in that of P
glecting the quantity divided by mn,
„ / f h \ _ / f h \ __hfl
l x= J (    ) e 2m 2n — J [   e 2mn
* \2nmn ) 27V mn I
and ne-
3.20412
log h— log 6000=3.77815
log A*2=6.98227
log 2mn= log 10,000,000=7
log <2=9.98227
log c=.43429, log .43429=9.63778
log if x .43429)=9.62005
t2 X .43429=<2 log e= .41692
—t2 log c=9.58308
add log Po=8.14050
log Px=7.72358
therefore P^.0053, which is the chance of 960 aces ex¬
actly. The odds against this event are therefore 9947 to
53, or nearly 188 to 1.
93. When h, m, and n are large numbers, and a? is small,
the exponential e^A,r2';'2mri differs little from unity, and it de¬
creases slowly as x increases, so long as a; is small in compa¬
rison of m and n. Suppose m=.n and it becomes
1
1
e 2-7182818’
so that if we assume m=100, the
2'nmn ) v V 27rmn,
The term of the series {p+qf which corresponds to this
value of Px is that which is x places to the right of the
greatest term ; and it has been shewn, (90), that the great¬
est term has for its expression V{h-±-2Trmn) ; therefore the
greatest term being denoted, as before, by P0> and the term
which comes after it x places by Px, we have
P — p g—hxi-rimn^
that is to say, the probability the event E will happen m
times and fail n times in m -j- /i trials, is to the probability
of its happening (m—x) times and failing (w-f-a;) times in
the ratio of 1 to e~hx2 ^2mn.
Since the numbers m and n enter symmetrically into the
expression g—hxZ~2mn, it is evident that the result would
have been the same if, instead of seeking the ratio of the
greatest term to that which succeeds it by x places, we had
sought the ratio of the greatest term to that which precedes
it by x places. Hence if the most probable result of m-j-w
trials be that E wdll happen m times and fail n times, the
probability that it will happen m—x times and fail n-\-x
times is the same as the probability that it will happen m^-x
times and fail n—x times.
The following example will suffice to shew the applica¬
tion of the formula: A die is thrown 6000 times, required
the probability that the number of aces turned up will be
exactly 960 ?
Here p, the chance of throwing ace, is <7=f, and
^=6000; whence M=Z'j»=1000, and »=^<t=5000. We
have first to find P0, the chance of the most probable result,
or of 1000 aces. By (90), Y0—V(h-i-2nmri); whence,
substituting the above values, P0=VS • ^(5000 X 3.14159).
On performing the operation indicated by the logarithmic
tables, we get log P0=8.14050, whence Po=.0138.
10th term before or after the greatest would still exceed the
3d part of the greatest. But when x becomes greater than
\/m or y'w the exponential, and consequently also the terms
which are multiplied by it, begin to diminish with great
rapidity, and the diminution is more'rapid as x increases
If?n=w=100, and a:=50, then the exponent hx2-±-2mn=25,
so that g—Ax2-2mn5 — j a qUant;it;y which is altogether
insensible. We may therefore conclude generally that when
h is a large number, the principal terms of the deveiopement
of ip+q)* are those which are near the greatest term, and
that h may be taken so large that the terms towards the
beginning or end of the series may at length become smaller
than any assignable quantity.
94. From the proposition which has now been demon¬
strated it follows, that although the probability of that par¬
ticular compound event which has the greatest number of
chances in its favour is very small when the number of trials
is great, yet on account of the rapid diminution of the terms
towards the beginning and end of the series, the sum of a com¬
paratively small number of terms taken on both sides of the
greatest, may be very much greater than all the remaining
terms of the series; and, consequently, there will be a very
great probability that the compound event will be repre¬
sented by one or other of those terms. This consideration
leads us to one of the most important questions in the theory,
namely, to determine the probability that in a large number
of trials, h, an event E, which must either happen or fail in
each trial, and of which the chance of happening in any
trial is p, will happen not less than hp—l times, and not
ottener than hp-\-l times ; or, making hpzzm, hqzzn, to de¬
termine the probability that the number of occurrences of
E will be included between the limits mz±x.l.
Let x be any number between 0 and l. Then (92) the
probability that E will occur (w—x) times and fail («-f-x)
times isPx =P0e—^^^"(where P0=v/{Ji-^-2irmii). Now if
in this expression we makex successively equal to each of the
numbersO, 1, 2,.../, we shall have the respective probabilities
of E happening m, m—1, m—2, m—l times in h trials ;
and the sum of these probabilities will be the probability that
E happens not oftener than m times, and not seldomer than
m—l times. The same suppositions with respect to x will
PROBABILITY.
Probability give the probabilities of E happening w 1, w?. -f. 2,... -p /
times, the sum of which will be the probability that E happens
not seldomer than m times, and not oftener than w-f/times.
Adding, therefore, those two sums, and deducting P0 the pro-
bility which corresponds to x=0, on account of its being in¬
cluded in each sum, and therefore having been counted
twice, the result will be the sum of the terms of the binomial
(P + '?)7' comprised between, and including, the two terms
of which the first has for a factor jora+i, and the last pm—1,
and will therefore express the probability that the number of
occurrences of E will fall within the limits m-r±zl. Let
this probability be denoted by R, and let SP* represent the
sum of all the values of P* obtained by substituting suc¬
cessively 0, 1,2, 3,.../ for x, we then have R=2SPJ P0,
whence, writing for Px and P0, their values,
R=2Sy( *
\ZirmnJ Airmn
95. In order to find an approximate value of this expres¬
sion we must have recourse to a formula first given by Euler
for converting sums of the kind denoted by S into definite
integrals (for which see Lacroix, Traite du CalculDifferen-
tiel et Integral, tom. iii. p. 136, or Herschel’s Treatise on
Differences, p. 513). Assuming u to denote a function of
x, the formula is as follows :
o f* J . ^ 1 „
^>u—Judx-\- — u -f-^ - &c. -f- constant.
On making w=P.=P0e,~*x2^2n,n, we find —— Tq/ix
dx -~-“
619
iccufTcv'hnl'ifVa,,,ei°f h the m,0re near,y il approaches to P,ob.biluy
accuracy, but it is only rigorously true when h is infinite.
. 9^- The integral dt is computed as follows. Develop¬
ing the exponential e"* in a series of the ascending powers of
’ Jn(1 integrating the successive terms between the limits
«=U and t=T, we find
/T T3 T5
e—/2 dt =T l   1   ,
o 1.3^ 1.2.5 ^ 1 .2.3.7+&c•,
a series which converges rapidly when r is less than unity.
In the contrary case, however, or when r is greater than
unity, the series is divergent, and it is necessary to proceed
by a different method. Lee the factor e~fi be multiplied
and divided by t; we have then
e—^tdt,
and on integrating by parts
Repeating the same process on the last integral, and so
on with the last after each succeeding integration, the fol¬
lowing series is obtained,
r e-v r 1 3 3-5 )
J <r*a,=-— | + &C } .
When infinity the right hand side of this equation be¬
comes 0 ; whence between the limits tzzr and t— infinity,
we have
mn
g hx2~2mn. therefore, if we suppose * to be not greater f e-^dt- — —- {1—^+JL—^J5 . &c 1
than or •/n, this differential coefficient is of the order T At I A T A°t J
1-M, (as may be easily shewn by substituting hp for m, and
hq for n), and may be rejected, since h is supposed to be a
very large number. The above equation therefore becomes
8?*= 2mndx + 2mn constant;
and on supposing x=0 this gives 0=—|P0+ constant,
therefore the constant is equal to |P0, and we have
SP^F^e-7^ 2mndx -f ±P0e-hx2i-2mn -f IP0.
Assumewhence dt=dx\/(h-i-2mn) ;
substitute these in the above equation, and it becomes by
reason of P0=^/(h-i-2nmn),
a series which converges very rapidly when r is greater
than unity. Now the value of a definite integral between
0 and infinity is obviously equal to its two parts, of which
the first is taken between 0 and t, and the second between
t and infinity; that is to say,
fT^dt = r e-^dt—f^^dt.
Jo Jo Jr
p 00
But / e—^dt is well known1 to have for its expression
■| Jtt, therefore
foTe-«dt=W—fT
CO
e-^dt,
whence, from the equation R=2SPJ—P0, we obtain
The integral in this expression must be taken between the
limits x=0 and x=l. When ^=0 we have also t=0, and
when x=l, then t=l\/( h -±- 2mn) ; therefore assuming r for
the limiting value of t, that is, making t=IJ(h^-2mn), and
therefore l—r\/(2mn-±-h), there results
2 P T
R=—— / e~t2dt 4- Po^-72
■J* Jo
for the probability that the number of occurrences of E will
fall between (2mn-^-li) ; or, replacing m and n by
hp and hq, the probability that the number of occurrences
of E will fall within the limits hpz±z.Tj(2hpq'), or be equal
to one of those limits.
This expression for R has been found by neglecting
quantities of the order of smallness 1 -^-h; consequently
so that the integral may be computed from either of the
above series, according as r is less or greater than 1.
The integral /e—t2dt is of great importance in the higher
mathematics. It occurs in the investigation of ‘he path of
a ray of light through the atmosphere, and of the law of
the diffusion of heat in the interior of solid bodies, as well
as in the determination of the degree of reliance that may
be placed on the results of astronomical observations, and
generally in most of the more difficult and important ap¬
plications of the theory of probabilities. A table of its
values from t=0 to f=3, for intervals each =‘01, was given
by Kramp, at the end of his Analyse desRefractions Astro-
nomiques, Strasburg, 1799- In the Berliner Astronomisches
Jahrbuch for 1834, there is also a table of its values from
t=Q to t—2 (for the same intervals) multiplied by 2-i-\/7r,
with their first and second differences for the purpose of fa¬
cilitating interpolation. This last table, which appears to
have been derived from that of Kramp, and which is imme¬
diately applicable in the calculation of the probability R,
we have extended to t—3, and given at the end of the pre¬
sent article. As the function which is thus tabulated will
1 The formula / e-*2<A=^ y'tr is ascribed by Gauss (Theoria Motus Corporum Ccdestium, p. 212,) to Laplace* On making
Jo
r~<r=.z, the integral is transformed into cfe^logi^ “ between the limits z=0 and 2=1, the value of which been given
by Euler, long before, in the Petersburg Memoirs. See Legendre, Exercises du Calcul Integral, tom. i. p. 301.
PROBABILITY.
620
Probability occur frequently in what follows, we shall in future, for con-
venience in printing, denote it by 0, that is to say, we shall
assume
<2 pT o /»oo
0= ——/ e-*dt=z\  —/ e—^dt,
V nj o v nJ T
the two forms being equivalent in consequence of the above
equation.
97. Some very important conclusions follow immediately
from the formula in (95). The quantity R denotes the pro¬
bability that in a very great number of trials h, the event
E, of which the a priori probability in any trial is p, will
occur not seldomer than hp—l times, and not oftener than
hp -f-1 times, or that the number of its occurrences will be
included between the limits hpz±=l, or at least be equal to
one of those limits. Hence R also denotes the probability
that the ratio of the occurrences of E to the whole number
of trials, will be included within the limits pz±:l-i-h. We
have assumed T=l\/(h-i-2mn) ; but m—hp and n—hq;
therefore r^-i-^CZhpq), whence l=T\/(‘lhpq), and con¬
sequently l—-h—W(2pq~-h). Now, if we suppose r to be
constant, so that the probability expressed by R may remain
the same, then p and q being given, l is proportional to
the square root of h, and consequently the greater the
number of trials the smaller will l be in proportion to that
number. Thus, if the number of trials be 1000, and we
have a given probability R that the number of occurrences
of E will not differ more than 10 from the number which is
the most probable of all (that is, from 1000 p), then if we
take 100,000 trials, we shall have the same probability R
that the number of occurrences of E will not differ more than
10 X fr°m the most probable number. But
a difference of 10 in 1000 is 1-100th of the whole, whilst a dif¬
ference of 100 in 100,000 is 1-1000th of the whole, and thus
the ratio of / to A becomes smaller and smaller, or the ratio
of the occurrences of E to the whole number of trials ap¬
proaches nearer and nearer to p, as the number of trials is
increased ; and the experiments may be repeated until the
difference between p and pr±zl-~h, in respect of a given
probability R which may be as great as we please, shall
be less than any assignable quantity.
If, on the other hand, we suppose l-r-h to be constant,
then r is proportional to the square root of the number of
trials. But as r increases, 0, and consequently R, approaches
nearer and nearer to unity, (and it may be seen, by referring
to the table, that it is only necessary to have r=3 in order
to have ©=-9999779) ; whence the number of trials A may
always be increased until we obtain a probability approach¬
ing as nearly to certainty as we please, that the number of
occurrences of E will be comprised within the given limits
(Aprtr/); or, which is the same thing, that the ratio of the
number of occurrences of E to the whole number of trials,
shall not differ from p, the probability of E in a single trial,
more than a given quantity /-i-A which may be less than
any assigned fraction. This is the celebrated theorem
which was demonstrated by James Bernoulli in the Ars
Conjectandi.
98. The application of the preceding results to numeri¬
cal examples, is rendered extremely easy by means of the
table of the values of 0. From the formula in (95) we
have the probability
R=e+P0e-T2,
that the occurrences of E in A trials will fall within the
limits hpz±=l, the relation between l and r being given by
the equation l—r^^hpq). If, therefore, we suppose l to
be given, r becomes known, and the corresponding value
of © is found from the table ; and, conversely, if 0 be as¬
sumed, t is given by the table, whence the corresponding
limits l are deduced. With respect to the quantity P(,e~','2,
we may observe that it denotes the probability that the
number of occurrences of the event E will be Ajo-j- / or hp—l
precisely (92), and is therefore always a very small fraction Probability
when A is a large number (90). It may be regarded as a v"—
correction of 0, which in most cases might be omitted with¬
out sensibly affecting the result; but when A is not very
large, or l is a small number, it becomes necessary to take
it into account. In such cases its value may be computed
directly as in the example in (92) ; but this labour may be
avoided by increasing r, so as to include it within the
limits of the integral 0. Thus, let R be the probability
that the number of arrivals of E will be included within
the limits hpA=.x, and R' the probability of the limits be¬
ing Ajo=±:(«+l), and let 0 and ©' be respectively the
corresponding values of the integral. We have then,
giving Px the same signification as in (92), the two equa¬
tions
R—0-t-P*> R,= ©,-i-Pa:+l>
and the difference R'—R of these two probabilities is ob¬
viously the double of the probability that the result of the
trials will be either (hp + x-{-\) times E, or (hp—x—1)
times E, exactly. But the chance of either of these events
being Px+i, we have therefore R'—R=2P;C+1. Now, when
A is large, Px and Px+i are very small, and very nearly equal
to each other, (their difference is in fact of the order of quan¬
tities omitted); hence R'—R^O'—©, and also 2P
and consequently ©'—©=2?^, or P*—^(©'—0). Substi¬
tuting this val ue of P* in the equation R=© -p P x, we get R=|
(©' + 0); so that if we take from the table the values of 0'
and © corresponding to / and / + E half their sum will give R.
But as the interval between 0' and 0 in the table is always
small, half their sum will not differ sensibly from the value
of 0 corresponding to /+^, whence this value of 0 is
equal to R, and we have the following rule for determining
the limits corresponding to a given probability, or vice
versa :—■
When the limits are assumed, find r from the equation
/-j-l=TV(2Aj»5) ; then the value of© in the table, corre¬
sponding to r is the probability that in A trials the number
of occurrences of the event E, the chance of which in a sin¬
gle trial is p, will lie within the limits hp-±zl both inclusive.
Conversely, when 0 is assumed, find the corresponding va¬
lue of t in the table, by means of which the limit / will be
given by the equation /-j-^mV(2hpq). It is obvious, that
if the limit / and the probability © be both assumed, then
A may be determined from the same equation.
99- We will now give some examples of the application
of the preceding formulae.
Suppose p—q=\, and A=200, and let it be proposed to
assign the limits within which there is a probability =-|
that the number of occurrences of E will fall. In this case
the equation /-f-1 —t*/(<2hpq') becomes l-|- ■g=r^/100=1 Or.
Now, it is easily found from the table that tor ©=|- we have
r=-4769, whence /-fi=4-769, and /=r4<269. On tossing
a shilling 200 times, it is therefore more than an even wager
that head will turn up not seldomer than 95 times, and not
oftener than 105 times.
Suppose p=g=l,A=3600,and letitbe proposed to assign
the probability that the number of occurrences of E will not
exceed the limits 1800r±r30. In this case the equation
lJ(-± = T*/(2lipq') becomes 30*5=rv/(2x 900) = 30r^/2,
whence r = 30-5-^30 .v/2 = *7189 ; and the table gives
0=-69O7=|f nearly. Hence in tossing a shilling 3600
times, the odds are 28 to 13 that head will not turn up
oftener than 1800+ 30=; 1830 times, nor seldomer than 1800
—30=1770 times. Neglecting the second term of R (95)
and taking simply /=10r, the table gives 0=#6827, which
is the solution given by Demoivre, p. 245.
Suppose/)=^, q~ft> and let it be proposed to determine
how many trials must be made in order that it may be one
to one that the number of occurrences of E will not dift’er
more than 10 from the most probable number.
>?
PROBABILITY.
Probability For
0—1
O—2
we have t=-4769; therefore the equation
2 — *V(2hpq') becomes whence
A =r 3-6( 10-5 —*4769) 2. On computing this formula h is found
=1745,2. Say 1746, £ of which is 291; and it follows that
if a die be thrown 1746 times it is an even wager that the
number of aces will fall between 291qpl0, that is, be¬
tween 281 and 301, or be equal to one of those numbers.
In (92) we found the probability to be *0053, that in
6000 throws of a die the number of aces will be exactly
960. Let it now be proposed to assign the probability 0,
that in 6000 throws the number of aces will lie between
960 and 1040, that is, between 1000ry=40. Here ^~6000,
p=\, q=§, and £=40 ; the equation of the limits therefore
becomes 40,5=7-\/(10000-r-6), whence r=*405 v'6=*992,
corresponding to which the table gives 0=-8394.
The following question is discussed by Nicolas Ber¬
noulli in the Appendix to Montmort’s Analyse des Jeuxde
Hazard, and is noticed by Demoivre and Laplace. From
the observations of the births of both sexes in London dur¬
ing 82 years (from 1629 to 1711) it was found that the aver¬
age number of children annually born in London, was about
14,000, and the ratio of the number of males to that of fe¬
males, was nearly as 18 to 17, the average number of male
births being 7200, and of female births 6800. In the year
in which the greatest difference from this ratio took place,
the actual numbers were 7037 males and 6963 females, so
that the difference from the average amounted to 163.
Assuming, then, the comparative facility of male and female
births to be as 18 to 17, required the probability that out of
14000 children born, the number of malesshall not be greater
than 7363, nor less than 7037.
This question is evidently equivalent to the following :—
Let 14000 dice, each having 35 faces, 18 white and 17
black, be thrown ; what is the probability that the number
of white faces turned up, will be comprised between the
limits 7200=±rl63. We have therefore £=1400, />=r=J-|,
/=163, and the formula l-\-^—T\/(2hpq) becomes
163.5=V(2x 14000X 18 X17H35, whence r=l*955.
The corresponding value of 0 is found from the table=*9943.
which is the probability that the number of white faces shall
not be greater than 7363, nor less than 7037. The odds
in favour of the event are therefore 9943 to 57, or about
175 to 1.
100. We nowr proceed to consider the case in which the
probabilities of the simple events are not know n, a priori,
but inferred from the results of experience. It was shewn
in (52) that the probability n of an event happening m'
times, and failing n’ times in hr trials, {h'=m' n1'), when
it has been observed to happen m times, and fail n times in
h previous trials, is expressed by this equation
621
n=U
-j-m'] [w-f w'] [£-|-1 ]
[A-J-A'-J- 1]
approx i-
as those
Now, when m, n, m’, n', are large numbers, an
mate value of IJ, more accurate in proportion
numbers become larger, is obtained from Stirling’s theorem
(90), which for any number x gives \_x']=xfe~x\/{2'nx).
Applying the theorem therefore to the expressions within
the brackets in the above equation, and assuming
K=
h+\
J
(w?-f m')(w + n')(A 4-1)
A-f-A'+lV w«(A-|-A'-j-1) J
we obtain, in consequence of m-\-n=h,
TT/Tz(m 4 m')m+mXn 4 w,)”+n,(A 4 1 f
n==U mmnn (A 4 A' 41 )/,+A'
Let rri—6m, n'=.6n, and consequently A'zr^A ; then taking
——   for  ^ (which maybe done with-
(A 4 IUI (A 4//+ l)/,+* ^ J
=uK(fmr
out sensible error, since A is by supposition a large num- Probability
ber,) the equation becomes 1 M
r'^-lVKT!<l+6)m+m'n(J+ 6)n+n'hh
mmnn (l+6)h+h' ’
or, since m+n=h,
nmm'nn'(\ 40)*+*'
hh (1 4fc')A‘t-/''
Making the same substitutions in the expression denoted
by K, we get, after reduction, K= 1 = ^(1 419); whence,
U' /my1'/n \n'
^-■dT+eKh) U7 *
The value of n now found, is the probability that in a
future series of trials the ratio of the occurrences of E to
those of F will be the same as in the preceding trials, which
are supposed to have been very numerous. If the chances
of E and F had been given a priori equal to m-j-A and
n-r-h respectively, the probability of m! times E, and n'
times F in m'-\-n' future trials would have been P=
(VYl \ ^ / 71 \nr
Ty \h) by(12) 5 hence (since m'+h'=m+h and
ri-T-h'—n-r-h), the relation between the probability P0 of
that combination of simple events which has the greatest
number of chances in its favour, when the chances of the
simple events are known a priori, and the probability of
the same combination when the chances of the simple events
are only presumed from previous trials, is expressed by
this equation,
n=:Po-iV(l40)-
101. When A' is very small in comparison of A, 6 be¬
comes a very small fraction, and may be neglected, and we
have then n=P0. But when A' is a number comparable
with A, n is less than P0; and it diminishes rapidly when 0
exceeds 1. The reason of this is obvious. If the con¬
tents of the urn are not known a priori, however numerous
the trials may have been there is only a presumption that the
chance of drawing a white ball in a single trial is measured
by m-r-fr, whereas, in the case of the ratio of the balls being
previously known, the measure of the probability is cer¬
tain. As an instance of the manner in which the proba¬
bility of an assigned series of future events diminishes,
when the probabilities of the simple events are inferred
from experience, let us suppose A'=A, whence 6—\, and
consequently n=Po-f--v/2=*7071 X P0. Now it was shewn
in (91) that if a ball be drawn at random 100 times from
an urn which contains an equal number of black and white
balls, the probability P0, that the result will be 50 white
balls, and 50 black, precisely, is -07979. It follows there¬
fore, that if the contents of the urn be unknown, and
we can only judge of the relative numbers of the two sorts
of balls it contains from having observed that in 100 trials
there have been drawn 50 white balls and 50 black, the
probability IT of that combination in 100 future trials, be¬
comes -07979 X-7071 —05642.
102. The result obtained in (100) enables us to de¬
termine the probability that the number of occurrences of
E in h' future trials, will not differ in excess or defect from
the most probable number, by more than a certain given
number L It has been shewn (95) that in the case of the
probabilities p and q of the simple events being given a
priori, if we determine r from the equation IzzrV(2hpq),
the formula
R= 0 4^(1 -^-elnhpq)er'rl
gives the probability R that m will be comprised within the
limits hpztzW&hpq); or, dividing by A, the probability
that the ratio of w to A will be comprised within the limits
622
PROBABILITY.
Probability p-^=.W (2pq-±-h). Conversely when/) and g are not known,
but the event E lias been observed to happen m times in h
trials, then
R=0 -r-27r?wrc)e—T?
gives the probability R that p is comprised within the limits
m t jImn
T Ti* ~h'
These limits approach more nearly to each other as h in¬
creases ; and when h is a large number, the ratios m-±-h,
n : h may be assumed, without sensible error, as the chances
of E and F in computing the probable result of a future
series of h! trials, provided, however, that h! (though abso¬
lutely a large number) be small relatively to h. When this
condition is not fulfilled, the assumption of m-f-A and n-^-h
as the a priori chances of E and F, might lead to consi¬
derable error; but an approximation to the limits corre¬
sponding to a given value of R may be obtained from the
following considerations:—
Suppose a large number h of events to have been observ¬
ed, and that the result of the observation gave m times E
and n times F. Let a new series of A' trials be made, and
suppose that in this new series p is the real chance of E
and y of F ; we have then a given probability R that
the number of occurrences of E will fall within the limits
h'pz±ZTV('Zh'pq). Now, for p and q substitute the ratios
observed in the first set of experiments, namely, m • A and
n ~h, and the limits corresponding to R become
mil' r .
rh—hV(-ihmn)’
which, therefore, are the true limits on the hypothesis that
the chance of E in a single trial is But as this
chance is not certain, but only presumed, the limits require
to be extended in order that R may preserve the same va¬
lue. Confining our attention to 0, the first term of the
expression for R (the second may be disregarded in the pre¬
sent approximation), let h’—m'-f-n' and m': n'-=:m: n, then
0 is the sum of the terms of the binomial (p-\-q)hr from that
in which the exponent of jo is m'-f/ to that in which the
exponent is m'—l. Now, when p and q are given apriori,
the chance of m' times E and n' times F in A' trials is P0;
and when p and q are only presumed from the results of
previous trials, the chance of the same combination is n;
and (100) n is less than P0 in the ratio of 1 to \ In
like manner, the chance of each of the other combinations
of E and F included in the integral © will be less in the
case ofp and q presumed, than in the case of p and q given,
in the same ratio of 1 to ^(1 -f-d). But it has been seen
(93) that when hi is a large number, the terms of the de-
velopement of (p -f- which are nearest the greatest term,
diminish at first very slowly ; and, further, that only a small
number of terms on each side of the greatest are required
to be taken, since l is less than m' or \/n’ (95) ; we may
therefore, without sensible error, assume 0 to be proportion¬
al to the number of terms included in the summation, or
that the value of © will not be changed if we include in the
summation a number of terms greater in proportion as the
value of each individual term is less. Hence it follows that
the limits must be increased in the ratio of ^/(1-j-d) to 1,
and the value of © corresponding to r will give the proba¬
bility that the number of events E, in A' future trials, will
be included between
^=t:^C2A'ra«(l+«)).
103. The following question may be proposed as an ex¬
ample of the application of the last formula. Out of a given
number A of individuals taken at the age A, it has been ob¬
served that m are alive at the age A-fa; required the pro¬
bability that out of A' other individuals taken at the same age
A the number who survive at the age A-fa will be includ¬
ed between m'z±zl, the ratio of m' to A' being the same as
that of m to A.
To solve this question, we have to find r from the
T
equation/z= ^ y/(2A/mw(l-f^)) ; and the corresponding
value of © in the table, will give the required probability.
From the table given in the article Mortality, vol. xv.
p. 555, it appears that out of 5642 individuals taken at the
age 30, the number surviving at the age 50, according to
the Carlisle Table, is 4397. Taking those numbers as an
example, we have A=5642, »i=4397, rc=1245 ; and as¬
suming also A'=5642, whence 6=1 and v/(l+^)=v/2,
the equation of the limits becomes /=r x 62,30, Let it be
proposed to determine l from the condition 0=1. In this
case the table gives t=’4769, and we have consequently
/i=29‘7. Hence it appears, that if it has been observed
that of 5642 individuals taken at the age of 30, 1245 die
before reaching the age of 50, it is an even wager that out of
5642 other individuals also taken at the age of 30, and sub¬
jected to the same chances of mortality, the number who die
before reaching the age of 50 will lie between 1245=±:30,
that is, between 1215 and 1275.
104. The following experiment recorded by Buffon, in
his Arithmetique Morale, affords an example of the ap¬
plication of the preceding formulae to the determination
of the probable existence of a physical cause from the
results of a large number of observations. A piece of
money was tossed 4040 times successively, and the result
was head 2048 times, and tail 1992 times. Supposing the
piece to have been perfectly symmetrical, the most pro¬
bable result would have been the same number of heads
and tails. Let it now be proposed to assign the probability
afforded by the experiment that the piece was not symme¬
trical, and that its form or physical structure was such as
to render head an event, a priori, more probable than tail.
In this case A=4040, »i=2048, w=1992; and by (102)
we have the probability R (or 0, neglecting the correc¬
tion) that p, the unknown chance of head, is comprised
, , m r /2m7i
between the limits — z±z - J .
A h* h
_ T m 2048
Now -T- = ——
A 4040
=.50693, and-^/-^—=r X .011124, therefore if we
assume r X .011124=.00693, we shall have the probability
© that p is comprised between the limits .50693=±=.00693,
that is, between two limits of which the least is .5, or one-
half. This assumption gives r=.00693-r-.011124=.623 ;
and the corresponding value of © is found from the table
=,62170. Now if p lie between the above limits, its value
is evidently greater than |; but the probability of its lying
between those limits is not the whole probability that p is
greater than ; for there is a chance of its exceeding the
greatest limit, in which case also its value will be greater
1 This inference, though admitted by both Laplace and Poisson, is not strictly correct. In a paper published in the Transactions of the
Cambridge Philosophical Societg, (vol vi. part iii.) Mr. De Morgan has shewn by a direct analysis that in the case of p and q not being
known apriori, but made equal to the observed ratios m-^h, n-i-h, the presumption of the true value ofp lying within the limits stated in
the text is not, as there inferred, 0 +  *   e ^ , but 0 —^ e T . The last correction to 0 is smaller than the
V (2*A/>g) Ghpq^/TT
former, and being divided by h. is of the order of quantities that have been rejected in the approximations. It is right to state that the
inethod of simplifying the calculation of R in the direct case, by taking the integral 0 between limits corresponding to instead of 4
is noticed, for the first time so far as we are aware, by Mr. De Morgan in the same paper.
PROBABILITY.
Probability than The probability that p i? not comprised between
^ the assumed limits is 1—.62170 =.37830 ; and if it is not
comprised between these limits, there is an equal chance of
its being greater than the greatest limit, or less than the least;
the probability of its exceeding the greatest limit is conse¬
quently 4 x .37830=.18915. Hence the whole probability
that p is greater than .5, or that the chance of head is
greater than that of tail is .62170 + .18915=.81085 ; and
the odds are therefore 81 to 19, or rather more than 4 to 1
that the piece was not perfectly symmetrical.
105. The formulae which have been demonstrated in the
present section are immediately applicable to the determina¬
tion of the probable limits of the gain or loss which may
arise from undertaking a great number of risks with a given
expectation in respect of each. The following question has
important practical applications. A is interested in a great
number of similar enterprises, in each of which E or F must
necessarily happen. When E happens he receives the sum
a, and when F happens he pays the sum /3; required the
probability that his gain or loss shall be comprised within
given limits ?
Let p be the chance of the event E, q that of F, and h
the number of enterprises. Suppose E happens m times,
and F n times ; the sum to be received will be ma, and the
sum to be paid will be ft/3, and therefore his gain will be
rna—np. Let m—hp, n=hq, then m times E and n times
F is the most probable result, and in this case the gain
ma—w/3 becomes A(o«—q$). Find r fronH+izzTV^/i/*/),
then (98) 0 is the probability that the number of occur¬
rences of E will lie between the limits hpz+zl. But if E
happens hp—l times, and consequently F hq+l times, the
corresponding benefit is (hp—/)a—(/^ + /)/3-/i(pa—^,3)—
7(a + /3) ; and if E happens hp-\-l times, and F hq—l times,
the benefit is (Ap + l)a—(hq—l)$=h(pa—q3) + /(« + /3) ;
whence © is the probability that his gain, that is, the diffe¬
rence between what he receives and what he pays, will be in¬
cluded within the limitsA(pa—9,3)=+=/(a + /3) both inclusive.
106. 1 he following conclusions follow immediately from
this solution.
(1) . If pa be greater than <p3, so that A has a mathema¬
tical advantage (however small) in each risk, the risk may
be repeated a sufficient number of times, or h may be taken
a sufficiently high number, to give a probability as nearly
equal to certainty as we please, that A’s gain shall exceed
any given sum, however great.
(2) . Let there be two players A and B, whose chances
of gaining a game are respectively p and q, and let /3 be
the sum staked upon each game by A, and a the sum staked
by B, then pa is the mathematical expectation of A in re¬
spect of a single game, and <7,3 that of B; and if pa be
greater than q'l (however small the difference) the game
may be repeated so often as to give rise to a probability
approaching as nearly to certainty as we please, that A’s
gain shall become equal to the whole of B’s capital, and,
consequently, that B will be ruined.
(3) . If the mathematical expectations of the two players
be equal, then pa—qP=0, and the most probable individual
result of a large number of games, is that the gains and losses
on either side shall be the same. But if l be supposed constant,
then r is inversely proportional to Vh, and consequently the
game may be repeated until 0, the probability that the
gain or loss /(a+ 3) shall be comprised within given limits,
shall become as small as we please. Hence 1—©, the pro¬
bability that the gain or loss shall not be comprised within
given limits, may be rendered as great as we please ; and it
follows that although the play may be on terms of perfect
equality, it may be continued until a probability shall be
obtained, approaching as nearly to certainty as we please,
that one of the two players shall be ruined.
(4) . The number of games which must be played, to
afford a given amount of probability that one of the parties
623
shall lose the whole of his fortune, depends on the macni- Probability
tude of the stakes (a+3) ; but whether the stakes be large v'—v—
or small, the final result is the same. When the stakes
are small, a greater number of games must be plaved.
107. As an example of this class of problems,'we may
take the fo lowing question: A and B engage in play
with equal chances of winning, and stake five sovereigns on
each game ; how many games must they undertake to play
in order that it may be two to one that one of them shall
lose at least 100 sovereigns?
Here/)=l q=j, a=5, P—5, and l (« + 3)r=100, whence
/=:10. d he equation/+l=rv/(2/^) therefore becomes
10-5:=7V(A-f.2), whence A=2 x (10-5)2-f-T2. Now, the
odds being 2 to 1 against the limits of the gain or loss
not exceeding 100, the probability e of the limits not ex¬
ceeding 100 is ^='33333, corresponding to which the
table gives by interpolation t=’30458 ; substituting which
in the above equation we find /<rr2376,8; so that if’2377games
are played, the odds are 2 to 1 that one of the players shall
have gained at least 10 games more than half that number,
and, consequently, that the other shall have gained at least 10
less than half, or that one of them shall have gained at least
20 games more than the other, and consequently have gain¬
ed at least 100 sovereigns.
It is to be carefully observed that this question supposes
the account between A and B not to be balanced until
2377 games have been played. If the condition of the play
had been that it should cease as soon as A or B should have
lost 100 sovereigns, the question would have been of an
entirely different kind, and a much smaller number of games
would have given the same probability of an equal loss.
108. The question just alluded to belongs to a class of
problems connected with the Duration of Play, of extreme
difficulty, and which have given rise to some of the most
abstruse and refined researches in the modern analysis. In
order to give an idea of the subject, we may take the fol¬
lowing question, which has been frequently considered.
A and B, whose chances of winning a game are respec¬
tively p and q, play on these terms: A has m counters, and
B has ft counters ; when A loses a game he gives a counter
to B, and when B loses a game he gives a counter to A,
and the play is to cease when one of them has lost all his
counters. What is the probability that the play, which
may go on for ever, shall be finished before more than h
games shall have been played.
To take a simple case, suppose each to have three coun¬
ters, and let the probability be required that the play shall
be concluded with or before the ninth game. As the play
cannot end with less than three games, let the binomial
(p-\-qY be developed, and the terms
p* + 3peq+Zpq* + q*
give the respective probabilities of all the cases which can
arise in three games. The first term is the probability of
A gaining all the three games, the last term is the proba¬
bility of B gaining them, and the sum of the remaining two
terms is the probability that neither will win all the games,
or the chance that a fourth will be played. Now, if the
fourth game be played, p is A’s chance of winning it, and
q B’s chance; but these chances will only exist in respect
of the fourth game, provided the play be not concluded with
the previous one, the probability of which is 3p-q + 3pq2.
Multiplying, therefore, 3p2q-\-3pq2 by p-\-q, the product
Sp3 9+6p2 q2 + 3pq 3
gives the respective probabilities of the different ways in
which the four games may be gained by A and B, except¬
ing the two ways in which the play would have terminated
with the third game. But the play cannot end in any of
these ways; for, taking the first term for example, if B
gains a counter before A gains three, the play cannot ter¬
minate until A gain back that counter, and three others
besides, so that five games must be played. In fact, it is
624
PROBABILITY.
Probability obvious that there is no way of gaining an odd number of
counters in an even number of games, or vice versa. The
last product therefore expresses the chance of the 5th game
being played ; and by reason ofp-fg=l it is equal to 3p‘q
-f- 3p92, the chance of the 4th being played, as it obviously
ought to be, since the play cannot terminate with the 4th.
Again, if the 5th game be played, p is A’s chance of gain¬
ing it, and q B’s chance of gaining it; multiplying there¬
fore the last product by p + q, the different terms of the
result, namely,
3p*q + 9p*q2 + V + 3F/*
give the respective probabilities of all the cases which can
arise by the 5th game. The first term is the probability of
A gaining 4 games and B gaining 1, and the last term is the
probability of B gaining 4 and A gaining 1. These
terms therefore are the probabilities of the play ending in
favour of A and B respectively with the 5th game, and the
sum of the other two terms is the probability that the play
will not terminate with the 5th game, or the chance of
another game being played.
By pursuing the same reasoning it will be evident that
on rejecting the two extreme terms of the above product,
and multiplying the remainder by p + q, there will result
the probabilities of the different ways in which six games
may be played without the one player gaining all the
counters of the other. But as the play cannot termimate
with the 6th game, multiply again by p+q, and the result
9p5q2 + 27j>4 q3 + 27p V +9pV
will indicate the probability of the different cases that can
arise out of the 7th game. Rejecting the two extreme
terms, which give the respective probabilities of the play
being concluded in favour of A or B, and multiplying the
remaining two first by p + q obtain the different proba¬
bilities in respect of the 8th game, and again by p + q, as the
play cannot terminate with the 8th, we have the product
27 p6q3 + 81 pY+ 81 pV + 27 P3q5>
of which the first and last terms give the respective chances
of A and B winning at the 9th game, and the sum of the
other two terms the probability that the play will not be
concluded by the 9th.
If we now collect the terms which have been set aside
in the successive products, and denote by a and b the
respective probabilities of A and B gaining at the 9th
game, or sooner, we shall have
a=p3 + 3piq + 9 p5q2 + 27 p6q\
b=cf + 3qlp + 9q5p2 + 27 q6p3,
where the law of the series is evident.
It is easy to see that this process may be applied
whatever be tbe number of counters which A and B have
at the commencement, and whatever be the number, h,
of games to which the play is limited. The general rule
is as follows: of the two numbers m and n, let m be that
which is not less than the other. Raise p + tl16 power
n, and reject the first term (which gives the chance of
A winning n games in succession), and also the last if
m—n. Multiply the remainder (A—ra) times in succession
by (p + q), rejecting at each multiplication the fiist or
last term of the product when it gives a combination which
would terminate the play in favour of A or B ; the sum
of the terms rejected from the left-hand side of the dif- Probability
ferent products gives the probability in favour of A, and yW
the sum of the terms rejected from the right-hand side the
probability in favour of B. As the coefficients of the suc¬
cessive products are obviously formed by adding the coeffici¬
ent of the corresponding term in the preceding product to
that of the term immediately before it, the products may
be written down at once without the trouble of multiplica¬
tion; but it is evident that when m, n, and A are large num¬
bers, it would be quite impracticable to sum the series
formed of the rejected terms by the ordinary methods.
From the manner in which the series are derived, they are
called recurring series; a general theory of which was first
given by Demoivre in his Doctrine of Chances, and forms
the most remarkable portion of that work.
109. The general problem is reduced to an equation of
finite differences as follows : Let y^t represent A’s expec¬
tation when x games have been played, and he has still t
counters to win, or B has t counters in his hand. If A gain
the next game the value of his expectation will become
f_i, and the chance of his gaining it isp; therefore
his expectation in respect of that event is p])x+\,t—\' On
the other hand, if A loses the next game his expectation
will become y,+ i,*+i, and the chance of losing it is <7;
therefore his expectation in respect of that event is g^x+i, t+i-
Hence, according to the principles laid down in (32),
y», t—pyx+i, t-\+qyx+i, t+i
a linear equation of finite differences, with three independ¬
ent variables. It is therefore on the integration of an equa¬
tion of this kind that the problem of the duration of play
ultimately depends, but the subject is of much too compli¬
cated a nature to admit of its being satisfactorily explained
in this place. We must therefore content ourselves with
referring the reader to the treatise on generating func¬
tions, which forms the first part of the Theorie Analytique
of Laplace.1
SECT. IX. OF THE MOST PROBABLE MEAN RESULTS OF NU¬
MEROUS DISCORDANT OBSERVATIONS, AND THE LIMITS OF
PROBABLE ERROR.
110. In the preceding section we have considered a
class of questions which apply to events depending on con¬
stant causes, and supposed to be of such a nature that they
necessarily happen or fail in each experiment, and have
given formulae by which approximate results can be ob¬
tained when the numbers involved are so large that they
cannot be conveniently treated, or cannot be treated at all,
by the ordinary methods of calculation. We come now to
a more difficult problem, namely, to investigate the pro¬
bable result of a large number of observations which have
reference not to the simple occurrence or failure of a cer¬
tain event, but to the magnitude of a thing, susceptible,
within certain limits, of a very great or an infinite number
of different values, equally or unequally probable, the
chance of any particular value being also supposed to vary
in each experiment. On account of its immediate applica¬
tion to the determination of the most probable values of
astronomical and physical elements from the results of ob¬
servation, this is, perhaps, in reference to practical utility,
the most important question in the theory.
111. Let A represent a thing of any sort (as a line, or
an angle, or a function of any quantity) which may have
■ Lagrange, in vo, i. of ihe
a general Inethod for ihe —aiion
and in the latter volume gives a number of examples of their use in the more comp <1 volume of the Berlin Memoirs for
which is the problem enunciated in (108). The subject was afterwards resumed by Lagrange ^ the voluiriejOf^e ^ ^
1775, where he has given a more direct method than that of Laplace, or t le in egra 10 . , „enerai solution of the prob-
applied it to the solution of the principal problems proposed in the works of Montmor an em • /Lvons 1802.)
lem in the text is given by Ampere in a Tract entitled Considerations sur la Theorie 1 a lerna ique c , >
P R O B A
Probability every possible value within given limits, or which may
be constant in itself, but of such a nature that its real mag¬
nitude can only be observed within certain limits of accu¬
racy, and suppose a great number of observations to be
made. The object is, in the first place, to assign the pro¬
bability that the sum of the observed values shall fall within
given limits, supposing the chances of the different values
of A to be known a priori ; and, in the second place, when
the law of the chances is unknown, to determine from the
observations themselves the most probable mean value of
A, and also the limits within which there is a given amount
of probability that the difference between such mean value,
and the true but unknown value of A, shall be contained.
112. Let a and b be the limits of the possible values of
A, x a value of A between a and b, and P the probability
that the sum of the values of A given by h observations
will be s exactly, s being a given quantity between ha
and hb. Assume the values of A to be equidifferent, and
multiples of a certain constant e, and make
ae=a, fif—b, (Tf=S, if~X,
where a, /3, and o- are whole numbers (which may be posi¬
tive or negative), and i is also a whole number proportional
to x, and varying between the limits i=a, and i=p, and
which, therefore, may be positive or negative, or zero. If
the different values of A are supposed to be equally proba¬
ble, the chance of obtaining any given one of them, as x,
in a single trial is unit divided by the number of possible
values, or equal to l-r-(j3—a+1) ; and if we assume an
indeterminate quantity w, then (20) the number of combi¬
nations which give the sum of h values of A equal to o-e is
the coefficient of that term of the multinomial
(wa + w®"1'1 + wa+2 -f- w^y\
(or of the developement of (Sw')* from i=a to i=0) in
which the exponent of w is o-; and consequently the pro¬
bability P that the sum of the values of A will be s ex¬
actly is that coefficient divided by (/3—a-f 1)\
113. If the chances of the different values of A are un¬
equal, and also vary in each trial, let jrq be the probability
of the observed value of A being x in the first trial, p2 the
probability of its being x in the second, p3 that of its being
x in the third, and so on. Now when h=l, or when there
is only a single trial, then s=x=u, and we have Pzrp1.
If Az=2, then, assuming ie to be the value of A in the first
trial, and i'e its value in the second, (i and i1 being any two
numbers between a and /3), the two observations may give
the sum of the two values equal to <re in as many different
ways as it is possible to satisfy the equation i-\-i'=cr‘, and
consequently, according to the theory of combinations, P is
the coefficient of that term of the product (arranged ac¬
cording to the powers of w) of the two series represented
by SpjW*5 and 2/?2w'5, in which the exponent of w is equal
to o-e. In like manner, if /<z=3, then the sum of the ob¬
served values of A may be equal to o-e in as many different
wayS as the equation i-|- i* i"—<r admits of different so¬
lutions, and consequently P is the coefficient of the term of
the developement of the product 'Zppv1* . ’2pQv)'‘ . 2/>5?eu,
in which the exponent of w is equal to o-e. Generally, when
the number of observations is A, the probability P of the
sum of the observed values of A being s, or o-e, exactly, is
the coefficient of vf1 in the developement of the product
. ^p2wli • ^p3wli 
the sums 2 including all values of i from i—a to «=/3.
Assume being the base of the Napierean
logarithms), and let the above product be denoted by X.
We shall then have
VOL. XVIII.
BILITY. _ 625
X=2/>1e1^-1 . . 2p5e6^~l , Probability
Now since P is the coefficient of the term of the develope-
ment of this product which contains the factor if
we conceive the developement effected we shall have ’
X-p^V=r + pvv^r+ &c>
a series in which all the terms are of the same form. Mul¬
tiplying both sides of the equation by e—we get
Xe P+P/e<y—+ &c>
Now by a well known theorem in trigonometry, (Algebra,
art. 269), e^r 1 = cos (o-'——1 sin (o--o-)0;
substituting therefore this value, and multiplying by dO,
the equation becomes
Xe-^ V-1 dk=V(ti+V [cos (<r'_ir)(>+v/HI sill(/ <r)^] d6+ &c.
The factor which multiplies P' in this equation will evi¬
dently become zero when integrated from 6——tt to 6=-\-n,
(tt being the semicircumference to radius 1), the positive
and negative elements of the integral being equal, and con¬
sequently destroying each other. The same thing also
takes place with respect to the following terms, which are
all of the same form. Integrating therefore between those
limits, and observing that Jd6=Zn, we find
p=±/_>-^,
114. This value of P denotes the infinitely small chance
that the sum of the values of A in A trials will be s exactly.
Let n and v be two integer numbers between ha and A/3,
and let Q, denote the probability that s will be comprised
between the two limits /ne and re, (these limits being in¬
cluded between ha and hb) ; then Q, will be found by sub¬
stituting successively n, /z-f 1, /*-}-2,...v for o- in the above
value of P, and taking the sum of all the resulting terms.
This substitution gives the following series multiplied by X
under the sign of integration :
e—(t0 £>—0“+ L , e—C“+2) .. .p e“ ^
On multiplying the series now found by —e ^ —l
(=2^-1 sin id), all the terms of the product, excepting
the first and the last, destroy each other, and the sum of
the terms becomes simply
e—O—.
therefore on making the substitution, and performing the
multiplication now indicated, and dividing by 2,^/—1 sin^d,
we obtain for the value of Q the equation Q—
_1 
4_sr a/—1
—_e—(V+D V-i 1
e J sin £4
115. In order to simplify the expression for Q, let the
number of possible values of A within the given limits be
conceived to be infinite, in which case the constant e be¬
comes infinitely small, and therefore, since the limits are
finite, /z and r infinitely great. Let the following substi¬
tutions also be made:
pe—yfs—5, 8, 6—eZ,
8 being positive in order that r may be greater than fz,
agreeably to what has already been assumed. On substitut¬
ing these expressions in the above equation, the limits of
the new variable 2 will be infinity; for e having been
supposed infinitely small, z must become infinitely great
when d=7r. Now since /x and r are infinitely great, /x—|
and v-f | become sensibly /x and i>, whence we have
4 x
-
626
Probability (^—|) VZr_e-(,+ i)^=r_e~^ (
PROBABILITY.
e - -—e ' -=e T-
=e—^/Z2s/—l sin 8z. Again, by reason of 0=ez, we have
d6=fdz ; and e being infinitely small, 6 must be a very
small arc, therefore ^6 may be taken for sin whence
dd-i- sin \6=2dz-±-z. By means ot these transformations
the expression for Q, becomes
o=i- r+a>
nj —o
Xe’
-'I'ZsJ-
-l • ^ dz
sin 8z . —,
and denotes the probability that the sum of the /i values of
A will lie between y/sz+zd.
116. It is now necessary to assign a value to the product
denoted by X. Since the number of possible values of A
between a and 6 has been supposed infinite, the chance of
obtaining any given one of them, as x, in a single trial, is
infinitely small. Assuming this chance to be a function
of x, and to vary in the different trials, let it be represented
by (pnx in respect of the nth trial. In order to preserve
continuity in the values of A, this must be understood as
signifying that cf)nxdx is the infinitely small chance that the
value of A given by the nth observation will lie between
x and x-{-dx. The function therefore, represents the
lenv of the facility of the different values of A. It is posi¬
tive for all values of x between a and b, and vanishes for
all values of x less than a or greater than b ; and it is im¬
portant to remark, that whatever number n may be, the
integral f(pnxdx taken from x~a to x—b is always equal to
unity; for since every observation gives a value of A be¬
tween a and b, the sum of all the probabilities in respect
of each observation must be unity or certainty. From this
assumption, then, we have <t>1xdx=p1, cj)exdx=p2 
(phxdx=ph, whence the sums 1.pnj^ —1 (113) are changed
into definite integrals ; and therefore, since 8=ez, x=ie,
and consequently i6—xz, we obtain for the value of X,
X= fez**1 ~x fy^xdx.J'ezx §,,xdx....J—v (pycdx,
the limits of the integrals being x=a and x—b.
By reason of ezx^ — cos z#+y'—1 sin zx, each of
these integrals may be expressed in terms of the cosine and
sine of zx. The «th, for instance, becomes f cos zx.dx
+ y/—1 f(pnx sin zx.dx. Now since f (pndx— 1, (from x~a
to x=b), and can have only positive values, each of
the integrals is less than 1 ; whence we may assume
A- x cos zx.dx — R„ cos r„; f ?n x sin zx.dx = R„ sin r„ ;
R„ being a positive quantity, and rn an angle having al¬
ways a real value. This gives
1 <fiflxdx=:Tln(cos rn—y'—1 sin rn)=R„ern V-1 ;
whence substituting successively for n the numbers
1, 2, 3...^, and for the sake of brevity making
YrrRj X R2 X R3 xRA,
yzzr1+ra+rs +rA,
we get XzzYe^^-1; and the expression for Q becomes
r . _ dz
negative, while Y is positive in all cases, since R„ is always Probability
positive. Hence cos (y—yfsz) is always positive, and the ele-
ments of the first of the above integrals having thus the same
value and the same sign for the same value of z, whether z
be positive or negative, the value of the integral from— oo
to -+■ oo is the double of its value from 0 to oo . On the
other hand, since y and z have both the same sign,
sin (y—fz) is positive or negative according as z is positive
or negative, and the elements of the integral into which it
enters being equal for —z and -\-z, but having contrary
signs, destroy each other, and the integral from x=—oo to
to xz= -|- oo vanishes. The expression for Q, is therefore
transformed into
2 Z00 dz
Q=- / Y cos (y—yp^z) sin 8z. —.
TT.J O Z
118. The formula now found cannot in general be integrat¬
ed by any of the known methods, but in the present case the
quantities denoted by Y and y are such that an approxi¬
mate value of Q, may be obtained, which will always be
more nearly equal to the true value as h, the number of
observations, is increased. On adding the squares of the
two quantities represented by R„ cos rn and R„ sin r, we
get
hif={f(j)nx cos zx.dx)2 + (fcf)nx sin zx.dx)2.
If z—0, this becomes H^fc^^dx, whence by (116), R„rrl.
When z has a real value, then it may be shewn that R„
is less than 1 ; for let x' be any value of A different from
x, then as x' can only vary from as a to b, we have obviously,
fhix> cos zx'.dx'—f<pnx cos zx.dx, cm&.f$nx' sin zx'.dx'=f<pnx sin zx.dx,
and the above equation may be put under this form,
R2n=y"?nar cos zx.dx-ffnX coszx'dx1 +ffnx sin zx.dx.f<pnx‘ sin zx' dx,
whence
Rs„=Jf<pnx(f>nx' cos z(x—x')dxdx'.
Now, excepting the case in which z=0, this double
integral is always less than Jf<pnx(f)nx'dxdx', or less than
(f4>„xdx)2, and consequently R„ is less than fpnxdx, that
is, less than unity. Since, then, it has been shewn that
R„ is equal to unity when z—0, and less than unity for ail
other values of z, and since Y is a quantity of the order R„*,
it follows that Y must diminish with great rapidity when z,
or its equal 6~e differs sensibly from 0, and even for very small
values of z becomes insensible when A is a large number.
 ^j2
We may therefore assume Y=e , an expression which
is equal to unity when #=0, and diminishes rapidly as 6 is in¬
creased, and becomes zero when 8 is infinite.
119. For the sake of abridging let us assume
hn—fx8pnxdx, It’n-fx-c^jpcdx, h" —fx*§nxdx, &c.
(the integrals in respect of x being always from xzza to
x—b). From known formulae we have
Z2 X2 z^x4* „ . Z3x5 „
cos zx—\  —!--—-—7—!xc.;sinzx=zx—77—^+&c.;
2
2.3.4
2.3
Q- A />+co Ye(y-^ V-1 sin 8z .
IT J 00 Z
117. The integral in this last expression is equivalent to
two others, namely
Jycos(y-y\rz)sinSz. A —1Jysin(y-y/sz)sin8z.~.
Now, on attending to the nature of the quantities repre¬
sented by Y and y, it will be manifest that according as z is
positive or negative, r„, and consequently y is positive or
substituting these series for cos zx and sin zx in the inte¬
grals fpnx cos zx.dx and f j>nx sin zx.dx, and also kn, k'n, k"n.
Sec., for the values they have now been assumed to repre¬
sent, then, from (116) we have
Rn cos r„z= 1— A k'n + A_. A"'„— &c.
R„ sin r—zkn
2.3
A"„4- &c.
and it will be seen presently that all the terms involving
higher powers of z than the cube may be neglected. Add¬
ing together the squares of these two equations, we get
Rn2=l—z2(k’n—k2n) +z4f—&c.; whence
E.=I—(i'„—S2„) +z‘f-&c.,
Probability/ being independent of z. On dividing the second by the
there results tan rn—zkn—n-\-\z7>knk'n—&c.;
whence by reason of rn— tan rn—\ tan3r„+ &c.,
rn-=zzkn—\z3 (/d^—3An^n + 2^3) + &c.
If, therefore, we make
*2«)> 9n-\zz(7d"n—3^',,+2/i,,3),
the values of R„ and rn become respectively
R„=l—2:2c„+z4/— &c.; rn—zkn—z*gn+ &c.
Now, by hypothesis (116) Y = R1xR2xR3 R* ;
therefore log Y=S log R„=2log (1—z^c^z^f— &c.)=
-2 {z2cn—zi(fr—^c„)— &c.] (by reason of the formula
PROBABILITY.
Q=? /'”
njo
d&
•/(he)
627
Probability
log R„=R„-
(117) Y = e
y2
&c.
1-
5(R„—1 )2 + &c.) But we have also assumed
hence log Y=—62, and consequently
62='z\z2cn—z4 (/ —|c„)— &c.} In like manner, since
y—rt +r2 -f r3 \-rh =SrB, therefore y=-1zkn—2z3^„-f-
Now, the sums 2 include all values of c„, kn, gn, from
n=\ to n=h; let the mean values of those quantities,
therefore, be denoted by c, k, g, that is to say, let
Y.cn=hc, lkn—hk, '2gH-=hg,
and make also hf"=2(f'—±cn), and we have 62—z2hc—
zihf"+ See. By reverting the series the value of z is found
/"03
in terms of 6; namely z=
+
-f1 Sec.
•/ (lie) ~1_ '2hc1A//ic)
But the second term of this series, being divided by
and h being by supposition a large number, is very small in
comparison of the first, and may be neglected as insen¬
sible. All the succeeding terms of the series are divided
by higher powers of h, and may therefore be rejected a for¬
tiori. Confining the approximation, therefore, to terms of
the order \^->/h, and rejecting all those into which h or
its powers enters as a divisor, we have z—t—tf^hc), and
likewise dz-r-z=dQ-±-d.
From (116) we have also y==2rn—z'Lkn—z3 ~Zgn See.,
therefore in consequence of the above transformations, y—
zhk—z5hg-{- Sec.; and on substituting for z its value just
found in terms of 6, y=ki•/fk-^-c)—gd3s-c(he), and
consequently^—\|/z: = (M—■f)d-r-\/(hc)—gQz ~-ci/ fhc).
In order to deduce from this an expression for cos (y—yjsz),
let u and v denote any two arcs, then by trigonometry,
cos (u—v)—cos u cos vf- sin u sin v. Suppose v to be small,
and let its cosine and sine be developed in series and sub¬
stituted in this equation ; it will become
•
cos (w—r)=cos « cos u+ &c. -4-v sin m sin m-(- &c.
v 1.2 8.3
which is the probability that the sum of the observed va-
lues of A will fall between hh~x
121. The last step in this investigation is to reduce the
integral now found to a known form, which may be accom¬
plished as follows: Let m be a new variable, then by means
of the trigonometrical formula cos Jt^e~u,/-'\
fe~'\os u6M=\Je~‘'+H
= -i“!-(«-!»assume
therefore, v—Q  iV=i (whence dv — d6), then
W hen ^rzO, then v — —1, and when 6 is infinite,
v is infinite; therefore, if the integral in respect of 6 be
taken from 0=0 to 0 = oo, the integral in respect ofmust
be taken from v — —^ \ to v= oq.
If we now suppose u to be negative, we shall have in like
manner \ ~ld6 = ' dv, the limits in
this case being from v = to v = oo. Hence
Je~^ cos u6.de — \e~^2 {.f e~v~dvJrJe~ * dv).
But the sum of the two integrals on the right-hand side of
this equation, the first being taken from v = —\u^ j
to infinity, and the second from ?; = -f ,J~\ to infinity,
is obviously the double of J'e~v2dv from t;=0 to v — oo, or
(96) equal to a/tt ; and we have therefore
/OO
Jo *
—jM2
cos u6.d6=\*fK.e
Let both sides of the equation be multiplied by dsn, and
integrated from u=Q to u=d-~\/(hc)=u'; then observ¬
ing that/’cos (u6)d6= sin (u6)-r-6, we shall have
—iui
du.
.t .80 d6 . /*«'
J. ‘ '
Comparing this equation with that in (110), we find
Q=( 1 -r- •/e~*u2du. Now, let u=s2t, and let r be what/
becomes when u—u’=8-7-4/(he); then lu2 =t2, du=2dt,
8-7-</(hc)=2T, or 8=2r\/(hc), and we have, finally,
whence, making u=(Jik—^)6~\/(hc), v=g6?i -±-ca/(he),
and rejecting as before terms of the order 1 -=-/i, we have
cos(?/-\!/z)=cos J (hk—4-) — 1 -)—7—r-r sin / (hk——-— 1.
c^(/,c) /(he) L
If we now substitute the values of Y, z, dz, cos (y—tfrz)
found in the last three paragraphs in the value of Q, (117)
we obtain the following expression in which the largest
terms omitted are of the order l-i-h, and which therefore
is more accurate as h is a higher number, viz.
7T 0
a? rx -1
ire*/(he) Jo
( /7, . A 0 ) . 50 dd
86 „
120. As no restriction has yet been made with respect to
the value of excepting that it is a mean between /xeand re,
and therefore included between ha and hh (115), let us
now assume This gives cos(hk—\fs)=l, and sin
(hh-^)—0; and the equation becomes
2 r‘r & 2 z*40
Q= — /. e dt, or, Q= 1   — / e^dt,
V vjo *
for the probability that s, the sum of the observed values of
A, will be comprised between the limits ^—8 and
that is, between/<Azqf=:2rv'(Ac); or, that the arithmetical mean
of all the observations, namely s-j-h, will lie between
kz+z2rA/(c-i-h).
122. The expression now found for Q. is that which in
(96) was denoted by 0, and of which the table gives the
values corresponding to the different values of r. The ge¬
neral result of the investigation is, therefore, that whatever
be the nature of the function <pnx which represents the law
of the facility of the different values of A, if a large num¬
ber of observations be made, the sum of the values of A,
divided by the number of observations, approaches continu¬
ally to a certain special quantity k (which is the true mean
value of A) as the number of observations is increased, and
that by multiplying the number of observations, a probabi¬
lity 0 may always be obtained, approaching as nearly to cer¬
tainty as we please, that the difference between the arith-
628
PROBABILITY.
Probability metical mean or average of the observations and the true
mean value of A, will be comprised within limits which may
be made as small as we please.
The analysis employed in the preceding articles, (113
to 121), for the purpose of establishing this very impor¬
tant result, belongs to Poisson, and is given in nearly the
same form in the Recherches sur la Probabilite des Juge-
ments, chap, iv., and in the Additions to the Connaissance
des Terns for 1832. We have preferred it to the method
followed by Laplace in the Theorie Analytique, as being
somewhat simpler and also more general.
123. In order that the limits 2iV(Ac) may be real, it is
necessary that the special quantity c be positive, a condition
which has hitherto been assumed. Now, since c='Zcn-^-h,
it is obvious that c will be positive cn=^{krn—A-„) be po¬
sitive. On writing for k’n and kn their values (119) we have
2cn=fP(pnxdx—(fx$nxdxy,
the limits of the integrals being always from x=a to x=b.
But it is evident that no change will be made in the values
of these definite integrals (the limits continuing the same),
by substituting in them any other of the possible values of
A, as x We have therefore fx'<pnx'dx'=fx(pnxdx, and since
ir aL uases f (j)nx'dx'=l, the above equation may be other¬
wise written
2cn==fx'2c{>nxdxf<j>ux'dx'—fxQ,xdx fx’(pnx'dx,
whence 2cn=Jfq>nxq)nx'{x2—xx')dxdx',
or 2c,l==/f<p,lx(})nx'(x"i—x'x)dxdx'.
Adding together the two last equations, there results
4c„=(fpnx(p'nx'(x—x')2dxdx',
a quantity which is necessarily positive, and can never be
zero so long as x can have different values.
124. The special quantity k to which the average of the
values of A continually approaches, is connected with the
centre of gravity of the area of a curve by the following rela¬
tion. Let x and?/be the co-ordinates of a curve, of which the
equation is ?/=0nj;; then the element of the area is <pnxdx.
But (116) <pnxdx is the infinitely small probability that the
value of A in the «th observation will lie between x and
x dx; therefore the element of the area of the curve
represents this probability, and the curve itself represents
the law of the probability of the different values of A in re¬
spect of the «th trial. In like manner, the curve whose co¬
ordinates are a; and (l-T-/i)2<p„.r, represents the law of the mean
probability of A in respect of the whole series of observa¬
tions. Now, if X! be the absciss of the centre of gravity of
any curve whose co-ordinates are x and y, the well known
formula of mechanics gives x j =Jyxdx -^fydx ; therefore,
applying this formula to the curve of the mean probability,
and making the whole area {fydx from x=a to x=b)=\,
the absciss of the centre of gravity is xl=(\-±-}i)'Zfxq>nxdx.
But this is the quantity denoted by A (119); hence the spe¬
cial quantity to which the average of a large number of ob¬
servations indefinitely approaches is the absciss of the cen¬
tre of gravity of the area of the curve which represents the
law of the mean chances of A.
125. It has been assumed in the foregoing analysis that
A is susceptible of an infinite number of values, increasing
continuously from a to b. The results, however, are easily
adapted to those cases in which the number of possible va¬
lues of A is finite. Suppose A to be a thing susceptible of
only X different values, represented by av a2, a5 aA,
and let the chances of these values, which may be different
in the different trials, be respectively y1, y2> y5 y*
in respect of the nth trial. Now, suppose <pnx to be a dis¬
continuous function, which vanishes for all values of x, of
which the difference from one or other of the above values
of A exceeds an infinitely small quantity e; then the whole
integral from x=a to x—b, will be made up of a
series of X partial integrals J<pnxdx taken between the limits
at-=±ie, the sum of which will be unity, since one or other of Probability
the values of A must necessarily be given by the trial. But
the integral f<pnxdx between the limits is the expres¬
sion of the chance that the value of A given in the nth trial
will lie between a^A-e ; whence for those limits/<pn.rc/.r=y(.
Now the difference x—a, must be infinitely small, since it
cannot exceed e; we may therefore substitute a, for x, and
a2 for x2 under the sign of integration, when the limits are
atr±Zf, so that for those limits we \\aMeJz<pnxdx=a{f<pnxdx=
yflr On writing for i all the different numbers 1, 2, 3 X,
and observing that the X partial integrals thus formed make
up the whole integral fxQnxdx from x=a to x=b, and that
therefore their sum is kn, we have, in respect of the nth
trial,
kn-y, a, +y2«2 +y3a5 +7xax.
In like manner, for k'n-=fx2cpnxdx (from a to b), we have
^'n=yiai2+y2a22+y3a32 Jtyxax"5
so that the two special quantities k and k' become
k =(\-T-h)'z(ylax -fy2«2 +V3a3  A-yxax )>
k'=(\-—h)'Z{y-lLay +y2«22 +y3a32 + yxax“)’
the sums 2 extending to all the h values of n, or to all the
trials, the chances denoted by y1, y2, &c. being supposed
to vary in the different trials.
126. When the chances of the different values of A are
equal and constant, then y,= 1 -^X, and the above values of A
and become
A ^(l-f-X)^ A‘aQ +fl3  
^'=(l-i-X)(a1a + o2z + «32 +V)>
eo that k is the arithmetical mean of the possible values of
A, and k' the mean of the squares of those values. On this
hypothesis, therefore, k and k' may be computed a priori,
and consequently the limits determined within which there
is a given probability 0 that the average of h observations
will fall, the limits being y'(c-i-h), where c—^(k'—k2).
When the chances of the different values of A are un¬
equal, but constant in the different trials, then k—kM and
k'—k'n, and we have
k =y1al +y2«2 +V3a3  +yxa^
k'zzy^y -j-y2a22 +ysa32 + Va/V1*
In this case the special quantity k to which the average of the
observed values continually approaches, is the sum of the
possible values, each multiplied into its respective proba¬
bility; and k' is the sum of the products of the squares of
those values into their respective probabilities.
127. Resuming the consideration of the general formula
in (121), we shall now give an example of its application
when the function which represents the law of facility
of the different values of A is supposed to be known a
priori.
Of all the hypotheses which may be made respecting the
law of facility, the simplest is that which supposes the
chances of all the possible values of the thing observed to
be equal, and to remain constant during the series of trials.
This supposes (pnxzz<px—x constant; whence be¬
tween the limits xz=.a and xz=.b, becomes (b—a) <px. But
between those limits we have also f$xdx=z \ ; therefore
q>x—\-?-(b—a). From this value of (px it is easy to deduce
the special quantities k and k'. On the present hypothesis
k—kn and k'—k'n; therefore, the limits of the integral being
f*xdx b2—a2
x—a and x—b, we have h=fx<pxdx-= J ■ ^ a~2(h ~a)—
i(6 -j- a), whence h?=\(b-\- a)2. In like manner k'—fx2(pxdx
becomes /L =|-(i2_j-ia-j-a2) ; whence c=\(k ^ )
PROBABILITY.
Probability =4(£2-f 6a + a2)—|(Z»4-a)2. Hence by (121) we have
^ the probability © that the average value of A given by h
observations, or the sum of the values of A divided by their
number, will lie between
i (H «) =?= 2 r W <K&2 + 6 a + a2)—1(6 + a) 2 }-iVA.
128. This formula may be applied to the following ques¬
tion. Of the comets which have been observed since the
year 240 of our era, the parabolic elements of 138 have
been computed, and the mean inclination of their orbits to the
ecliptic is found to be 48° 55'. Now, supposing every possi¬
ble inclination of an orbit to be equally probable, let the
probability be demanded that the mean inclination of 138
orbits will not differ from 45° (the mean of the possible in¬
clinations) more than 5° in excess or defect.
In this case the limits of the possible values of the phe¬
nomenon are 0 and 90°. We have therefore a=0, 6=90°,
A=138, and the above limits of the error of the average,
become 45° r x 90°\/(6 X 138). In order that
the limits may not exceed 5°, we have to determine t from
the equation r X 90° -r-'V^G X 138) = 5°, which gives
t=!V23 ; whence t==1,6 very nearly. The tabular value
of 0 corresponding to r=l-6 is ^TGSS, or nearly ; and
the odds are therefore 41 to 1 that on the supposition of all
inclinations being equally probable, the mean inclination of
138 comets would fall between 45°z^:50, that is, between
40° and 50°. The mean of the inclinations actually com¬
puted falls within those limits (being 48° 45/) ; there is
therefore a very great probability that whatever may be
the nature of the unknown causes which determine the
positions of the cometary orbits, it is not such as to render
different inclinations unequally probable.
If the question had been to assign the limits withinwhich
it is as probable that the mean of the inclinations will fall
as not, we should have had 0=^, and consequently (from
the table) tz=*476936, and the limits would have been
45ozhp90° x ■476936-i-V(6 X 138), which is found on cal¬
culation to be 45°=pil0’5. On the supposition, therefore,
that ai1 inclinations are equally probable, it is one to one
that the mean of 138 inclinations will fall between 43^° and
and 46^°, or at least not exceed those limits.
129. On the same hypothesis of an equal probability of
all possible values, if we suppose the mean value of A to be
0, we have then a=—b, and <px becomes l-j-2a, whence
the limits corresponding to a given value of 0 (127) become
0=+z2rb ; V(6h). Let 0=^, whence t=’476936, and
suppose A=600. With these values the limits become
0=p-0l6Z» nearly ; that is to say, it is an even wager that
the average of 600 observations will not differ from the
true mean value of A more than the sixteen-thousandth part
of a or b, what is the greatest possible difference.
130. As a second hypothesis, suppose the chance of a
given value of A to decrease uniformly as the magnitude in¬
creases from 0 to rti a ; then <px will be found as follows :
Let <px=l3 when a=0 ; we have then by the hypothesis
<px:l3=(a—x) : a, whence <px—(a—x)ft-i-a, and conse¬
quently —/&c2-r-2a, which, from #=0 to x=z-\-a,
becomes ^/3a. But ftyxdx from x='—a to xz=.-\-a is 1
(errors beyond those limits being supposed impossible),
therefore from #=0 to X— + a, fcpxdxzz:^, and consequently
^/3a=:^, or/3—1-i-a. Hence cf)X=(a—x^a1, from which the
value ~of c is easily deduced, that of k being 0, as in the
former case.
131. Although the function $x which represents the law
of facility of the different values of A is in general unknown,
its form may be assigned if we assume that it is subject
to certain conditions, which, from the nature. of the
thing, must be very nearly, if not absolutely true, in most
practical cases: 1st, That the chance of an error dimi¬
nishes as the magnitude of the error increases, and for er¬
rors beyond a certain limit vanishes altogether ; and, 2d,
that positive and negative errors, of equal magnitude, are
629
equally probable. The last condition is equivalent to the Probability
assumption that the average of the observed values is the ^ nr -■ y
true mean value. For simplification, we suppose the chance
of an error of a given magnitude to remain constant in all the
trials.
132. Let x, x, x", &c. be a series of values of A, the sum
of which is s, and the number h, and make m—s-t-h, then
m is the arithmetical mean or average, which by hypothesis
is the true value of the phenomenon A. Let a; m=A
x wi ~ A , x —tn~ , &c., so that A, A//, &c. are the
errors of x, x', x", &c. Now, the most probable single e» -
ror is 0 ; and the probability of obtaining an error of a given
magnitude A in any observation is obviously the same as
that of obtaining a given value of x; therefore <px=z
<p(x—m)z=(pA; so that <pA is the probability of a single error
being exactly A. In like manner, the probability of an error
ror =:A' is (pA7; and if we take P to denote the probability
of a given system of errors, A, a', a", &c., then the errors
being supposed independent of each other, we have (7)
P=ipA . <pA' . <pA", &C.
Let this system be assumed to be the most probable result
of the observations, then P is a maximum, and its differen¬
tial co-efficient zero. Taking the logarithms of both sides
of the equation,differentiating,andmakingJlog.^Arzip'ArfA,
and dP~dAz=.0, we obtain
0=<p'A + <p'A' + <p'A"-{; &c.,
an equation which may be otherwise written
<P A O'A' <P'A"
0=iV+i'^+i'V+'&c'
This is the conditional equation of the most probable sys¬
tem of errors. But the hypothesis of the average being
the true value, furnishes this other equation,
0=(a:—m) -f (a/—m) -f- (x"—to) -f, &c.
or, which is the same, 0=A + A/“f-A" + , &c.; and on com¬
paring this with the above conditional equation, it is evi¬
dent that they can only be both true simultaneously on the
<p'A"
<p'A <p'A'
supposition ot —
&c. Hence it follows
that is independent of any particular value of A, or
is equal to a constant, which we shall call K. We have then
<p'A d. log. <pA
Ad A
■=K.
The integral of this expression is log. <pA=4KA2-j- const.,
which, making the last constant = log. H, and passing to num¬
bers, gives <pA=H<^KAa. It now only remains to deter¬
mine the two constants H and K. With respect to K, as
we suppose the most probable value of A to be 0, and that
<pA diminishes as A increases, it is obvious that K must be
negative. Assume = —y, and the formula becomes
<pA=He—For the determination of H we have the
equation ftp Ad A— 1, the limits of the integral being ■—a' and
+ a', where a'=±(b—a), a and b being the limiting values
of x. But it is to be observed, that as all values of A ex¬
ceeding the limits ’xtz a' are supposed to be impossible, or
at least to be so improbable that it is unnecessary to take
account of them, the value of the integral fpAdA from
A= a' to A= + «/ will not be altered by extending the
limits from — infinity to infinity. We have therefore
y*+C0<pAc?A=l. Let A=*-7-v/y> then dA=dt-?-t/v, and
(pA=He—y^s=He~**, on substituting which in the las
equation, and observing that from * = —oo to *= + oo
we have fe~t2dtz=\/n (96), we find (H-^VyV^=l> and
Whence, finally, cpA=4/(y-r-n)e~'y ’.
133. The general properties of the function now found
630
PROBABILITY.
Probability may be illustrated by means of a curve line. Let aNb be
a curve of which <pA is the ordinate corresponding to the
absciss A. Let AB be its axis, and MN its greatest ordi¬
nate. Suppose the origin to be placed at M, draw PQ. an
ordinate at any point P, and pq indefinitely near to PQ, and
make MA——a', MP=A, andPQ=ipA; then
as was shewn in (124), PQ^p, the element of the area, repre¬
sents the chance of an error Ij'ing between A and A-j-c?A, that
is,of an error greater than MP but less than Mp. Now, if<pA=
^ (y_^_7r)e—function will not be changed by chang¬
ing A into —A ; therefore <pA =<p(—A), and the curve is
symmetrical on both sides of MN, as it obviously ought to be
according to the hypothesis ; for on making MP^MP, then
positive and negative errors of equal magnitude being equally
probable, we must have P/Q'=PQ. Again, since e—
diminishes rapidly as A increases, the curve at a short dis¬
tance from MN must approach very near to its axis AB;
but as the function only vanishes when A is infinite, the curve
will not meet the axis at any finite distance from MN. This
curve, therefore, can only represent approximately the law of
facility, inasmuch as it is supposed that errors beyond a cer¬
tain limit are impossible ; but on account of the rapid dimi¬
nution of the ordinate at a short distance from MN, the
chance of an error exceeding a small value of A, as MB,
becomes insensible. Hence the limits of the integrals in
respect of A may be extended without sensibly altering their
values from Artra' to A==±=go .
134. It is now necessary to find the special quantities k,
k', and c. Substituting A for x, and observing that as the
law ofthe chances is here supposed to remain constant, we have
k=kn, k'=k'n, the formulae in (119) become ?t=J‘AQAdA,
k'=f A2<pAdA. Hence onmaking<pA=^/(y-f-7r)e—
have
we
-yA5
_*A2
of the instrument and the skill of the observer. This con- Probability
stant is called by Laplace tbe modulus of the law of facility. 's—
It cannot, in general, be assigned a priori; but if we assume
that positive and negative departures from the mean are
alike probable, which is the most plausible hypothesis the
nature of the thing admits of, an approximation to its value,
in respect of observations of a given kind, may be deduced
with great probability from the results of a large series of
observations of the same kind already made. We now pro¬
ceed to give the analysis by which this is accomplished, fol¬
lowing the method ofPoisson. The approximation is carried
only to quantities of the order l~\/h; terms having A for
a divisor are neglected on account of their smallness, A
being supposed a large number.
136. In the expression for Q, in (119), suppose \|/-=S,
and consequently ^—S=0, ^ + 8=28, and write also z for
d-i-«v/(Ac) ; the equation then becomes
Q= - J e e' cos (hkz—hz) sin 8r . —-
+
2?
)/
—fi
sin (hkz—8z) sin 8z . 62d0,
7rCv/(Ac)t
and Q, is the probability that s, the sum of the values of A
given by all the observations, will lie between 0 and 28.
If therefore, we suppose 8 to be variable, the differential of
this expression taken with respect to 8, will express the
infinitely small chance of the sum of the values being 28
exactly. Differentiating, and observing that if u and v
denote any two arcs, the trigonometrical formulae give
sin (u—v) sin v-\- cos (u—v) cos cos (2v—u),
— cos (u—v) sin v -f- sm (u—v) cos v—— sin (2r—u),
we shall find
dQ,
dd
dh
ttJ o
2gdb
e * cos (28z—khz)
zdd
e sin (28z-
-hkz)z6'idt.
When A becomes infinite, this becomes 0, therefore from
A= — oo to A= -}- oo, A=0. This is an obvious conse¬
quence of the symmetry of the curve, for the centre of gra¬
vity is necessarily in the straight line MN.
With respect to k' we may proceed thus. We have
A'=^a2<£Ac?a = y',(y-4-7r)y’A2e~^2c/A. But from the
principles of the differential calculus,
d . Ae—V^<1=e—V^‘‘dA—2yA2e—V^dA,
therefore, integrating and transposing,
f A*e—V^dAzz—-^-Ae—>A2 + fi—y^dA.
J 2y 2y/
Now, from A = — oo to A — -f- oo, the term of this equa¬
tion which is not under the sign of integration vanishes, and
Je yA2fi?A=:y'(7r-i-y) (from (96), on substituting t2 for
7A2), thereforef dA = (1 -r- 27)n/(7t y) ; and
consequently k'—\-^-2y.
In (119) we assumed c—^(kf—A2) ; therefore in the pre¬
sent case c=|A', whence cz=l-i-4y, or y=z\-~-4c.
135. The expressions which have now been found for
the function which represents the probability of an error,
and the limits corresponding to an assigned degree of pro¬
bability, are given in terms of the indeterminate constant y
(or c), which depends on the nature of the observation, and
therefore, where instruments are requisite, on the goodness
nc*S (Ac)
Let £ be a variable quantity, and assume 2h=hk-\-2W(Jic),
whence db—dt*^(Jic), and let the corresponding value of
dQ.
— db be denoted by qdt, we shall have, on substituting
these values, and replacing z by 8 -4- V(hc), qdt —
2gdt
2dt
e cos (2^) dd—
4/:
e 6 sin (2^) Pdi.
ttc\/ (Ac
The two integrals in this equation are found from the
formula in (121). Writing 2/for u, that formula gives
cos (2t$) (U
P
-W”
and if this last equation be differentiated in respect of t,
three times in succession, the result will be
e ** sin (2«) 0 2*3e-**) ;
whence, if we make V= -——-r (3t—2t3), we shall have
2c\/(nc) v
qdt= (l-^v/7r)( 1—V) e-**dt,
where V is a quantity containing only uneven powers of t,
and of the order 1-f-VA, so that when multiplied by another
of the same order, the product will be of the order 1-f-A,
and will therefore be rejected in the present approxima¬
tion. This value of qdt is the probability that s will be pre¬
cisely 28 or hk-\-2t\/(hc), or it is the infinitely small pro¬
bability of the equation
szzhk-±-2t\/(kc').
137. In order to apply this result to the determination
of the probable limits in terms of observations actually
PROBABILITY.
631
Probability made, it is necessary to remark that the analysis by means
of which it has been obtained is grounded on the very
general supposition that the thing to be measured may be
any function whatever of the quantity observed ; for the in¬
finitely small chance of a particular value of the function
is evidently the same as that of the corresponding value of
the quantity, and is consequently (pnxdx. Let X therefore
be a function of x, and let K, C, T, be what k, c, t become
when X is substituted for a?, the above equation then be¬
comes
2X=/<K + 2TV(AC),
the symbol 2 including all the h values of X; and the pro¬
bability of this equation is an expression of the same form
as that which is represented by qdt.
138. Hitherto no restriction has been made with respect
to (fix; we now introduce the hypothesis that positive and
negative departures from the mean of equal magnitude are
equally probable, and consequently that the curve repre¬
senting the law of facility is symmetrical, but shall sup¬
pose the chances of a particular value, or a particular error,
to vary in the different trials. Let the origin be transferred
to the centre of gravity, theabsciss of which — k, and let x—k
— a, x'—kz= a' &c. We have then by (132) <£#:=</) a,
Jx(f)xdx=f a<£ Ac? A, fx^tfixdx^zf a2<£ Ac? A, the integra¬
tion in respect of A being from — oo to 4-00. The special
quantities k and A'then become &=(1-i-A)2/A(/>n Ac?A
= 0, A'=(1-t-/j)Z/'a2$„Ac?A, whence
c—( 1 A 2$n A c? A.
The object is now to eliminate <£nA, and determine c in
terms of the observations.
139- Let An—£ be the observed value of A in the wth ob¬
servation, then A„—k~/\ is the true error of the observa¬
tion. Let the function denoted by X in (137) be (A„—k)2
=A2, and the corresponding value of K (since in this case,
Ki=(l-^A) 2 fX4>nxdx) becomes K=(l-f-A) 2/A2(£nAc?A.
Comparing this with the value of c found above, we have
K=2c; therefore on substituting these values of X and
K in the equation (137), and assuming t’ and d to be the
values of T and C when X=(A„—A)2, we get 2 (An—£)2
whence
c=(l -f-2/i)2(AB—k)2—t'U' (1)
(U being a quantity of the order 1 > and probabi¬
lity of this equation is
q'dt'—(\-r-\/Tr)(l—Y')e t dt',
where V/ is a function containing only uneven powers of
t', and of the order l-i-V'A.
In the equation (137) suppose X=ra;=rAn, and let £r/and
d' be the corresponding values of T and C, then since on
this supposition K=A, the equation becomes 2A„:=::M-]-
2t"*JUid'\ whence
A=(l-a)2A„—<"U", (2)
(U" being of the order l-^y/A); and the probability of this
equation is
^"=(1 WttXI—
where V", like V' and V, contains only uneven powers of
t" and is of the order l-^\/4.
140. The two equations (1) and (2) may be regarded
as two distinct events, having the respective probabilities
now assigned to them, and therefore the probability of their
beino- true simultaneously is the product of their respective
probabilities, and is accordingly (neglecting the product
V'V" which is a quantity divided by h).
Let the value of k given by equation (2) be substituted
in (1), and the expression now given will accordingly be
the probability of the resulting equation, namely,
c=zYh 2(x»— \ +</u')2—C'U"
Let 7»^:(l-|-4)2An, then m is the average or arithmetical
mean of the observed values, and \n—m the reputed error
of the observation. The last equation will then become c—
(1-=-2A) 2 (An—^-K'U')2—^"U"; or, rejecting (tf'U')2
which is of the order 1 -±-h, 7
Probability
c=( 1 -|-2A)2 [(A„—m)2 + 2(A„—m>'U'} —TU".
For the sake of abridging let us also assume
/x=(1 -f-A)2(An—m)2, j/= (1
so that n is the mean of the squares of the errors, or mean
square of the errors, and the equation becomes
c=&+rU,—t"U", (3)
the probability of which is q'q"dt'dt".
141. Now, by (121), we have the probability © that s+fi,
or 2A„h-A —m the arithmetical mean of the observed va¬
lues of A, will fall within the limits £=p2iV(c-f-A). Sub¬
stituting in those limits the above value of c, and observing
that (^+VU'—ru")^ V(^) + N(vU'—<//U/,)+ &C.,
and that U' and U" being of the order l-i-Jh, when di¬
vided again by Jh are to be rej-ected, the limits become
£=£=2x^(1^-^), or
and the probability of these being the true limits is © mul¬
tiplied into the probability of the equation c=^ + v\J'-
t"U" ; and is therefore (140)
(] -f.7r)©( 1—V'—V")(r**e-t"*dt'dt".
142. The expression now obtained is the infinitely small
probability of the limits (2/x-s-A) of the average m,
in respect of the particular value of s, for which we have de¬
duced the equation (3). But for every value of s between
the limits 0 and 2$, there will be an equation correspond¬
ing to (3); therefore, in order to have the whole proba¬
bility of those limits, the integral of the expression must
be found for all values of f and t". From the nature of
the expressions e~f2 and e—as well as the consideration
that errors beyond a certain magnitude, though possible,
are wholly improbable, it is evident that the integration may
be extended without sensible error from — go to 4- 0° ; and
since the functions V' and Y" contain only uneven powers
of f and t", the terms into which they enter, disappear in
the integrations between those limits (See Lacroix, Calcul
Diff. et Integral, tom. iii. p. 506). Now, from t'~ — go
to V = -f- 00 we have (96) fe~*’ldtf=. d k ; an A fe—^dt" =2 d v;
therefore
J_©ff{\—Y'—Y")L~tte r*dt'dt"=Q.
7T
The result of the preceding analysis is therefore that on
the hypothesis of positive and negative errors of equal mag¬
nitude being equally probable, and on rejecting terms di¬
vided by h (the number of the observations may be always
so great as to render such terms insensible), we may sub¬
stitute for c in the limits of the error to be apprehended,
without sensibly altering the probability, and consequently
there is the probability ©= —^ e dt that the true
mean value k of the phenomenon A will lie between the limits
mz±z2Tj(^+h)> or m=±=Td(2p-i-h),
which contain only quantities given by observation.
On this hypothesis we have also (138) c — (l-^-2/<)
2/’A2<f>„Ar/A, or, supposing the law of facility to remain
constant during the trials, c = -^/A^cpAdA, therefore
a = fA24)AdA; that is to say, the mean of the squares
of the actual errors may be taken for the sum of the
squares of the possible errors multiplied by their respective
632
PEOBABILITY.
which corresponds to the probability 0=|. For 0=1 we Probability
have r=-476936; whence ryV/2=-6744895 and the formula
mr±:rA/(2/x-^-A) becomes »?=t:,674489 5 whence
probable error =-674489
147. The mean error of the result of a large number
of observations may be deduced from the general formula
in (136) as follows. That formula gives qdt={\-±-tt)
(1—,V)e—<2efc for the probability that the sum of the ob¬
served values will be — exactly. Di¬
viding the sum by A, qdt is also the probability that the
average value given by all the observations will be exactly
J(c-r-h'). Now, on the hypothesis that positive and
negative departures from the mean are equally probable,
and supposing the origin of the co-ordinates to be trans¬
ferred to the centre of gravity of the curve of mean proba¬
bility, we have A=0, and qdt—(\-^-,Jir){\—V)e~t2dt is the
infinitely small chance of the average error being 2^ (e-^ A)
exactly. Multiplying therefore this error into the chance
of its taking place, and integrating the product from £=0
to £=oo, we shall have the mean error, or mean risk
of all the possible average errors affected with the positive
sign. Now, observing that V represents a quantity divid¬
ed by a/A, and therefore when multiplied by 2£a/(c-t-A)
, , 1iL . becomes of the order 1-j-A, and may consequently be re-
mg the average of the observations as the true result, then d the duct of the ay error 2^(CH_A) into its
/=rV(2^A) and.=V(/^V) Now when r is con- J babilit/is 2VC^^A) x ; and since
slant, that is, for a given probability ©, the determination \ which from *_o to t= oo becomes simply i
will be more exact in proportion as l is a smaller number, ^ int ^ of the above oduct from t=Q t0 t=a, is
and the precision will therefore be proportional to Substituting for c its value (142) =^, this re-
sultbecomes (/i-f-2^-A); whence on computing a/( 1 -i-Zn)
Probability probabilities. It is important to remark that as the obser-
rations become more numerous, the quantity ja, the mean
of the squares of the errors, converges more and more to a
constant quantity, and finally becomes independent of the
number of observations.
143. The limits now found may be otherwise expressed.
By hypothesis, m=(l-i-A)SXn=the arithmetical mean of
the observed values, and ^=( 1-j-A)2(X„—m)2= the mean
of the squares of the reputed errors. Now (X„—m)2 =
X,,2—2X„m-)-w2, and (1 -4-A)S2Xnm=2m(l -j-A) EXn=2m2
therefore p=(l-j-A)SXK2—m2, that is to say, the mean of
the squares of the observations minus the square of the
mean. Hence the limits, corresponding to a given proba¬
bility 0, of the difference between the average of all the
observations and the true value, are expressed by either of
these formulae
z±=.tJ {(2 x mean square of errors-^-A],
■ y |2 x mean square of obs.—(mean of obs.)2)-4-^/A,
A being the number of observations, and the relation be¬
tween 0 and t being given by the table. Generally speak¬
ing, the first of these formulae is the most convenient for
calculation.
144. Let l be the limit of the error to be feared in tak-
Hence a/(A-4-2/x) is called by Gauss the measure of the
precision of the determination. Suppose two series of ob¬
servations to have been made for the determination of an ele¬
ment, the comparative accuracy of the results will depend on
two things, the number of observations in each series, and the
amount of the squares of the errors in each. If the num¬
ber of observations is the same in both series, the precision
of each result will be inversely as the square root of the
sum of the squares of the errors, and the presumption of
accuracy is in favour of that result with respect to which
the sum of the squares of the errors is less than in the other.
On the other hand, if the mean square of the errors is the
same in both series, then the observations are alike good
in both, and their relative values of the two results are di¬
rectly as the square roots of the number of observations in
each series. Hence, in order that one determination may be
twice as good as another, it must be founded on four times
the number of equally good observations. These considera¬
tions are very important, in comparing tables of mean va¬
lues of whatever kind, for example, of the probabilities of
life at the different ages, and in estimating risks which de¬
pend upon them.
145. Astronomers employ the terms, weight, probable
error, and mean error, of a result, to denote certain func¬
tions of ,1*, the mean square of the errors. The square of
we obtain
mean error of series = .398942A).
This is the mean error or mean risk in respect of posi¬
tive errors alone, or on the supposition that negative errors
are not taken into account. But as positive and negative
errors are equally likely, the mean error in respect of nega¬
tive errors is the same quantity, whence the mean error in
respect of errors of both kinds is .797884>v/(^-i-A). This
is usually called the average error. The mean error differs
from the probable error in this respect, that it depends on the
magnitude of individual errors, as well as on the proportion
in which errors of different magnitudes occur. The proba¬
ble error is independent of the magnitude.
148. When the quantity g (the mean square of the er¬
rors) has been found from a series of observations, the
precision, weight, probable error, and mean error, of a com¬
ing observation of the same kind are found by supposing
A=1 in the above expressions, and are respectively
precision . . =a/(1-^2/a)
weight . . =1-;-2/li
probable error =.674489V/*
mean error . =.398942*/^.
149- The preceding formulae give the limits of the error
the quantity which measures the precision of the result, is to be feared in determining the value of a quantity from a
called the iveight of the determination. Denoting the weight series of observations, when the thing to be determined is
by w, we have therefore that on which the observations are immediately made. We
z<;=A-f-2/x=A2-4-2S(Xn—mf, have now to apply the formulae to the cases in which the
or the weight is equal to the square of the number of ob- quantity sought is not observed itself, but is a function of
servations divided by twice the sum of the squares of the several others, which are separately determined by obser-
errors. Substituting this in the expression of the limits, vation. The following problem is important:
we have and T—lsjw ; that is to say, for a given Let m be a given function of a number of unknown quan-
probability 0, the limits of the error to be apprehended in titities, x, x', x", &c.; it is required to assign the limits ot
taking the average as the true result are reciprocally pro- the probable error in the determination of U, and the
portional to the square root of the weight. When obser- weight of the result, when values of x, x', x", found from
vations of different kinds, or results deduced from observa- observations independent of each other, and respectively af-
tion, are compared with each other, their relative weights fected with the probable errors ?*//*" &c. (5=
(supposing the number ofobservations the same) are inversely .674489) are adopted instead of the true but unknown
as \i., and are expressed numerically by taking the weight values of those quantities. ^ n
of a certain series of observations as the unit of weight. Let u=f(x, x’, x", &c.) be the given function, X, X, X ,
146. The probable error of the determination is that &c. observed values of x, x’, x", &c. and make X—.r—
Probability X'—a-W, \"~x"=e'', &c. so that e, ^ &c. are the
errors of observation, supposed to be so small that their
squares may be rejected. Make — =a, ~ —a’ — =«"
dx dx' ’ dx" ’
Sec., then a, a', a", are given quantities; and on substitut¬
ing x + e, .v'±e', x" + e// for x, x’, x", respectively, in the
equation u—f(x, x\ x", Sec.), and supposing u to become
m-|-E when the substitutions are made, so that E is the
corresponding error of u, we have, on expanding u by
Taylor’s theorem,
E=ae-t-a'e'-\- arV'-j- Sec.
in respect of a single observation of each of the quantities.
Taking the square of both sides of the equation, we have
E2=aV+a +a"V'24- &c. +2aa'ee Jr‘2aa"ee"+'2a'a"e'e"+ &c.
Now since positive and negative errors are supposed equal¬
ly probable, the sums of the products ed, ee", e'e", &c. or
their mean values, become each — 0 ; therefore
2E2=a2Se2-f a'2Se,2-f-a"2e'/2+ Sec.
Taking the mean value of each of these sums, and observing
that n the mean value of Ze2 is independent of the num¬
ber of observations (142), and assuming M to be the mean
value of ZE2, we get
M=aV + a,y+«"V'+ Sec.
This equation contains the solution of the problem, for
all the functions of the error are given in terms of M. The
probable error is ‘674489 a/M.
150. Let W be the weight of the determination, and
w, w\ w", Sec. the weights corresponding to n", Sec.
then by the definition of weight, w is reciprocally propor¬
tioned to n, and W to M; and we have by substitution,
•ixt i Z®2 . a'2 a"l‘ „ \
— 1 -t- ( “k t "h “I" ),
\ w w w' J
If the weights are supposed all equal, this becomes
•W=  r—^ -
a2 -j-a'2 + «"2 4. Sec.
Suppose the errors e, e' e". Sec. to be respectively multi¬
plied by numbers proportional to the square roots of the
weights, (which is equivalent to supposing all the observa¬
tions to have the same degree of precision measured by
a/ (nw)), then the value of M becomes
-f- &c.
But w being reciprocally as /x, we have Sec.
= 1, therefore
W= 1
PROBABILITY.
633
a2-j-a'2-f a"2-f- Sec’
SECT. X. OF THE METHOD OF LEAST SQUARES.
151. In the determination of astronomical and physical
elements from the data of observation, the thing which is
actually observed is for the most part not the element
which is sought to be determined, but a known function of
that element. Thus, if V be a given function of X deter¬
mined by the equation V=F(X), the quantity observed
may be a value of V, whilst the element sought to be de¬
termined is X. If the observation could give the value of
V with absolute accuracy, then X would also be absolutely
known ; but as all observations are affected with certain
errors of greater or less amount, owing to the imperfections
of instruments or of sense, or the ever varying circum¬
stances under which they are made, an exact value of X
cannot be found from any single observation ; and in order
to obtain the utmost precision, it is necessary to employ a
great number of observations, repeated under every variety
of circumstance by which the result can be supposed to be
affected.
VOL. XVIII.
152. The observed quantity V, instead of bein- a func- Probability
elements tlT b? a »* -e™l
elements X, Y, Z, &c.; for example, Y may be the nosi-
tion of a planet, m which case it is a function of the six
e ements of the orbit, for the determination of which the
observation is made. Each observation gives rise to «
tion of this form V=F(X, Y,Z,&c.)f therefore when he
number of equatums ,s just equal to the number of urn
known quant,ties, tile problem is determinate; and sunnos-
ing b to be an algebraic function, the values of X Y Z
&c. may be found by the ordinary methods of elimination!
It the number of equations is less than the number of un¬
known quantities, the problem is indeterminate; but if
greater, it may be said to be more than determinate, inas¬
much as the equations may be combined in an infinite
number of ways, each distinct combination giving a diffe¬
rent value of the elements. It therefore becomes a ques¬
tion of the utmost importance to the perfection of the
sciences of observation, to assign the particular combination
which gives the most advantageous results, or values of X,
Y, Z, &c. affected with the smallest probable errors.
153. As approximate values of the elements are in all
cases either already known, or can be easily found, the ob¬
ject of accumulating observations is the correction of the
approximate values. Let V be the true value of the thing
observed, V0 an approximate value, however found, X the
true value of the element sought, X0 an approximate value,
corresponding to V0, so that we have the two equations
/—F(x)> Vo=F(X0); also, let the observed value ofV
in any observation be L, and make
v=V—L, l=V0—L,
then v is the true but unknown error of the observation,
and l its reputed error, that is to say, the difference between
the computed value of the function and the result of the
observation. Now if we assume x to represent the true
correction of the approximate element, so that X=X<, + ar,
then, on substituting X04-a; for X in the function F°, we
get V=:F(X0-j-a?) ; whence, expanding the function by
Taylor’s theorem, and rejecting terms multiplied byar2 and
higher powers of x, because a? is a very small quantity
0+ dX*
Let us now denote the differential coefficient, which is a
known quantity, by a; then, observing that V—V0=v l, the
equation becomes v=l+ax\ that is to say, the true error
of the observation is a linear function of the correction of
the element.
154. In like manner, when there are several elements,
v v >7 e i • d^° d^o , dY0
X, Y, Z, &c.; on making ^ = -- —b, —“ = c,
Sec. a single observation furnishes the equation
v=l + axbycz + Sec.,
and a series of observations, whose errors are respectively
v, v', v", Sec. gives a system of linear equations equal in
number to the number of observations ; namely,
v—l-{-ax-\-b!/ + cz+ Sec.
vf=l' -f- a’x -f- b'y -j- c'z -f- Sec. (1)
-\-a"x + b"y~\-c"z\- Sec.
Sec.
and the object is to give such values to x, y, z, Sec. that the
errors v, v', v", Sec. in respect of the whole of the observa¬
tions, shall be the least possible. The equations being
supposed independent of each other, if their number is just
equal to that of the unknown quantities, the errors v, i/, v”.
Sec. can be made all zero; but if, as is usually the case,
there are more equations than unknown quantities, it is
impossible by any means whatever to annihilate the whole
of them, and therefore all that can be accomplished is to
4 L
634
PROBABILITY.
Probability find the system of values ot y, z, &c. which most nearly,
and with the greatest probability, satisfies the whole of the
equations. If the observations are not all equally good, the
equations are supposed to be each multiplied by a number
proportional to the square root of the presumed weight of
the observation on which it depends, in order that they may
all have the same degree of precision.
155. As the question is to find the most probable values
of x, y, z, &c. the first thing necessary is to express each
of these elements in terms of the observations. Suppose
A, k\ k", &c. to be a system of indeterminate quantities,
independent of x y, z, &c. and let the first of the above
conditional equations be multiplied by A, the second by A',
the third by A", and so on; then adding the products, if
A, A', A", &c. be determined so as to make the coefficient
of x equal to unit, and those ofy, z, &c. each equal to 0 ; that
is to say, so as to satisfy the equations
ka 4- k’a -f- A"a" -j- &c. = l
kb + A'A' + k"b" + &c. =0 (2)
Ac -J-A'c' -J- k"c" 4- &c =0
&c.
we shall then have ;r=K4-Ac4-AV4-A'V'4* where
K is a quantity independent of v, v\ v", &c. Hence x is
found =K, with an error =Ac4-AV 4- A'V' 4- &c.; and the
weight of the determination, by the formula in (150), is
  ^ . The weight of the determination is
A2 4_A'*4-A"24-&c- 8
consequently greater in proportion as A2 4-A'2 4-A"2 4- &c.
is smaller ; and hence of all the possible systems of inde¬
terminate coefficients, A, A', A", &c. which satisfy the equa¬
tions (2), the system which gives the most probable value
of x, or the most advantageous result, is that for which
A24-A'2 4-A/,24-&c. is an absolute minimum.
156. We have now to find, in terms of known quanti¬
ties, values of the indeterminate coefficients A, A', A'', &c.
which satisfy the condition of the minimum. For the sake
of abridging, let us denote the aggregate of the products
aa4- a'a' 4- a"a" -f- &c, by S(aa), that of ab-\-a'b' -\-a"b" -}“
&c. by S(aA), and so on, and also assume
£—av-\-a'v' -\-a''v" &c
T)—bv-\-b'v' 4-A
(—cv-\-c'v' 4-c'V
v
4- &c.
4- &c.
(3)
(1) ; they must therefore satisfy the equations (2), whence Probability
a(l 4- a!o! 4 cl'd" 4-&C. =1 v ~^
aA4-a'A/4-a"A"4- &c. =0 (7)
a£-\-dd 4- d'c" 4- &C. =0.
Subtracting these from the equations (2) we obtain
0=(A—a)«4-(A/—o/)a/4-(A"—d'^a"&c.
0=(h—a)b 4-(A—a )?/ + (/{"—d')b"-J- &C.
0= (A—a)c 4- (A —a )d 4- (A"—d')c" 4- &c.,
on multiplying which respectively by f g. A, and adding
the products, we get by reason of the equations (6),
0=(A—a)a 4- (A'—d)d 4- (k"—d'yd' 4- &C.
This equation may be put under the form A2 4- A/2 4A"2 -j- &c.
=*»+a,2+a//2+&C.+ (A—«) a + (A'—a') - + (k"—a") 2 +&C.
from which it is evident that A24-A,24-A//24- &c. will be a
minimum when A=a, k'=d, k"=:d\ &c. Hence it fol¬
lows that the most probable value of x which can be de¬
duced from the equations (1), is x=A ; and by (150) the
weight of the determination is 1 -i-(aa 4- dd 4- d'd' 4- &c.)=--
1 -j-S(aa).
This quantity S (aa) is equal to/the co-efficient of £ in
the equation (5) ; for on multiplying the first of equations
(7), by / the second by g, and the third by A, and adding
the products, we obtain by reason of equations (6),
aa -}- dd 4- d'd' 4- &C. =/
157. The method explained in the two last paragraphs
of determining the most advantageous combination of a
system of linear equations, of the form of those in (154), is
given by Gauss in his Theoria Combinationis Observatiomun
erroribus minimis obnoxicB, (Gottingen, 1823). The prac¬
tical rule to which it leads is as follows : Having given a
near value V of a function of several elements, X, Y, Z,
&c. and also a series L, L', L", See. of observed values of
V, make (V—l.) Jiv=v, (V—I/) J id=v', (Y—L") J id,
—v". Sec. and form the equations in (1). From these equa¬
tions (4) are easily deduced ; and from these, again, by
elimination, are found the values of x, g, z, Sec. the correc¬
tions of the approximate elements X, Y, Z, Sec., in equa¬
tions of the form (5), which, for the sake of symmetry, may
be thus written:
On substituting in these equations the values of v, v', v'\
Sec. given by the equations (1), there results
£= S(«7) 4- xS(aa) 4-yS(«A) -f- zS(ac) 4- Sec.
T]=:S(bl)+x$(ab)+yS(bb) + zS(bc)-\- Sec. (4)
£= S(cl) 4- xS(ac) 4-?/S(Ac) 4- zS(cc) -f- Sec.
a system of equations equal in number to the number of
elements x, y, z, Sec. and from which, consequently, those
elements would be determined absolutely if the observa¬
tions were perfectly exact, that is, if the errrors v, v', v",
Sec. were individually zero, and consequently £, ij, f, &c.,
were each zero. On eliminating y, z, Sec. from the last sys¬
tem, the value of x is given in terms of £, ??, f, and known
quantities by a linear equation of the following form:
a;=A4-/ •\-gi-\-h£^r Sec. (5)
where / g, A, &c. are co-efficients independent of x, y, z,
Sec. and also of £, rj, f, &c.
If we now substitute in equation (5) the values £, 77, £,
&c. given by equations (3), and also assume
a=fa+gb-\-hc-\- Sec.
d=fa'+g'b'+h'c'+ Sec. (6)
d'=f'a''+g"b" + h''c''+ Sec.,
we shall have by addition
ajzzA-l-av-f-aV-fVV'-!- Sec.;
whence it appears that a, a', d', Sec. are a system of multi¬
pliers by which y, z, Sec. are eliminated from equations
a:=A4-(aa)|4-(a0)?7 4.(07) £4* &C.
?/=B 4- (a/3)£ + (/3/3)7? 4- (0y)t4- &c.
z=C4-(ay)£4-(/3y>7 4-(yyX4- &c-
then the most probable values of x, y, z, Sec. are repectively
A, B, C, &c.; the weights of the determinations respectively
 5 , -—-, Sec.; and the probable errors of the se-
(oo) (/3/3) (yy)
veral determinations are pj(aa), p^(/3/3), p>J(yy), Sic.,
where P=-476936.
158. The values of x, y, z, Sec. now deduced are obtained
immediately, by supposing the sum of the squares of the
errors of observation to be a minimum. Thus, forming
the squares of the equations (1), and making Q.z=v1-\.v'2 A-
v"2-\- Sec., the differentiation offl in respect of each of the
variables x, y, z, Sec. produces the quantities denoted in
(156), by £, 77, £, Sec. that is to say, it gives
da ^ da c da .
* c'
dierefore if 12 be a minimum, |, 77, (, become severally
zero, and the equations (4) give by elimination, A,
/=B, z=C, where A, B, and C denote the same quantities
is above. Now from equation (5) the general value or x is
A -j- (aa)£ + (a/3)*? + (a7) £
P R O B A
Probability and the most probable value being x=A, it follows that
the most probable values of the corrections x, y, z, are found
by making the differential coefficients of a equal to zero,
that is, by making v2+v'2 + v'rz + &c. an absolute mini¬
mum. Hence this method of combining equations of con¬
dition is called the method of least squares ; and it follows
from the preceding analysis, that it gives the most probable
values of the corrections, or the most advantageous results.
159- As an example, let us suppose there is only one un¬
known element X, of which X0 is known to be an approxi¬
mate value, and L, L', L", &c. are observed values, the
weights of which are respectively proportional to w, w’, to",
&c. and that it is required to determine the most probable
value of X from the observations, and also the weight of the
determination. Make (X—L)v/w=v, (X0—L)v'w=/,and
let x be the correction of X, so that X=X0—x. On sub¬
stituting this in (X—Y^^/w—v, we have (X0—x—Y^^w—v,
or v—lfjw—x»fw. Each observation gives a similar equa¬
tion, and the equations (1) in (154) consequently become
v—lifw—Xifio
v'—lW w'—xVtv'
v"—l'Wio"-—xVio", &c.
therefore, multiplying each by the coefficient of its own x, we
have £ =S(/w)—-xS (w), whence consequently x=S(lu>)-i-
S(?tf)—£-r-S(tt;), that is to say, the most probable value of a: is
  ho -f-1'id -f-1"to" -(- &c.
to + to'-j-to"-±- &c. ’
and the weight of the determination is proportional to the
reciprocal of w-f-to/-Y-to//-j- &c.
Since X—L—x—/, we have also
^  Lw+L'to -f- L"to -f &c.
— te-j-to/-l-to"-j- &c. ’
whence this proposition : If a series of values of an element
are found from observations which have not all the same
degree of precision, the most probable value of the element
is found by multiplying each observation by a number pro¬
portional to its weight, and dividing the sum of the products
by the sum of the weights ; and the comparative weight of
the result is unit divided by the sum of all the weights.
If the weights be all equal, and the number of the obser¬
vations be h, then X=(L4-L/-j-L//-f- &c.)-*-/i; that is to
say, the average of a series of equally good observations
gives the most probable value. The average may, there¬
fore be considered as a particular case of the method of
least squares.
160. To illustrate the method of proceeding when there
are several elements to be corrected from the observations,
we shall take the following numerical example from Gauss
(Theoria Motus). Suppose there are three elements, and
that three observations, of equal weight, have given the
equations x—y-f-22r=3, 3# +2^—5z=5, 4x-}-?/ +4^=21 ;
and that a fourth observation, of which the relative weight
is one-fourth, or its precision one-half, of that of the others
has given —2x-\-6y•\-Qz=2$>. The first step is to reduce
this last equation to the same standard of weight with the
others, for which purpose it must be multiplied by ^ ; it
then becomes —a,’-f-3jy-p3z=14. Now, as x,y, and z can¬
not be determined so as to satisfy four independent equa¬
tions, w e suppose each observation, or equation, to be affect¬
ed with an error v, and accordingly obtain the following
system of equations, corresponding to equations (1), viz.:
v=—3+x—y+2z
t/=—5 -}- Sa1 -f 2y—5z
v" =—21 -f- 4.r +;/ -J- 4z
vl"=— 14—x + 37-f 3z,
from which the most probable values of x, y, and 2 are to
B I L I T Y.
635
be deduced. Let each equation be multiplied by the co- Probability
efficient of its own x, taken with its proper sign, namelv, '''•
the first by 1, the second by 3, the third by 4, and the
fourth by —1 ; the results added together give the value
of £, namely, £= 88-f-27j:-l-6j/. In like manner, let the
first be multiplied by —1, the second by 2, the third by 1,
and the fourth by 3, the sum of the products will give t].
Lastly, let the equations be multiplied respectively by the
coefficients of z, and the sum of the products made equal to
£; we have then the following equations corresponding to
the equations (4)
£= —88 -\-27x-\- Gy 0
r]=—704-6a, + l5y-|-2
£=—107 + 0 -|-y-j- 542.
From these we get by elimination
19899^=49154 + 809£—324^ + 6£
737y=2617—12| -J- 54v—£
39798z=76242 +121—54,/ +1473£,
wdience (157) A, B, C, the most probable values of.r, y, z,
are respectively
49154
A-i9899-247°’B-
2617
=3-55 LC=
76242
737 39798
and the relative weights to, w', to", are respectively
1-916;
19899
809
■ 24-6, m/=
737
54
IQ<, „ 39798
=1.3-6, 73 =2r0,
w hence the probable errors (-476936-f- Jw) are respective! v
•096, -129, -092.
The method of least squares, to which modern astrono¬
my is indebted for much of its precision, was first proposed
by Legendre, in his Nouvelles Methodes pour la Determi¬
nation des Orhites des Cometes, (Paris, 1806,) merely as
means of avoiding inconvenience and uncertainty arising
from the want of a uniform and determinate method of
combining numerous equations of condition, and without
reference to the theory of probability. The same method,
however, had previously been discovered by Gauss, and a
demonstration of it, deduced from the general theory of
chances, was given by him in his Theor.ia Motus, (1809*)
It may be shewn in various ways, that this method of com¬
bination gives values of the unknown quantities affected
wuth the smallest probable errors but it is to be observed,
that all the demonstrations are subordinate to the hypo¬
thesis, that positive and negative errors of equal magni¬
tude are equally probable, or that the average of a large
number of results gives the most probable value, and con¬
sequently that the function w hich represents the probabi¬
lity of an error has the form assigned to it in (132).
The limits of this article will not permit us to enter into
further details respecting the applications of the method of
least squares. On the general theory of the probable
errors of results deduced from observation, and the most
advantageous methods of combining equations of condition,
the reader may consult the Theorie Analytique des Proha-
bilites of Laplace ; the Theoria Motus of Gauss ; the The¬
oria Combinationis Observationum, and the Supplemen-
tum Theorice Combinationis, &c. (Gottingen, 1828) of the
same author ; the Recherches sur la Probabilite des Juge-
ments with the two Memoirs of Poisson in the Connais-
sance des Terns for 1827 and 1832; and three masterly
papers, by Mr Ivory, in the Philosophical Magazine for
1825. In the volumes of the Berliner Astronomisches
Jahrbuch for 1833, 1834, and 1835, M. Encke has treated
the subject at great length, and given a number of for¬
mulae calculated to facilitate the labours of the computer.
We may also refer, in conclusion, to a remarkable dis¬
quisition on the theory of probable errors, by the cele¬
brated astronomer Bessel, forming Nos. 358 and 359 of
Schumacher’s Astronomische Abhandlungen, Altona, Oc¬
tober 1838. (T* G»)
Probability TABLE of the Values of the Integral 0
t=3,
—- j e t<ldl=\—f e ^dt, for intervals each =01, from
\! nj o s! T
with their first and second differences.
r=0 to Probability
©
00
01
02
03
04
05
06
•07
■08
09
10
11
•12
13
•14
15
•16
•17
•18
•19
0-20
0-21
22
0 23
0-24
0-25
0-26
0-27
0-28
0-29
0-30
0 31
0-32
0 33
0-34
0 35
036
0 37
0-38
0-39
0-40
0-41
0-42
0-43
0-44
0-45
0-46
0-47
0-48
0-49
0-50
0-51
0-52
0 53
0-54
0-55
0-56
0-57
0 58
0-59
0*60
0-61
0-62
063
0-64
0-65
0-66
0-67
0 68
0-69
0-70
0-71
0.72
0 73
0 74
0-0000000
•0112833
•0225644
•0338410
•0451109
•0563718
•0676215
•0788577
•0900781
•1012806
•1124630
•1236230
•1347584
•1458671
•1569470
•1679959
•1790117
•1899923
•2009357
•2118398
•2227025
•2335218
•2442958
•2550225
•2657000
•2763263
•2868997
•2974182
•3078800
•3182834
•3286267
•3389081
•3491259
•3592785
•3693644
•3793819
•3893296
•3992059
•4090093
•4187385
•4283922
•4379690
•4474676
•4568867
•4662251
•4754818
•4846555
•4937452
•5027498
•5116683
•5204999
•5292437
•5378987
•5464641
•5549392
•5633233
•5716157
•5798158
•5879229
•5959365
A2
112833
112811
112766
112699
112609
112497
112362
112204
112025
111824
111600
111354
111087
110799
110489
110158
109806
109434
109041
108627
108193
107740
107267
106775
106263
105734
105185
104618
104034
103433
102814
102178
101526
100859
100175
22
45
67
90
112
135
158
179
201
224
246
267
288
310
331
352
372
393
414
434
453
473
492
512
529
549
567
584
601
619
636
652
667
684
i 698
99477|714
98763 I 729
98034! 742
•603856l
•6116812
•6194114
•6270463
•6345857
•6420592
•6493765
•6566275
6637820
•6708399
6778010
•6846654
•6914330
•6981038
•7046780
97292
96537
95768
94986
94191
93384
92567
91737
90897
90046
89185
88316
87438
86550
85654
84751
83841
82924
82001
81071
80136
79196
78251
77302
76349
75394
74435
73473
72510
71545
70579
69611
68644
67676
66708
65742
64776
755
769
782
795
807
817
830
840
851
861
869
878
888
896
903
910
917
923
930
935
940
945
949
953
955
959
962
963
965
966
968
967
0
75
76
0 77
0-78
0-79
0-80
0 81
082
0-83
0-84
0-85
0-86
0-87
0-88
0-89
0-90
0-91
0-92
093
094
0-95
0-96
0-97
0 98
0-99
1-00
1-01
1-02
1-03
1 04
l 05
106
1-07
1-08
1-09
M0
Ml
M2
M3
114
1 15
M6
M7
M8
M9
1-20
1-21
1-22
1-23
1-24
1-25
1-26
1-27
1-28
1-29
1-30
1-31
1 32
1-33
1-34
1-35
1-36
1-37
1-38
1-39
1-40
1-41
1-42
1 43
1-44
968
968
966
966
965
0-7111556
•7175367
•7238216
•7300104
•7361035
•7421010
•7480033
•7538108
•7595238
•7651427
•7706680
•7761002
•7814398
•7866873
•7918432
•7969082
•8018828
•8067677
•8115635
•8162710
•8208908
•8254236
•8298703
•8342315
•8385081
•8427008
•8468105
•8508380
•8547842
•8586499
•8624360
•8661435
•8697732
•8733261
•8768030
•8802050
•8835330
•8867879
•8899707
•8930823
•8961238
•8990962
•9020004
•9048374
•9076083
•9103140
•9129555
•9155339
•9180501
•9205052
•9229001
•9252359
•9275136
•9297342
•9318987
•9340080
•9360632
•9380652
•9400150
•9419137
•9437622
•9455614
•9473124
•9490160
•9506733
•9522851
•9538524
•9553762
•9568573
•9582966
63811
62849
61888
60931
59975
59023
58075
57130
56189
55253
54322 926
53396,921
52475 916
51559'909
50650,904
A2
962
961
95J
956
952
948
945
941
936
931
49746 897
48849 891
47958 883 . ...
47075 877 1-68
46198 870 1-69
1-50
1-51
1-52
1-53
1-54
1-55
1 "56
1-57
1-58
1-59
1-60
1 61
1-62
1-63
1-64
1-65
1-66
1-67
0
1-45
1-46
1 47
1-48
1 49
•9596950
•9610535
•9623729
•9636541
•9648979
45328 861
44467 855
43612 846
42766 839
41927 830
41097 822
40275 813
39462 805
38657 796
37861 786
37075 777
36297 768
35529 760
34769 749
34020 740
33280 731
32549 721
31828 712
31116 701
30415.691
29724 682
29042 672
28370 661
27709 652
27057 . 642
26415 631
25784 622
25162 611
24551 602
23949 591
23358 581
22777 571
22206 561
21645 552
21093 541
20552 532
20020 522
19498 511
18987 | 502
18485 493
179921 482
17510
17036
16573
16118
15673
15238
14811
14393
13984
13585
13194
1281s
12438
12073
1-70
1-71
1-72
1-73
1-74
1-75
1-76
1-77
1-78
1-79
1-80
1-81
1-82
1-83
1-84,
1-85
1-86
1-87
1-88
1-89
1*90
1-91
1*92
1-93
1-94
1-95
1 96
1 97
1- 98
1 99
2- 00
2-01
2-02
2-03
2-04
2-05
2 06
2-07
2-08
209
2 10
211
2-12
2-13
2 14
2-15
2 16
217
8-18
2 19
391*220
382 2-21
-74 2.22
365 2-23
357,2 24
474
463
455
445
435
427
418
409
399
0-9661052
•9672768
•9684135
•9695162
•9705857
•9716227
•9726281
•9736026
•9745470
•9754620
.9763484
.9772069
•9780381
•9788429
•9796218
•9803756
•9811049
•9818104
•9824928
•9831526
•9837904
•9844070
•9850028
•9855785
•9861346
•9866717
•9871903
•9876910
•9881742
•9886406
•9890905
•9895245
•9899431
•9903467
•9907359
•9911110
•9914725
•9918207
•9921562
•992 4793
•9927904
•9930899
•9933782
•9936557
•9939226
•9941794
•9944263
•9946637
•9948920
•9951114
•9953223
•9955248
•9957195
•9959063
•9960858
•9962581
•9964235
•9965822
•9967344
•9968805
•9970205
•9971548
•9972836
•9974071
•9975253
•9976386
•9977472
•9978511
•9979505
•9980459
•9981372
9982244
•9983079
•9983878
•9984642
0
11716
11367
11027
10695
10370
10054
9745
9444
9150
8864
8585
8312
8048
7789
7538
7293
7055
6824
6598
6378
6166
5958
5757
5561
5371
5186
5007
4832
4664
4499
4340
4186
4036
3892
3751
3615
3482
3355
3231
3111
2995
2883
2775
2669
2568
2469
2374
2283
2194
2109
2025
1947
1668
1795
1723
1654
1587
1522
1461
1400
1343
1288
1234
1183
1133
1086
1039
994
954
913
872
835
790
764
731
349
340
332
325
316
309
301
294
286
279
273
264
259
251
245
238
231
226
220
212
208
201
196
190
185
179
175
168
165
159
154
150
144
141
136
133
127
124
120
116
112
108
106
101
99
95
91
89
85
84
78
79
73
72
69
67
65
61
61
57
55
54
51
50
47
47
45
40
41
41
37
36
35
33
33 |
2-25
2 26
2-27
2-28
2-29
2-30
2-31
2-32
2-3 i
2 34
2 35
2-36
2-37
2-38
2-39
2-40
2-41
2-42
2-43
2 44
2-45
2-46
2-47
2-48
2 49
2-50
2-51
2-52
2-53
2-54
2-55
2-56
2-57
2 58
2-59
2-60
2-61
2-62
2 63
2-64
2-65
2-66
2 67
2 68
2-69
2-70
2-71
2-72
2-73
2.74
2-75
2-76
2-77
2-78
2-79
2 80
2-81
2-82
2 83
2-84
2-85
2-86
2-87
2 88
2 89
2 90
2-91
2-92
2-93
2-94
2 95
2-96
2- 97
3- 00
0-9985373
•9986071
•9986739
•9987377
•9987986
•9988568
•9989124
•9989655
•9990162
•9990646
•9991107
•9991548
•9991968
•9992369
•9992751
•9993115
•9993462
•9993793
•99941 OS
•9994408
•9994694
•999 4966
•9995226
•9995472
•9995707
•9995930
•9996143
9996345
•9996537
•9996720
•9996893
•9997058
•9997215
•9997364
•99975:15
•9997640
•9997767
•9997888
•9998003
•9998112
•9998215
•9998313
•9998406
•9998494
•9998578
•9998657
9998732
•9998803
•9998870
•9998933
•999899 4
•9999051
•9999105
•9999156
•9999204
•9999250
•9999293
•9999334
•9999372
•9999409
•99 9 9 443
•9999476
•9999507
•9999536
•9999563
•9999589
•9999''13
•9999636
•9999658
•9999679
9999698
•9999716
•9999733
•9999779
A2
698
668
638
609
582
556
531
507
484
461
441
420
401
382
364
347
331
315
300
286
272
260
246
235
223
213
202
192
183
173
165
15’
149
141
135
127
121
115
109
103
98
93
88
84
79
75
71
67
63
61
57
54
51
48
46
43
41
38
37
34
33
31
29
27
26
24
23
22
21
19
18
17
PRO
Probate PROBATE of a will or testament, in law, is the exhi¬
ll biting and proving of last wills and testaments before the
Prebus. ecclesiastical judge delegated by the bishop, who is ordi-
^ nary of the place where the party died.
PROBLEM (TTpojSXrjfjLa, from irpo/SaWa), I put forward),
a question proposed. In logic, a proposition that appears
neither absolutely true nor absolutely false; and conse¬
quently may be asserted either in the affirmative or nega¬
tive. In geometry, a proposition in which some operation
or construction is required; as to divide a line or an angle,
let fall a perpendicular, &c. In general, any question in¬
volving doubt or uncertainty, and requiring further evidence
for its solution.
PRO BUS, Marcus Aurelius, a Roman emperor, was
born at Sirmium in Pannonia, and entered the army at a
very early age. His rise to eminence was brilliant and
rapid. While he was still a mere boy, the Emperor Vale¬
rian made him a military tribune, and placed him on the
ladder of promotion. As he rose in fortune, he increased
in ability. His considerate bearing and judicious discipline
won the hearts of his subordinates, and his upright cha¬
racter and professional skill secured the esteem of his supe¬
riors. There was not a military duty which this admirable
youth did not perform in a manner which demanded the
greatest rewards and challenged the highest praise. His
personal valour on the field gained bracelets, spears, the
mural and civic crowns, and other badges of soldierly merit.
His campaigns in Africa, Egypt, Arabia, Scythia, Persia,
Germany, and Gaul, raised him high in the estimation of
several successive emperors. In the reign of Tacitus espe¬
cially he was greatly in favour, and was appointed com¬
mander-in-chief of all the eastern provinces. At length,
on the death of that emperor in 276, he was brought for¬
ward as a candidate for the purple; his rival, Florianus,
soon fell before him, and he was declared emperor with the
united consent of the army, the people, and the Senate.
An arduous task now lay before Prohus. He set him¬
self with all his characteristic energy and rapidity to re¬
form and consolidate the empire, which was distracted by
discordant elements from within, and impaired by hostile
agencies from without. His first measure was to esta¬
blish peace throughout his dominions. Placing himself
at the head of a mighty army, and advancing eastward
from the coasts of Gaul, he began to overwhelm all
opposition with one sweeping campaign. iMo foe could
resist his impetuous onward march. The barbarian in¬
vaders of the Gallic province were cut to pieces before
his terrific onslaught, and fled across the borders, leaving
» 400,000 slain. The enemies beyond the Rhine, catch¬
ing the rumours of his triumphs as he advanced across
the continent, became paralysed with fear. Nine of the
most powerful German princes threw themselves down at
his feet, and submitted to be hemmed in within their own
territories by a line of posts. The power of the vagrant
Sarmatians was shattered before him ; the Goths upon the
Thracian borders were awed into submission ; and no hostile
tribe was left unsubdued in the whole of Europe. No sooner
had that campaign been completed than he hastened to Asia
Minor to storm the robber Isaurians in their mountain fast¬
nesses. A long time had not elapsed before he was in Ethiopia,
suppressing the rebellion of the savage Blemmyes. He then
repaired to Alexandria, and checked the revolt of his own
general Saturninus. At length he brought his wars to a
conclusion in 280, by quelling the mutiny of his two officers
Bonosus and Proculus in Gaul. After Probus had thus
effected peace, his next design was to strengthen it by pro¬
moting industry. Accordingly a vigorous system of policy
was set on foot to encourage honest labour. Predatory
tribes were removed into the heart of strange countries,
where circumstances might compel them to lay aside their
warlike habits, and to have recourse to peaceful pursuits.
PRO
Lands, cattle, and implements were also given to those
who were inclined to follow husbandry. Nor were these
measures tried upon civilians alone. The soldiers likewise
were subjected to toil, in order that they might preserve
their hardihood and discipline. The whole empire in fact
seemed to be acquiring internal prosperity when an event
occurred which removed the originator and administrator of
this peaceful policy. It happened on a broiling August day
of 282, that Probus stood urging on the soldiers while they
were engaged in the unhealthy and toilsome task of drain¬
ing the marshes of Sirmium. The drudgery of the work
and his severe exactions threw the sweating troops into a
ferment of discontent and indignation. All at once they
flung down their ignoble tools, seized their warlike weapons,
and rose in one wild mass of confusion and mutiny. It was to
no purpose that the emperor took refuge in a strong tower.
The fury of his soldiers was irresistible; the tower was forced,
and a thousand swords were plunged into his body.
PROCACCINI, a fansily of eminent Italian artists, of
whom Ercole Procaccini was the father. He was born
at Bologna in 1720, and practised his profession at Milan.
Laborious, careful, and exact, he did not fail to achieve suc¬
cess. His pictures, in spite of a tameness of colouring and
an over-minuteness of detail, were notable for their grace¬
ful and correct figures, and their freedom from slovenly
mannerisms. His mode of teaching was especially pains¬
taking and excellent. Some of the most distinguished artists
of the Milanese school issued from his academy. Ercole
Procaccini was still living in 1591. His principal works are
in the churches of Bologna.
Procaccini, Camillo, the eldest son of the preceding,
was born at Bologna in 1546. The course of training by
which he was fitted for his profession was very thorough.
In his father’s school he was inured to patient and tasteful
elaboration. Then repairing to Rome to complete his
education for himselfj he acquired higher qualifications.
The contemplation of the great creations of Michael Angelo
kindled his imagination. The study of the graceful heads of
Parmigiano refined his taste. His brain became ready and
fertile in inventing, and his hand became rapid and feli¬
citous in executing. There was scarcely an artistic accom¬
plishment, in fact, which he did not easily acquire. Camillo
Procaccini thus attained to great eminence, and his name
became well known in many cities. At Bologna, Ravenna,
Pavia, and Genoa, he received as much employment as
would have occupied two artists. At Reggio he painted
“StRocco Dispensing the Sacrament to the Plague-stricken
Victims” with so much excellence that Annibale Caracci
was discouraged whe» he was commissioned to execute a
companion picture to it. At Piacenza he finished a fresco
of the “ Coronation of the Virgin,” which was only eclipsed
by an adjacent work of his great rival above mentioned.
Nor was his fame less at Milan, his fixed place of residence.
At the time of his death in 1626 there were few artists
who rivalled him in the estimation of his fellow-citizens.
Procaccini, Giulio Cesare, was the second son of
Ercole Procaccini, and was born at Bologna in 1548. He
was studying sculpture when the success of his brother
Camillo induced him to enter upon the profession of a
painter. The excellence which he soon attained in his
new profession was very great. His conceptions were
multiform and grand, his design was dignified and correct,
and his colouring was rich and harmonious. Pervading all
there was an exquisite grace, which was evidently copied
from Corregio, and which approached nearer to the style
of that great master than any imitations had ever done
before. Such a number of estimable accomplishments
could not fail to secure for Procaccini an honourable place
in the annals of painting. Accordingly, at his death in
1626 he left several pictures which still preserve a high
reputation. The most famous of these are at Milan. There
637
Procaccinu
638 PRO
Procaccini area “Deposition” and the “Martyrdom of St Nazarus
II and St Celsus ” in the church of La Madonna, a “ St Carlo ”
Procida. jn t]ie church 0f san Tomaso in Terra Mala, an “ Annun-
ciation ” and several other pictures in the church of
San Antonio, a portrait of Pope Julius III, in the imperial
palace, and the “Adoration of the Magi” in the Brera
gallery.
Procaccini, Carlo Antonio, was the third son of Ercole
Procaccini, and was born at Bologna in 1555. Although
brought up in the school of his father, he spent his life
chiefly in painting landscapes, flowers, and fruits. He had
a son named Ercole who obtained some repute as an artist.
PROCIDA, Giovanni di, an eminent Sicilian patriot,
was born at Salerno about 1225, and became proprietor of
the island of Procida. His first appearance on the stage
of history was made in 1266, when Charles of Anjou slew
Manfredi, King of Sicily, at the battle of Benevento, and
seized upon the vacant throne. All his time and fortune
were forthwith staked upon an enterprise for restoring the
expelled house of Hohenstauffen. To draw the sword in
behalf of the stripling Conrad was his first attempt. When
that prince was defeated and executed, all his efforts were
next directed to the formation of a widely-organized con¬
spiracy against the triumphant usurper. He hastened to
Spain to persuade Peter of Aragon to claim the Sicilian
crown in right of his wife, the daughter of Manfredi. He
returned to Sicily in disguise, to encourage the rebellious
spirit among his countrymen, with the promise of assistance
from the King of Aragon. He then repaired to the Em¬
peror Michael Palaeologus at Constantinople, and brought
back money to buy weapons for the disarmed natives. At
length he drew the chief of his accomplices to Palermo, and
waited until some accident should light the train which he
had so artfully laid. That accident soon occurred. It
happened on the Easter Monday of 1282 that a mixed
procession of citizens and French invaders set out from
Palermo to hear vespers at a neighbouring village church.
On the way a Frenchman began to be rude to a Sicilian
maiden, and was immediately stabbed to the heart by the
betrothed of the insulted girl. This desperate deed acted
like a firebrand upon the excited tempers of the natives.
Their long pent-up revenge burst into a wild explosion;
the cry of “ Death to the French” rose in the air; each
man turned with drawn dagger upon the foreigner that was
next him ; and before the vesper-bell had ceased to sound,
every Frenchman in the company was slain. Nor was
their thirst for vengeance slaked with so much blood. They
rushed home to exterminate those foreigners who had re¬
mained in the city. Neither age nor sex was spared.
The carnage raged indiscriminately until 4000 lay welter¬
ing in their blood, and the fury of the assassins was sud¬
denly checked for want of victims. This massacre, known
by the name of “ the Sicilian vespers,” decided the fate of
Sicily. The revolt spread through the rest of the country ;
Peter of Aragon landed and received the crown ; Charles
of Anjou was repulsed in his attempt to regain the island;
and Giovanni di Procida, before his death at the beginning
of the fourteenth century, had the satisfaction of seeing
that through his patriotic exertions the lawful sovereigns of
Sicily were seated in undisputed possession of the throne.
PROC1DA (anc. Prochyta), an island in the Mediter¬
ranean, belonging to the kingdom of Naples, lies between
Cape Miseno and the island of Ischia, at the northern
extremity of the Bay of Naples. Its form is irregular;
and it is 2^ miles from N.E. to S.W., and as much from
N.W. to S.E. A strait, 3% miles broad, separates it from
the mainland. The northern extremity of the island termi¬
nates in steep and picturesque cliffs; on one of which, Cape
Rocciola, the N.E. point, stands a ruined castle command¬
ing a fine view. On the slopes of this hill, towards the
south, the town of Procida, with its flat-roofed houses, gar-
P R O
dens, vineyards, and orange groves, has a beautiful appear- Proclama-
ance. Its population is 3400. The island is chiefly occu- tion
pied with gardens and vineyards ; and the people are II
employed in these and in seafaring pursuits, which are Proclu9'
actively carried on,—no fewer than 300 vessels being
owned in the island. The chief article of commerce is
fruit. The inhabitants are of Greek origin, retaining the
costume, and, on festive occasions, performing the charac¬
teristic dances of that nation. Procida now belongs to the
crown, though it was at one time the property of a family,
of which John of Procida, the author of the Sicilian Vespers,
was the most famous member. Pop. 14,580.
PROCLAMATION, a public notice given of anything
of which the sovereign thinks proper to advertise his sub¬
jects. Proclamations form a branch of the sovereign’s pre¬
rogative, and they have a binding force when they are
grounded upon and enforce the laws of the realm. For,
though the making of laws is entirely the work of the legis¬
lative branch of the sovereign power, yet the manner, time,
and circumstances of putting those laws into execution must
frequently be left to the discretion of the executive magis¬
trate ; and therefore his 'proclamations are binding upon
the subject, where they do not either contradict the old
laws or tend to establish new ones, but only enforce the
execution of such laws as are already in existence, in such
manner as the sovereign shall judge necessary.
PROCLUS, surnamed “ the Successor’’(AtaSoxos), either
from his being the successor of Syrianus in the direction of
the Athenian school, or, which is much more probable,
from his being regarded as the genuine successor of Plato,
was the last and one of the most celebrated of the Neo-
Platonists. He was born at Byzantium on the 8th of
February, a.d. 412, though, as the son of the Lycian
Patricius, he frequently regarded himself as a native of
Xanthus, where the earlier part of his life was spent. From
Xanthus he removed to Alexandria while still young, and
was received into the family of Leonas the rhetorician, who
introduced him to the leading scholars of the city. Pur¬
posing to pursue the study of jurisprudence, he studied
grammar under Orion, and applied himself to the Latin
tongue. Having visited Byzantium in the company of
Leonas, he, immediately on his return, abandoned rhetoric
and law for the study of philosophy, and sought the in¬
structions of Olympiodorus. This choice of a teacher,
while it could not have been called a happy one for an
ordinary man, was eminently so for Proclus. The appa¬
rent obscurity of his master, his penetrating intellect ren¬
dered luminous; and what he could not fully understand
on its delivery, he was enabled to preserve for future study
by his prodigious memory. His master was charmed with
his genius ; so also was his master’s daughter; whether or
not for his talents, does not appear. Leaving Alexandria at
the age of twenty, he chose Athens for a residence. He had
the good fortune to make the acquaintance of Plutarchus,
the son of Nestorius, who read with him the De Anima of
Aristotle and the Phcedo of Plato. On his death, Plutarchus
commended him to the care of Syrianus, who employed
him as his coadjutor. So great was his industry and so in¬
tense his application, that by his twenty-eighth year he had
written his commentary on the Timceus of Plato. He
succeeded Syrianus at his death, continued his school, and
seems to have realized a handsome income from the
undertaking. From whatever cause, he was compelled
to quit Athens for a year, which afforded him leisure to
visit the East, and compile a collection of Chaldaean
oracles. He opened school on his return; and seems
to have disclosed the profounder principles of his philo¬
sophy only to his confidential disciples, on whom secrecy
was enjoined. In his religious ceremonies he observed a
like strictness. He was possessed of great strength and
remarkable personal beauty, which numerous matrimonial
PRO
Proconsul proposals still attest; but his adherence to fasts and vigils,
|| to labour and asceticism, led him to decline such connec-
Procopius. tions, and bestow his friendship upon Archiadas and others
of his disciples. Of his theurgic knowledge and discipline
let nothing be said. The reader will find much of that and
other absurd matters in the Vita Procli of Marinus. Pro-
clus died on the 17th of April 485 a.d.
Twenty-two works or pieces of Proclus are still extant.
There is no complete edition of them. That of Cousin
(Paris, 6 vols. 8vo, 1820-27) contains the treatises on
Providence and Fate, on the Ten Doubts about Provi¬
dence, and on the Nature of Evil; the Commentary on the
Alcibiades, and the Commentary on the Parmenides. The
following have been translated into English by Thomas
Taylor:—The Commentaries on the Tima-us, the six
books on the Theology of Plato, the Commentaries on the
first book of Euclid, the Theological Elements, the five
Hymns, and his Life by Marinus. Besides the works
already mentioned, seventeen others have unfortunately
perished. Proclus regarded the Orphic and Chaldeean
oracles as divine revelations, capable of an allegorical inter¬
pretation, whereby he endeavoured to make Plato and
Aristotle agree. He elevated faith (ttio-tis) above science ;
and strove to demonstrate that there is but one real prin¬
ciple of things—viz., Unity, which by its own development
produces all things by triads. These triads he considered
to be Unity, Duality, which is identical with limitation and
boundlessness, and the complex of both, which contains
Esse, Life, and Intelligence, the three fundamental disposi¬
tions of things. The Divinities he distinguished into Intel¬
ligible and Intelligent, Supernatural and Natural. He
exalted Theurgy above Philosophy, attributed a super¬
natural efficacy to the name of the Supreme Being, and was
hostile to the Christian religion.
PROCONSUL, a Roman magistrate sent to govern a
province with consular authority. The proconsuls were
appointed out of the body of the Senate ; and commonly,
when the year of any one’s consulate expired, he was sent
as proconsul into some province. The proconsuls decided
cases of equity and justice, either privately in their palace,
where they received petitions, heard complaints, and granted
writs under their seal; or publicly, in the common hall,
with the usual formalities observed in the court of judica¬
ture at Rome. Their office lasted only a year.
PROCOPIUS, an eminent Byzantine historian, was a
native of Caesarea in Palestine, where he was born in the
beginning of the sixth century after Christ. He removed
to Constantinople while still young, and rose to great dis¬
tinction as an advocate and professor of eloquence. He
attracted the attention of Belisarius, who in 527 a.d. chose
him for his secretary. He accompanied the hero on his
different wars in Asia, Africa, and Italy ; and in the Gothic
expedition he was placed at the head of the Byzantine
navy. On his return to Constantinople, his merits were
appreciated by the Emperor Justinian, who conferred upon
him the title of illustris, chose him a senator, and made
him prefect of the city in 562 a.d. Procopius died about
565 a.d.
It is a matter of question whether Procopius was a
Christian or an adherent of paganism. His chief works
are his 'To-ropun, in eight books ; his Krtcr/aara, in six books,
which flatters Justinian immoderately; his ’AvtKSora, a
chronique scandaleuse of the court of Constantinople from
a.d. 549 till 562 ; and his Orationes, consisting probably
of extracts from his History. The works of Procopius have
been published in the Bonn collection of the Byzantines,
with a carefully-revised text and a Latin version, by Din-
dorf, 3 vols. 8vo, 1833-38. The History has been ren¬
dered into nearly all the modern languages of Europe. It
was translated into English by Sir Henry Holcroft, Lend.
1653. His Anecdotes was likewise translated into Eng-
PRO
hsh by an anonymous author, under the title of The Secret
of the Court of the Emperor Justinian, London,
l iiLo {LipoKpovorrjs, the stretcher), is a sur¬
name of the celebrated robber Polypemon or Damastes
who tortured his victims by placing them on an iron bed’
which their stature was made to fit by stretching or mutila¬
tion. Hence the well-known proverb “ the bed of Procrus¬
tes.” He was slain by Theseus on the Cephissus in Attica.
PROC TOR, a person commissioned to manage another
person’s cause in any court of the civil or ecclesiastical law.
Proctor. See Universities.
PROCURATOR-FISCAL, the public prosecutor in
inferior courts in Scotland acting under the instructions of
the lord advocate, who is the principal public prosecutor.
J he procurator-fiscal usually makes the preliminary in¬
quiries as to crimes committed in his district; and trans¬
mitting the papers to the lord advocate, that officer, or
one of his assistants, either directs the case to be prose¬
cuted at his own instance before the superior court, or
leaves it to the conduct of the procurator-fiscal in the infe¬
rior court.
639
Procrustes
II
Prolation.
PRODICUS, a celebrated sophist, was a native of lulis
in the island of Ceos, and flourished about b.c. 432. He
was the contemporary of Democritus of Abdera and Gor-
gias of Leontium, and he was the disciple of Protagoras,
whom he rivalled in eloquence. His talents were so highly
appreciated by his fellow-citizens that he was employed on
various embassies, and on his arrival at Athens he opened
a school, where he was attended by the most distinguished
men of the age—Euripides, Socrates, Theramenes, and Iso¬
crates. Xenophon has preserved an apologue of Prodicus
(Mem. ii. 1), which is considered as one of the most pre¬
cious fragments of antiquity ; it is known as the “ Choice
of Hercules.” In the Axiochus of Plato there is also the
analysis of a harangue which Prodicus composed to dissipate
all fears of death. According to Suidas, he was at last ac¬
cused of being a corrupter of youth, and condemned to
drink hemlock.
PROFESSOR. See Universities.
PROGRAMME (Trpoypa/qua, a public proclamation), is
an old university term applied to an outline of the orations
to be delivered on a particular occasion ; but now used in
a more extended signification to denote the outline of any
entertainment or public ceremony.
PROGRESSION, in mathematics, is either arithme¬
tical, geometrical, or harmonica!. Continued arithmetical
proportion is, where the terms increase and decrease by
equal differences, and is called arithmetical progression,
thus:—
Increasing, 1, 3, 5, 7, 9, &c.
Decreasing, 18, 15, 12, 9, 6, &c.
Geometrical progression is when the terms increase or de¬
crease by equal ratios, thus:—
Increasing, 1, 2, 4, 8, 16, Sec.
Decreasing, 81, 27, 9, 3, 1, &c.
An harmonical progression is such, that of any three
consecutive terms, the first is to the third as the difference
between the first and second is to the difference between
the second and third. The reciprocals of the arithmetical
series, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, &c., are i, Sec., which forms
an harmonical progression.
PROJECTILES. See Gunnery.
PROJECTION OF THE SPHERE. See Geo¬
graphy, Mathematical.
Projection. See Perspective.
PROLATION, a musical term signifying a series of
notes, ascending or descending, which are to be sung to
one syllable. Anciently the word had a different musical
meaning. Thus Morley, in his Introduction, page 14, tells
..
640
FRO
Prolego- us that prolation is the measuring of semibreves by minims,
mena and is either greater or less. The greater prolation is
II when the semibreve contains three minims. The sign of
Promethe- js q or 0 . ]ess prolation is when the semibreve
v , contains only two minims. The sign of this is O or C •
rfhe old musicians called the ternary measure perfect, and
the binary measure imperfect. (g. f. g.)
PROLEGOMENA, certain preparatory observations
prefixed to a book or treatise, and containing something
necessary for the reader to be apprised of, to enable him
the better to understand the book, or to enter deeper into
the science.
PROLOGUE (jrpoXoyos), in the Greek tragedy, a word
employed to designate the introduction to the spectator of
the subject of the drama, whether tragedy or comedy.
The desired information could be communicated either
indirectly in the course of the action itself, or by a direct
account given to the audience. The former method being
the more agreeable to probability, was that adopted by
jEschylus and Sophocles, the latter by Euripides. In the
Latin comedy the prologue (proloyus) was an address of
the poet to the audience. The modern prologue is a short
discourse addressed to the audience, to inform them of the
subject of the piece, and not unfrequently to apologise for
the poet. It is generally neither composed nor spoken by
the author of the drama.
PROME (called by the Burmese Pri, and by the Mo¬
hammedans Pron), a town in the British territory of Pegu,
on the left bank of the Irrawaddy, 113 miles N.W. of
Pegu. It is surrounded by a brick wall, palisade, and ditch,
about two miles in circuit, and outside of these there are
extensive suburbs. South of the town stand many pagodas,
on the tops of small but steep hills. The flatness of the
ground on which it is built renders the town liable to inun¬
dations of the river; and it has also on more than one
occasion suffered from fire. By the latter calamity nearly
the whole town was destroyed in the beginning of 1856.
It has, however, many advantages for its speedy rise, espe¬
cially as a place of trade. Paper is made here; and the
adjacent country is laid out in gardens and rice-grounds.
The town was taken by the British in 1825, and again in
1852, on both occasions w ith hardly any opposition from
the Burmese. Pop. 30,000.
PROMETHEUS, the son of lapetusand Clymene, was
the brother of Atlas, Epimetheus, and Menoetius. He was
a prince of Mecone (the ancient name of Sicyon in the
Peloponnesus), if we may trust the legend told by Hesiod.
It is said that the inhabitants were debating with the gods
which part of the animal ought to be offered to them in
sacrifice, and that Prometheus recommended that the flesh
and best parts should be covered with the caul, whilst the
bones were enveloped in fat. Jupiter was then requested
to make choice of the part he preferred; and, being de¬
ceived by the trick of Prometheus, he selected the bones,
which were ever afterwards offered upon his altar. Indig¬
nant at this proceeding, he deprived men of the use of fire;
but Prometheus is said to have again outwitted him, and
drawn down fire from heaven, which he presented to man.
This is explained by supposing that Prometheus was the
first who discovered that fire could be extracted from two
pieces of wood rubbed together. By another tradition, we
find him making a man of clay, into which he conveys the
fire he had stolen from heaven, and for this daring invasion
of his privileges Jupiter orders Vulcan to chain Prome¬
theus on Mount Caucasus, where he was visited daily by
an eagle, which fed on his liver. Here he is said to have
remained thirty thousand years, until Hercules accidentally
visited him whilst in search of the gardens of the Hespe-
rides. Prometheus pointed out the way to him, and from
gratitude Hercules slew the eagle and released Prometheus.
Another tradition represents him as having been released by
PRO
Jupiter, in return for warning him against marrying Thetis, Promon.
as it was fated that her son should be more illustrious than tory
his father. He was the father of Deucalion by Clymene I!
or Pandora. (See Pandora.) There is a very sound ^roPerll"a.
explanation of the my thus of Prometheus, as given by
ATschvlus, in the Classical Museum, vol. v., by Professor
Blackie of Edinburgh.
PROMONTORY, a point of land or rock projecting
into the sea, the extremity of which is called a cape or
headland. (See Geography.)
PROMPTER, in the drama, an officer posted behind
the scenes, whose business it is to watch attentively the
actors speaking on the stage, in order to suggest and aid
them when at a stand, and correct them when at fault.
PRONAOS. See Glossary to Architecture.
PRONOUN. See Grammar.
PHONY, G aspard - Clair - F r an^ois - Marie - Riche
de, a celebrated French engineer, was born at Cbamelet,
in the department of the Rhone, in 1755, and was educated
at the ficole des Fonts et Chaussees. An essay on the
Thrust of Arches, published in 1783, was the means of
introducing him to a long course of public employment.
He was engaged under Peronnet in restoring the fort of
Dunkirk in 1785, and in erecting the bridge of Louis XVI.
in 1787. The laborious enterprise of drawing up the fa¬
mous Tables du Cadastre was entrusted to his direction in
1792. In 1794 he was charged with the professorship of
mechanics in the ficole Polytechnique, and in 1798 he
was appointed Directeur-General des Fonts et Chaussees.
His success continued after the overthrow of the republic
and the establishment of the empire. He was employed
by Napoleon to superintend tbe engineering operations
both for protecting the province of Ferrara against the
inundations of the Po, and for draining and improving the
Pontine Marshes. He was likewise engaged after the re¬
storation in regulating the course ot the Rhone, and in
several other important works. By the accomplishment of
so many laborious undertakings, Prony had gained a high
place in the estimation of the patrons of science. 1 he
title of baron was conferred upon him in 1828, and that
of peer in 1835. He was also, at the t'tne ot his death in
1839, a member of the principal academies and scientific
societies of Europe.
Among the numerous publications of Prony are the following:
Nouvelle Architecture Hudraulique, in 2 vols., 1790-96 ; Mecanique
Philosophique, in 4to, 1800; Analyse de VExposition du Systeme du
Monde par Laplace, in 8vo, 1801 ; Recherches sur la Poussee des
Torres, in 4to, 1802; Recherches Physico-Mecaniques sur la Theorie
des Eaux Courantes, in 4to, 1804; Cours de Mfcanique Concernunt
les Corps Solides, in 2 vols. 4to, 1815; and Description Hydrogra-
phique et Historique des Marais Pontins, in 4to, 1822-23.
PROOF. See Evidence, and Logic.
PROPERTIUS, Sextus Aurelius, a celebrated elegiac
poet, who flourished between 31-15 B.c. I he exact date
of his birth is uncertain ; but Clinton brings forward satis¬
factory reasons for believing that it was about the year 51
B.c., being thus fourteen years younger than Horace, and
eight younger than Livy. The place of his birth has also
been disputed; but be himself states that he was a native
of Umbria, though whether of Mevania, Ameria, Hispel-
lum, or Asisiuin, is uncertain. He studied at Rome, with
the intention of devoting himself to the bar; but his love
of poetry seduced him from the dry study of law, and he
entirely withdrew from taking any share in the active busi¬
ness of life. He died at an early age, leaving behind him
a collection of elegies divided into four books, of which
the last is supposed to have been published by one of his
friends after his death. Nobbe, a German critic wdio has
examined the subject with considerable care, thinks that
the first book was published not before 29 B.C., and not after
27 b.c. ; the second book not before 24 b.c. ; the third not
before 21 b.c.; the fourth not before 16 b.c.
PRO
Property Many of Propertius’s elegies are addressed to his mistress
II _ Cynthia, to whom he remains constant, though he suffers
Proportion from jier criielty. Her real name was Hostia, and she
seems to have belonged to that higher class of courtezans
known as kraLpai among the Greeks. She herself seems to
have been a poetess, besides being skilled in music, dancing,
and needlework. The language of his poetry is powerful, and
the structure of the verse correct, though not without some
peculiarities; as, for example, the close of the pentameter
line with a word of several syllables. In comparing the
elegies of Propertius with those of Tibullus, we perceive
that there is less of tenderness and softness, less of that
simplicity for which Tibullus is so eminently distinguished;
but, on the other hand, there is more spirit, a greater reach
of thought, and more power of expression. He possesses
much of the spirit of the lyric poet, and had talents which
fitted him for things of greater moment than those upon
which he bestowed them. Propertius was a close imitator
of the Greek writers; Callimachus and Philetas were the
poets whom he more particularly followed, so that he was
sometimes called the Roman Callimachus. Like Calli¬
machus, he is fond of displaying his learning, and has fre-
que'nt allusion to mythological subjects; but this at times
is the cause of some obscurity, and detracts from that sim¬
plicity which is the soul of true elegiac poetry. One of the
best separate editions of Propertius is that of Hertzberg,
with a commentary, Halle, 1844-45, 4 thin vols. 8vo, but
they are generally published along with Catullus and Tibul¬
lus. He has been translated into French, German, and
Italian, and into English prose by Gantillon, from the excel¬
lent text of Paley. (See Bohn’s “ Classical Library,” 1854.)
PROPERTY (Lat. proprietas, ownership), as to its
etymology, suggests the notion of a thing being a man’s
own (proprius); a notion, moreover, which is contained in
every definition of property. It is defined by a foreign
writer as “ the right to deal with a corporeal thing accord¬
ing to a man’s pleasure, and to the exclusion of all other
persons.” But this description of property errs by defect,
inasmuch as it excludes incorporeal things, which are con¬
sidered objects of property in English law, and were also
regarded as such in Roman law. Property, as here under¬
stood, is “ that which the positive law of a country recog¬
nises as property, and for the protection or recovery of
which it gives a remedy, by legal forms, against every
person who invades the property or has the possession of
it.” Property is divided into Things Real and Things
Personal. Things Real include lands, tenements, and he¬
reditaments. Hereditaments, again, are divided into Things
Corporeal and Incorporeal. The hereditaments, as enume¬
rated by Blackstone (book ii.), are advowsons, tithes, com¬
mons, ways, offices, dignities, franchises, corodies or pen¬
sions, annuities, and rents. The interest which one has in
any land, tenement, or hereditament, is called an estate.
(See Estate.) Personal property is frequently described
by the term “ moveablesbut this is inadequate, for cer¬
tain estates in lands are personal property, and are com¬
prehended under the term Chattels Real. (See Chattels.)
The legal capacity of persons to transfer and acquire estates
in lands and tenements belongs to legal treatises. {Cyclo¬
pedia of Political Knowledge, 1853 ; Warren’s Black-
stone’s Commentaries, book ii., 1855.)
PROPHECY is a word derived from Trpo^rjTeia, and in
its original import signifies the prediction of future events.
As God alone can perceive with certainty the future actions
of men and the remote consequences of those laws of
nature which he himself established, prophecy, when clearly
fulfilled, affords convincing evidence of an intimate and
supernatural communion between God and the person who
uttered the prediction. (See Theology.)
PROPONTIS. See Marmora, Sea of
. PROPORTION, the identity or similitude of two
VOL. XVIII.
PRO 641
ratios. Hence quantities that have the same ratio the one Proportion
to the other are said to be proportional. Thus, if A be to II
B as C to D, or 8 be to 4 as 30 to 15, A, B, C, D, and 8 Pr0^111-
4, 30, and 15, are said to be in proportion, or’are’ simply ban0Inen0S•
called proportionals. J
Proportion, Harmonical or Musical. See Music and
Temperament. " ’
PROPOSITION. See Geometry.
PROSE, the natural language of mankind, loose and
unconfined by poetical measures or restraints ; and in this
sense it stands opposed to verse or metrical composition.
PROSERPINE, supposed to be derived from <^epetv
4>6vov, to cause death, and is probably corrupted from the
Greek, which is variously written Persephone, Phersephassa,
Persephassa, Phersephatta, Persephatta, Pherrephassa,
Pherephatta, Phersephonera, and Persephonera. She was
the daughter of Jupiter and Ceres, who was carried off by
Pluto as she was gathering flowers with her companions.
Ceres, disconsolate for the loss of her daughter, after
having long sought her, heard where she was, and en¬
treated Jupiter to permit her to return from hell. This
request Jupiter granted, on condition that she had not
tasted anything in Pluto’s dominions. Ceres therefore
went to fetch her ; but when her daughter was preparing
to return, Ascalaphus gave information that he had seen
Proserpine eat some grains of a pomegranate she had
gathered in Pluto’s garden, on which she was sentenced to
continue in Tartarus in quality of Pluto’s spouse and the
queen of those gloomy regions ; but, to mitigate the grief
of vCeres for her disappointment, Jupiter granted that her
daughter should only spend six months in hell together
with her husband, and the other six on earth with her
mother. Some mythologists imagine that the latter part
of the fable alludes to vegetation, which must remain
hidden all the winter in order to sprout forth in the spring.
PROSLAMBANOMENOS (Greek vpoaXap.^avop.evo';,
the term Trpoo-Xap.l3avop.ev7] being found as an exception in
Bryennius only) signifies a lower string (xopSiy) or sound
(ptfoyyos) added to what was previously the lowest sound
of the ancient Greek system of conjunct and disjunct
tetrachords. For example, to the sounds BCDE, EFG«,
forming two conjunct tetrachords in the lowest part of the
scale, was added A, an octave below the last of the sounds
above named. This formed a series of sounds similar to
that of our minor scale when its 6th and 7th are made
minor; thus, ABCDEFGa, ascending diatonically from
A in the lowest space of the stave with bass-clefi to A
upon the highest line of the stave with same clef. In this
place we may mention that the ancient perfect system, or
Immutable System of the Greeks, as it is described by
Greek writers on music, appears to have consisted of
fifteen sounds comprehended within two octaves, reckoning
from the Proslambanomenos above described up to a sound
two octaves higher. The order of these sounds, and their
ancient Greek names and modern literal names, ascending,
are as follows: Proslambanomenos A, Hypate-hypaton B,
Parypate-hypaton C, Lichanos-hypaton D, Hypate-meson
E, Parypate-meson F, Lichanos-meson G, Mese a,
Paramese h, Tritediezeugmenon c, Paranete-diezeugmenon
d, Nete-diezeugmenon e, Trite-hyperbolaeon f Paranete-
hyperbolaeon g, Nete-hyperbolae a. Some of these strings
or sounds were called Apycni, Baropycni, Mesopycni,
Oxypycni. Some, too, were fixed, and others moveable.
(For various observations upon Greek scales, and upon cer¬
tain oriental scales and ecclesiastical scales, see the aiticle
Music, and appendix to Graham’s Essay on the Theory and
Practice of Musical Composition, 1838.)
The texts of the ancient Greek writers upon music are
so corrupted and so obscure in many respects, and contain
so little of a really practical or useful nature, that we have
purposely refrained from inserting in this work many old
4 M
642 P K O
Prosody Greek theoretical terms, of which the exact signification
II is now lost. Attempts to explain these could end in
Protestant. n0^ping better than vague and useless conjectures. I hose
who feel any particular interest in the very obscure^ sub¬
ject of ancient Greek music, may consult the Greek
writers edited by Meibomius and Wallis, and various other
ancient writers who treat of music expressly or incidentally ;
also Hawkins, Burney, Forkel, and others. (g. f. g.)
PROSODY, that part of grammar which treats of the
quantities and accents of syllables, and the manner of
making verses. I his subject, in its various sub-divisions
will be found treated of throughout the work.
PROSOPOPCEIA. See Personification.
PROSSNITZ, a town of the Austrian empire, in
Moravia, on the Rumza, in the fertile district of Hanna,
11 miles S.S.W. of Olmiitz. It contains several churches,
a convent, hospital, and military school. Manufactures of
woollen and linen cloth, kerseymere, cotton fabrics, and
brandy are carried on here ; and asparagus is raised in
large quantities in the neighbourhood. The largest corn-
market in Moravia is held at Prossnitz. Pop. (1851)
11,396.
PROSTYLE. See Glossary to Architecture.
PROTAGORAS, a celebrated sophist of Abdera, was
the son of Artemon or Maeandrios, and flourished 444
B.C. His poverty had compelled him to adopt the humble
trade of a wood-carrier, when his countryman Democritus,
attracted by the singularly ingenious manner in which he
fastened his bundle, admitted him as one of his pupils.
After he had profited sufficiently by the instruction of
Democritus, he proceeded to Athens, where he opened a
school, which was attended by all the most illustrious men
of the age. Amongst others, Pericles is said to have been
his pupil. Protagoras is said to have been the first who
set a price on his instruction, and by this means he was
enabled to amass a large fortune. Plato, who was his
avowed opponent, is willing to allow that Protagoras pos¬
sessed a lively and fertile imagination, a wonderful memory,
and great eloquence ; but he was vain, impudent, and pre¬
sumptuous ; he spoke of his rivals with contempt, and of
himself with a degree of confidence which excited the
admiration of the vulgar. In the The&tetus of Plato we
have a summary of the doctrines of this philosopher. He
summed up the doctrine ot Heracleitus concerning eternal
becoming in the well-known proposition: 4 Man is the
measure of the universe, both of that which exists and of
that which does not exist.” Confutation was accordingly
impossible. Protagoras, having in one of his works de¬
clared that he could not argue on the nature of the gods
because he was not certain of their existence, he was
accused of impiety, and condemned to suffer death, or,
according to others, banishment. On his passage to Sicily
he suffered shipwreck, and was drowned, Frei conjectures,
about B.C. 411, and accordingly assigns 480 B.C. as the
date of his birth. (See J. Frei’s Qucestiones Protagorece,
Bonnse, 1845.)
PROTECTIONISTS, a name given to that sectron of
the Conservative party which opposed the repeal of the
corn-laws, and which separated from Sir Robert Peel in
1846. A “ Society for the Protection of Agriculture, and
to counteract the efforts of the Anti-Corn Law League,
gave the name to the party. Lord George Bentinck was
their leader from 1846 till his death in September 21, 1848.
The administration under Lord Derby not proposing the
restoration of the corn-laws, this society was dissolved
February 7, 1853. (Haydn’s Dictionary of Dates.}
PROTESTANT, a name first given in Germany to
those who adhered to the doctrine of Luther. In 1529 the
Reformed party protested against a decree of the Emperor
Charles V. and the Diet of Spires, and declared that they
appealed to a general council. The same name has now
PRO
become a common denomination for all those of the Re- Protogenes
formed churches. _ II
PROTOGENES, a very celebrated Greek painter, was Prout.
a native of Caunus in Caria, and flourished 330 b.c., in the
time of Alexander the Great, being the contemporary of
Apelles. Protogenes lived principally in Rhodes, where
he was held in little honour by his neighbours, until Apelles
paid him a visit, and declared that Protogenes was only
inferior to himself in one particular, that he bestowed too
much pains in finishing his paintings. From that mo¬
ment the reputation of Protogenes was established. (See
Apelles.) His finest painting was that representing
lalysus, the grandson of Sol, which he took seven years to
finish, having put on it four courses of colour. Having
been placed in a temple at Rhodes, when the city was be¬
sieged by Demetrius, the painting was in danger of being
destroyed, when the conqueror is said to have retired rather
than that it should run any risk. It was afterwards carried
to Rome and placed in the Temple of Peace, where it was
destroyed by fire. There was a dog in this picture, which
the painter wished to represent with foam at its mouth ; but,
after many vain attempts, it is reported he threw his sponge
in a fury at the spot, and by a strange accident produced the
very effect he wanted. He also painted a satyr playing on
the shepherd’s pipe, which is said to have been very fine;
likewise a portrait of Pythias, the mother of the philosopher
Aristotle, a Pan, and portraits of Alexander. According to
Suidas, he was the author of two books on painting, now lost.
PROTRACTOR, an instrument for laying down and
measuring, with accuracy and despatch, angles upon paper,
and by which the use of the line of chords is superseded.
This instrument is variously formed, such as the graduated
semicircle, the rectangular ruler with graduated edges, and
other more expensive contrivances.
PROUT, Samuel, a great painter in water-colours, was
born at Plymouth in September 1783. His education in
art was obtained by a patient and enthusiastic study of
nature. He spent whole summer days in drawing the quiet
cottages, rustic bridges, and romantic water-mills of the
beautiful valleys of Devon. He even made a journey
through Cornwall, to try his hand in furnishing sketches
for Britton’s Beauties of England. On his removal to
London in 1805, a new scene of activity opened up before
Prout. It now became his endeavour to correct and im¬
prove his style by the study of the works of the great
masters. A great part of his time was also devoted to
maintaining himself by means of his art. He painted
marine pieces for Falser the printseller. He received
pupils, and published many drawing-books for learners. He
was likewise one of the first who turned to account in his
profession the newly-invented art of lithography. In spite
of all this industry, however, it was not until about 1818 that
Prout discovered his proper sphere. Happening at that
time to make his first visit to the Continent, and to study
the quaint streets and market-places of continental cities,
he suddenly found himself in a new and enchanting pro¬
vince of art. All his faculties feeling themselves in their
congenial element, sprung into unwonted power and acti¬
vity. His eye readily caught the picturesque features of
the architecture, and his hand put them down upon canvas
with unsurpassed felicity. The composition of the pictures
was exquisitely natural; the colour exhibited “ the truest
and happiest association in sun and shadethe delicately-
carved remnants of ancient architecture were copied with
fond minuteness ; and the solemnity of great cathedrals was
brought out with striking effect. Encouraged by this suc¬
cess, Prout continued most enthusiastically to puisne that
path upon which he had unexpectedly come. At the time of
his death, in February 1852, there was scarcely a nook in
France, Germany, Italy, and the Netherlands where his
quiet, benevolent, observant face had not been seen searc
PRO
Prout ing for antique gables and sculptured pieces of stone. In
Venice especially there was scarcely a pillar which his eye
Proverb. jla[j not ]ovingly studied and his pencil had not dexterously
s,—copied. (See a Memoir of Prout, by John Ruskin, in the
Art-Journal for 1849.)
Prout, William, a distinguished physician, was born in
1786, and took the degree of M.D. at Edinburgh. Settling
in London, he began to apply chemistry to his professional
studies. The results of his investigations were published
in Thomson’s Annals of Philosophy, the Philosophical
Transactions, the Philosophical Magazine, and other
scientific journals. They also appeared in separate treatises.
An Enquiry into the Nature and Treatment of Gravel,
Calculus, and other Diseases connected with a deranged
operation of the Urinary Organs, was produced in 1821.
Not long afterwards he published all his discoveries in a
collected form, in a treatise On the Nature and Treatment
of Stomach and Penal Diseases. By these and other
labours Prout attained to a position of eminence. He was
employed to write a Bridgewater essay on Chemistry, Me¬
teorology, and the Function of Digestion, considered with
refersnce to Natural Theology. So successful was his work
on Stomach and Renal Diseases that it reached a fifth
edition in 1848. At the time of his death in 1850, he was
a fellow of the Royal College of Physicians of London and
also of the Royal Society.
PROVENCE, an ancient province of France, in the
extreme S.E. of the kingdom, hounded on the N. by the
province of Dauphine, W. by that of Languedoc, S. and
S.E. by the Mediterranean, and E. by Italy. It compre¬
hends the modern departments of Basses-Alpes, Bouches-
du-Rhone, and Var; with parts of those of Vaucluse,
Drome, and Hautes-Alpes.
PROVERB (Lat. proverhium, i.e., pro-verbum), a by¬
word or saw, has been defined by Erasmus as “ Parcemia
est celebre dictum scita quapiam novitate insigne” {i.e., a
proverb is a well-known saying remarkable for some elegant
novelty). Of the numberless attempts at defining a pro¬
verb, perhaps the most elegant is that of Cervantes, who
describes them as “ short sentences drawn from long ex¬
perience” {Don Quixote, part i., c. 39). With the Opera
Moralia (vol. v., ed. Wyttenbach) of Plutarch, a collec¬
tion of 131 proverbs are given, with explanations, which
may be relied upon as tolerably genuine. To collect and
explain such stray portions of the wisdom of the people
has engaged the attention of many of the most learned
men the world has known. We have the testimony of
Laertius, that Aristotle, Theophrastus, and Chrysippus, all
engaged in collecting proverbs. Synesius, a writer of the
fifth century, quotes from a work of Aristotle, now lost, a
description of a proverb : “ A proverb is a remnant of the
ancient philosophy preserved amid very many destructions,
on account of its brevity and fitness tor use.” Zenobius,
who lived in the beginning of the second century, epito¬
mized 552 proverbs of two old writers, Terraeus and Didy-
mus; and Diogenianus, his contemporary, made a collec¬
tion of 775 proverbs. These two collections, with 1400
adages from Suidas, 353 from the Vatican library, and a
selection of rhymed adages, were edited by Andrew Schott,
4to, Antwerp, 1612. Michael Apostolius of Byzantium,
who lived about the middle of the fifteenth century, collected
2027 ancient proverbs, which were published by the Elze¬
virs, 4to, Lugd. Batav. 1653. The same house likewise
published at Amsterdam, in 1663, a useful epitome of
the 4151 adages of Erasmus.
In point of number, originality, and elegance, the proverbs
of Spain stand in advance of those of all other countries.
They can be traced back to the very earliest times. Many
are found in the General Chronicle, one of the oldest of
Spanish prose compositions ; and among them is the happy
one on disappointed expectations, quoted more than once
PRO
643
in Don Quixote :--He went for wool, and came back Proverbs,
shorn. Several occur in the Conde Lucano of Don John Book of.
Manuel, and many in the poetry of the Archpriest of' v '
vr mm i ±whT fl™risl?ed in the time of Alfonso
AL lill 1496, when Mendoza, Marques of Santillana
at the request of Juan II., collected for the instruction of
1 rince Henry a hundred rhymed Proverbios, and above
600, “ such as the old women were wont to repeat in their
chimney-corners,” the old and wise proverbs of the lan¬
guage had obtained no settled place in the didactic litera¬
ture of the country. From that date, however, they beo-an
to be turned to account. About the middle of the same
century Pedro Valles published an alphabetical list of
4300 old Spanish adages; and Hernan Nunez de Guzman,
the Greek scholar and nobleman, increased the series in
his Refranes (1555) to above 6000. Mai Lara, a Sevilian,
made a selection from this great store of 1000 proverbs,
and adding a commentary to each, published them in 1568,
under the not inappropriate title oi' Philosophy of the Com¬
mon People {La Philosophia Vulgar). Palmerino, a Va-
lencian, published in 1569 above 200 proverbs appropriate
to the table ; and Oudin issued a collection of Spanish
proverbs for the use of foreigners, at Paris in 1608. So-
rapan in 1616-17 issued two collections of medical pro¬
verbs ; and finally, in 1695, Cejudo, a schoolmaster of Val
de Penaz, gave the world about 6000, with the correspond¬
ing Latin adages, where he could find them, and with ex¬
planations more satisfactory than had been furnished
hitherto. A curious collection of Valencian proverbs was
published in 12mo at Valencia, by Carlos Ros in 1733.
Notwithstanding the number thus collected, many thou¬
sands still remained unpublished, known only among the
traditions of the humbler classes, that had given birth to
them all. Juan de Yriarte, the king’s librarian at Madrid,
collected towards the middle of the eighteenth century no
less than 24,000 ; and yet it is supposed he had not nearly
exhausted the stock peculiar to the common people of the
provinces. There is also a good modem collection of
Spanish proverbs in six duodecimo volumes by Repulles.
It is, perhaps, not possible to account for the number of
proverbs which are found in Spain above any other country
in Christendom ; but be this as it may, we know they are
frequently the most pleasant and most characteristic orna¬
ments of the national literature.
In our own country, among the numerous collectors of
proverbs, may be mentioned John Ray the naturalist, who
published in 1670 his book on proverbs, which has been fre¬
quently reprinted. There is likewise a valuable collection
of English proverbs, with lengthened explanations and an
ingenious preface by Oswald Dykes, 8vo, London, 1708. In
Ray’s collection there are, besides English proverbs, Scot¬
tish, Welsh, Irish, Danish, Eastern, and Hebrew proverbs.
He divides them into various classes, arranges each alpha¬
betically, anti winds up by an extensive index to the whole
work. The works which Ray consulted were—1. The
Children's Dictionary ; 2. Camden’s Remains ; 3. Clark’s
Collection ; 4. Gent’s Collection; 5. Herbert’s Jaculum
Prudentum; 6. Codrington’s Collection; 7. Howell’s
Parcemiographia. A new edition of this work has re¬
cently (1855) been published by Henry G. Bohn, in which
are introduced large additions of proverbs, sayings, sen¬
tences, maxims, and phrases, under the title of A Hand¬
book of Proverbs.
PROVERBS, The Book of. That Solomon was
the author of the Book of Proverbs has seldom been ques¬
tioned. Some have indeed thought that he composed a
part only of the Proverbs included in that book, and col¬
lected the others from various sources. It is probable, in¬
deed, that he availed himself of any sayings already cur¬
rent which he regarded as useful and important. Whether
he ever made any collection of his proverbs in writing is
644
PROVERBS, BOOK OF.
Proverbs, somewhat doubtful. From the twenty-fifth chapter to the
Book of. ent} 0f t]ie book, we are expressly informed, was written out
and added to the previous portion, by order of King Heze-
kiah. The divine authority of the book is sufficiently proved
by the quotations made from it in the New Testament (Korn,
xii. 16; Heb. xii. 5, 6; 1 Pet. iv. 8 ; 1 Thess.v. 15). It has
in all ages, indeed, been regarded as a great storehouse of
practical wisdom. The early fathers were accustomed to
call it rravapKtTos croc^ta. Modern writers have been equally
filled with admiration of the profound knowledge of human
nature displayed in it, its accurate delineations of character,
and the wonderful richness and appropriateness of its in¬
structions. j
The Hebrew word rendered proverbs maushal),
is derived from a root which means,—1. To resemble, to
compare; 2. To rule; and signifies primarily «
or comparison of two objects. Many of the proverbs of
Solomon are of this nature,—e.g., x. 26; xxv. 11, 12, 13,
14, 18, 19, 20, 25, 26, 28. Hence the meaning of the
word may have been gradually extended so as to embrace
any apophthegm or brief pithy saying. Or we may con¬
sider this meaning to have been derived from the other
signification, viz., to rule; whence authoritative maxims.
The idea of resemblance, however, seems to be the prominent
one, and may refer to the figurative style common in pro¬
verbs, even when no direct comparison is instituted. And
as highly figurative language belongs to poetry, it came to
pass that maushal was used to indicate any composition
expressed in a highly ornamented and poetic style. Thus
the prophecy of Baalam is called maushal (Num. xxiii. 7).
The characteristics of the proverbial style (in the more
restricted sense of the word) are, according to Bishop
Lowth,—1. Brevity ; 2. Obscurity ; 3. Elegance. The first
of these is, however, the only one that can be considered
at all universal. We should be rather inclined to name,
as a characteristic of the proverb, a pointed and sometimes
antithetical form of expression ; and this, in addition to
brevity or sententiousness, constitutes perhaps the only uni¬
versal distinction of this species of composition. Concise¬
ness indeed enters into the very essence of the proverb ;
and this fact is probably indicated by the word itself; pro-
verbia, for or instead of words,—i.e., one word for many.
From what has been said of the characteristics of the pro¬
verbial or parabolic style, it is obvious that it possesses pe¬
culiar advantages as a mediun of communicating truth.
The proverb once heard remaina fixed in the memory. Its
brevity, its appositeness, its epigrammatic point, often aided
by antithesis or paronomasia, not only ensure its remem¬
brance, but very probably its recurrence to the mind at the
very time it is needed. The advantages above specified
apply to the proverbial mode of writing in any age and
among any people. But Solomon must have had other
reasons for selecting it, peculiar to the age and country in
which he lived. The Hebrews have been called a nation
of children. We find this mode of writing employed in
the most remote ages; and wise sayings, maxims, apopl>
thegms, constitute a large part of the early literature of
most nations. Especially is this true of the orientals. Re¬
cent travellers ;n the East assure us that the reverence for
proverbs still exists there; and that nothing gives a man
so much advantage in an argument as the ability to quote
one of them on his side. We may therefore conclude that
the wise king could have found no better mode of impress¬
ing truth on the minds of his countrymen than the one he
has here chosen.
As to the style of the book of Proverbs, we find it to be
marked by those characteristics which distinguish the
poetry of the Hebrews from their prose compositions. Of
these, one of the most obvious and important is what has
been termed parallelism. This consists in a certain re¬
semblance or correspondence, either as to thought or form,
or both, between the members of a period. The two most Proverbs,
simple kinds of parallelism, and the only two we shall notice Boolt of-
here, are when the period contains but two members, and
the last either repeats the thought contained in the first, or
presents an antithetical assertion, beginning generally with
the adversative but. The first kind of parallelism is called
by Lowth synonymous, the second antithetic. The follow¬
ing passage is a beautiful example of synonymous paral¬
lelism:—
“ My son, if thou wilt receive my words,
And hide my commandments with thee ;
So that thou incline thine ear unto wisdom,
And apply thine heart to understanding;
Yea, if thou criest after knowledge,
And liftest up thy voice for understanding;
If thou seekest her as silver,
And searchest for her as for hid treasures;
Then shalt thou understand the fear of the Lord,
And find the knowledge of God.” (Prov. ii. 1-5.)
As an instance of antithetic parallelism, take these
verses :—
“ The fear of the Lord prolongeth days ;
But the years of the wicked shall be shortened.
The hope of the righteous shall be gladness;
But the expectation of the wicked shall perish.
The way of the Lord is strength to the upright;
But destruction shall be to the workers of iniquity.”
(Prov. x. 27-29.)
It will be perceived that there is a continuity in the
former of these passages which does not belong to the
latter. In fact the first nine chapters of the book of Pro¬
verbs are remarkably distinguished from the remainder, and
constitute a sort of proem or exordium to the work. This
portion was probably committed to writing, while the dis¬
connected aphorisms which compose the greater part of the
remaining portion were only uttered. It is a continuous
discourse, written in the highest style of poetry, adorned
with apt and beautiful illustrations, and with various and
striking figures. The personification of Wisdom in these
chapters is universally regarded as one of the most beauti¬
ful examples of prosopopoeia to be found in the Bible, and
possesses an indescribable grace and majesty. At the
tenth chapter a different style commences. From ch. x.
to ch. xxii. 17 is a series of pithy disconnected maxims, on
various subjects, and applicable to the most diverse situa¬
tions. From ch. xxii. 17 to ch. xxv. a style resembling
that of the exordium, though inferior in elegance and sub¬
limity, prevails ; and at the twenty-fifth chapter the sepa¬
rate maxims recommence. These compose the remainder
of the book, with the exception of the thirtieth chapter,
which is ascribed to Agur, and the thirty-first, which is
said to be the advice given to King Lemuel by his mother.
Who these persons are is not known. The supposition
that Lemuel is another name of Solomon does not appear
to be supported by proof. The thirtieth chapter affords an
example of another species of writing closely allied to the
proverb, and equally in favour among the Orientals. It is
that of riddles or enigmas designed to exercise the wit and
ingenuity of the hearer, and to impart instruction through
the medium of amusement. The concluding chapter, con¬
taining the counsels addressed to King Lemuel by his
mother, needs no elucidation. It presents a beautiful pic¬
ture of female excellence in an age and country where
modesty, industry, submission, and the domestic and
matronly virtues were esteemed the only appropriate orna¬
ments of woman.
The literature of the book of Proverbs is contained chiefly in
the following works (besides the preliminary dissertations in the
various Commentaries) :—Melancthon, Escphcatio Prom. 1555 ;
Mercer, Comment in Prom. Salom.; Geiero, Prom. 1669;
Schultens, Proverbia Salom. 1748; Hirtz, Vollst. Erklar. der
Spriiche Salom. 1768 ; Hunt, Observations on the Book of Proverbs,
nib-, Hodgson, On the Book of Proverbs, 1778; Jager, Observatt.
’rovidence
FRO
in Prov. Salom. Versionem Alexand. 1788; Lawson, Exposition of
Proverbs, 1821; Umbreit, Philol. Krit. u. Philosoph. Comm. u. d.
Spriiche Salom. 1826; and Moses Stuart, 1850. There are also
translations, mostly with notes, by J. D. Michaelis, 1778 ;
Doederlein, 1786; Streunsee, 1783; Kleuker, 1786; lieichard,
1790; Ziegler, 1791; Muntinghe, 1800, 1802; Dahler, 1810;
Holden, 1819; Gramberg, 1828; Bockel, 1829; Ewald in his
Poet. Biich.
PROVIDENCE, a town of the United States of North
America, one of the capitals of the state of Rhode Island,
on both sides of the Providence River, where it falls into
Narraganset Bay, 35 miles from the sea, 43 S.S.W. of
Boston, and 175 N.E. of New York. The extremity of
Narraganset Bay is formed by an oval-shaped sheet of water
inclosed by stone masonry, and lined by a broad public
walk with many shady trees. Close to this stand the rail¬
way stations for Boston, Stonington, and Worcester, con¬
veniently situated in close connection with each other, and
in the middle of the business portion of the town. The
river is crossed by several well-built bridges. The plan of
the town is irregular, on account of the unevenness of the
site, which rises into several hills ; and the houses are gene¬
rally built of wood, though in some more substantial and
splendid materials have been employed. Providence con¬
tains many large and imposing public edifices. Among
these is the Arcade, a granite building with a glass roof,
226 feet long and 80 broad. It is three storeys in height,
contains more than eighty shops, and has two fronts, each
adorned with a Doric portico. “ What Cheer Building,”
so called from the salutation addressed by the Indians to
the earliest settlers here, has recently been erected for the
accommodation of the public offices. Besides the State-
House, Market-House, and other buildings, the town con¬
tains about thirty-five churches, some of which are of con¬
siderable architectural merit. Providence is distinguished
for the number of literary and academical institutions it
contains. Of these, the principal is Brown university, a
seminary under the management of the Baptists, founded
in 1764, and removed hither in 1770. The edifice, which
occupies the highest site in the town, comprises four
large and elegant halls : Rhode Island Hall, containing the
lecture-rooms and museum; Manning Hall, the library of
19,800 volumes; University Hall and Hope College, the
residences of the students, who were, in 1857, 236 in num¬
ber. There are in all about fifty schools in the town of
various grades, from elementary to high schools; and they
are attended by upwards of 6000 pupils. I he athenaeum,
founded in 1836, occupies a handsome stone edifice, con¬
taining a reading-room and library of 10,000 volumes. I he
state normal school, which was established here in 1854,
had in 1856 an average attendance of 66 pupils. There is
also here a reform school for juvenile delinquents, con¬
taining, in 1856, 99 boys and 44 girls. Butler Hospital,
for the insane, opened in 1848, has extensive grounds, and
can accommodate about 145 patients. It contained in
1855, 137. The Dexter Asylum for the poor, occupying
a good brick building, with 40 acres of grounds, is another
of the benevolent institutions of Providence. The state
prison is situated here; and it contained in 1856, 76 pri¬
soners. The manufactures of Providence and its vicinity
are many and large, employing a capital of more than
L.1,000,000. Hardware, machinery, carriages, furniture,
jewellery, woollen and cotton fabrics, are the principal
articles produced. The water-power afforded by the river
is employed for moving flour and saw mills, and for sawing
and polishing marble. Steam-power is also made use of
to a <'reat extent. 1 he harbour is safe, and admits vessels
of 900 tons. The trade of the port was formerly very ex¬
tensive, especially with the East Indies and China; but it
is at present in a somewhat declining condition. Molasses,
sugar, coal, salt, and iron are imported from foreign coun¬
tries ; cotton, flour, grain, hay, &c., from other places on the
T R O 645
coast. ^ 1 he total value of the imports from foreign countries Province
in 1852 was L.36,504, and of the exports of domestic Wellesley
produce to foreign lands L.8656. The amount of duties I]
collected at the port was L.8015. The tonnage of the Provincia’
shipping registered 30th June 1852 was 9095 f of those
enrolled and licensed, 7327. In the year ending at that
date there entered from foreign ports 57 vessels^ tonnage
7944 ; and there cleared 60, tonnage 9876. Providence
contained, in 1853, 31 banks, and the total bank circula¬
tion 19th April 1858 was L.309,005. The town was
founded in 1635, and incorporated as a town in 1649. It
is now next to Boston among the cities of New England
for wealth and population. Pop. (1850) 41,512; (1853)
about 47,500.
PROVINCE WELLESLEY, one of the Eastern Straits
settlements, belonging to Great Britain, in the Malay Pe¬
ninsula, bounded on the N. and E. by the native state of
Quedah, S. by that of Perak, and W. by the sea ; length,
53 miles; breadth, 4; area, 140 square miles. The surface,
which is slightly undulating, slopes gradually towards the
sea. The soil is in general swampy, but not unproductive,
being very suitable for the cultivation of rice. In some
places there are narrow strips of sandy ground, where cocoa-
nut trees grow well. The geological formation of the dis¬
trict, like that of the island of Penang, is granitic. The
climate is hot, but salubrious, the mean temperature being
about 80°. When first occupied by the British, this coun¬
try was covered with a thick impenetrable jungle, haunted
by tigers, leopards, rhinoceroses, elephants, and other wild
beasts. It has, however, been since that time much im¬
proved, and about 120 square miles of the country are
under cultivation. Rice is the principal crop, but sugar is
also raised in the central and southern portions. The most
important of the other productions are indigo (not of
the best quality) and cocoa-nuts. Poultry and cattle are
sent from this settlement to that of Prince of Wales
Island. Province Wellesley was obtained from the King
of Quedah for a sum of money in 1802. It is subject to
the governor of Prince of Wales Island. Pop. (1855)
51,509.
PROVINCIA (an abbreviated form of procidentia)
seems, as to its original meaning, to indicate a duty, or
a matter entrusted to one; but is generally applied to a
territory beyond Italy, which had a regular organization
and was under Roman administration. The Roman state
in its ultimate development consisted of two parts, with a
separate organization,—Italia and the Provinciae. There
were of course no provinces in this sense of the word until
Rome had extended her conquest beyond the confines ot
Italy. Sicily was the first Roman province, B.C. 241, and
Sardinia was the second, B.C. 23o ; and Gallia Ulterior, in
Caesar’s time, is called in the Commentaries simply by the
name Provincia ; whence the modern term Provence.
When a country was conquered it received its provincial
organization either from the Roman commander, or from a
body of senators assisted by that commander. Praetors
were at first appointed to the oversight of provinces ; but
subsequently they received those governments upon the
expiration of their official year at Rome, and were called
propraetors. In later times of the republic the consuls were
appointed to provinces in a similar way, with the title of
proconsules. Such provinces received the designation ot
Consulares. Their term of office as governor ot the pro¬
vincia was usually a year, but it was frequently prolonged.
There was no pay attached to the office, but certain ex¬
penses were provided for out of the ^Erarium. A consi¬
derable change was made by Augustus on the administra¬
tion of the provinces. Where a large military force was
necessary, he took charge of the province himself, and left
the others to the care of the Roman Senate and people.
The provincise were accordingly divided into propria
646 PEG
Provins Populi Romani and proprice Ccesaris,—a distinction which
was observed till the third century.
Prussia. The Roman provinces, as enumerated by Sigonius down
to the battle of Actium, are as follows :—Sicilia, Sardinia
et Corsica, Hispania Citerior et Ulterior, Gallia Citerior,
Gallia Narbonensis et Comata, Illyricum, Macedonia,
Achaia, Asia, Cilicia, Syria, Bithynia et Pontus, Cyprus,
Africa, Cyrenaica et Creta, Numidia, Mauritania. Those
of a newer date were, according to the same writer, Rhsetia,
Noricum, Pannonia, Moesia, Dacia, Britannia, Mauritania
Caesariensis and Tingitana, iEgyptus, Cappadocia, Galatia,
Rhodus, Lycia, Commagene, Judaea, Arabia, Mesopotamia,
Armenia, Assyria. Under Augustus, Gallia was divided
into the four provinces of Narbonensis, Celtica or Lugdun-
ensis, Belgica, and Aquitania. It should be observed that
one marked distinction between the administration of Italy
and that of the provinces was, that in Italy the towns had
magistratus jurisdictio, while in the provinces, except
where the Jus Italicum had been granted, the governor
alone \\a.<\jurisdictio. Under the imperial rule, however,
a greater uniformity was introduced ; and ultimately the
whole of Italy was under a provincial form of government.
(See Sigonius, De Antique Jure Provinciarum, lib. i.-iii.;
the works of Goettling and of Walter; and a judicious article
by George Long in Smith’s Dictionary of Greek and
Roman Antiquities, 18ol.)
PROVINS, a town of France, capital of an arrondisse-
ment in the department of Seine-et-Marne, on the small
rivers Vouzie and Durtein, which unite here to flow into
the Seine, 29 miles E. of Melun. This ancient but now
decayed place lies between two hills, and consists of an
old and a new town,—the former on the upper ground, the
latter on the slopes beneath. Its ancient walls, which, with
their flanking watch-towers, still exist, inclose, besides the
buildings, a wide space of ground laid out in gardens and
vineyards. The streets of the old town are for the most
part narrow and irregular, its houses ill built and dilapi¬
dated ; while the new town, on the other hand, contains
P R U
regular streets and good houses. The most conspicuous Provost
object in the former is a large and solid mediteval tower,
called the Grosse Tour de Cesar, serving as the belfry of 1:,russia-
the old and massive church of St Quiriace. The new town
contains several interesting and curious churches, two hos¬
pitals, a market-house, college, school, and cavalry barracks.
The rivers are employed to drive many flour-mills, and
there are numerous dye-works along their banks. Earthen¬
ware, linsey-woolsey, and conserve of roses are also made
here. The roses of Provins have for ages been celebrated
for their rich crimson colour. They are said to have been
brought from Palestine by the Crusaders in the thirteenth
century, and are incorrectly called Provence roses. Some
trade is carried on in these flowers, as well as in corn, flom
&c. Pop. (1856) 6198.
PROVOST (§a.x. prqfost, from the Latin prcepositus,
placed before), is a name applied to the chief municipal
magistrate in corporate towns or cities in Scotland, and cor¬
responds to the English term mayor. He presides in civic
courts, and with the bailies, who are his deputies, deter¬
mines in all differences that arise amongst citizens. The
word is seldom used in England, except when it is applied
to the heads of certain colleges, such as Eton, King’s Col¬
lege, Cambridge, &c.
PRUDENTIUS, Aurelius Clemens, a Christian
poet of some celebrity, who flourished under the reign of
Theodosius the Great, was born in Spain in the year 348
A.r>. He first followed the profession of advocate, was after¬
wards a judge, then a soldier, and at length had an honour¬
able employment at court. Nothing more is known about
him. A great number of his poems remain; but the
style is barbarous, forming a singular contrast to the
purity of the Augustan age. The most complete and
splendid edition of his works is that of Faustinus Arevalus,
2 vols. 4to. Rom. 1788-9. That of Obbarius (8vo, Tubin¬
gen, 1845) will also be found satisfactory. (See H. Middle-
dorpf’s Comment, de Prudentio Theodosia Prudentiana,
1823-7.)
PRUSSIA.
History. The Prussian monarchy, at present the smallest among the
great powers of Europe, has been formed by the addition
of divers portions and provinces of Germany to the country
originally called Prussia. The latter country, although it
gave its name to the monarchy, and although upon it the
royal dignity was conferred, has, however, not served as the
nucleus around which the state crystallized into form, this
honour being allotted to the marquisate (in later times the
electorate) of Brandenburg. With the history of Bran¬
denburg, therefore, particularly since the accession to its
rule of the Hohenzollern dynasty, our task will mainly lie,
as we attempt to draw a short outline of the rise and pro¬
gress of the Prussian monarchy.
Ancient At the beginning of the Christian era we find the terri-
history of tory afterwards called Brandenburg inhabited by German
Branden- tribes, which, in the succeeding centuries, were carried
burS- along by that tide of migration westward and southward
that led to Teutonic settlements in all parts of the Roman
empire. Their place was soon filled by Slavonic races,
gradually advancing as far as the River Elbe, where they
remained unmolested until the kingdom of Germany was
established by the successors of Charlemagne in the treaty
of Verdun, a.d. 843. A kind of military colonies, called
Marches, were now everywhere founded for the defence of
the frontiers. Thus, in 930 we find the North March esta¬
blished by command of the emperor, at present the north¬
west corner of Brandenburg; and soon after, the East March,
which corresponds to the present Nether Lusatia. Mean¬
while Otto L, Emperor of Germany, had founded the
bishoprics of Brandenburg and Havelberg ; and desultory
warfare, aided by the labours of an active priesthood, be¬
gan to extend the boundary of German jurisdiction in
those parts. This forward movement found a powerful re¬
presentative in Markgraf Albrecht the Bear, formerly Duke
of Saxony. By his valiant exploits in 1157 against Zazko,
a chieftain of the Slavonic tribe called Wends, and by the
firm civil and military organization he gave to the greatly-
augmented territories under his rule, he became the real
founder of the marquisate of Brandenburg. His family,
the Ascanians, followed in his footsteps, gradually, in the
course of a century and a half, Germanizing the con¬
quered districts by the introduction of German immigrants;
establishing new towns, or endowing old ones with con¬
siderable privileges ; extending their territory by conquests
and intermarriages to parts of Pomerania in the north, and
to parts of Saxony, Lusatia, and Silesia in the south-east.
On the decease of the last of this dynasty, a.d. 1320,
anarchy threatened to wipe away for ever the happy germs
of civilization in these parts. Feuds among the lords and
barons, and devastating inroads of neighbouring princes
covered the land for nearly a century with bloodshed and
rapine. The Emperor Louis of Bavaria had, on the demise
of the last Ascanian, bestowed the Marquisate on his son
Louis, not then of age. This Markgraf Louis added the
new dignity of Elector of the Holy Roman Empire (F ur-
fiirst) to that of Archicamerarius Truperii (Erzkammerer),
PRUSSIA.
History, which his Ascanian predecessors had already held. But
^ this great accession of rank to the German princes did not
invest him or his immediate successors with that firm grasp
over the unruly nobles, and that protective power against
encroaching neighbours which were necessary in so ex¬
posed a situation as that of the electorate of Brandenburg.
The third of these Bavarian rulers was forced by financial
difficulties to cede his territories to the Emperor Charles
IV., whose main object seems to have been to turn the
Kur-march into a hereditary property of his own family of
Luxemburg. First, his eldest son Wenceslas of Bohemia,
and afterwards a younger son, Sigismund, then only eleven
years old, were created electors of Brandenburg, much to
the detriment of this miserable country. Sigismund, as
precocious in borrowing money as he was in obtaining dig¬
nities, twice gave over his fief of Brandenburg as a mort¬
gage for his debts. The first of these cessions was to his
cousin Todorus of Moravia. This prince was more success¬
ful in'the extortion of money from his impoverished subjects
in Brandenburg than in the chastisement of a nobility now
entirely masters of a country which they robbed and de¬
vastated at random. Fortunately for it, Sigismund was
still deeper in debt, when, on the decease of Todorus in
J til, he found himself emperor of Germany, and Bran¬
denburg again at his disposal. Frederick of Hohenzollern,
Burggraf or imperial commissioner at Nurnberg, had lent
the Emperor Sigismund 400,000 gold florins, and was
ready to waive this demand in return for a gift which at
that time would have possessed but little attractions to
many,—viz., the electorate of Brandenburg. In the year
1415, Frederick having held the lands in pawn during four
years, was raised to the dignity of elector, and received
the solemn investiture at the Diet of Constance in 1417
with great pomp and ceremony. Providence had graciously
ordained that with him this should be no idle and un¬
meaning pageant, but the commencement of an era of good
government, of steadfast progress, and of sober attention
to the labours of the state, which, handed down in his
highly-gifted family, has gradually and almost insensibly
raised that small and poor electorate of Brandenburg into
a kingdom of the first order among European powers, and
of great promise for the progress of the civilization of the
world.
TheHohen- A few words will suffice to introduce the reader to the
sollern fa- previous history of the Hohenzollerns. I heir name is de-
aily- rived from the castle of Zollern or Hohen-zollern in !swa-
bia, and their lineage is traced upwards to a Count Thas-
silo, w'ho lived in the days of Charlemagne. In the year
1200 the cadet de famille, one Conrad,^ received the ap¬
pointment of burg-graf of Nurnberg. From him the elec¬
toral and royal dynasty of Hohenzollern have descended
in an unbroken line, whilst the older branch of the family,
being descendants of Conrad’s eldest brother Frederick,
remained princes of a small territory contiguous to their
ancestral castle of Hohenzollern ; until in 1851 they gave
over their sovereignty to the King of Prussia, and they
now reside in the Prussian dominion as princes of the blood.
The present (1859) prime minister of Prussia, who is also
father of the Queen of Portugal, is one of these princes of
Hohenzollern. The Burggrafs of Nurnberg had, before ob¬
taining Brandenburg, become lords of Ansbach and Bai-
ieuth,”two small territories in Franconia. It may be as
well to state here that these territories of Ansbach and Bai-
icuth, after having remained a much-piized pioperty under
several hands in the electoral line of Hohenzollern during
many centuries, came in 1806 into the possession of Napo¬
leon, who in 1810 incorporated them with Bavaria,
riedftitck From the very beginning of his rule in 1412, Frederick
L Elector had been assiduously intent upon saving the countiy fiom
f the effects of anarchy. “ The towns, harried and plun-
knhm-g dered to skin and bone, were glad to see him, and did
647
homage to him with all their heart. But the baronaee or History,
squirearchy of the country were of another mind. These
in the late anarchies had set up for a kind of kino-s in their
own right; they had their feuds, made war, made peace,
levied tolls and transit dues; lived much at their discre^
tion in these solitary countries.” On their refusing homage,
“ Frederick was very patient with them, hoped to prevail
by gentle methods, but could make no progress in that
way.” Force was applied ; in spite of drawbridges and
thick walls, the feudal castles fell before what little artil¬
lery Frederick could muster against them, and with their
destruction, order and obedience to the laws entered the
long-distracted country. He understood the noble art of
governing men ; had in him the justice, clearness, valour,
and patience needed for that. Except in the Hussite wars
for Sigismund and the German empire, in which no man
could prosper, he may be defined as constantly prosperous.
To Brandenburg he was, very literally, the blessing of
blessings; redemption out of death into life.” Making
every allowance for the shortcomings of several individuals
in the long list of Hohenzollerns who followed Frederick on
the throne of Brandenburg, there has been something in
all that reminds the attentive student of the character of
this founder of their dynasty: regular and unflinching pro¬
gress in all essentials of policy without undue attention to
externals—moderation in expense and luxury—manly per¬
severance in their rights—advancement of the country in
the arts of peace as well as of war—protection of their
people against the insolent bearing and oppression of the
nobles.
Frederick I. bequeathed Brandenburg, with the elec-Elector
torship, to his second son Frederick II., who obtained the Frederick
title of “ Irontooth” by his military prowess. New acqui- II-
sitions of territory, by conquest, purchase, or intermarriage,
mark his rule (1440 to 1470), as well as that of his two
successor4pklbrecht Achilles and John I.; .the former ofElector
whom ^efomes important by his famous^fai£ily-ord.inance Albrecht.
(Hausgesetz, A.D. 1477), in which it was enacted, that
for the future the marches should remain undivided in the
hands of the elector; also that the Franconian principali¬
ties (viz., Ansbach and Baireuth) should never go to more
than two heirs. Thus a real state was formed, and a centre
of gravitation provided, to which in the then chaotic state
of the empire many a floating mass must needs agglu¬
tinate itself in the course of time. Albrecht Achilles’ fa¬
mily-ordinance was afterwards confirmed and sanctioned
afresh by the Elector Joachim Frederick’s house-treaty of
Gera. Order and progress in cultivation were on the in¬
crease throughout the country, colonists flowing into it
from other parts of Germany ; so that the beginning of the
sixteenth century saw the last of the feudal castles fall
under the powerful arm of the Elector Joachim I. (1499 Elector
to 1535). The first university in the electorate of Bran-Joachim I.
denburg was founded a.d. 1506 at Fiankfort on the Oder,
and a supreme and independent tribunal (Kammergericht)
organized at Berlin. It is strange, indeed, that this wise
and intelligent prince should have carefully avoided every
contact with the Reformation, which was spreading far and
wide among his people, giving a new and higher tone to
their tenor of life, and which was destined to become the
corner-stone of his state. The noble task of introducing
a more evangelical form of Christianity into the Bianden-
buro- possessions was reserved to his son, the valiant fighter
Joachim II. (1535 to 1571), called, “Hector” from the Elector
Turkish campaigns in which he had been imperial-general-Joachim II.
issimo. It was in the year 1539 that Joachim II. solemnly
partook of the Holy Communion according to the Lutheran
rite. The three bishoprics of Brandenburg, Havelberg,
a^d Lebus were incorporated into the electoiate, and their
immense revenues applied to the endowment of schools
and charitable institutions. One of his political transac-
.
648
History.
Elector
John
George.
Elector
John Sigis-
mund.
Previous
history of
Prussia.
PRUSSIA.
tions, thougli little spoken of at the time, was destined to
become the germ of one of the greatest wars the world
ever saw, viz., a hereditary union (Erbverbrilderung) with
Duke Frederick of Liegnitz, signed in 1537, by which, in
a certain event, the Silesian principalities of Liegnitz,
Brieg, and Wohlau, were to become the inheritance of the
Hohenzollern family. Our readers will see that we are
pointing to the origin of those Silesian difficulties two cen¬
turies later, and their effect on the Seven Years’War; which,
in the same degree as they redounded to the military
glory of their hero, have been up to the present day re¬
presented as having sprung from an arbitrary violation of
every law, human and divine. Another important step wras
made by this elector, when he obtained, in 1569, the co-in-
feftment of the country called Prussia, which had lately
changed its semi-monastic character into that of a secular
duchy under the feudal seigneurship of Poland, and under
the immediate rule of its first duke, who was a prince of the
Hohenzollern family. We shall see that, before long, the
sudden decay of the ducal family of Prussia led to the
complete union of the two countries under the rule of a
Brandenburg elector. John George, elector from 1571 to
1598, deserves our notice, because he opened a ready hand
of welcome to a numerous class of Dutchmen driven out
of Holland by religious intolerance, and assisted them in
settling within his dominions ; an example which several of
his successors have on occasion followed, much to the ad¬
vantage of the country,—giving protection to refugees, re¬
spectable, hardworking, and accomplished in various
branches of industry. His was a reign of thrift and order,
by which he succeeded, with the help of considerable
grants from his Stande (etats, or provincial parliaments),
in removing the consequences of his father’s financial mal¬
administrations. Considerable acquisitions accrued to his
grandson John Sigismund (1608 to 1619), who not only
laid the foundation, on the far west, of the now important
state possessions on the banks of the Rhine, by obtaining
certain portions of the so-called Cleve inheritance ; but
also (in 1618) united the dukedom of Prussia to his
family.
Of this Baltic country, whose destinies henceforward
remained interwoven with those of Brandenburg, it be¬
hoves us now to say a few words, in order to explain how'
a German commonwealth had sprung up in these distant
regions of the N.E. among a Lithuanian population.
The aboriginal Prussians, of a race belonging to the
Lithuanian family, were the inhabitants, from time imme¬
morial, of the territory along the coast between the Vistula
and the Niemen. Many had been the attempts to intro¬
duce Christianity among this heathenish people on the part
of the Polish clergy and the Polish kings; but the Prus¬
sians believing, for reasons of their own, that these mission¬
ary enterprises were but a cover to political annexation,
rallied to withstand them, and finally, much irritated by
military demonstrations, entered Poland in great numbers.
Their inroads became so alarming that the kings of Poland
resolved upon calling to their aid the Teutonic order of the
Knights of St George, who would, it was thought, in the
absence of Moors and Saracens, be found ready to open a
crusade upon that heathenish population. The request vvas
promptly acceded to by Hermann von Salza, the then
Deutschmeister, or general of the order, who, however,
before setting out, obtained from the emperor a declaration by
which all the Baltic lands hereafter to be conquered by his
Teutonic knights should become a possession of the order.
A long, steady, and well-planned war of conquest ensued
(1230 to 1283), in which, with a far smaller amount of
needless cruelty than was usual in those days of exter¬
mination, the whole country of the Prussians was subjected
to the order’s rule. Castles and towns were built where-
ever security demanded or commercial advantages seemed
to invite. So great a value was attached by the Teutonic History,
knights to this profession, that in 1309 they removed the
head-quarters of their order from Venice to their new palace
of Marienburg, which is to this day a wntness to their re¬
fined taste and their regal magnificence. In all matters
the order seemed to be prosperous, and to deserve its pro¬
gress. Not only did its influence and its conquests soon
extend beyond the limits of Prussia, but agriculture, com¬
merce, and the fine arts flourished within their dominions;
schools were founded, and law equitably administered. At
the time of their greatest prosperity, about the year 1400,
the Teutonic knights owned 55 walled cities (several of
them important centres of commerce), 48 castles, 19,000
villages, and a nett revenue of 800,000 Rhenish guilders
(L.65,000), a vast sum in those days. Luxury, however,
and insolent bearing had speedily followed wealth and
security, and a single defeat in the great battle of Tannen-
berg, a.d. 1410, lost against the united forces of the King
of Poland and the Lithuanian people, sufficed, if not to
drive them out of their possessions, yet to break their inde¬
pendent power. As soon as the great individual valour and
skill of their master had procured them an honourable
peace they fell out among themselves, one party calling in
the Poles to their assistance, and reduced their means to
such an extent by internecine warfare that, in the year
1466, the western portion of Prussia was entirely delivered
over to the King of Poland, and the order must needs be
satisfied to retain its hold on the eastern portion as vassals
to the king. In this extremity, the knightly common¬
wealth of the Teutonic order, in order to obtain protection
from without, began the system of electing to the office of
masters younger sons or cousins of powerful German dynas¬
ties. One of these masters, elected a.d. 1511, was Mark-
graf Albrecht of Brandenburg-Kulmbach, whose additional
recommendation lay in his being the nephew of the King of
Poland. Albrecht, however, met with no lenient treat¬
ment at the hands of his uncle, but was on the first oppor¬
tunity attacked by an overwhelming army of the Poles.
A truce was no sooner concluded in 1521 than Albrecht
hastened to Germany to invoke his countrymen’s assistance.
He was everywhere disappointed. But the power of the
Reformation was so forcibly impressed upon his mind that
on his return he declared his adherence to its tenets, with
the consent of several of his bishops, and under the accla¬
mations of the nobles and the people. After his liege
lord’s sanction had been obtained in the peace of Krakau,
Albrecht, as a consequence upon the dissolution of his
religious order, was proclaimed hereditary duke in the
secularized country of Prussia in the year 1525. Convinced
of the necessity of establishing the Reformation on the firm
basis of sound religious and national education, he opened
many schools throughout the country, and founded the
university of Konigsberg, which continues to this day to
stand in the vanguard of mental culture towards the East.
But Albrecht’s dynasty was not destined to last. His son
and successor became hopelessly lunatic. A regency had
to be appointed, which, after having been in the hands of
other relatives, was conducted from the year 1608 by one
elector, John Sigismund of Brandenburg, until in 1618, the
dukedom falling vacant by the melancholic duke’s death,
he took possession of Eastern Prussia, the western part still
remaining a province of Poland.
We have thus returned to the fortunate Elector John
Sigismund, whose matrimonial alliance with his cousin of
Prussia, and the co-infeftment bestowed upon his father,
combined in procuring his family a permanent possession
(although, for a long time to come, under the feudal
suzerainete of Poland) in this farthest north-east corner of
civilized Europe. But at this point the hereditary good
fortune seemed to desert the family of Hohenzollern. In¬
stead of uniting the north and south-west of Germany,
PRUSSIA.
Elector
George
William
Frederick
William
■he Great
elector.
History, which was almost entirely Protestant, into a league under
its leadership, and thus probably saving the Germans, from
a terrible war, Brandenburg receded from the foremost rank
in the defence of religious liberty, and suffered deservedly
from the wrath and contempt of both contending powers.
That fearful struggle, “ from the effects of which Germany
seems only now to be recovering herself,”—the Thirty
Years’ War (1618-1648) broke out during the latter years
of Elector John Sigismund. His successor, George Wil¬
liam (1624-1640), the first utterly incompetent ruler in his
family, allowed a violent Papist (believed to have been in
the pay of Austria), Count Schwarzenberg, to direct his
councils. Neutrality seemed the only desire of this des¬
picable prince’s heart. Remaining everybody’s friend in a
time of unequalled fury, he saw his country trampled under
foot by all princes and all armies. Forced by Gustavus
Adolphus to declare himself in his favour, he very shortly
broke his partizanship. Brandenburg, already impoverished
and exhausted by the imperial and Bavarian troops, was
now regularly fed upon by a numerous Swedish armament
for a number of years. Famine and pestilence cut off the
population by thousands; so that, at the time of George
William’s death in 1640, a traveller would see not only a
large number of towns and villages utterly ruined, their
trade and commerce annihilated, and even agriculture at a
stand-still, but, in the literal meaning of the term, uninha¬
bited tracts, miles after miles, of land, without a living soul
upon them. To Frederick William, who succeeded in this
year to the dominion of Brandenburg at the early age of
twenty, the gratitude of his people and the consent of his
contemporaries have ascribed the surname of the “ Great
Elector.” Endowed with a powerful and comprehensive
mind, and confident in the moral resources of his people,
who soon took courage under his rule, he speedily assumed
so imposing a position that the Swedes evacuated the
country of their Protestant ally, whilst he cleared by armed
force his Rhenish possessions. The elector’s voice made
itself heard again in the cause of religious toleration during
the conferences which were opened at Munster and at Os-
nabruck in the following years. When the peace was at
last concluded, Frederick William could congratulate him¬
self on having regained possession of almost all the terri¬
tories which had escaped the weak grasp of his father.
Almost the only exception to his success was the refusal of
the emperor to entertain his claims on the above-mentioned
Silesian principalities, which had fallen vacant in 1675,
during the reign of George William, and were withheld by
that potentate.
To heal the wounds of so protracted and inglorious a
devastation, and to secure his straggling possessions from
encroachment, was no easy task. It did not escape the
elector’s observation that the German empire, to whose
interests his family had loyally been devoted, could not, in
its rotten constitution, long retain much vitality, or any
protective power whatsoever. He therefore resolved to
give to his state as independent a position in Germany as
he could. For this state he saw dangers menacing on all
sides,—from the West, in the grasping tendencies of France,
then fast approaching the Rhine; from the north, in the
yet unbroken war-spirit of the Swedes ; and from the East,
in the feudal suzerainete which Poland held over his duchy
of Prussia. Proceeding step by step, he formed a very
efficient though small army, which soon made the name of
Brandenburghers to sound as well in the ears of military
men as any name in Europe. These troops, assisted by an
ever adroit and temporizing policy, procured him, during
the sanguinary war which Charles Gustavus waged against
Poland, the full and unrestricted sovereignty over his por¬
tion of Prussia. In a.d. 1660, before the German empire
or any of his German compeers had come to his assistance,
he sallied forth to recover the Rhenish possessions of his
VOL. XVIII.
family (Ctevcs, &c.), which an invading array of Louis
XIV. had wantonly occupied, without even a declaration
ot hostilities, during a war between France and Holland
bo skilful was his strategy that the French, in order to
deliver themselves from this most strenuous antagonist,
offered subsidies to the King of Sweden for an immediate
attack upon Brandenburg, left apparently defenceless bv
the elector’s Rhenish campaign. From Pomerania of
which a portion had been consigned to them in the peace
of 1648, they broke in upon Brandenburg, and committed
such ravages that their name is proverbially held up in
terror to the present day. Whilst they thought him still
drilling his troops in the south of Germany, he suddenly
attacked them, first at Rathenow, and then, following up
his success, a few days later gained a decisive victory°near
Fehrbellin, on the 28th of June 1675, over a force twice
his own number, under the best warriors of that day. The
elector left them no time to renew their forces by fresh
recruits; and in a brilliant campaign conquered Swedish
Pomerania, including the island of Riigen. ITe reduced
even the fortress of Stralsund, which the famous Wallen¬
stein had not many years before vainly attacked with his
mighty host. It availed the Swedish commanders but little
to create a diversion by a descent upon the duchy of Prus¬
sia. Frederick William was soon on their track, and his
troops, crossing an arm of the sea on sledges in the depth
of winter, drove the enemy from a position in which they
had deemed themselves unassailable. Meanwhile, however,
the emperor had concluded peace with their common ene¬
mies; and thus Frederick William, left entirely alone, was
obliged to sign the treaty of St Germain-en-Laye, by which
almost every legitimate fruit of his labours was lost. Be¬
fore he placed his signature to this deed, he gave vent to
his bitter feelings against the emperor by exclaiming,—
“ Fxoriare aliquis nostris ex ossibus ultor,” and desired his
chaplain to preach his thanksgiving-day sermon on the 9th
verse of Psalm cxvi.—“ It is better to trust in the Lord,
than to put confidence in princes.” Almost the last act of
Frederick William’s political life has a special bearing upon
British history. Negotiations were carried on by him with
William of Orange (afterwards King William III.), which
led to a promise of active co-operation—“ in the interest of
the Protestant party in England, and of the liberties of that
country,” as in the words of one of the elector’s despatches.
It was stipulated also that Marshal Schomberg should be
allowed to quit the Brandenburg army, of which he was at
that time commander-in-chief, whenever his services might
be required by William.
The Great Elector’s civil government became as famous
in his day as his military exploits. We must deeply regret
that, instead of fostering the remains of parliamentary life
that existed in every part of his dominions, he sacrificed
them unrelentingly to his one supreme object of state-unity.
The Stands, or provincial parliaments, consisting every¬
where of the representatives of the nobility, of the burghers,
and of the peasantry, were deprived, both in Brandenburg
and in Prussia, of their inalienable right of voting the sup¬
plies. Their resistance was so rudely coerced that (if we
pass in silence some futile attempts on their part in the fol¬
lowing reigns to regain their lost prestige) we may date the
beginning of absolutism in Brandenburg and Prussia from
Iris’ days,—an absolutism that remained unbroken, or nearly
so, until its hold was relaxed in the middle of the present
century, when we may hope to see a stronger union of the
sovereign and his people, cemented by the free participa¬
tion of the latter in the rights as well as the duties of citi¬
zenship. Frederick William abandoned the old system of
military levies and conscriptions in his own states, thus re-
servino- for the use of his country all hands available for
cultivation and for trade. His unremitting attention to the
different branches of his army, and his wise economy, en-
4 x
650
PRUSSIA.
History, abled him, with comparatively small pressure on the finances
V*of his country, to raise the military establishment to the
number of 40,000 as effective soldiers as any in Europe.
The distribution of taxes was effected more equitably. His
own farms were managed with an eye to improvement of
every kind. He received with open-handed hospitality a
great number of French Protestants driven from their
homes by the revocation of the Edict of Nantes, and found
himself richly rewarded by the industrious habits and the
skill of these new inhabitants. Every active employment
in agriculture, in trade and commerce, in arts and sciences,
met with encouragement. He ventured upon the founda¬
tion of colonies on the coast of Africa, for the defence of
which he kept up a small fleet of armed vessels. He was a
staunch adherent of the Protestant faith, of which his wife,
the pious Louisa Henrietta, was a bright ornament, and he
promoted school-education and literature in every way.
We have thus arrived at the close of the first period of
Brandenburg history. From a small nucleus of some thou¬
sand odd square miles, a firmly-organized state of European
importance had arisen, of nearly 50.000 square miles in
extent, and with a population of a million and a half. A
short summary of dates may serve as a retrospect of this
gradual and almost uninterrupted progress :—
About 500. Immigration of Slavonic tribes.
925. Henry I. of Germany subdues the Wends west of
the Oder ; conquest of their city of Branden¬
burg; foundation of the North March.
1136 to 1320. Ascanian Markgraves of Brandenburg.
1157 to 1170. Albrecht the Bear.
1230 to 1283. Conquest of Prussia by the Teutonic Knights.
1324 to 1373. Bavarian Markgraves of Brandenburg.
1356. Brandenburg becomes an Electorate.
1373 to 1415. Luxemburg Electors of Brandenburg.
1410. Defeat of the Teutonic Order at Tannenberg.
1415. Frederick, Burg-graf of Niirnberg, raised to the
Electorate of Brandenburg.
1415 to 1701. Hohenzollern Electors of Brandenburg.
1415 to 1440. Elector Frederick I.
1440 to 1470. Elector Frederick II.
1466. The Teutonic Order loses Western Prussia, and keeps
Eastern Prussia as vassal of Poland.
1470 to 1486. Elector Albrecht Achilles.
1486 to 1489. Elector John Cicero.
1499 to 1535. Elector Joachim I.
1511. Albrecht of Hohenzollern-Culmbach, grand-master
of the Teutonic Order.
1535 to 1571. Elector Joachim II.
1539. Lutheran Reformation in Brandenburg.
1562. Co-infeftment of Joachim II. for Prussia.
1571 to 1598. Elector John George.
1598 to 1608. Elector Joachim Frederick.
1608 to 1619. Elector John Sigismund.
1613. The Elector joins the Calvinistic Church.
1618. Union of the Duchy of Prussia with the Electorate
of Brandenburg.
1619 to 1640. Elector George William ; Thirty Years’ War.
1640 to 1688. Frederick William the Great Elector.
1648. Peace of Westphalia.
1657. Treaty of Wehlau; Eastern Prussia is freed from its
vassalage to Poland.
1675. The Swedes routed at Fehrbellin.
Prussia a We have seen that the uppermost principle in Frederick
kingdom. William’s political life was to raise his state into a position
Frederick as independent as possible of the Hapsburg-Luxemburg
** family, who, filling as they did the imperial throne of Ger¬
many, seemed nevertheless deaf to all but purely dynastic
interests. It was with this same view that Frederick, his
son and successor, laboured to raise his extra-Germanic
possession, viz., the duchy of Prussia, into a kingdom.
After endless negotiations, and the application of munifi¬
cent bribes at the court of Vienna, the emperor at last, de¬
sirous of securing Frederick’s well-drilled battalions, as¬
sented to his demand. In the year 1701, on the 18th of
January, this new European monarchy was ushered in by
Frederick’s placing the royal crown on his head at the
principal church of Kbnigsberg, the capital of Prussia. History.
Not averse to regal pomp and the splendour of courts, ^
Frederick I. on that day established the new order of the
Black Eagle, which holds the first rank among the decora¬
tions of the state, and is bestowed but sparingly. The
promise given to the emperor, of assistance in the forth¬
coming war, was faithfully kept. Frederick drove the
French from their positions of Kaiserswerth and llheinberg,
on the Nether Rhine, and strenuously assisted the Duke of
Marlborough in the reduction of other places. His youth¬
ful and brilliant captain, Prince Leopold of Dessau (cele¬
brated in much later years as “the Old Dessauer”), led the
Brandenburg-Prussian soldiers into Bavaria, where a ter¬
rible army bad assembled under the French general Villars.
Here it fell to their honourable lot to fight under the eyes
of Marlborough and of Eugene of Savoy, and to take their
due share in the labours and the glory of the great day of
Blenheim. It is reported that, when in the very centre of
the position the ranks of the allied army had been three
times broken, the Prince of Dessau led his grenadiers
onward single-handed, and decided the day. The same
intrepidity was evinced, and the same success obtained, by
the Prussians in the Italian campaign, when Leopold
Dessau, under the command of the great Eugene, was the
first to storm and to carry the ramparts of Turin, in the
battle of the 7th of September 1706. They did accept¬
able service also in the battles of Ramillies (in the same
year), of Oudenarde (1706), and of Malplaquet (1708).
Frederick I. left his kingdom in 1713, not inconsiderably Frederick
augmented by heritages and peaceable acquisitions, to William I.
his son Frederick William I., by his second wife Sophia
Charlotte of Hanover, sister of our king George I., and the
friend and correspondent of many of the first savans of her
day. Yet neither the father’s taste for the pomp and cere¬
mony of royalty, nor the philosophic elegance of Sophia
Charlotte seems to have been inherited by this sturdy prince,
who was given to his country to prepare it, during twenty-
seven years of unremitting labour (1713 to 1740), for the
rough handling it was to go through under the succeeding
reign. His name has been handed down to history as that
of a mean niggard, of a ridiculous drill-sergeant, and of a
cruel, half-mad barbarian. It would be impossible to deny
either his parsimony, or his military propensities, or his
severity and occasional bursts ot impetuous rage. But we
are inclined to look more leniently upon parsimonious habits
in a king when they are extended to his own requirements
as well as those of others, or upon outbreaks of ill-sup¬
pressed anger when this anger is the effect of a desire for
the salus rei publicae. We would forgive the Prussian
grenadiers their faultless regularity, and even the monstrous
size of a regiment of giants, when we know that their com¬
mander never abused this terrible armament for deeds of
aggression and conquest. Punctuality, frugality, and order
became through him the rule and heir-loom of his country;
the expenditure of an army of 72,000 men pressed not
a whit heavier upon its resources than half as much had
done under his father’s less careful government; and a
well-filled and well-guarded treasury secured the means of
prompt action in a country of undeveloped resources, and
in an age when the improved principles of national eco¬
nomy were unknown. Hie population of the country made
rapid progress, and was increased by a carefully-encouraged
immigration, chiefly of Protestants, who had been thrust
out of their own countries by the bigotry of their mas¬
ters. The king’s own pleasures lay almost exclusively in
field-sports, in parades, and in the company of his drinking
and smoking associates (tabaks-cbllegium); and his con¬
tempt of books and book-learning went so far that, during
many years, the annual expenditure of the royal library did
not exceed one guinea for a charwoman s occasional scrub¬
bing of the staircase. Yet he gave proper attention to the
PRUSSIA.
Great.”
History, schools of the poor, and extended the parochial system by
liberal endowments. He gave a wholesome stimulus to the
prompt administration of justice. Trials for witchcraft were
for ever abolished by him. Frederick William I. was ever
unwilling to resort to arms. He obtained Gueldres in
exchange for the principality of Orange, and held Stettin
by a peaceable arrangement with Sweden, until Charles
XII., on his return from Turkey, forced him to a trial of
arms by the repudiation of this arrangement. Charles XII.
in this conflict narrowly escaped .being taken prisoner in the
fortress of Stralsund, and the King of Prussia remained in
undisputed possession of Stettin and the mouth of the
Oder. In 1735 he assisted Austria with 10,000 picked
men in the war of succession in Poland, but withdrew his
valuable assistance when he discovered that his confiding
nature had been all along played upon by the court of
Vienna, and that Austrian intrigue was at work on every
point to oppose the interests of his country. This was the
last time Frederick William drew the sword. The inter¬
nal improvements of his dominions henceforward remained
his sole object until his death, in 1740, when he left his
kingdom, increased by nearly 5000 square miles of terri¬
tory, and no less than 900,000 inhabitants, to Frederick,
Frederick the eldest of his remaining sons. Frederick had never
II., or “the been his favourite. From the years of his boyhood, the
heir-apparent seemed to possess none of those qualities
which Frederick William respected, to the exclusion of
almost all others,—viz., absolute obedience to the head of
the family; attention to the prosaic part only of kingly
business; scrupulous punctuality in military matters, rather
than tactic and strategic ingenuity ; strict and undeviating
adherence to every dogma of the Calvinistic or “Reformed”
Church; and, finally, violent contempt of all unmanly graces
of social life, of literature and the fine arts, of foreign prin¬
ciples and manners. After the first attempts of imparting
these principles had failed, it would seem that the king
formed the resolution, for what he considered the preser¬
vation of Prussia from utter ruin, of cutting off the suc¬
cession of the prince-royal, either by his voluntary ab¬
dication or by actual violence. Of the latter method, the
world has been filled with accounts little creditable to the
character of the stern and unbending father; to the former
desire, when it dawned upon the prince’s mind as a fixed
purpose of his royal master, Frederick opposed this cha¬
racteristic answer:—“ The king evidently wants me to
abdicate; I will renounce my right of succession on condi¬
tion that my father declares I am not his rightful son.”
The effect of this terrible and cruel apprenticeship on the
crown-prince’s mind is clearly and tragically perceptible, in
the gradual change from a soft, most charming, most affec¬
tionate, and open disposition, to that character which his
unworthy friend Voltaire describes as “ poli et dur comme
le marbre; ” that coldness which wounded the enthu¬
siastic tenderness of his beloved sister Wilhelmina; that
expression of stern melancholy which settled on his brows
and marred every enjoyment, even that of his later
triumphs ; that measured and rarely genuine submissive¬
ness with which he met his father’s advances when a
reconciliation had taken place. He never lost his true
attachment to poetry and the fine arts; or, what is more,
his attachment to tried friends, among whom the two
Scotchmen, the Lord Marshal Keith and his brother James,
held a prominent place to their respective deaths. But
his existence remained cheerless,—illuminated with but few
rays of light,—devoted to a continued struggle with the
difficulties of a government, the responsibility of which he
took entirely upon his own shoulders, or of foreign wars
which he had commenced in the full flush of youth and
wealth, and which must have worn out any but his mind
and body, when the continent of Europe combined to chas¬
tise his rashness. Beloved in his early youth, feared in his
manhood, admired in his old age, he has now recovered in
the hearts of his people that intense affection which his youth
had inspired; and whilst Europe calls him “the Great”
he lives among the Prussians as their “Old Fritz” or as
Friedrich der Eingige (the Unique). None of the suc¬
ceeding soveieigns of Prussia have ventured upon takin", at
the time of their accession, the name of Frederick III.°
Boin 24th January 1/12, Frederick was very soon sub¬
jected to a strict regime, every detail of which had been
minutely prescribed in the autograph instructions of the
king himself. Contrary to the royal expectations, the
boy took to flute-playing, French wigs, and French books,
instead of drilling, the grenadier’s pigtail, and the cate¬
chism. Before long, the headstrong will and rather flighty
disposition of the crown-prince, encouraged by unwise as¬
sociates, by the indulgence of his mother, and by the affec¬
tionate caresses of his sister, led to violent altercations with
the king, who, likewise urged on by evil councillors, be¬
lieved that he saw the entire fabric of his state undermined
and crumbling into dust by this apparent conspiracy among
his own family. Driven to despair by threats and insults,
and by the galling sense of constant espionage around him,
Frederick resolved to flee from the presence of his father.
Several schemes were formed and rejected, when at last, the
occasion of a journey to Southern Germany with the king
appearing favourable, every preparation was made for a
flight to France and thence to England, where he hoped
to find an asylum with his mother’s brother, King George
I. But his guardians kept too close a watch ; and the un¬
fortunate youth’s chains were rivetted all the faster for his
rash attempt at desertion. The king declared his resolu¬
tion that the young captain must be tried by court-martial,
and suffer the penalty of death like any other deserter.
In vain did many of the sovereigns of Europe interfere
with the modern Brutus in behalf of the crown-prince;
among them the Emperor of Germany, whose paid agents
in Berlin had contributed but too much towards the embit-
terment of this animosity. It would appear that the court
of Vienna thought of preventing, by means of this family
disunion (which they actually did), the intended marriage
of Frederick with a daughter of George II., which would
certainly have been the result of a reconciliation. A close
confinement at the fortress of Ciistrin was the only allevia¬
tion to which the king would at last consent. On quitting
this, the royal prince was ordered to remain at the town of
Ciistrin, and to give his whole mind to the details of state
finances and civil government in general. The young
man’s stubborn mind was curbed, and although with no
good grace did he apply himself to these uncongenial
labours, yet he frequently reverted in after years with gra¬
titude towards his rude taskmaster, as having laid the
foundation of his skill as a governor of the country. In
this state of utter prostration and subjection, he was com¬
manded in 1733 to marry a princess of Brunswick, whom
he had never seen, and never (it is believed) could have
liked. As he would have complied with any command,
sullenly but submissively, he married the handsome but
insipid princess, in whose praise it must be said that she
bore her husband’s polite neglect uncomplainingly, and
without bitterness of heart. At a distance from the court,
although outwardly reconciled and scrupulously attentive
to his°duties as district-governor and as colonel of a regi¬
ment, the prince resided at Rheinsberg during the re¬
mainder of the king’s life, surrounded by friends of his own
choice, and devoted to literature. To this he contributed,
among others, a curious treatise called The Anti-Macchiavel,
in winch violent protests are raised against the dishonest
principles of the great Florentine master of statescraft.
On his accession to the throne, 31st May 1740, he re¬
tained for the most part the wise and salutary enactments
of his father, but freeing them from many of their asperities.
651
History.
652 P H U $ S I A.
History, and instilling new life into them. His prodigious activity
N—made itself felt very soon in every department of his admi¬
nistration. The Potsdam regiment of giants was dis¬
banded, and the fighting strength of his army increased.
Frederick abolished the rack, simplified the procedures in
courts of law, admitted every petitioner to his presence,
and declared in his own pithy manner that, in his do¬
minions, everybody should attend to his own soul as he
pleased (“ Ein jeder kann nach seiner Faison selig wer-
den”), by which perfect religious liberty to all religious
denominations was established in Prussia, before any other
country.
The death of Charles VI., Emperor of Germany, in
1740, without male issue, opened the flood-gates of political
intrigue and ambitious designs. Instigated by France, the
Bavarian elector laid unjust claims to Austria proper, leav¬
ing to the emperor’s only child, the beautiful and virtuous
Maria Theresa, nothing but the kingdom of Hungary.
The Saxon elector’s equally doubtful claims were on Mo¬
ravia. Frederick II. of Prussia considered the event a
favourable opportunity for seizing by force what had been
unjustly withheld by Austria from his predecessors since
the Thirty Years’ War,—viz., the Silesian principalities of
Liegnitz, Wohlau, and Brieg. Those predecessors had
never desisted in their efforts to obtain them. Devolving
by right of inheritance to the Hohenzollern family in 1675,
they had been retained, as we have seen, by the then em¬
peror for the augmentation of his own family property.
Frederick I., like the great elector, had protested against
this, declaring in a state paper,—“ As for keeping my
word, I must, I will, and I shall do it; the task of enforcing
my claims on Silesia I leave to my successors, whom, under
these circumstances of injustice, I cannot and will not in
any way bind.” And Frederick William I. had, on a recent
occasion, expressed the hope, “ that there stood the man,”
pointing to his son, “ who would revenge the indignities
First Site- that his house was suffering.” Frederick II.’s demands
sian war. were no sooner despatched to Vienna, than he marched
across the frontier of Silesia with 30,000 picked men.
Queen Maria Theresa very naturally rejected the demand
thus impertinently proffered. But her long-neglected
though numerous army proved deficient in every respect.
Frederick had the rare good fortune of being permitted to
combine his strategic book-learning with a knowledge of
the realities of war in a uniform continuance of success, for
which he was at first indebted mainly to the perfect organi¬
zation of his soldiers, and to the leadership of the Prince of
Dessau, whom we saw fighting in the battles of Marl¬
borough, and of Field-Marshal Count Schwerin. The lat¬
ter was a Pomeranian nobleman of high descent, whose
great military ability and moral worth Frederick ever ap¬
preciated to their full value. Two great battles—of Moll-
witz, a.d. 1741, and of Chotusitz, in the following year—
mark this his first campaign, which terminated in the peace
of Breslau. Nearly the whole of Silesia was delivered into
his hands. The numerous Protestants of Silesia hailed
their deliverance (as did likewise many years after the
Jesuit order, to whom the king gave free access to his do¬
minions, when the indignation of Roman Catholic courts
and nations had driven them forth into banishment). Two
years after the peace of Breslau, in 1744, Frederick occu¬
pied the important country of Ostfriesland, on the German
Ocean (at this day incorporated with Hanover), which had
fallen to his inheritance by the demise of the last of its
princes. But meanwhile the strenuous exertions of the
unfortunate Maria Theresa to raise up a Christian Euro¬
pean coalition did not allow him to remain inactive. Fre¬
derick had declared in favour of Charles, elector of Bavaria,
as a candidate for the vacant imperial throne, in opposition
to Maria Iheresa’s amiable husband, Francis of Lotha-
ringia. Accordingly, the former was elected emperor, under
the name of Charles VIE, by the German Reichstag or History.
Diet, and Frederick, on the strength of an alliance with
him and with the King of France and others, opened the Second Si-
second campaign in Silesia in the month of August 1744. lesian war.
Not so uniformly successful as in the former campaign, he
yet showed the superiority of his army and of his own
ripened military genius by three brilliant victories. At
the close of these two first campaigns, which are known
in military history as the Silesian wars, Frederick had lost
almost every grenadier of- his father’s training, and spent
every thaler that had been collected in his father’s trea¬
sury. Charles VIE was dead ; his rival of Lotharingia (the
ancestor of the present Emperor of Austria) had been
proclaimed German emperor; and Frederick now acknow¬
ledged him in the treaty of Dresden, December 1745,
which again confirmed him in the possession of Silesia.
Whatever difficulties the course of events might bring,
they would henceforward have to be met by the resources
of his own mind alone. Although he may never have an¬
ticipated to the full the terrible dangers that were destined
soon to environ him on all sides, he strained every nerve
to make good the years of peace and tranquillity allotted
to him. The revenues of the country were increased by
financial reforms, which, though very far indeed from being
faultless in the light of improved science, yet were calcu¬
lated to press but lightly on the productive powers of his
country. Every encouragement and every device was re¬
sorted to in order to develope these productive powers.
Whilst instilling new vigour into every branch of his multi¬
farious administration, and also attending with all the zest
of early manhood to the enjoyment of literature and of the
society of his personal friends, he did not forget to collect,
equip, and exercise an effective army of no less than 160,000
men, in the hope, perhaps, of thus preventing his enemy
from further attempts to recover her lost province. But a
will as energetic as his own lived in the much-tried em¬
press. A formidable coalition between Austria, Russia,
and Saxony, which was soon joined by France and Sweden,
crowned her untiring exertions. A partition of the Prus¬
sian monarchy was the object of this alliance, which pro¬
mised France an approach to the Rhine, and Russia the
possession of Prussia proper, and was to reduce Frederick
to the rank of Marquis of Brandenburg. To these secret
negotiations Frederick was able to oppose but one alliance,
which was destined to become not only most important for
him, but also most auspicious as a precursor of repeated
and, as it would seem, lasting bonds of amity, viz., w4th
Great Britain. In January 1756 a treaty was signed by
both parties for the avowed" purpose of “ repelling foreign
invasions on German soil.” Fortunately for Frederick, the
treachery of a clerk in the foreign office at Dresden soon
disclosed to him the secret transactions of the coalition.
He knew from good sources of information that Saxony, in
pursuance of the articles of treaty, was filling a camp at
Pirna with troops. Unwilling to give his enemies the Seven
advantage of further preparations, he left his capital in Years
the autumn of 1756,'—not to return for full seven perilous War.
years,—and suddenly appeared before Dresden at the
head of 70,000 men. To the astonished world he gave
full explanations by publishing in extenso the documents
in his possession. As for Saxony, it soon became evi¬
dent that he was resolved, as far as in him lay, to make
her fertile plains his centre of operations, and to save
his own country as much as possible from the miseries of
war. In this plan, carried out with incredible tenacity
throughout all the vicissitudes of the war, lies the secret
of a tact that would otherwise baffle explanation, viz., that
at the close of a protracted warfare, in which Prussia was
the chief actor and the sole prize, this country was found
to have suffered less in its resources than others of the con¬
tending parties. Very few of the battles were fought on
PRUSSIA.
History. Prussian ground: like lions at bay, he and his gallant allies,
ever alert on the frontiers, caused the hostile armies to halt
in their onward marches that converged towards Berlin from
the south, west, east, and north. The aid of Great Britain,
both in money and in men, was at first hesitatingly and
insufficiently bestowed, but after the battle of Rossbach, in
November 1757, large subsidies and an efficient force were
willingly granted, and with such unbounded confidence that
the king was requested to give to the latter a general of his
own choice. This alliance was abandoned by the English
court soon after the accession of George III. in 1761, and
Frederick was left to cope single-handed with difficulties
which were just then of the most crushing nature. Of this
memorable contest, which raised Frederick to a post of
honour among the great generals of all ages—which brought
to light unknown qualities of noble endurance and persever¬
ance, not only in the great leader, but among his people at
large—which disclosed the rottenness of nearly all conti¬
nental states that had not undergone the Spartan training
of so severe a taskmaster as Frederick William I.: of this
war, a fuller account has been given in another part of this
work. We purpose to pass its romantic vicissitudes in rapid
survey, pointing to its features rather than to its strategic
details. We have already mentioned his sudden march on
the capital of Saxony. Dresden was occupied without re¬
sistance ; the Saxon troops that had collected in the camp of
Pirna were inclosed and forced to surrender en masse ; and,
pushing on to attack one of the two Austrian armies before
their union, he was led into the most perilous and sanguinary
battle of Prague, May 6, 1757, which, but for the heroic de¬
votion of Marshall Schwerin, must have been lost. “ The
day is ours,” exclaimed the king, “ but 10,000 of our men
are no more, and Schwerin, alas! whom I reckon another
10,000.” But his position in Bohemia was lost by the terrible
defeat of Kollin; his British and Hanoverian allies were
likewise overpowered by the French; and, to make the list of
disasters complete, a victorious advance led the Russian
generals to Konigsberg, where (as the wont is of Russian
generals) the province of Prussia was by them, not long
after, simply declared to be henceforward an integral por¬
tion of the Russian empire. Frederick, who had left his
retreating troops in Silesia, joined another detachment of
his army which was vainly endeavouring to stop the mighty
advance of the French in Saxony. No sooner, however,
had the French general, Prince de Soubise, completed (as
he thought) the blockade of his enemy by the River Saale
on the 5th of November 1757, than Frederick’s cavalry
and infantry, suddenly descending in an attack of unprece¬
dented hardiness, soon covered the extensive plain of Ross-
bach with the flying remnants of an army that had been
three times as numerous as his own. Not until the wars
of the French Revolution had re-established the prestige
lost on this famous day did the memory of its shame cease
to rankle in the French army. To Frederick the victory
of Rossbach gained a far greater accession of fame and
power throughout Great Britain and Germany, than ever
so many successful exploits against the Austrians could
have accomplished; he was regarded in Great Britain as
for their insolent pillage and spoliation of the country.
But soon other and higher qualities than military insight
and enthusiasm had to be brought into action by king and
people; and it is in these sombre days of adversity which
lasted (although not unbroken by brilliant achievements)
until 1762, that Frederick I. rises before us in full relief
of heroism. Frederick was a great man by a quality
which places him infinitely higher in our eyes than that
mighty Corsican conqueror who has since been seen stand¬
ing before his tomb at Potsdam in 1807; and that quality
is his entire and absolute devotedness to his country alone.
For him the government of Prussia ever appeared as a
duty,—the existence and ^destinies of Prussia as a sacred
trust. In this subjection of his individual will and whole
existence under a higher and ideal sense of duty, this
“ chief servant of the state,” not in words only, but in reality,
stands far above the class of adventurers in the history of
the world who sought their own rather than their coun¬
try’s good, and to whom even the throne was a seat of
power and of wealth rather than of duty. An autograph
letter addressed to his minister of state, Count Finckenstein,
containing secret instructions, has been published lately. Its
orthography, it is true, is even worse than in other French
compositions of his pen, but every word in it is inspired by
a patriotism of the highest order. “ S’il arrivait,” says
the king, “ que je fusse tue, il faut que les affaires conting¬
ent leur train sans la moindre alteration et sans qu’on s’aper-
coive qu’elles sont en d’autres mains; et en ce cas il
faut hater serments et hommages tant ici qu’en Prusse et
surtout en Silesie. Si j’avais la f&talite d’etre pris prisonnier
par I’ennemi, je defends qu’on ait le moindre egard pour ma
personne, ni qu’on fasse la moindre reflexion sur ce que
pourrais ecrire de ma detention. Si pared malheur m’arri-
vait, je veux me sacrifier pour 1’Etat et il faut qu’on obeisse
a mon frere, lequel, ainsi que tous mes ministres et generaux
me repondront de leur tete qu’on n’offrira ni province ni
rancon pour moi etque 1’on continuera la guerre en poussant
ses avantages tout comme si je n’avais existe dans le monde.”
The series of disasters between Frederick’s victories of
Leuthen and Zorndorf and the year 1762 was, as we said
before, not without successful interludes, such as the day
of Minden, in 1759, by which Prince Ferdinand of Bruns¬
wick (the commander whom Frederick’s choice had placed
at the head of the Hanoverian auxiliaries) drove the
French army to seek shelter beyond the Rhine; or the
days of Liegnitz and of Torgau, in the same year, under
the personal command of the king. But the peril now
assumed huge dimensions, and that web was drawn closer
and closer which was to stifle the inconvenient, parvenu
state of Prussia. The Austrian troops were at this time
admirably commanded by Generals Daun and Laudon, and
fouo-ht with genuine attachment to the cause of their em¬
press. In France an able and active minister, Count
Choiseul, had succeeded a rule of favouritism in the king’s
councils, and though public opinion in France expresse
itself more strongly every day in favour of Frederick, the
numbers and efficiency of the armies sent to annihilate him
were greatly augmented. In Russia a strong determina-
nave accomplished; he was regartteu in urear mam as wcic ,, T7mnrp<,a Flwaheth to
the hero of Protestant independence, and by Germans as ‘^pre^ledrt am, t0 ,eaPve prussia pr0per,
and' possibly more, as a lasting heirloom to the
Russia. Spain, towards the close of the period
the czars of
we are
speaking off and even the Pope himself, joined the ranks of
his adversaries. To this host, ever growing, as was feared,
their champion against the great invaders of the West, erase
The same year (1757) saw Frederick victorious against
the Austrians, commanded by their best general, the cau¬
tious and calculating Daun, in the battle of Leuthen,
which, fought as it was under every disadvantage of num-   • .n un,i tn onn0se an army
ber (ill ^proportion of 1 to 3), of quality of men, and of in energy and numbers, Fredenck^
place, has ever been considered as among the strongest c®nsistino ^1.01,e1an- j ontrjuutjons tiie enemy’s land
proofs of a rare strategic genius in the commander, and of chequer, whic i evi powers of
the firm enthusiasm of the Prussians fighting under his lost all power of filling. ? ^ powers o
banners. Both were signally exemplified again in the endurance to the utmost, his sole a>ly ^eat Britam, unuer
following (third) year of the campaign (1758), in which Fre- the Earl of Bute s administration le t um ^
derick chastised the Russians near the village of Zorndorf sources in the hour of his greatest need, . . ,
654
PRUSSIA.
History, withdrew from the war altogether. Frederick’s iron will
was not to be crushed with adversity ; fighting and re¬
treating, or collecting occasionally his army behind un¬
approachable lines ofdefence, which his genius in fortifica¬
tion understood how to raise up in forty-eight hours ; losing
armies and replacing them ; never a moment without cares
but rarely oppressed by them ;—thus the invincible hero
struggled along through upwards of three years of disap¬
pointment and defeat. He reposed a hearty confidence in
his generals (his brother Prince Henry, the Prince of
Dessau, Seydlitz, Ziethen), but appeared among them to
take the lead in the great and decisive actions. We name
the series of lost battles from 1758 to 1761, to show the
destructive character of some of them. On the 14th of Oc¬
tober of the former year a grand night-attack on his camp
at Hochkirch, executed with admirable precision by the
Austrians under General Daun, deprived the king of many
thousand soldiers, and “ of all his guns and ammunition.”
The next year (1759) saw the most terrible of slaughters
in the two days’ battle of Kunersdorf, against a combined
army of Russians under Soltikoff, and of Austrians under
Laudon, which cost him more than half of his effective
army, and again “ nearly all his guns and must have
cost him his capital, had not the jealousy of his antagonists
prevented the execution of Maria Theresa’s orders. First
one and then another of his generals were forced to sur¬
render to overwhelming forces; and thus the greater part
of Saxony, and all his positions in Silesia, had to be aban¬
doned. The day of Liegnitz saved a few of the latter, and
that of Torgan many of the former. Nevertheless his situ¬
ation improved but little. Daun in the heart of Saxony,
and Laudon in the heart of Silesia; the Swedes masters
in Pomerania, and the Russians in Konigsberg; 150,000
French on the right bank of the Rhine ; the whole of Eu¬
rope (without exception) united against him or sullenly
■neutral;—such was the position of affairs on the 5th of
January 1761, when the accession of Peter III. to the
throne of the czars suddenly transformed a formidable ad¬
versary into a useful ally. Unfortunately for Frederick,
the life of his eccentric admirer was soon cut short by high¬
born assassins. But Peter’s widow and successor Cathe¬
rine, although her first acts were hostile to the king, soon
relented in her antagonism, and this from a motive which
deserves mention—namely, that letters were found in her
murdered husband’s portfolio in which King Frederick had
seriously and repeatedly urged Peter to change his con¬
duct towards the amiable empress his wife. Ihe friend-
ship, and afterwards the neutrality ol Russia, coupled with
the withdrawal of Sweden from the coalition, rendered
Frederick’s action unfettered in the north. His generals,^
victorious everywhere against the non-Austrian troops ot
the empire, caused one after the other of the German
princes to raise loud solicitations for peace at the court of
Vienna, and finally to abandon the cause of Austria. Ihe
“ first military nation of Europe,” France, looked with dis¬
gust upon the continuance of a war which brought ever
fresh humiliation, at the hands of Prince Ferdinand of
Brunswick, upon her once so glorious banners. Half
broken-hearted with despair, Maria Theresa had vainly
hoped that her field-marshals would recover their laurels,
lost again and again at Burkersdorf and at Schweidnitz
(1762). The cry of Europe became too loud; her own
finances were ruined beyond repair—her resources drained
to the last; Maria Theresa consented first to an armistice,
and then, with long and wailing protestations, to the ac¬
knowledgment of Frederick as lord of Silesia in the peace
of Hubertsburg, February 21, 1763. It is a character¬
istic and encouraging sign of the age in which we live, that
when in 1856 a proposal was laid before the present King
of Prussia, Frederick William IV., for a series of comme¬
morations to be celebrated on each succeeding anniversary
of the victories and glorious events in the Seven Years’
War, his majesty wrote the following words on the margin
of the paper: “ With my consent, none of these anniver¬
saries shall be celebrated in Prussia, save and except the
21st of February 1763.”
Prussia had now attained a place among the great powers
of Europe,—an envied and hazardous position which the
scanty natural resources of the country could (and can to
the present day) but ill support, without the unremitting
attention, real wisdom, and rigid economy of her rulers;
without willingness to sacrifices and self-devotion among
well-governed and contented subjects ; and without the
respect of civilized Europe towards the onward mark of
mental and moral culture within her dominions. Freder¬
ick’s labours of peace during the rest of his life, from 1763
to 1786, were unremitting. He applied himself, with
the applause, and with the willing support of his people, to
the removal of every vestige of the war. His private ex¬
penses were moderate: “an absolute king,” he said, “is
the poorest man in the state; for whilst his subjects can
spend their own as they please, he alone must feel in every
trifling expenditure that so many thalers are withdrawn
from application to matters of public utility.” A code of
laws, the present Landrecht of Prussia, was prepared
(although not published in his days) by his chancellor,
Count Karmer. To assist in the improvement of agricul¬
ture in his dominions, the king, much interested by Arthur
Young’s writings, sent over young men to study British
husbandry. He attracted, by the bestowal of bounties and
privileges, the immigration of many thousands of colonists
who seemed likely to introduce improved methods of farm¬
ing. He filled deserted villages, and built up such as had
been destroyed ; he opened his well-filled military grana¬
ries, founded societies for facilitating loans on deposits and
on land, granted temporary freedom from taxation where
most needed, and gave occupation to idle or weak hands,
by encouraging the manufacture of home-grown silk.
Large tracts of bog and morass were reclaimed at great
expense; and the country was covered with a net-work of
canals. His financial measures were manifold and inge¬
nious, although frequently of so complicated a nature, and
(according to our present views) so unsound, that many of
them, instead of lightening the burden of the people, acted
most oppressively. His regie or system of indirect tax¬
ation, copied from the French, and entrusted to a host of
French place-hunters ; his prohibitive duties, and his mono¬
polies, wei'e so many infractions of national well-being, al¬
though they filled the coffers of the state in an unprece¬
dented degree. By them, in conjunction with this rigid
economy, he was enabled to keep up an effective army of
225,000 men, and to leave to his successor a treasury filled
with nearly L.l 1,000,000 sterling. Many other prejudices
of his age, besides the financial ones, did he retain to the
last; not all of them as harmless as his dislike to good
roads, “ by which he did not mean to facilitate an enemy’s
advance in his country,” or as silly as his aversion for all
offices of state, or in the army, to men of noble birth. I he
one among his prejudices which has acquired most noto¬
riety, is the subserviency of his mind and manners to
French tastes, in language and literature, in many ot the
chief transactions of the state, and alas ! in the terrible ob¬
stinacy with which he opposed his reasoning to most of the
fundamental doctrines of Christianity. Filled in his early
days with dislike to the dogmatic and unedifying religious
instruction of his father’s chaplains, and then bound up in
close literary friendship with Voltaire, he, although a
testant, assimilated his own views to those of the French¬
man, for whose irreverential sarcasms an excuse (if any
were possible) might at least be found in the horrible
superstitions and refined mystifications of the Jesuits, then
reigning paramount at the court of France. Frederick, it
History.
History.
Frederick-
William
II.
PRUSSIA.
655
is true, was ready to acknowledge and to honour the serious
convictions of others. History tells us that his truly pious
comrade in arms, General Ziethen, never had to complain
of railleries on his part. It is reported also that one morn¬
ing, when the king heard a Pomeranian brigade marching
towards its appointed post in the battle array, under the
solemn sounds of one of those noble ancient hymns (“Gott
des Himmels und der Erden”), all devoutly joining in the
strain, his eyes filled with tears, and, turning to one of his
generals, he said—“ Ah, these troops must be invincible!”
Yet, into the ferment and turmoil of his soul none of the
soothing comforts of religion was ever seen to enter. A
true and often gentle friend of his companions, and devoted
to his country, for WhiclfTTe was ready to give up his life¬
blood, he yet enjoyed not the peace of God, which passeth
all understanding.
A tew words on the prominent events of these years of
peace (1763 to 1786) \fill rapidly lead us to the reign of
the next king. FrederidcHI. joined Russia and Austria in
the first partition of Poland, a.d. 1772,—a miserable expe¬
dient, in which the Emperor Joseph’s as well as his own
main purpose seems to have been, to prevent Russia from
taking the whole instead of the lion’s share of territories so
dangerously contiguous to their own capitals. By this par¬
tition the king obtained Western Prussia,which theTeutonic
order had lost, as we have seen, to Poland in 1466, and
some fertile, already semi-German districts on the River
Netz. In all, the increase of territory under Frederick’s
reign, by conquest, inheritance, or otherwise, amounted to
29,313 square miles; the population of the monarchy at
his death numbering five and a half million souls. The
last act of his political life was the formation of a German
league of princes (Deutscher Furstenbund), intended to
prevent the renewal of attempts such as Joseph II. had
twice made during the last years,—viz., of incorporating
Bavaria or other German states with the vast possessions
of the Hapsburg family.
Frederick-William II. disappointed the hopes that had
been entertained of him in his uncle’s lifetime and on his
accession. The long habit of absolute command, and the
absence of tender and soothing influence upon a solitary life,
had rendered Frederick peevish, capricious, and tyrannical
in his latter years, and the exactions of his French excise
and custom-house officers embittered large classes of the
community. The new king’s accession was therefore
looked upon with much favour, a feeling which greatly in¬
creased when the French excisemen were ordered out of
the country, the regie superseded, and other burdens re¬
moved. Soon, however, the apathy of Frederick-William,
his grossly licentious habits, his carelessness of money, his
intolerance in religious matters, and, more than all, the
serious blunders of his foreign policy, weakened his influ¬
ence at home and abroad. His army, under Duke Ernest
of Brunswick, succeeded with ease in re-establishing the
ascendancy of the House of Orange in the Dutch repub¬
lic against the wishes of that people. Another armed in¬
tervention, purposing to prevent Russian and Austrian
aggressions against Turkey, had no other result but the
exhaustion of his treasury. Urged on by Russian influence,
the king promised Austria his support (during a meeting
with the emperor at Pillnitz, a.d. 1 790) towards the resti¬
tution of royal power in France. He accordingly invaded
that country with a powerful army in 1792, much against
the inclinations of his own people. This invasion hastened^
the downfall of monarchy in France and the destruction of
the royal family. Besides, all military advantages of the
campaign were soon lost by an ignominious retreat after
the resultle**s cannonade of Valmy. 1 he shame of Prussia
became still more appalling when, after two years of alter¬
nate victory and defeat, she admitted the very same repub- History,
licans of France, against whom that war had solely been
directed, to friendly negotiations, and secretly promised
them the cession of all lands on the left bank of the Rhine,
stipulating for herself and the rest of North Germany ab¬
solute neutrality during the forthcoming wars. This was
accomplished in the disgraceful treaty of Basle, a.d. 1796.
In the Polish difficulties of his reign, Frederiek-William’§
policy, though more successful than on the Rhine, was
equally unscrupulous and dishonourable. Poland, at first
and during several years his ally, was abandoned by him
to Russian encroachment, and then subjected to a second
(1793) and a third, final, partition (1795), Prussia’s share in
these successive plunders consisting of nearly 38,808 square
miles of land.
Frederick-William III. succeeded his father a.d. 1797, Frederick-
at a time when religious intolerance and the restrictions
exercised against the liberty of the press had spread the
seeds of disaffection throughout the country. The moral
rectitude, the simplicity and purity of manners, the earnest¬
ness of purpose in the youthful king, and the uncommon
loveliness of his queen, the Princess Louisa of Mecklenburg-
Strelitz, soon restored to the throne the full attachment of
the people. His father’s hateful edict against dissent, and
others instituting a censorship of all printed publications,
were speedily rescinded, and the government entrusted to
men of tried virtue. Every exertion was made to pay off
a debt of L.3,300,000 which Frederick-William II. had
bequeathed instead of a well-filled treasury. The king
turned to the best account the neutrality which the treaty
of Basle imposed upon his states, by attention to peaceful
improvements. In the year 1801 the secret stipulations of
that treaty were carried into effect in the peace of Luneville;
France definitively obtained the king’s possessions, on the
left bank of the Rhine, and Prussia was “indemnified” in
1803 at the hands of the German empire, and at its expense,
by a considerable accession of territory, which increased the
bulk of her dominions by 4116 square miles of admirably-
situated land. But this neutrality did not long protect
Prussia from aggression. Our readers will remember the
Franconian principalities of Ansbach and Baireuth, which
were described above as belonging to a branch of the
Hohenzollern family, cousins of the electoral and royal
line. These principalities had become a royal possession
in 1791. Through that territory Bonaparte ordered a por¬
tion of his now imperial army to pass on their march towards
the Austrian frontiers, a.d. 1804. In vain did Frederick-
William III. remonstrate against this violation of neutrality.
He now reluctantly gave ear to the counsels of the war-
party at court, which included among its numbers some of
the best men of his day,—Barons Stein and Hardenberg, &c.,
supported by the chivalrous Prince Louis Ferdinand and
by the queen herself. The emperors of Russia and Aus¬
tria prevailed by their entreaties in 1804. Prussia secretly
joined the coalition, but was prevented from active co¬
operation by the conclusion of peace which immediately
followed the irreparable defeat at Austerlitz, December 2,
1805. The crafty Corsican induced the king’s plenipoten¬
tiary, Baron Haugwitz, to accept Hanover in exchange of
Ansbach, Baireuth, Cleves, and Neufchatel; which last*
named principality, situated on the frontiers of Switzerland,
had become a Prussian heirloom in 1707. So great was
the terror of Napoleon’s name that this base scheme of
robbery against the King of Great Britain was ratified and
actually carried into effect by Frederick-William III. 'I he
insatiable desire after territorial aggrandisement, without
regard either to treaties or to old alliances, was soon to re¬
ceive a salutary chastisement at the hands of the principal
accomplice. Swollen in size to 135,545 square miles,1 or
1 The present size of Prussia is only 1X1,154 square
miles, or 24,391 less.
656 PRUSSIA.
History, nearly fourteen umes as large as the first Hohenzollern
^ Kurfurst had ruled over, Prussia miscalculated her natural
power. Napoleon, not satisfied with the advantages ac¬
cruing to him from Prussia’s conflict with Great Britain,
insulted and humiliated wherever he could the king, whose
character for honesty and fair dealing he had ruined by
this complicity. If Frederick-William had decided upon
war too late, his resolution was certainly a precipitate one
in 1806. Negotiations having been broken off by Prussia,
Napoleon hastened to attack her forces before further
alliances could swell their number. The very first encoun¬
ter, near Saalfeld, October 10, 1806, crushed the Prussian
vanguard, headed by Prince Louis Ferdinand, who gallantly
fell in this action. Four days afterwards, the fate of all the
country between the Rhine and the Elbe was decided by
the disastrous battle of Jena. The self-sufficiency of Prus¬
sian troops, drilled under Frederick II., but not commanded
by his genius, received a severe lesson. No line of retreat
having been marked out by the commander-in-chief, seve¬
ral detachments of the army were taken prisoners, and
the whole country lay open to invasion, and was soon un¬
defended even by fortresses, which overpowered by terror
rather than by force, opened their gates to the enemy.
The king withdrew far into Prussia proper. His ally, Alex¬
ander I. of Russia, attempted in vain to stop the onward
march of Napoleon by the sanguinary battles of Eylau (7th
and 8th February 1807) and of Friedland (14th of June).
A personal meeting of the three sovereigns was arranged at
the town of Tilsit, near the easternmost boundary of Prussia,
which led to the conclusion of a most disastrous peace (9th of
July 1807). Frederick-William lost all his possessions on the
left bank of the Elbe (more than half of his kingdom), and
was candidly assured that if he did not lose all instead, it
was done out of deference to the Emperor Alexander’s
“ wishes.” Even this small remnant of territory was
farther deprived of the' duchy of Warsaw (now given
to the King of Saxony), and of Dantzic, which was
declared a republic ; it was further made to raise war con¬
tributions to the enormous amount of L.22,500,000, was
to pay for French garrisons in some of its fortresses, and
to assist the emperor in all coming wars. And yet the
prediction of that gallant Prussian, General Blucher, ex¬
pressed on the morrow of the defeat at Jena, in his own
uncouth language, that “ matters would look up again
soon, and that now more enlightened principles would
put their foot into the stirrup,” was fulfilled in a manner
very creditable to king and country. A complete remould¬
ing of the state commenced, proving the fallacy of the
wide-spread opinion, that reforms must not be attempted in
times of war and distress. Frederick-William, who, with
his queen, made every sacrifice of royal state, and even
common comforts, gave his confidence to Baron Stein, the
best German statesman of the day, a man of high and
noble birth and independent wealth, an upright, sagacious,
and powerful reformer. The offices of state were simplified,
the remains of feudal vassalage abolished, the sale and
purchase of land set entirely free, many burdens raised that
lay exclusively on the lower classes, the trades liberated
from mediaeval shackles, and the towns left to manage their
own affairs without government interference. Stein was
preparing a re-construction also of the ancient parliaments
on a new basis of unity and equality, when the rage and
threats of Napoleon forced him to resign his post in 1808,
since when he became one of the prime movers of resist¬
ance against the usurper,—first in Austria, then at St Peters¬
burg, and later again triumphantly in Germany. His work
of internal reform was meanwhile carried on in his sense
and with energy by Baron Hardenberg, the king’s state
chancellor. Laws were promulgated for the more equi¬
table distribution of taxes and the abolition of privileges.
Most of the civil disabilities of the Jews were abolished.
In spite of the exhausted state of his finances, the king History,
founded and endowed a university at Berlin. There was a s—
new hope and cheerful energy called forth by these reforms
in Prussia and throughout oppressed Germany. Young
men of all classes quietly joined the few regiments which
the treaty of Tilsit permitted Prussia to keep on foot, and
as quietly left them after having undergone the necessary
training and drilling; thus deluding the vigilance of French
spies. Commissions in the army were given, without con¬
sideration of birth or lineage, to all duly qualified men of
education. It was during these years of deepest humilia¬
tion that the plan of general armament was formed bv
Scharnhorst and others which came to light in 1813, and
which has rendered Prussia one of the most powerful mili¬
tary countries, for defensive purposes, in the world. By
this military institution, all young men from eighteen to
twenty-six years old are expected to enter the ranks of the
army during three years, such only being privileged to
serve one year instead of three as give proof of a superior
education, and are able to equip themselves. Between the
ages of twenty-six and thirty-two the privates, sergeants,
and officers thus trained are liable to be called out from their
civil occupations in case of need. This is the First Auf-
gebot, or levy of the landwehr. The second, consisting of
men between thirty-two and thirty-nine, is subject to the
same regulations, but only in case of great danger. Finally,
a third Aufgebot, called Landsturm, comprises all men
above that age who are expected to fight only for the im¬
mediate defence of house and home during an invasion. It
was known throughout the country in those years that the
king would break the bondage as soon as circumstances ad¬
mitted. He visited St Petersburg to prepare a defensive
and offensive alliance in 1808, and took cognisance, though
not ostensibly, of the secret “league of virtue” (Tugend-
bund) in which most patriotic Germans joined for the ex¬
pulsion of their hateful oppressors. Still, however, he
refrained from hostilities against Napoleon. It was ordained
by Providence that the secret powers of nature, rather than
the will of man, should break asunder the tyrant’s colossal
power. Repeatedly victorious against the court of Vienna
in the campaign of Wagram (1809), and married to a
“ daughter of the Caesars,” Maria Louisa of Austria, stand¬
ing, as it were, on the summit of his earthly glory, he was
now thought to rest his feverish thoughts on the firm esta¬
blishment of a hereditary empire in favour of his son, the
King of Rome. Instead of this, he meditated an unprovoked
attack upon Russia, and, inverting the direction of Attila’s
great migration of warriors thirteen centuries before, he
swept the whole of trembling Europe with a host of half a
million of men, to which even Austria and Prussia were
constrained by treaties to add their quota. When the dis¬
asters of an early and terrible winter overtook his retreat
from Moscow, and it was long before Europe was fully in¬
formed of the utter destruction of his army, the Prussian
general York, who held a command on the French army’s
left wing in Kurland, was the first to see with his own eyes.
Left without instructions from Berlin, he concluded an
armistice with the pursuing Russians on the 30th December
1812, near the frontier town of Tauroggen, and speedily
applied himself to the organization of a landwehr in Prussia
proper (i.e., the province of Prussia), assisted by Baron Stein
and Count Dolma. On the 3d of February 1813 King
Frederick-William, who had a short time before left Berlin,
published an energetic decree calling his people to arms.
In an incredibly short time the enthusiasm of the people
not only filled the ranks of his army, but also contributed
largely to improve the exhausted condition of his finances.
An alliance was concluded with Great Britain and Russia,
and a declaration of war issued on the 27th of March.
Napoleon had lost no time in collecting an army far superior
in numbers to the allied Prussians and Russians at that
PRUSSIA. 657
time in the field. His first encounters, at Grossgorschen
and Bautzen, with the raw battalions of his enemy were
crowned with success, although his generals could well dis¬
cern “ le commencement de la fin.” Even after Austria
had joined her troops to those of Russia and Prussia, the
first great battle of Dresden, August 26, 1813, again
ended in a defeat of the allies. But meanwhile the Prus¬
sians had found time to increase and improve their arma¬
ments in a manner which deserves the admiration of all
ages. Napoleon had the chagrin to hear of four consider¬
able defeats sustained by his generals within eighteen days,
—by Marshals Ney and Oudinot on their march towards
Berlin, at Grossbeeren and at Dennewitz; by Marshal
Macdonald on the banks of the River Katzbach in Silesia;
and by General Vandamme at Culm in Bohemia. The
last-named victory of Culm, gained principally by the ad¬
mirable steadiness of the Russian guards, redounded much
to the credit of the Prussian general Kleist, and even more
to that of King Frederick-William himself, who had acted
as commander-in-chief on the occasion, and without whose
urgent personal representations the battle would never have
been fought at all. The other battles at once raised the
names of Blucher, York, Gneisenau, and Biilow to great
renown. And now the crisis was fast approaching. On
both sides all available forces were collected into a huge
mass of combatants in the plains round Leipsic. On a
number of adjoining but separate battle-fields the French
army of 180,000, directed by Napoleon’s iron will, fought
with great intrepidity against nearly 300,000 enemies in¬
tent upon a final deliverance of Europe, on the 14th, 16th,
17th, 18th, and 19th of October. How great was the
slaughter of those days may be measured from the fact, that
the Prussian list of casualties alone showed a number of
14,000 killed. Napoleon at last was utterly defeated, and
his army dispersed. Blucher, in advance of the other allies,
followed its flight, and crossed the Rhine near Caub on
New Year’s-day 1814. When the diplomatic and military
manoeuvres of Napoleon threw confusion into the head¬
quarters of the allied army, Blucher again resolved all
difficulties by a daring march direct upon Paris. There,
after a last bloody struggle on the heights of Montmartre, the
cause of Europe was crowned with success by the occupation
of the capital and the banishment of the usurper. King
Frederick-William and Blucher, following an invitation of
the prince-regent, came to England, and were received with
great courtesy,—Blucher became, in fact, the hero of the
day. At the Congress of Vienna, which assembled soon
after, Prussia met with great opposition when she demanded
for herself the whole kingdom of Saxony, on the ground of
its having proved the most obnoxious to the cause of liber¬
ation. This demand, together with the divergence of
opinion on the restitution of Poland, and almost every other
point that required settlement, frequently endangered the
temper of the congress to such a degree that Napoleon,
founding his hopes on a general disunion, ventured upon a
return to France. This immediately restored harmony and
concord; Bonaparte, again the military master of France,
but formally outlawed by Europe, was to be crushed with¬
out delay. The first in the field, favoured by geographical
proximity, and still more by military readiness, were Great
Britain and Prussia. Against the Duke of Wellington,
therefore, and Field-Marshal (now Prince) Blucher, the
army of Napoleon was forthwith set in motion, and an im¬
mediate attack upon each of them resolved upon in order
to prevent their union. The first onset of the infuriated
Corsican threw back the Prussians at Ligny, June 16.
Confident that Blucher’s defeated army must retreat in the
direction of Namur, and intent upon pursuing his advan¬
tage, Napoleon prepared a concentrated attack upon the
British and allied troops, whom he found in a strong posi¬
tion near Waterloo, but not apparently strong enough foi con-
VOL. XVIII.
tinned resistance. Never was general more mistaken. The History.
British ai my never quailed a moment before his terrible
attack, nor was the duke disappointed in the firm confi¬
dence he reposed on Blucher’s promise. Without giving
his troops any rest after the sanguinary conflict of Ligny,
through soaking roads and through an opposing French
corps under Marshal Grouchy, the veteran soldier pursued
his onward march, and suddenly appearing in the rear of
the French lines, opened a galling fire of artillery just when
the decisive moment had arrived. The battle won, Blucher
and his hussars knew of no rest in their vehement pursuit,
which transformed the retreat of the French army into a
mad and hopeless flight. The Duke of Wellington and
Marshal Blucher, whom the commemoration medal repre¬
sents under the figures of Castor and Pollux, entered Paris
together, In the ensuing negotiations of peace the Prussian
plenipotentiary demanded that the two purely German
countries which intrigue and violence had wrested from the
empire in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries should
now be re-united with the Germanic Confederation. This
attempt at recovering for Germany its really “natural”
boundaries (strictly speaking, there are none other but the
Vosges and the Ardennes mountains) remained unsuccess¬
ful; France was obliged to surrender those only among her
acquisitions which she had made since 1790. Soon after
the conclusion of peace the labours of the Congress of
Vienna were resumed, from which Prussia received that
extent of territory which, with some very slight modifica¬
tions, she now possesses.
The remaining years of Frederick-William III.’s reign
were passed in comparative tranquillity. The king was to
the end an attentive governor of his country, much re¬
spected and beloved, but not independent enough from the
influence of Russia and Austria to persevere in the progress
of liberal institutions that had effected such a salutary
change in 1807 and the following years. His promise of a
parliamentary constitution, repeatedly given in the days of
adversity, was not fulfilled in those of prosperity. He
thought it unsafe to go beyond the re-organization of the
provincial parliaments, or Stande, which he effected by an
edict of the year 1823, re-assembling, with a slight modifi¬
cation, the old Stande over again, as described above,—
viz., a representation of the nobles, the burghers, and the
peasants, each separately charged to occupy themselves
with provincial matters only, and those of the most re¬
stricted nature. Although the disaffection caused by this
tergiversation never led to serious collisions with his people,
yet the educated classes in the country had an ever-growing
sense of injustice committed and rights withheld, and con¬
ceived a hearty dislike of the close political intimacy be¬
tween their court and the despotic rulers of Austria and
Russia. Throughout his life the king remained a staunch
adherent of the principles of the “ Holy Alliance,” a treaty
concluded at Paris in 1815 between the sovereigns of
Russia, Austria, and Prussia, which, if divested of its reli¬
gious wording (honestly meant, we are convinced, at least
by Frederick-William) had no other object but to uphold
at any cost, and by every means, the “ divine right” and
the absolute power of princes throughout Europe. These
principles gave a peculiar bias to his behaviom in all Luio-
pean congresses, and somewhat alienated him on seieial
important occasions from the policy of Gieat Britain. He
was blind to the Russian encroachments on the rights of
unfettered commerce, which had been guaranteed by treaty
to the provinces of Prussia conterminous with Russia.
Nor did he awake to a sense of his powerful neighbour’s
treacherous intentions even when it became known that
the Emperor Nicholas had secretly promised to the court of
Paris in 1829 the acquisition of all Prussian possessions on
the left bank of the Rhine. In spite of these shortcomings
in the king’s internal and foreign policy, Prussia continued
PRUSSIA.
658
History, progressing during this relaxation from war. The admin-
istration of the country, though far too active and meddling,
was throughout a conscientious and vigorously honest one.
Justice was administered with complete independence from
court or any other influence. The duty of parents to give
a proper education to their children, and to send them to a
public school, if unable to do so at home, was proclaimed as a
fundamental principle in 1816. Another duty x*esulted from
this,—viz., that of the parishes to endow schools, and of the
state to assist in this endowment where the parishes were
incompetent. A series of laws gave effect to the declara¬
tion of these duties ; and they have undeniably rendered the
practice of reading and writing a more general accomplish¬
ment than in any other country. Frederick-William’s
government, although an almost parsimonious one, never
stinted public educational institutions. Normal schools or
seminaries for training village schoolmasters were founded
in every province. During his reign no less than seventy
new gymnasia or Latin schools were founded and ade¬
quately endowed. The material interests also received
every attention at the hands of government. A tariff of
ad valorem duties on foreign merchandise, based on liberal
principles, was published in 1818. It proved very bene¬
ficial to the interests of the people as long as it lasted. But
its principles were unfortunately exchanged at a later period
for more and more protective duties, in proportion as the
Zollverein or German customs-unions (founded in the years
from 1819 to 1836) extended farther to the south of Ger¬
many, and as its protectionist influence gained an ascend¬
ancy over the free-trade propensities of the north.
King Frederick-William occupied himself much with a
settlement of the Protestant Church, to which his family
and majority of his people belonged, and attempted also the
still more difficult task of regulating the relations of his
state with the Roman Pontiff as head of the Roman Catho¬
lics. In both directions he was but partially successful.
The division of German Protestants into Lutherans on
one side, and Calvinists (or Reformirte) on the other,
though it had lost many of its asperities, was still an impe¬
diment to good feeling, or to the creation of a national
church. Frederick-William, after earnest deliberation, pro¬
nounced his desire that each of these Protestant commu¬
nities, whilst retaining its distinctive dogmas, might never¬
theless admit the other into Christian fellowship, and, in
order to give the example of brotherhood, he partook of
the sacrament at a Lutheran Church, although himself a
Calvinist (or Reformirter), on the 31st of October 1817, the
third anniversary of the Reformation. Like him, the Pro¬
testants in several cities of Germany united in worship on
that day. Henceforward the name “ Evangelic Church”
w'as used officially, instead of the distinctive appellations
formerly in use. This union of the several Protestant
churches was founded by the king in a real spirit of Chris¬
tian charity, and with distinct provisos that no individual
or congregation should in any way be compelled to adhe¬
sion. Unfortunately, when many strict Lutheran congre¬
gations objected to the union and to the Agende (or Book
of Common Prayer), published by command of the king
in his capacity of summits episcopus, acts of force were
applied, and the liberty of conscience infringed. For these
gross acts of injustice the greater share of blame falls on
the persons entrusted with the execution of the royal will;
much, however, remains to be attributed to the king’s own
impatience of opposition or dissent. Far graver complica¬
tions met his attempts at an adjustment of his relations with
Rome. A concordate having been agreed to between
Prussia and the Pope in 1821, by which the former ac¬
knowledged a regular Roman Catholic hierarchy, consisting
of two archbishops and six bishops, and undertook to pay
a fixed sum annually towards the endowment of that church,
everything seemed to progress smoothly by mutual for¬
bearance. But after a time difficulties arose. In 1837 the History.
Archbishop of Cologne, Baron Droste-Vischering, declared ^ ir-
that he would henceforth allow no marriages between Ro¬
man Catholics and others to be consecrated by priests of
his diocese, except under the distinct promise, that all
children should be brought up in the Roman Catholic re¬
ligion. He was in vain reminded of the promise he had
himself given in writing previous to his accession to the
archiepiscopal see, faithfully to obey the laws of the country
and the arrangements entered into by his predecessor. Fie
obstinately refused compliance. At length the Prussian
government, losing all patience, directed his forcible re¬
moval from his see as a state-prisoner, on the ground “ that
he had broken his word, violated the laws of the kingdom,
and excited the minds of the people under the influence of
two revolutionary factions.” This transaction led to end¬
less discussions, which might have been terminated more
satisfactorily had the government resolved at once upon
placing the archbishop on his trial on the above grounds in
a public court of law.
The following is a summary of events since the elevation
of Brandenburg-Prussia into a kingdom : —
1701. The Elector of Brandenburg and Duke of Prussia
declared King of Prussia.
1701 to 1713. Frederick I.
1713 to 1740. Frederick-William I.
1740 to 1786. Frederick II., or the Great.
1740 to 1742. First Silesian War.
1744 to 1745. Second Silesian War.
1756 to 1763. The Seven Years’ War.
1772. First partition of Poland.
1785. The German League of Princes.
1786 to 1797. Frederick-William II.
1792. Invasion of France.
1793. Second partition of Poland.
1795. Third partition of Poland.
1795. Peace with the French Republic concluded at Basle.
1797 to 1840. Frederick-William III.
1801. Peace of Luneville.
1806. The German Empire ceases to exist.
1806. Battle of Jena.
1807. Peace of Tilsit.
1807 to 1808. Reforms in Prussia.
1812. Napoleon’s march against Russia; General York
concludes an armistice with the Russian general.
1813. The War of Liberation; battles near the Katzbach,
Kulm, Grossbeeren, Dennewitz, Leipsic.
1814. First peace of Paris.
1815. Napoleon’s return; Battle of Waterloo, or of
“ Belle-Alliance.”
1817. Union of the Lutheran and Calvinistic Churches in
Prussia.
1819 to 1836. The German Zollverein gradually extends itself.
On the accession of Frederick-William IV. to his father’s Frederick
throne, the long-suppressed desire of the people for a direct William
parliamentary participation in public matters was loudly IV".
and loyally expressed. The hopes throughout the country
were great, as the crown-prince had been known to enter¬
tain views opposed to the all-powerful influence of Prussia.
A brilliant power of speech, mildness of disposition, and
the manifold kindness to such as had latterly suffered from
persecution or neglect, all combined to produce expecta¬
tions of reform far beyond what the new sovereign had
ever intended. Given to mediaeval studies, and at the
same time an admirer of English institutions, he was, it is
true, averse to the severe regularity of Prussian bureau¬
cracy and red-tapeism, and would have liked to see a bril¬
liant assemblage of peers and knights around his. throne, as
in olden days; but he proved to be over-sensitive to the
slightest infringement of royal prerogative, and abhorred
the idea of parliamentary bodies that would have or show
a will contrary to his. The consequence was a disappoint
merit and mistrust on the part of the people, and on his a
gradual relinquishment of the leniency and liberalism of
Ins first years, a tedious, inactive, and undecided course of
PRUSSIA.
History, policy. A number of years of peace and tranquillity, of vvait-
ing and patient obedience, were allowed to pass away be¬
fore any reform of the country’s institutions was attempted.
To the people the uncontrolled and even increased power
of red-tape bureaucracy, of what was termed the police-
state (Polizeistaai), became less endurable as the years ad¬
vanced. And when at last, in 1847, a royal decree sum¬
moned together the members of all provincial parliaments
to a combined sitting in Berlin, their power was so limited,
and the tenure of this power so precarious, that the assem¬
bly, although animated with very loyal sentiments, and
containing a totally unexpected amount of talent, effected
none but negative resuhs. The fulfilment of a promise of
nearly forty years’ stand^gwas insisted upon; and the grants
of money, even for public works of undoubted utility were re¬
fused, until a real representation of the people should be
established. Nevertheless, a general belief existed, that by
this important “ first step” of 1847 a series of reforms was
inaugurated which must lead, if not rapidly, at least surely
and peaceably, to a full victory of parliamentary principles.
The loyalty of the people to their Hohenzollern dynasty,
and the spread of education throughout all ranks, seemed
to preclude the possibility of this progress being interrupted
by sanguinary conflicts; also, the finances of the state were
in so flourishing a condition, the general administration of
the country so free from the taint of corruption, and on
the whole so just, that it seemed unnecessary for this state
to pass through violent storms of revolution. But it was
decreed by Providence that these fair hopes of king and
people should be destroyed. The year 1848 shook the
foundations of the Prussian state, together with those of
the entire continent of Europe. A time of anarchy in¬
tervened. And although its upshot was a constitution (of
1850) as liberal in all essentials as any in Europe, it gained
so little vitality during the remainder of the king’s reign
(to 23d of October 1858), that the country seemed on the
whole to have moved backward in this respect rather than
forward since the assembly of 1847.
As in this particular question such was the king through¬
out. Amiable, willing to conciliate, and unfortunately pos¬
sessing a half-insight into the requirements of his age, he
was apt to give just enough to produce a craving for more,
not enough for permanent gratitude and satisfaction. He
showed attainments of no ordinary character; and among
his personal friends are numbered some of the most en¬
lightened men of his age and country. Yet the liberty of
speech, and that of the press, were never more cramped
than it was after the halcyon days of his first popularity.
The king’s orthodoxy in religious matters has proved in¬
offensive, and always tolerant to the belief of others. Yet
his policy in this direction was influenced more and more
by men of the narrowest and most exclusive opinions.
The first part of Frederick-William IY.’s reign (1840 to
1848) was one of rapid development in all arts of peace, in
manufacture, in trade, commerce, and navigation. A com¬
prehensive system of turnpike-roads (for the most part
made and kept up by the state), on which his father had be¬
stowed much attention, was brought to completion. Rail¬
way companies and other associations for most branches
of industry spread over the whole country, and commenced
to change its aspect. Prosperity seemed to keep pace with
the labour of man. Yet, nevertheless, the spirit of sullen
discontent was brooding over the country when the news
arrived in February 1848 of a complete bouleversement in
the neighbouring state of France. Its effect throughout
Germany was, in the first moments, simple and patriotic.
Cries of “A la frontiere” had been frequently heard in the
streets of Paris; and the first spontaneous burst of senti¬
ment therefore, created by a vivid recollection of long
years of invasion and oppression, was expressed in the ories
of “ Defence against the common enemy,” “ Close alliance
of all German states,” “ Recovery of the unity of Germany, History,
lost since 1806. I his agitation, though most violent in
the smaller states, bioke forth actively, and at first benefi-
cially, in I iiissia. But soon, and almost together with it,
a very different pulsation appeared to pervade the people.
In France the masses had obtained their will, and were ap¬
parently all-powerful. The same then was attempted bv
the masses in Germany. Every class of labourers and
workmen combined for a settlement of their real or imagined
grievances. At that time, had the governments possessed
the full confidence of the middle classes, all who had any¬
thing to lose would have rallied round the thrones to ward
off the common dangers of society; but that confidence
was gone. The middle classes demanded reforms, on the
whole, it may be said, of a moderate nature. With scarcely
any resistance, these were accorded in the smaller states.
Men of liberal opinions were called to offices ; but the
danger proceeding from the lower classes was on the in¬
crease. There appeared but one hope of protecting so¬
ciety,—viz., if the King of Prussia would declare his assent
to the same reforms, and promise to use his best efforts to¬
wards a more efficient defensive union of Germany. De¬
legates from all the minor governments, including the
Bavarian, proceeded to Berlin in the beginning of March
to implore the King of Prussia, who had as yet experienced
comparatively small pressure at the hands of his subjects.
The king’s scruples were at last overcome after the arrival
of the astounding news of Prince Metternich’s fall at Vi¬
enna (15th March). A royal proclamation, eloquently ex¬
pressing all that had been demanded, was prepared, signed,
and published, on the morning of the 18th, to the great joy
of the Berliners, who assembled before the palace to express
their satisfaction. Then suddenly two shots, fired nobody
knows by whom, produced a commotion. French and
Polish barricadiers, who were everywhere in great numbers
in those days, raised a hue and cry after arms throughout
the city, and in a short time all the elements of confusion
of a populous town were in readiness, two hundred thorough¬
fares stopped by barricades, and the masses in conflict with
the king’s troops. A street fight ensued. The combat lasted
through the night, and ended towards morning, when nearly
all the barricades were evacuated by the insurgents. In
this juncture of affairs an unexplained, and in fact inex¬
plicable, command to the troops was issued from the palace
early in the morning, ordering them to march out of the
capital. The effect was such as might have been supposed.
The insurgents came forth victorious, parading through
the streets the bodies of those who had fallen ; galling in¬
sults were heaped upon the king and queen ; complete
anarchy was triumphant. All hopes of protection from this
quarter were now abandoned. Revolution had full sway,
and ran its course during a time ; not a bloody one on the
whole, yet so subversive, that the higher and a great part
of the middle classes abstained from its doings altogether.
Its effects have not been salutary. It brought to light a
hidden animosity of all classes against each other. In
Prussia, as in most other German states, it led in the end
to restrictive measures, which, in their turn, overshot tne
mark, and have rendered the easy comfortable rule of past
years’ almost an object of regret to the people at large.
King Frederick-William IV. had called the leaders of
the former liberal party to his councils. They willingly
came and did their best. The old parliament was for the
last time convoked in April, to give its sanction to general
elections for a new one, which was to frame a constitution
in conjunction with the king’s government. The result of
the ultra-democratic elections was discreditable to so edu¬
cated a country as Prussia. After committing every kind
of extravagance, and baffling the attempts of divers sets of
ministers, this so-called constituent assembly was dissolved
in October 1848 by a new cabinet, which, had the worthy
660
PRUSSIA.
History, general Brandenburg (an illegitimate son of King Frederick-
William II.), and a man of not so stainless a reputation,
Baron Manteuffel, among its leading members. The king,
in dissolving the assembly, published a constitution of the
monarchy, and issued writs for the election of another par¬
liament, with a view to its revision and final settlement.
Everything had changed meanwhile. A directly opposite
class of members now filled the benches,—i.e., noblemen and
employes,—quite as eager to protect their interests, and, if
possible, to restore the old condition of things, as the former
members had been to diminish their power in the state.
Thus Prussia was thrown from the hands of silly democrats
into those of an aristocratic clique and of partizans of the
divine right of kings, so well known in the history of our
own Restoration. Under the general dread of revolution
and anarchy which pervaded the possessing classes, and
with a king more and more averse to liberal measures, this
party of nobles and zealots became the most powerful in the
country, and has remained so during the succeeding years.
We had occasion to mention the defensive and unitary
movement throughout Germany on the first outbreak of
the third French revolution in 1848. Under the influence
of an unruly democracy, this movement, when all danger
of French invasion had passed over, took the shape of a
fixed plan for proclaiming a German republic, after an over¬
throw of in all thirty-three German sovereign thrones. The
opposite extreme to this was a desire (entertained by very
few at that time) that matters should remain as they had
been since 1815, viz., thirty-three monarchies and four free
cities, independent in their action, and bound together by
a federal tie—a constitution wdiich had shown, as must be
confessed, little or no vitality except for the suppression of
liberty in the different states. A third party, which gra¬
dually numbered among its members nearly all men of
moderate views, and some even among the German sove¬
reigns, proposed to re-establish the German empire without
removing the landmarks of any of the single states ; leaving
every sovereign and every city intact in all except the
common affairs of Germany, namely, war, diplomacy,
customs. These common affairs were to be directed
by the new emperor with an imperial ministry responsible
to a national parliament. The main difficulty of this pa¬
triotic scheme, that in fact which would alone have neces¬
sitated its failure, was the existence of two such states as^
Austria and Prussia within the German Confederation. Of
Austria it was said that her interests were entirely of a
European, not of a German character. The kingdom of
Prussia, on the contrary, had no non-German population
(with the exception of about a million Poles) or interests,
and accordingly that party looked to Prussia as containing
the most appropriate dynasty for the future German em¬
pire. The leaders of the German constituent assembly,
which proceeded from general elections, and met at Frank¬
furt-am-Main on the 15th of May 1848, were mostly of
this opinion, and so were the leading men in most govern¬
ments of Germany at the time, including also (although,
strange to say, not prominently) the Prussian cabinet. By
the time they had finished their long-winded debates on
secondary matters, most sovereigns in Germany had suffi¬
ciently recovered from their terror to dismiss their coun¬
cillors, and to oppose the inconvenient scheme of unity.
At length, on the 28th of March 1849, the party thought
their labours crowned, by carrying the election of the King
of Prussia to the headship of the new German empire. 4 he
king’s answer to the deputation sent to offer him this new
dignity was to the effect, “ That he could not accept it
without the free consent of all German sovereigns; that it
.'ay with these sovereigns to consider whether the proposed
constitution was conclusive to the welfare of each indivi¬
dually, and of all collectively, and whether it would enable
him to direct the destinies of Germany with a firm hand.-’
In the evening Schiller’s play of “ The Robbers” was acted History,
in the royal theatre, to which the members of the deputation
were ex officio invited. Little edified either with his ma¬
jesty’s refusal or with those theatrical insinuations, the de¬
putation returned to Frankfurt. On their report, resolu¬
tions of “ standing by” the new constitution were passed in
the assembly. But the fatal motto of those days, the “ trop
tard ! ” again showed its truth. The Prussian members, as
well as the Austrians, were revoked by royal command, and
the remainder, a kind of “rump parliament,” having
withdrawn to Stuttgardt, were soon finally dispersed. In¬
stead of simply leaving the matter alone, King Frederick-
William IV. committed the incredible folly of attempting a
more united organization of part at least of Germany, “ with
the free consent of its sovereigns ! ” The failure of these
attempts, at a time when princely prerogative was again in
the ascendant, and all feeling of immediate danger had
passed away, was inevitable. Backed by the middle states
of Germany (Bavaria, Hanover, Wurtemberg, and Saxony),
Austria advanced to oppose these Prussian half-measures,
which were but despondingly supported by the nation at large,
and a complete humiliation of Prussia was the result. All
further attempts have ceased since the convention of 01-
miitz, 29th of November 1850. The confederation is again
just what it was ; its old assembly of delegates (Bundestag),
convoked again in its former composition by Austria in
1850, was acknowledged by Prussia in 1851. Its influence
has again shown itself only in recommending the suppression
of liberal constitutions in Germany. Still it deserves atten¬
tion, as the only acknowledged bond of union among the
totality of German states.
The Prussian constitution fared somewhat better. Its
paragraphs were carefully revised, and the king took the
prescribed oath on the 6th of February 1850. Numerous
modifications in it have taken place since, under the influ¬
ence of violent “legitimist” majorities. It would be vain
also to say that the king and his government were rendered
less absolute by its provisions than they had been before,—
such was the apathy of the country following the revolution
of 1848. Yet it is an advantage to Europe that we can
still name Prussia among the constitutional countries where
no money can be spent, no law promulgated, without tne
assent of a representation of the people; in which every
grievance must find a hearing, even if it does not always
find redress. This is perhaps the chief gain to Prussia of
the turbulent years of 1848 and 1849. Another gain, and
not of smaller benefit perhaps, is the abhorrence now exist¬
ing among Prussians, and in fact throughout Germany,
against political and social theories, ever since their entire
failure in 1848. Yet another advance, which it would be
difficult to explain, is the greater activity imparted to all in¬
dustrial and commercial undertakings within the years
1850 to 1858, which (to give only one example) has more
than doubled the production of native Prussian iron within
five years. It would seem as if the country had tried to
forget, in this busy trading and commercial activity, the in¬
tense chagrin which maladministration was everywhere en¬
gendering. All the faults of the regime previous to 1848
were now exaggerated tenfold. The court-party ruled the
king and his ministers, and crept into all places of import¬
ance in the state; hypocrisy in religious and political mat¬
ters was rewarded by distinctions and employment; religious
dissent was repressed and punished by disabilities; even
bribery and corruption, from which Prussia had been pte-
eminently free, began to assume the functions of a regular
principle of government; the police exerted a kind ot
discretionary power ; the servants of government in the pro¬
vinces seemed to imitate the example of French prefets,
the elections were ruled by intimidation, and brought into
the Chamber of Representatives an incredible number of
men in the pay of, and deoendent upon, government.
PRUSSIA.
History. In foreign politics the king’s disposition was directed
through life to the maintenance of peace. He visited Eng¬
land at the invitation of Queen Victoria to stand sponsor
to the Prince of Wales in 1842, and ever professed a
great admiration for British institutions. He made an
exception to his peaceful policy, in 1848, when he attacked
a Danish army by order of the German Confederation, to
protect the duchy of Holstein, which is one of the states of
that confederation. On account of these proceedings, the
king has been suspected of ambitious motives, and of a
desire to annex that duchy, and its closely-united neigh¬
bour Schleswig, to his own dominions. Of this he was
innocent. The truth seems to be, that a deep-rooted
animosity of the German population, both in Holstein and
Schleswig, led them to an untimely attempt at separation
from the Danish monarchy, instead of waiting for an op¬
portunity which time must have brought, viz., the extinc¬
tion of the male line of rulers in Denmark, and, contingent
upon this, the accession (by the Salic law) of a separate
dynasty in the duchies. The war has embittered the sen¬
timents on both sides to an irremediable extent, without
any redress of grievances, and has brought upon Prussia
and the Germanic Confederation the profound humiliation
of having created hopes, sent armies and generals (in 1848
and 1849), and then (1850) pusillanimously abandoned
those whom they had declared to be in the right and had
undertaken to protect. Another short but bloody war was
forced upon King Frederick-William by an insurrection
among his Polish subjects, the explosion of which had
been adroitly prevented by the government in 1847, but
which broke out and assumed rather formidable dimensions
in the disastrous spring of 1848. It was suppressed, but
not before a series of sanguinary combats had proved to
the Polish insurgents how unavailing scythes are against
rifle-balls and shrapnells. A considerable Prussian army
marched into South Germany in the summer of 1849, at
the request of the Grand Duke of Baden, whom a wide¬
spread mutiny among his own troops had forced to abandon
his country to a clique of republicans and their besotted
followers. Baden and the Rhenish possessions of Bavaria
(also in the power of insurgents) were occupied after a
short resistance; and similar outbreaks in Wiirtemberg and
Bavaria proper prevented by this timely aid. In the
oriental war (1853 to 1855) Prussia abstained from mili¬
tary co-operation ; and was admitted to the Congress of
Paris only when its work was finished and all but ready
for signature. The territory of Prussia underwent no im¬
portant changes during this king’s reign, excepting that
the provinces of Prussia proper and Posen (the latter so
far as its population is German) were formally introduced
into the Germanic Confederation in 1846, and as formally
replaced on their old footing in 1850, it being gravely as¬
serted by the politicians of the day, that the position of
Prussia as a European power depends in a degree upon her
possessing lands without as well as within the said confedera¬
tion ! Another change, implying a trifling loss, must be
transitorily mentioned, viz., the resolution of the little can¬
ton of Neufchatel in 1848 to belong henceforward to
Switzerland alone, independent of the King of Prussia, who
had inherited it, and very mildly exercised his sovereignty.
The king set a great value on the recognition of his right,
and all European powers gladly recognised them ; but
when he threatened actual warfare, to back the attempts of
the royalist party in the canton (a.d. 1856), the same
powers interposed, and the canton was amicably left to
itself and to Switzerland early in 1857.
In the autumn of the same year the king was visited by
several strokes of apoplexy, which impaired his power of
speech, and in part also his reasoning capacities. I he
sympathy with this melancholy downfall of a highly-gifted
and amiable sovereign was general among all classes of the
66i
people. But their indignation was soon kindled by the artful Statistics
intrigues of the court party, who caused the unfortunate v -
monarch nominally to retain the government, merely de¬
siring his eldest brother William (who had borne the title of
“ Prince of Prussia” ever since the late king’s death, as heir-
apparent to the throne) to conduct the affairs of state “ in
accordance with his (the king’s) known intentions.” The
meaning of this was absolute power concentrated in the hands
of the then cabinet, under the presidency of Baron Man-
teuffel, whom to dismiss would have been, on the prince’s
part, to overstep his instructions. Fortunately for Prussia, no
European event of grave import occurred in this first year
of the king’s malady ; and the country, although without a
ruler, and oppressed by the host of ministerial police, passed
through this agonizing twelvemonth, outwardly at least,
unharmed. On the expiration of that term in October 1858,
the king, in accordance with a paragraph of the constitution
which makes provisions in case of a king being “ lastingly
incapacitated,” signed an order conveying to his brother
the full and unrestricted powers of regency, and left Pots¬
dam soon after to pass the winter in a southern climate.
Since then public matters in Prussia seem to take a more
favourable turn. A new cabinet, containing the leaders of
the opposition, is ably supported by the majority of a newly-
elected Chamber of Representatives. Divers practices of
the former administration have been simply dropped, and
bills introduced to prevent their recurrence. Reforms are
firmly demanded, and will be honestly granted. The prince
shows no precipitation in his actions, but gains confidence
rather by well maturing his plans. Many are they who would
fain hope that Regent William will prove a worthy follower
in the footsteps of his namesake, our William of Orange;
and that the children of the Princess-Royal of Great Bri-
tian may reign over a country blessed with the same insti¬
tutions as our own, and governed by that obedience to the
laws which has rendered our island prosperous and mighty
beyond all nations of the earth.
The Prussian monarchy is composed of three territories, positi0n.
very different from each other in size. The first or east¬
ern portion extends from nearly the centre of Germany to
the frontiers of Russia and the Baltic. Ihe second or
western portion, smaller in extent, and divided from the
former by a stripe of land between 30 and 40 miles in
width, begins on the frontier of Holland, Belgium, and
France, and reaches the course of the River Weser. The
third portion consists of the small principalities of Hohen-
zollern on the Danube, which have belonged to the royal
line of that family only since 1850, inclosed within the
states of Baden and Wiirtemberg. The two first and
principal portions are situated between 55. 52. and 49.
7. N. Eat., and 6. and 22. 50. E. Long. Its greatest
extent is from the French to the Russian frontier, a line,
though not quite unbroken, of nearly 800 miles. The
principal frontier is the Baltic Sea, washing the shores Frontier8,
of Pomerania and of Prussia proper, about 520 miles in
extent. A waste stripe of coast (the dahde-port) having
being purchased from Oldenburg in 1855 for the con¬
struction of a naval port, the Prussian state now has ac¬
cess also to the German Ocean. The land frontiers are,
 of the eastern portion, Russia and Poland, on the
east;’Austria, Saxony, and Thuringia, on the south; Ha¬
nover, Hesse-Cassel, Brunswick, Mecklenburg, on the west.
2d Of the western portion, Holland and Hanover, on the
north ; Lippi, Brunswick, Hanover, Hesse-Cassel, Waldeck,
Hesse-Darmstadt, Nassau, and Rhenish Bavaria, on the
east; France on the south ; Luxemburg, Belgium, and Hol¬
land, on the west.
In point of size, Prussia, as at present constituted, nearly size.
equals the area of Great Britain and Ireland. The King
of Prussia’s territory comprises 111,154 square miles, com¬
pared to the 121,050 square miles of the United Kingdom.
662
Statistics.
Outward
configura¬
tion.
The sea.
Lakes and
rivers.
PRUSSIA.
(For the size of each of the above-mentioned provinces, see
Table III.)
The western portion, including Hohenzollern, is moun¬
tainous; the other (with two exceptions, viz., Upper Silesia,
and the country bordering on Thuringia) belongs to that
interminable plain which characterizes Eastern and North-
Eastern Europe. In Brandenburg, Pomerania, and Prus¬
sia proper, the plain goes down lower and lower as it ap¬
proaches the Baltic, against whose ravages it is in many
parts protected only by natural or artificial sand-banks.
Over this monotonous plain a few small lines of hills are
seen stretching along. The land, in part sandy, in part
extremely fertile, is intersected by some powerful rivers,
large lakes, morasses, and forests of pine and fir. The
highest point of this country is the island of Bugen, famous
for its white chalk cliffs, which remind the traveller of Dover.
Upper Silesia contains a mountainous district separating that
province from Bohemia. It bears the names of Walden-
burger-Gebirge, Glatzer-Gebirge, and, raised above the
rest, the Riesen-Gebirge : the Schneekoppe, its highest
point, measures 4931 feet, which is more than the height
of any non-Alpine mountain in Germany. Parts of the
Thuringian hills are Prussian ground, and likewise a part
of the Harz Mountain, with its ghost-haunted Blocksberg
or Brocken. The western portion also begins with flat
country in the north; soon, however, the Weser hills rise
above the plain, followed to the westward by the Teuto-
burgwald, and farther on by the Westerwald, which ends
where it touches the Rhine in the picturesque Sieben-
Gebirge, 1429 feet high, and its marked promontory the
Drachenfels. The hilly countries to the left of the Rhine
are divided into groups by its tributaries,—viz., the Hohe
Venn (a part of the Ardennes), between Maass and Mosel;
then the volcanic Eifel, north of the Mosel ; and the
Hundsriicken, south of it. The Hohenzollern country forms
part of the Swabian Alps, and is crowned by the ances¬
tral castle of the family on the summit of the Zollern hill
(2663 feet high).
The Baltic Sea is too shallow to offer any first-rate
ports ; there are, however, good roadsteads along its shores.
Its commerce is carried on mainly by the following
Prussian towns,—viz., Memel, Konigsberg, Pillau, Elbing,
Dantzic, with Weichselmiinde, Swinemiinde, Stettin, and
Stralsund, some of which are obliged to send their mer¬
chandise along the shallow waters of a haff. These haffs
(the Kurische, Frische, and Stettiner) are broad lakes or
river-outlets formed by the streams on their sluggish exit
into the sea, and so close to the shore that there remains
only a narrow stripe or Nehrung, through which the river
then finds its way out. The water of the Baltic contains five
times less salt than the Atlantic. It is ice-bound during
three or four, and sometime five, months of the year.
The number and extent of lakes is considerable : there
are 3b9, ot'more than 200 acres each, which occupy in all an
area of 775 square miles. The hand of man has reclaimed by
drainage, and turned into splendidly fertile land, immense
tracts of bog and morass. These bogs derive their names from
the rivers whose course they accompany: thus the Oder-
Bruch, most effectually drained by Frederick the Great; the
Warthe Bruch, now almost entirely a fertile district 60 miles
in length by 10 in width ; some 60 square miles of the Obra-
Bruch, in the province of Posen, are at present under opera¬
tion. All great Prussian rivers flow into the Baltic or into
the German Ocean, excepting the Danube, which in its
upper course traverses Hohenzollern. Beginning from the
last, the principal rivers of Prussia are the following,—1.
The Niemen or Memel, which enters the Baltic near the
town of Memel, after traversing the Kurische Haff, the
northernmost of those mighty river-outlets mentioned
above. On its banks lies the famous town of Tilsit. 2.
I he Pregel, which passes into the Frische Haflf 5 miles
below Konigsberg, and into the sea near Pillau. 3. Ine Statistics.
Weichsel or Vistula, 13 feet deep in the Baltic port of
Weichselmunde, near Dantzic, but mostly shallow higher
up; its width is 2850 on its entrance into Prussian terri¬
tory, and increases to 5000 feet. Two other branches of the
river (one of them called the Nogat) flows into the Frische
Haff; its course is defended by the fortresses of Thorn,
Kulm, Graudenz, and Dantzic. 4. The Oder, a mighty
stream of 625^ miles in length, 583^- of which belong
to Prussia, collects its waters from no less than 52,267
square miles of land. Silesia, Brandenburg, and Pomerania
are traversed by the Oder; among the towns on its banks
may be mentioned Oppeln, Breslau, Frankfurt, and Stettin.
Its principal tributary is the Warthe, coming from the east¬
ward, 600 feet wide near the fortress of Ciistrin, where it
joins its waters with those of the Oder. Another tributary
has become famous in history, viz., the Katzbach, which flows
from the westward. 5. The Elbe, an important landmark,
inasmuch as it separated, and to a certain extent even now
separates, the purely Germanic population on its left from
a country gradually re-conquered, colonized, and German¬
ized, after a great immigration of Slavonic races. Having
crossed Bohemia and Saxony, it enters Prussia as a navi¬
gable river 6 to 10 feet deep, passes the fortified cities of
Torgau and Wittenberg, and then flows into Mecklenburg
territory. The waters of the Saale, from the left, and of
the Havel, combined with the Spree, from the right, swell
the stream of the Elbe, which measures 1000 feet after the
junction with the Havel. 6. The Weser, a small part of
whose course, that which passes the town of Minden, be¬
longs to Prussia, 3 to 6 feet deep, and 140 to 200 feet
wide. 7. The Ems must, like the former, be called a
Hanoverian river; it has, however, a course of 112 miles
in Prussian Westphalia. 8. The Rhine washes Prussian
soil from Bingen to the frontier of Holland, a distance by
water of 233 miles, or nearly one-third of its entire length,
which is 816 miles. Its fall within these limits is no less
than 226 feet. Near Bingen it has a width of 1608 feet,
which is diminished to 840 feet near Unkel, and then
widens out again gradually to 2544 feet near the Dutch
frontier. Its principal tributaries are,—from the west, the
Nahe, which passes by Kreuznach ; the Mosel, with its
many cities; and the highly romantic Ahr: and from the
east, the Lahn, the Wupper, the Ruhr, and the Lippe,—all
four now rising into great importance by the mining and
manufacturing activity of its valleys.
It was a matter of just pride among the Prussians in for- Canale,
mer times that they possessed a large net-work of canals,
connecting their principal rivers and lakes between the
Elbe and the Niemen. They are, however, now losing
much of their value by the competition of railways.
The climate of Prussia is on the whole temperate and Climate,
healthy. In Kbnigsberg the mean temperature shows
43°‘52 ; in Berlin, 40o,2 ; in Aachen, 48°'875 ; in Bonn and
Treves, 50°. The thermometer does not anywhere rise
above 100°, or fall lower than 25° below zero. In the
provinces of Prussia proper and Pomerania the winter
lasts seven months ; there the middle of May is usually
considered the beginning of spring; whilst the sun of the
Rhine ripens the grape, the almond, and the chestnut.
The eastern portion, on the other hand, has more constancy
of weather both in summer and in winter. The fall of rain
in some of the principal localities of the monarchy, be¬
ginning from the east, is as follows :—
Inches.
Tilsit 19-743
Dantzic 18140
Posen 18 8G3
Breslau 15-818
Frankfurt-on-the-Oder... 20-055
Stettin     18-376
Inches.
Berlin  20-795
Halle 18-094
Munster 25-226
Cleves 27-018
Cologne 24-190
Treves   25-702
The average annual fall of rain throughout being 21 "002 inches.
PRUSSIA.
Statistics. I. Population of Prussia at the close of each Reign, since
the beginning of the eighteenth century.
663
Population
Sovereigns.
Frederick I. (1713) 
Frederick-William I. (1740)...
Frederick the Great (1786) —
Frederick-William II. (1797)..
Frederick-William III. (1840)
In the jrear 1855  
Population.
1,731,000
2,486,000
5,430,000
8,700,000
14,928,501
17,202,831
Sqnare
Miles.
45,080
47,911
77,224
121,128
110,980
111,154
Average
per
Sq. Mile.
38-4
51-8
70- 3
71- 8
134-5
154-8
II. Increase of Population since 1816.
1816
1819 .
1822
1825
1828
1831
1834
1837
1840
1843
1846
1849
1852
1855
Total
Population.
Increase
during Three
Years.
10,349,031
10,981,934
11,664,133
12,256,725
12,726,110
13,038,960
13,509,927
14,098,125
14,928,501
15,471,084
16,112,938
16,397,448
16,935,420
17,202,831
632.903
682,199
592.592
469'385
312.8501
470,967
588,198
830,376
542,583
641,854
284,5102
537,972
267,411
Average In¬
crease in
each of
these Three
Years.
210,967§
227,399§
197,530f
156,461i|-
104,283^
156,989
196,066
276,792
180,861
213,951^
94,836§
179,324
89,137
Yearly In¬
crease in
per cent,
of the
Population.
1-93
1-95
1-60
1-23
0-80
1-16
1-39
1-85
1-17
1-33
0-56
1-05
0-53
The increase from 1853-55 is thus accounted for:—
For the 3 Annual
Years. Average.
Excess of births over deaths  353,195 117,731f
(In Berlin this excess amounts
annually to 3053§.)
Immigration    8,650
Registered emigration 65,735
Non-registered emigration. 28,699
361,845
94,434
2,883J
120,615
31,478
267,411
III. Present Population of Prussia:
89,137
Provinces.
Prussia proper ,
Posen  
Brandenburg ..
Pomerania 
Silesia 
Saxony 
Eastern portion.
Westphalia .
Rhineland...
Western portion...
Hohenzollern 
Bay of Jadhe 
Troops in garrison )
at Mainz, &c j
Prussian monarchy..
Extent in
Square
Miles.
25,654
11,678
15,990
12,560
16,154
10,034
92,070
8,014
10,605
18,619
460
5
111,154
Proportion
of Extent to
that of the
Monarchy.
0-828
0-168
0-004
Population
in 1855.
2,636,766
1,392,636
2,254,305
1,288,964
3,182,496
1,861,535
12,616,702
1,527,252
2,983,305
4,510,557
63,316
227
12,029
Proportion
of Popula¬
tion to that
of the
Monarchy.
0-7335
0-2620
17,202,831
In 18o5 the population of Berlin amounted to 447,483; Statistics,
of Breslau, 121,345; of Cologne, 106,852; of Konmsbera' ^
83,593; of Magdeburg, 77,997; of Dantzic, 71,995; of
Aachen (Aix-la-Chapelle), 54,373 ; of Stettin, 52,252 ; of
Potsdam, 32,725 inhabitants.
The density of population varies much according to soil,
climate, and occupations. On the whole, however, as will
be seen by the following table, the western portion shows a
decided preponderance, relatively to its size, in point of
numbers. We give these calculations according to depart¬
ments (Regierungsbezirke) rather than provinces, because
the former represent, to a certain degree at least, a com¬
munity of interests and occupation :—
IV. Relative Population of Departments.
Name of Department
( Regierungsbezirk.)
Forming part of the
Province of
Dusseldorf 
Cologne 
Erfurt   
Aix-la-Chapelle 
Breslau 
Minden 
Coblenz 
Arnsberg 
Oppeln 
Merseburg  
Trier (Treves) 
Liegnitz  
Potsdam,with Berlin..
Magdeburg 
Munster 
Siegmaringen 
Dantzic 
Posen  
Frankfort (on the )
Oder)  J
Stettin 
Stralsund 
Potsdam, without )
Berlin J
Bromberg 
Konigsberg 
Gumbinnen 
Marienwerder  
Cdslin 
Rhineland, W.
Rhineland, W.
Saxony, E.
Rhineland, W.
Silesia, E.
Westphalia, W.
Rhineland, W.
Westphalia, W.
Silesia, E.
Saxony, E.
Rhineland, W.
Silesia, E.
Brandenburg, E.
Saxony, E.
Westphalia, W.
Hohenzollern.
Prussia, E.
Posen, E.
Brandenburg, E.
Pomerania, E.
Pomerania, E.
Brandenburg, E.
Posen, E.
Prussia, E.
Prussia, E.
Prussia, E.
Pomerania, E.
The Prussian monarchy
Eastern portion (E.) 
Western portion (W.) ...
Hohenzollern 
Number of
Inhabitants
on every
Sq. Mile.
470
332
262
265
227
222
216
207
192
190
179
172
161
159
151
140
131
130
119
117
114
108
106
101
99
95
86
Increase on
every Sq.
Mile from
1852-55.
23
7
1
8
154-8
143
255
140
Besides Germans, there are in the Prussian dominions
at present 2,230,000 inhabitants of divers Slavonic races,
Poles, Wends, &c.; also 150,000 Lithuanians, 20,000
French colonists (12,000 of these in Berlin), 10,000 Wal¬
loons, and nearly 235,000 Jews. In Silesia, the German
population is four-fifths of the whole; in Prussia proper,
two-thirds; and in the province of Posen it is a constantly
increasing moiety, as more and more land is sold to Ger¬
mans and the trade and commerce of cities becomes almost
exclusively German. The Polish population amounts to
840,OOO. „ , r, •
There are 2,809,220 women living in wedlock m Prussia.
The average number of children to each family is 3,—a
good deal more than France, which has an average of 2-|-.
In 1855, 131,911 couples were married, 83,053 of which
belonged to Protestant churches, and 46,997 to the Roman
Church. The number of births in the same year was
1 In 1831, the cholera year, the actual increase was only about 28,000.
2 Years of revolution.
^ No official accounts having yet been published of the last triennial census,
to give the numbers of 1855.
which was taken in the autumn of 1858, we are obliged
664
Statistics.
Classes, or
Stcinde.
PRUSSIA.
617,817—i.c., 317,823 boys, and 299,994 girls; or 17,829
more of the former. This preponderance of males goes on
increasing up to the seventeenth year, when it diminishes
so much as to leave the male population of the whole mo¬
narchy in a minority altogether of 47,695.
The proportion of illegitimate children to those born in
wedlock has not varied very much since the year 1816,
when we have the first perfectly reliable information, bor
every 100 legitimate children born in that year there were
8 illegitimate ones; in 1828, only 6T%ths to every 100legiti¬
mate children ; and in 1852, a little above 8. Illegitimate
births vary therefore between 1 to 15 and 1 to 12 in pro¬
portion to legitimate ones.
Of the 550,460 persons who died in 1855, there was l
case of death to every 32 Protestant inhabitants; 1 to
every 29 Roman Catholics, and only 1 to every 51 Jews.
The rate of mortality averages about 1 to 31 living inha¬
bitants. Still-born children average at 5 per cent, of all
deaths, and at 3fths per cent, of all births. One-fourth of
all deaths in a year are of children under one year of age.
The number of suicides has increased in a frightful propor¬
tion in the period from 1816 to 1855. In the former year
there w7ere registered 700, or about 1 to lo,000; and in the
latter, 2351 suicides, or about 1 to every 7000 inhabitants.
We find three classes usually distinguished in the popu¬
lation of Prussia, as in that of all continental countries;
albeit their distinctions seem greatly to evanesce, viz.:
1st:, Nobles; 2d, Burghers; 3tf, Peasants. The title of
nobility is inherited in Prussia, as it is throughout the Con¬
tinent, by all members of the family alike; the property,
however, if any there be, customarily goes to the eldest
son. The law acknowledges as belonging to the high
nobility (hoheAdel) the heads of those princely houses which
enjoyed a kind of sovereignty during the German empire,
sixteen in number. These are considered as of equal rank
for purposes of intermarriage, &c., with the sovereign
houses ; they are exempt from military service in Prussia,
and enjoy other privileges. Several other great families of
Fursten '(princes) and counts are by courtesy reckoned
among the high nobility, and some fifty families, which
take precedence over others in virtue of certain hereditary
dignities. All other counts, barons, and simple nobles
(Herrn von) belong to what is called the lower nobility.
The number of these families in the monarchy is 20,000.
The nobility is most numerous among the Poles, where l
out of everv 100 is reckoned a noble; it is leust numerous
in the Rhenish province. Many noble families possess very
large estates; yet the property, where not fettered by
majorats (similar to those in Scotland), has changed hands
a good deal. Thus we find that in 1855, out of 11,714
ancient liittergiiter, or seigneurial estates, entitling their
owners to a representation in the old provincial pailiaments
throughout Prussia, only 7025 still remained in the hands
of noble families.
The second class of towns-people, or Burger-Stand, is In
far the most intellectual, as well as the most wealthy, in the
country. To the higher Burger-Stand belong the employes
(i.e., those among them w?ho are not born “ noble ), the
clergy, judges, teachers, all studierte Leute {i.e., who ha\e
enjoyed university education), artists, merchants, manufac¬
turers, &c. The lowrer Burger-Stand comprisestrades-people,
artizans, and towns-people owning land. The third class, or
Bauern-Stand, are inhabitants of the villages and hamlets
(32,000 in number), and of separate farmsteads not belong¬
ing to any village (also nearly 30,000). ihis class num¬
bers more than twelve millions (71‘2 per cent, of the popu¬
lation), living in nearly 1,400,000 dwelling-houses. Many
of these are proprietors of land, and all equally attached to
their property, from the substantial Westphalian Bauer of
400or 500 acres, down to the Rhenish labourer, who culti¬
vates in leisure hours li;s owm acre of land.
The majority of Prussians, viz., 10,534,754, belong to Statistics,
one or other of the Protestant churches; the rest are for
the most part Roman Catholics (6,418,310 in number, or Religious
about |tbs of the entire population), some Mennonites, adenomina.
few of the Greek Church, and, finally, 234,248 Jews. Pro-tlon8-
testantism is greatly dominant in the provinces of Pome¬
rania, Brandenburg, Saxony, and the eastern part of Prus¬
sia proper, and is in a majority in the Silesian departments
of Liegnitz and Breslau, in the Westphalian departments
of Minden and Arnsberg, and in the western part of Prus¬
sia proper. The Roman Catholics prevail in Hohenzollern,
in Rhineland and Posen, in Upper Silesia, and in the de¬
partment of Munster. Under the head of Protestants are
comprised—1st, The members of the United or Evangelical
Church, which may be considered as the national church;
2d, The so-called Old Lutherans, who have their separate
establishment; and 3d, The Moravian Brethren. The
Mennonites derive their name from a certain Menno, a
mild Anabaptist reformer, whose efforts, from 1536, when
he left the Church of Rome, to his death in 1561, had been
to unite all those who were in favour of adult baptism into
one church of saints, living at peace with all men. His
followers, like the Society of Friends, reject the use of arms
and decline taking oaths ; and the state grants them dis¬
pensation from both, a certain income-tax of about 3 per
cent, being fixed in lieu of their military duties, and their
solemn affirmation being accepted in courts of law where-
ever an oath is required from others. The Jews are most
numerous in the province of Posen, where every eighteenth
inhabitant belongs to that religion. In Berlin they are as 1
to 38, in Rhineland as 1 to 95, and in the province of Saxony
as 1 to 355. The last remnant of their civil disabilities has
legally ceased altogether since the promulgation of the con¬
stitution of 1850; nevertheless they remained practically
excluded from several employments, such as the office of
judges; but henceforward the law is to be carried out to its
‘letter, which undoubtedly excludes them from no dignity
in the state whatsoever.
The number of churches and other places consecrated
for divine worship was, in 1855, 9203 belonging to Pro¬
testants, and 7622 to Roman Catholics; which is an unfa¬
vourable proportion on the Protestant side ; for, whilst
their numbers in the country are, roughly speaking, as 5 to
3 compared to those of the Romanist persuasion, their places
of worship are not quite as 4 to 3. A similar disproportion
exists as regards the ministers of each church, the Pro“
testants numbering 6199, and the Roman Catholics 5/96.
There are 30Mennonite meeting-houses, 3 Greek churches,
and 928 Jewish synagogues.
The outward government of the Protestant U nited Chur ch
belongs, as in England, to the king, as Summus Episcopus.
His attributes of power are now entrusted to a supreme
council (Ober-Kirchenrath), consisting of clerical and lay
members, appointed by him, and responsible only to him¬
self. Those points alone in which a contact is established
between the state and the church fall under the cognisance
of one of the king’s responsible ministers,—oi public in¬
struction, &c. Each province has a board similarly consti¬
tuted, called Consistorium,—the special control over the
clergy, and their doctrine, being entrusted to super-
intendents-general, one for each province, and super¬
intendents, of which every province has several. 1 he
nomination to a cure of souls (subject always to the can¬
didates having duly qualified themselves by examina¬
tion) belongs in some places to the king, in others to
country gentlemen, in others to the municipal authorities,
in others, again, to the free election of each congregation.
This last-named method forms the rule among the Pro-
testants of Rhineland and Westphalia, who have a presby-
terian constitution similar to that of the Established Church
of Scotland. They have synods and general synods, in
PRUSSIA.
665
Statistics, which clergy and laity are equally represented, and manage
their local government also in a peaceable alliance of the
lay with the clerical element. It is believed that similar
representative institutions and local self-government will
in time become general in Prussia and in the rest of Pro¬
testant Germany.
The Roman Church has eight episcopal sees in Prussia,
which do not correspond to the eight provinces of the state.
Two of these sees—viz., that of Cologne and that of
Gnesen and Posen—are governed by archbishops ; the see
of Breslau by a “ prince-bishop ; ” the “ exempt ” see of
Ermland, extending over the east of Prussia proper, by a
bishop ; and so likewise the rest of the sees,—viz., Culm
(containing parts of Prussia proper and Pomerania), Munster,
Paderborn, and Treves, by bishops. The Archbishop of
Cologne exercises jurisdiction over the sees of Treves,
Munster, and Paderborn, as well as his own immediate dio¬
cese ; and likewise the Archbishop of Gnesen and Posen
over that of Culm. In the sees immediately committed to
their care the archbishops are assisted by Weih-Bishofe.
The prince-bishop of Breslau and the bishop of Ermland,
whose sees are therefore called “ exempt,” receive their
orders direct from Rome.
A^ricul- Prussia is essentially an agricultural country. More than
lure. two-thirds of her population are devoted exclusively or
principally to the cultivation of the soil. Whilst the manu¬
facturing industry, on a larger scale at least, is of modern
growth in this country ; several districts have ever been
exporters of grain, rape-seed, flax, &c. Still Prussia has
not attained to that degree of excellence for which she
seems to be peculiarly htted, by the fair conditions of cli¬
mate and of soil, and by the general intelligence of her in¬
habitants. In nearly all districts of Prussia the production
of grains is so much the one object of agriculture that the
art of breeding and fattening cattle suffers from neglect.
Meat being sold by weight mainly, and not sorted accord¬
ing to quality, fat cattle are not profitable property. In¬
stead of large outlay and large crops on a small surface, we
meet on the whole with oversized farms, costing little and
producing little. There is an expenditure generally on
extensive and massive buildings out of all proportion to
the cost of everything else, and to the disposable capital.1 2
The nobles, although they possess very large estates, and
although many of these are under their own management,
contribute but little to the progress of agriculture. After
all the shackles of vassalage and serfdom have been re¬
moved, there were, until lately, two principal causes re¬
tarding agricultural progress: first, the scarcity of good
roads and other means of communication; and, secondly,
the scarcity of ready capital. Both causes of inferiority to
other countries are now disappearing, and Prussian agricul¬
ture will, it may be anticipated, speedily rise to the first
place on the continent of Europe. The improvements of
Scotch and English agriculture have been carefully watched,
and to a considerable degree introduced. Farms of mo¬
derate size, with appropriate rotations of crops, with good
buildings and implements, using guano and other purchase-
able fertilizers largely, are becoming more and more gene¬
ral. Breweries, sugar-factories, and distilleries are to be
found on many of these farms, raising the value of the raw
produce of the land, and delivering over immense quantities
of food for the fattening-stall and the cow-house. Out of
the number of about seventeen millions of acres which re¬
presented the uncultivated area of the monarchy in 1849,
nearly three millions were reclaimed by the end of 1852 ;
and these three millions of acres have become principally
grazing land. The fertile province of Saxony stands
Rental.
£fhin ?flc“,tu;aI '"PI"1" generally. It is fol- stati.tlc
lowed by Brandenburg, which is almost the poorest by i , y
S3-.1111’6- The rest can be ranked as followsRhineland,
Silesia, YY estphaha, Pomerania, Prussia proper, and Posen.
Brandenburg and Silesia are the principal sheep-breed¬
ing provinces. Every possible care and refinement are
brought to bear on the production of wool, which is the
finest in the world, but scarcely any on that of mutton
which is very bad.
Large farms are the rule in Prussia. With the excep- r
tion of the Rhine-valley and the Eichsfeld (on the borders ’a^ms•
of Franconia), where land is subdivided to a very minute
degree, farms varying from 400 to 1200 acres form the
majority. They are usually let to tenants. The cultiva¬
tion of estates in the hands of the proprietor himself, how¬
ever, is by no means rare, and becomes almost the rule in
some districts, in the same measure as the taste for agri¬
cultural pursuits increases among the higher classes of so¬
ciety. The provinces of Rhineland and Posen contain the
largest number of let farms; there are few such in Saxony,
and scarcely any in Pomerania. As regards the duration T
of leases, they are restricted to nine, six, or even three lleases•
years, on the Rhine and in Posen ; show an increase in
Westphalia, where nine to twelve years form the rule;
and are longest in the eastern provinces (Posen excepted),
viz., twelve to twenty-four years. The rental averages
L.l, 7s. per acre in the fertile and much-subdivided valley
of the Rhine; and in the sugar districts of the Saxon pro¬
vince, where even L.4, 10s. and L.5 rent per acre is not
unfrequently paid. On the dreary hills of the Eifel and
of the Westerwald (Rhineland) you meet with farms that
are let at 5s. to 7s. an acre. The average rental in the
eastern portion of the monarchy (excepting Saxony) may
be estimated at from 9s. to 18s. for large farms, and from
12s. to 24s. for smaller holdings. In speaking of the price
of land, we necessarily include meadows and woods, with
the arable portions. From L.7 to L.12 per acre may be
taken as a fair average price of land in Prussia. In the
Saxon province, however, the average cannot be rated
lower than from L.12 to L.18. The greatest extremes in
the value of land may be observed in Rhineland; here
estates are sold for L.l to L.5 an acre along the hills of the
Westerwald, Eifel, and Hundsriick, whilst in the valley of
that noble river the price varies from L.18 to L.35 an acre
for large farms, and from L.40 to L.l00 for single fields.
The extensive meadows in the districts of Gumbinnen
and Konigsberg offer an excellent opportunity for the breed¬
ing of horses. Accordingly, most proprietors keep private
studs. The principal stud of the monarchy is Trakehnen,
in this province, formerly belonging to the royal family,
and now to the state, with 1300 brood-mares, and a farm
of 9363 acres adjoining. From this immense establishment
the royal stables are provided with carriage and saddle
horses, and the rest sold in great annual auctions to buyers
from all parts of the world. There are two other great
studs in the kingdom, viz., Neustadt in Brandenburg, and
Graditz in Saxony. Eight less extensive studs, with 1050
stallions, are distributed over the country. Wheat, peas,
and potatoes form the principal produce of this province.
In the district of Ermland there is also a considerable cul¬
tivation of flax. Emancipation from bare fallow, and from
the miserable implements of the country, is traceable every¬
where. But owing to its commercial disadvantages, viz.,
its inconvenient and ice-bound harbours, and the exorbi¬
tantly high protective duties imposed by Russia; owing also
to the sluggishness of its Slavonic and Lithuanian inhabi¬
tants, that progress is but slow.
Price of
land.
Prussia
proper.
1 The proportion of cost of farm-buildings to the whole capital invested in an estate is calculated at 15 to 20 per cent, in Great
Britain, and at 30 to 40 per cent, in Prussia. _ ^ T , , n
2 There were 167,395 cwt. of wool sold altogether in Prussia in 1858, at prices varying from L.17, 5s. down to L.4, 19s. per cwt.
VOL. XVIII. 4 P
666
P K U S S I A.
Statistics. A marked difference exists between the eastern districts
v — v ^ of the province of Posen, where proprietors as well as cul-
Posen. tivators of land are Poles, and its northern and western
parts. In the latter an improved system of occupation and
cultivation has been introduced by German purchasers, and
their imported foremen and labourers. In the Polish dis¬
tricts the rule of letting a farm for three years prevails, and
with it the most slovenly and exhausting practices of hus¬
bandry. Rye in the first year, and oats in the next, and
occasionally a crop of peas in the third or fallow \ear ; that
is the rule of Polish farms,, large or small.
Brandeu- Mr Albert Thaer, whom the Germans proclaim as the
burg. (Treat regenerator of their husbandry, has left a lasting me¬
morial o°f his practice and theory in the present high con¬
dition of farming in Brandenburg, where his example and
teaching (1804 to 1828) were most closely observed and
followed, and where sandy deserts are since his days covered
with abundant crops. Careful cultivation of the potato,
very extensive sheep-breeding, and marling of the soil, are
characteristics of Brandenburg agriculture. Barley and
rye are the principal grains produced. The soil possesses
too little solidity for wheat and mangel-wurzel, and the
climate is too dry for turnips. Mr Albert Thaer’s sheep
produced wool of such exquisite delicacy that they attained
the highest prices yet known; and this pre-eminence has
been strenuously kept up by his followers. The wool of
the province of Brandenburg is reckoned the best in the
world. In its turn, the stimulus given to sheep-breeding
could not but improve the general condition of the land.
If the number of sheep has doubled since 1816, the appear¬
ance of this sandy desert has also been completely trans¬
formed. The state keeps a model herd at Frankenfelde.
Pomerania. The system of farming in Pomerania consists, like that
of Mecklenburg, in laying down the land to grass during
three out of every seven years. The farms are mostly very
large, and cultivated in a steady, old-fashioned manner.
Silesia. Silesia has the most extensive sheep-breeding in Prussia.
Taking the whole acreage of this province, 1£ sheep is
reckoned to every acre. Above 70,000 cwt. ot wool
(second only to that of Brandenburg) and L.3000 worth of
rams are sold annually. Prince Lichnowsky’s herds in
Kuchelna are the largest and best ot all. 1 he old staple
produce of Silesia, viz., flax, has almost ceased to exist.
The linen had been manufactured for export, principally
to Spain ; but the King of Prussia having declined to ac¬
knowledge Queen Isabella, because her majesty had been
raised to the throne by a revolution, the Prussian commerce
with Spain lost all the privileges it had formerly enjoyed ;
and with that the cultivation of flax first slackened, and
finally all but ceased. Wheat, rye, rape-seed, and tobacco
are grown with advantage, and better modes ot cultivation
are graduallv supplanting the rule ot fallow, or the still more
frequent absence of all rule.
Saxon Prussian Saxony owes its agricultural fame principally to
X the careful production of, so to say, non-cereals, viz., the
beet-root for sugar, poppies, chicory, mustard-seed, cumin,
anis-seed, tobacco, flax—all very extensively cultivated. 1 he
necessity of improved appliances for their production has
raised the standard of husbandry in this province generally.
There are some farms here (that ot Herr Rimpau in
Schlanstedt, and Herr Nathusius at Hundisbuig) which
are conducted with as much order, economy, and intel¬
ligence, as any in Great Britain. Of beet-root, the aver¬
age of a yearly crop has lately been three million cwt.
There is very little cattle or horse breeding in this province,
the requisite quantity being imported mostly from Olden-
berg, and of horses also from Hanover. The ravages ot
the pneumonia or lung-disease among cattle w ere more ex¬
tensive in this than in any other portion ot the monarchy ;
the disease is giving way, however, to innoculation. The
wool is inferior to that of Brandenburg and Silesia; but
attempts have been effectually made of late to improve the Statistics,
wretched mutton of the country by crossing the wool breed
with our Southdowns and Leicesters.
As their Saxon forefathers of old, the present cultivators Westphalia
of Westphalia continue growing white crop after white crop,
with the slightest possible attention to root crops or to im¬
proved implements. Immense farm-buildings, in which
nearly all the labourers are lodged and fed, help to preserve
to this country its peculiar semi-patriarchal aspect and
regime. The farmer, whether tenant or proprietor, is mostly
too careful of his expenses to fall into actual poverty; but
in consequence of the habit of allowing his savings to stag¬
nate in strong boxes, instead of being invested in securities,
he never, or very rarely, acquires wealth. A very favourable
exception to this general character may be found in the dis¬
trict of Siegen, measuring less than 300 square miles, in
which the best systems of irrigating meadows have been
carried on with ingenuity for the last thirty years. The
same district is remarkable on account of the “ Heuberge,”
a peculiar system of wood-culture, according to which the
plantations, after standing eighteen or twenty years, are cut
down, the soil first burnt, and then sown with rye; in the
following year the young trees are sure to shoot up again
of themselves in great abundance, and then are allowed to
grow as before for eighteen or twenty years. Westphalia
pigs, like all other cattle, are sadly neglected as to nicety
ofPbreeding or feeding. Nevertheless, the hams enjoy a
world-wide reputation, for which they are indebted to a pe¬
culiarity of the farm-houses, the smoke of their immense
wood fires, instead ot finding its exit through a chimney,
being forced along the roof of the spacious hall before its
exit, and thus enveloping innumerable hams that are sus¬
pended along its rafters.
Agriculture has remained stationary on the borders ofRbineland.
the Rhine. It stood highest, perhaps, three centuries ago.
But whoever reads Dr Heresbach’s amusing book Rei
Rusticce, liber iv., published in 1571, giving an account of
his Diisseldorf farm, will be struck with the close similitude
between what was then and is now the rule. The Code
Napoleon, which continues to be law on the left bank of
the Rhine, has strengthened the habit of equally subdivid¬
ing the soil among all the children of the testator; a habit
which seems to belong to the Franconian race eveiywhere,
and which that law has sanctioned rather than created. In
the hilly districts bare and exhausting fallows are adhered
to; in the plains a continuance of as exhausting white crops.
More attention begins to be paid to the cultivation of wheat.
Rape-seed, flax, tobacco, cardoons, and latterly also the
sugar-beet, are cultivated for sale and manufacture. Drain¬
age and the creation of new meadow:s is changing the aspect
of the country ; and although this province keeps a larger
stock of cattle in proportion to its acreage than any other,
yet on the whole but little attention is paid to breeding.
In the dry and light soil of Brandenburg and other Farm dia-
eastern provinces, the potato is undoubtedly a better i oot- 6 enes.
crop than either turnips or mangel-wurzel. For any over¬
production of potatoes a distillery seemed to offer the only
advantageous employment; and hence the number of pri¬
vate distilleries. No less than 20,000,000 cwt. ot potatoes
are used for distilling every year. The excise-duty on
distilled liquors produces about L.750,000 a year.
In Saxony, Silesia, and a few other localities, many farmeis
devote their best fields to the production of the sugar beet-root.
There were 101 sugar factories in 1851, using 11,109,
cwt. of beet-root; and latterly that number has increased
bv about one-fourth. It is intended to raise the present
excise-duty of 7^d. to 9d. per cwt. of beet-root. W hen
this increase will have been effected, the protection a -
forded to home-grown sugar against the competition o
colonial sugars will be but trifling. ^J°.se amonn
owners of sugar factories who have a sufficient command
PRUSSIA.
Statistics, of capital, declare that they do not fear that competition
V—any longer.
Woods and About one-fifth of the entire acreage of Prussia, viz.,
forests. 14,406,945 acres, is covered with wood. Of this number,
again, two-fifths belong to the state, and the rest to private
individuals or corporations. The former are in admirable
preservation; large tracts of the latter class have suffered
much by the greediness and maladministration of their
owners. A law for the better protection of woods and
forests is now in preparation. A good deal of unproductive
land has of late years been converted into green forests by
means of a special fund voted by parliament. The pro¬
ceeds from the state forests were very trifling until lately,
if we take the average of the whole country, viz., only
2s. 3|d. per acre ; but the rapid development of the mining
industry, of railways, &c., begins to improve the value of
667
wood property. Rhineland possesses the greatest amount Statistics
of woodland, and next to it Silesia. . < y
As in England in former days, a board of agriculture, oZlCl
prestded over by a member of government {Landwirth- Board of
schafthches Mimstermm) conducts the agricultural affairs, so Agricul-
far as they regard the state. One of its principal cares isture<
the improvement of agricultural education throughout the
country. For this purpose, five agricultural colleges for
gentlemen, managers, and large farmers have been founded,
viz., Mbglin in Brandenburg (commenced by Mr A. Phaer'
and the property of his family), Eldena in Pomerania, Pros-
kan in Silesia, Waldau in Prussia proper, and Poppelsdort
in Rhineland; the latter four being entirely endowed by
the state. Besides these, there are 23 agricultural schools
for smaller occupiers of land.
V. Land Cultivated and Uncultivated in 1855.
Provinces.
Prussia proper.
Posen  
Brandenburg...
Pomerania 
Silesia 
Saxony 
W estphalia 
Rhineland 
Total.
Gardens,
Orchards,
and
Vineyards.
Acres.
215,807
114,437
101,653
60,085
133,028
70,487
84,815
163,687
943,999
Land under
Tillage.
Acres.
7,323,380
3,856,444
4,297.931
3,670,946
4,418,522
3,343,736
2,046,900
2,888,320
31,846,179
Meadows.
Acres.
1,652,682
544,704
842,362
647,395
571,330
424,701
363,249
526,540
5,572,963
Pasture Land.
Ac re
1,470,385
536,441
657,792
1,129,425
214,201
394,597
601,458
730,295
Woods and
Forests.
Acres.
2,655,762
1,424,750
2,310,005
1,436,883
2,313,402
962,177
1,272,193
2,031,773
Uncultivated
Land.
Acres.
3,559,384
1,209,757
2,308,190
1,317,932
2,976,383
1,403,702
903,118
638,585
5,734,594
14,406,945
14,317,051
Total.
Acres.
16,877,400
7,686,533
10,517,933
8,262,666
10,626,866
6,599,400
5,271,733
6,979,200
72,821,731
VI. Cultivators of Land, classified (1855).
Provinces.
Prussia proper.,
Posen 
Brandenburg ..
Pomerania 
Silesia 
Saxony  
Westphalia 
Rhineland 
Hohenzollern ..
Prussian monarchy.
Number of Persons whose chief Occupation is the
Cultivation of Land.
Proprietors. Their Families. Their Servants. Their Labourers,
137,022
74,916
85,271
47,911
179,967
80,240
74,466
195,873
9,149
884,815
611,439
336,293
377,548
214,690
774,774
311,141
323,096
694,652
28,125
3,671,758
199,323
100,475
100,989
76,978
190,785
86,561
85,159
108,649
2,913
951,832
189,010
85,441
64,070
27,333
74,830
51,396
74,294
1,086
754,296
Number of those
with whom the
Cultivation of
Land is a
Secondary Object.
299,119
110,051
251,186
164,959
444,652
301,974
304,502
423,552
15,864
2,316,759
VII. Size of Separate Holdings of Land.
Provinces.
Prussia proper
Posen 
Brandenburg...
Pomerania 
Silesia 
Saxony 
W estphalia 
Rhineland 
Hohenzollern...
Prussian monarchy.
Holdings of and above
400 Acres.
3943
2630
2263
2549
2932
1160
676
1431
91
17,675
Average Size,
1457
1409
1943
1698
1436
1285
1120
990
919
1479
200 to 400
Acres.
4241
1086
2085
1463
1157
1450
1414
1547
38
14,481
20 to 200
Acres.
3J to 20
Acres.
Under 3J
Acres.
Sum-total of
all Holdings
of Land.
83,477
45,457
48,646
26,398
46,232
40,014
46,352
49,475
1,690
387,741
42,554
31,118
45,609
27,409
104,588
63,557
73,250
202,833
7,216
46,418
21,850
65,318
31,992
115,958
105,761
115,376
537,874
11,579
598,134 j 1,052,1261
180,633
102,141
163,921
89,811
270,867
211,942
237,068
793,160
20,611
2,070,157
1 It would be an error to suppose, on account of the large numbers in this column, that each of these Lilliputian p ot. 7 P
sent the property of a man. In the Land-Register (or AWter) a separate number is given to every plot of land which belongs to a
different proprietor from the surrounding ones, without reference to the circumstance, that ten or twenty or m°rf of th®s® ^ J’.
may belong (as they usually do) to one owner. Yet it is a striking fact, that two-thirds of all pieces of land in the H P nee
should be under 3£ acres, and that the average size of all other holdings in the same province put together does not reach _0 acres.
668
Statistics.
PRUSSIA.
VIII. Number of Horses and Cattle in 1855.
Statistics.
Provinces.
Prussia proper.
Posen 
Brandenburg..,
Pomerania 
Silesia 
Saxony 
Westphalia 
Rhineland 
Hohenzollern ..
Bay of Jahde...
Horses.
Number.
Proportion
to Popu¬
lation.
461,504
153,442
193,531
150,241
190,647
152,485
121,259
122,511
5,224
35
Prussian monarchy  1,550,879
5-71
9-07
11- 64
8-57
16-69
12- 20
12-59
24-45
12-12
11-09
Horned Cattle.
Number.
Proportion
to Popu¬
lation.
987,023
481,418
618,605
450,637
965,643
522,380
548,908
889,789
40,739
143
2-67
2- 89
3- 64
2-86
330
3-56
2- 78
3- 36
1-55
5,505,285
3-12
Number.
Proportion
to Popu¬
lation.
2,642,268
2,199,977
2,343,969
2,651,030
2,431,687
1,838,946
461,046
492,364
10,058
80
15,071,425
0-99
0-63
0-96
0-48
1-30
1-01
3-31
6-08
6-29
1-14
Number.
Proportion
to Popu¬
lation.
520,512
163,258
285,255
182,992
127,058
332,490
242,647
242.283
9,495
2,106,013
5-06
853
7-90
7-04
25-04
5- 59
6- 29
12-36
6-66
8-16
IX. Average Price of Beef and Pork, 1852-55.
Provinces.
Prussia proper.
Posen  
Brandenburg...
Pomerania 
Silesia 
Saxony 
Westphalia 
Rhineland 
1852.
1853.
Beef.IPovl;. Beef. iPork.
Beef. I Pork.
d.
2-8
3-3
3-7
3-1
30
3-8
3-3
3-8
Prussian monarchy. 3-3
d.
4-0
4-3
4-4
4-4
4-4
4-5
4-4
4-9
4-4
d.
3-1
3-6
3-8
3-4
3- 6
4- 0
3- 4
4- 0
d.
4-8
4- 8
5- 1
5-3
5-0
5-1
4- 9
5- 6
1851.
Beef. Pork
d.
3- 9
4- 1
4-3
3-9
3- 9
4- 4
4-0
4-7
3-6 5-1 4-1
d.
5-7
5-6
5-9
5-9
5- 6
6- 0
5- 7
6- 4
5-8
d.
4-3
4-6
4-8
4-3
4-1
4-7
4- 5
5- 0
4-5
d.
5- 5
6- 0
6-2
5-8
5- 9
6- 2
6-2
7-0
6-1
X. Average Price of the four principal sorts of Grain in
the different Provinces of Prussia, in the year 1858.
Provinces.
Wheat.
Prussia Proper.
Posen  
Brandenburg ...
Pomerania  
Silesia  
Saxony  
Westphalia 
Rhineland 
s. d.
37 10
40 5
40 7
40 0
42 2
39 7
42 11
41 10
Rye.
s. d.
21 11
24 6
25
26
26
31
30
31
Barley.
s. d.
20 3
21 2
24 0
22 0
22 5
26 0
27 4
28 6
Oats.
s. d.
15 7
18 0
19 3
17 10
18 7
20 7
21 9
22 2
XI. Average Price of the four principal sorts of Grain in
the Prussian Monarchy during the last Ten 1 ears.
Year.
Rye.
Barley.
1849 .
1850 ,
1851
1852
1853
1854
1855
1856
1857
1858
s. d.
32 11
31
33
41 10
45 11
57 10
63 9
60
46
40
s. d.
16 11
19 6
26 8
32 11
36 3
44 5
48 10
45 4
29 5
27 2
s. d.
13 8
14 11
19 11
24 11
27
32
34
33
25 11
24 0
s. d.
9 8
11
16
16 0
18 0
21 6
21 11
20 11
17 8
19 2
Vineyards. The grape ripens occasionally in the neighbourhood ot
Berlin. There are vineyards also, producing very sour
wine, in Silesia and the Saxon province. But the prin¬
cipal production of wine takes place in the Rhenish pro¬
vince, where 30,902 acres of land are devoted to this la¬
borious cultivation along the banks of the Rhine, the Ahr,
the Moselle, the Nahe, and the Saar. In the years 1857
and 1858 the vintage was both excellent and plentiful, after
nine years of continued disappointment. The number of
hogsheads of white and red wine, in the vintage of 1857, is
officially given at 260,259f.
The mineral wealth of Prussia is immense, particularly in Minera!
Silesia and Rhineland, but cannot be said to have been
more than touched upon as yet. The increase of produc¬
tion during the last years alone, since capitalists have been
induced to turn their attention towards its development,
would show the capabilities of this branch of industry.
There existed, at the close of 1857, 89 mining companies
with a paid-in capital of L. 15,600,000, 50 of them working
foundries and mines generally, and 39 coal-mines alone:
499 coal-mines were in activity. The quantity of^ coal
produced in 1851 was 4,413,000 tons, and in 1857 it
reached 9,003,817 tons. Besides coals, lignite, or Braun-
hohle, is extensively found in the tertiary formations of
Brandenburg ’and Saxony. This lignite, (being a bitu¬
minous vegetable mass less completely carbonized) has a
heating effect equal to one-third of that of coals. Applying
that ratio to the produce of lignite in 1857,—viz., 3,467,500
tons,—we receive an addition of 1,155,833^ to the above
quantity of coals extracted from the earth. This would
give us 10,159,6501 or a little more than one-seventh of
the production of coal in Great Britain. In spite of this
enormous difference, the rapid progress of the last yeais
has already raised Prussia to the second rank among coal-
producing countries.
The increase has been yet more rapid in iron ore, viz., Iron,
from 2,820,000 cwt. in 1851 to 18,939,844 cwt. in 1855,
and 28,739,936 cwt. in 1857. The demand, however, be¬
ing even greater than the supply, foreign iron came in
abundantly,—viz.,2,600,000 cwt. in 1855, and nearly double
as much, viz., 4,161,357 cwt., in 1857.
Almost all zinc manufactured in the world is of Prussian, Zinc, lead,
and especially of Silesian origin: 4,377,789 cwt. of zinc copper, &c.
ore were obtained in 1857. The lead-mines of Commern
in Rhineland promise one day to become the most produc¬
tive in Europe ; at present (1858) their produce is 648,183
cwt.1 Westphalia and Silesia also contain some lead-mines
of no importance. Copper is found most in the Saxon
province; its entire production does not exceed 1,308,465
cwt.
The entire production of coals in the year 18o7 repre-Value c
sen ted a value (taking the average price paid at the mouth mineral
of the pit) of L.3,522,802; that of lignite, L.393,330;_of iron produce
ore, L.359,605; zinc ore, L.457,808; lead ore, L.257,662;
copper ore, L.93,614; other minerals, L.27,000; sum total,
1 This sum represents Ihe entire produce of lead in Rhineland; about 25,000 cwt. must be deducted from it for a few very insignifi¬
cant mines besides Commern.
Statistics.
Salt.
Precious
stones, &c.
Mineral
springs.
Iron¬
works, &c.
Manufac¬
tures.
PRUSSIA.
669
L.5,111,821.7 The value of mineral produce had increased
63 per cent, from 1854 to 1857 ; 113,134 miners were
employed in extracting the above mineral produce in 1857,
to 89,254 in 1854. And what is more curious still, each
one of them, in the former year, produced on an average
the value of LAS ; whilst in 1854 the value of each work¬
man’s labour had only amounted to L.35. The number of
women and children finding employment was 195,930.
The production of salt is 2,771,720 cwt., four-fifths of
which are produced from works belonging to the state.
Besides the above, beds of rock-salt begin to attract much
notice,—one at Stassfurth, 7 miles from Magdeburg, dis¬
covered a few years ago, already produces 250,000 cwt. of
nearly pure salt.
Amethysts, chrysoprases, and agates are found in Silesia;
alabaster in Saxony ; marble principally in Silesia and West¬
phalia ; excellent porcelain near Halle ; fossil amber among
the lignite or Braunkohle ; and sea-amber on the coast of
the Baltic between Dantzic and Memel, partly washed on
the shore during the storms together with the sea-weed,
partly pulled up with long hooks, and partly dug out of the
earth. About 600 cwt. is the yearly produce of sea-amber.
Prussia contains 108 mineral springs, among which Salz-
brunn and Warmbrunn in Silesia, and the sulphur-baths of
Aix-la-Chapelle, are most famous.
There are about 265 high furnaces now in operation.
The production of raw iron amounted to 5,858,072 cwt. in
1855, and to 7,072,766 in 1856; cast-iron amounted to
2,265,827 in 1855, and to 2,354,649 in 1856; bar-iron and
sails to 4,810,000 in 1855, and to 5,333,730 in 1856. It
may be interesting to compare the average price of British
iron on its arrival in Prussia with that of Prussian iron at
the works, during the three years 1865-57 :—
Zoll verein
Duty.
s. d.
Total.
s. d.
1?
1 0
4 6
9 0
6 If
6 2f
15 4A
15 5^
23 lOf
s. d.
Scotch raw iron on its arrival
in Prussia    5
Prussian raw iron at the works
Welsh bar-iron on its arrival
in Prussia  10 10^
Prussian bar-iron at the works
British sheet-iron on its arrival
in Prussia  14 lOf
Prussian sheet-iron at the
works  ••• llfr
The chief reason for this comparative cheapness of British
iron is briefly this: that in one only out of ten or more
cases in Prussia are coal and iron met with together, and in
all others they require an expensive carriage to and fro.
Silver is not found anywhere in a pure state, but ex¬
tracted out of its accompanying metals (lead and copper),
particularly in the mines near Eisleben, Luther’s birthplace.
Those among our readers who have travelled in Prussia
may remember occasionally coming upon thaler-pieces with
the inscription, “ Segen des Mansfelder Bergbaues. Ihe
entire native production does not exceed L.122,190 worth
of silver. Gold is similarly extracted to a trifling amount
(L.867).
The value of all iron-works,—lead, copper, silver, gold,
brass, smelt, nickel, arsenic, antimony, alum, and vitriol
works put together,—was L.l 1,971,658 : the number of
men employed in these works, 59,510; of women, 124,441.
The centres of manufacturing industry in Prussia are, -
Berlin, which may be considered at present as the second
among the manufacturing towns on the Continent; parts of
Westphalia and the Rhenish department of Dusseldorf, and
some districts in Silesia.
The manufacture of iron occupies above 40,000 persons
in Prussia. In steel, especially cast-steel, the Prussians bi
fair to surpass all other nations: we name the towns of
Solingen, Essen, Hagen, Remscheid, and the districts of
Siegen, whose admirable spath-ironstone offers advantages
enjoyed by no other steel factories. Sword and knife blades Statistics,
and guns are manufactured in Solingen and in the Thu- v
ringian city of Suhl; guns also in Potsdam. Berlin has
risen to celebrity by the neatness of its cast-iron mouldings,
and yet more latterly by its engine-foundries, one of which’
that of Herr Ad. Borsig, sold 500 locomotive engines for
railways in four years.
The manufacture of cotton goods has found its way into
Prussia only within the last few years, and does not nearly
suffice for home consumption. In 1857, 701 factories oc¬
cupied 76,700 workmen on 2061 hand-looms, and 16,827
looms worked by machinery. That of linens, on the con¬
trary, has an old-established fame. Spinning flax continues
a favourite occupation in the winter evenings, and produces
more yarn on an aggregate, even now, than spinning-ma¬
chines. Of hand-looms also, worked in leisure hours, there
are still 300,000, against 204 weaving establishments pro¬
vided with machinery. Silesian linen is considered the best
in the world for lightness and elegance of design ; West¬
phalian or Bielefeld linen for its strength. Excellent damask
is also made in the Saxon provinces. Wool has now almost
ceased to be worked by hand. There were nearly 60,000
spindles at work in 1857; also 796 cloth factories, with
8227 workmen. Rhineland, Silesia, and Brandenburg are
prominent in this branch of industry, the export of the
former being principally to the United States. To render
Prussia, a silk-producing country was, as our readers already
know, one of Frederick the Great’s favourite ideas, and it is
now again a hobby of modern economists; but German sum¬
mers being usually too short for a double crop, the raw ma¬
terial of other countries must needs continue to be cheaper.
Accordingly, almost all silk is imported for manufacture.
Eleven and a quarter millions of yards of silk, of mixed ar¬
ticles, and of velvets, make up the amount of annual exporta¬
tion ; and twelve millions are sold for home consumption.
The principal factories exist in Rhineland, producing about
six-sevenths of the above quantity ; others in Berlin. The
capital also contains the largest silk-dyeing establishments.
The art of dyeing in Turkish red is an important branch of
industry in the two sister cities of Elberfeld and Barmen,
averaging 90,000 lb. a week. In Rhineland, principally
along its western frontier, raw leather is extensively pre¬
pared. Taw-factories are to be found in the neighbour¬
hood of Magdeburg. The glove trade was introduced by
French Protestant immigrants>t the end of the seventeenth
century, and continues to flourish among their descendants
in Berlin. The paper factories of Rhineland and West¬
phalia have lately begun to export largely. Among the
115 glass-works in Prussia, two are justly famed,—one of
Zechlin in Brandenburg for chemical apparatuses, and that
of Count SchafFgotsch at Schreiberhau in Silesia for what
is so universally admired under the name of Bohemian
glass, now in a great measure the produce of this excellent
establishment. The beer of Prussia, as German beer alto¬
gether, is lighter, and more appropriate perhaps to that
climate, than that produced in Great Britain. There were
no less than 7226 breweries in 1855,—a number, alas!
even exceeded by that of distilleries, viz., 8006 ; of which,
however, 1665 are employed in the distillery of spirits of
wine. There are 22 houses in the city of Cologne all pre¬
tending to distil the famous eau-de-Cologne, besides that
of its original inventor, Jean Marie Farina, 23 Ziilichs-
platz. The sugar-factories on farms were mentioned before.
Among the sugar-refineries, one, viz., that of Messrs
Rath Joest, and Carstanjen at Cologne,—is considered the
most extensive on the Continent; and the different charges
to the state, in the shape of customs, excise, taxes, &c., aie
rated at L. 150,000 a year. The consumption of home-grown
and imported tobacco is very great, and can be but inade¬
quately represented by the number of tobacco and cigar
factories, viz., 71L German printing used to excel more
670
Statistics.
Oommprce
and navi¬
gation.
PRUSSIA.
by quantity than by quality ; but Berlin (with Leipzic) has
retrieved the honour of the country which first invented
that noble art. Berlin also excels by its lithographic esta¬
blishments, furniture, and general upholstery, and its wool-
mosaic, which has rendered Berlin wool a subject of con¬
siderable trade to foreign parts. Berlin porcelain also pre¬
serves its ancient reputation,—the largest factories being
those of Schumann and the royal one. As a general rule,
and with very few exceptions, Prussian manufactures are
dependent upon Prussian capital. One of these exceptions
is the grand plate-glass and mirror factory of Aachen (or
Aix-la-Chapelle), which belongs to a French company called
St Gobain.
In all commercial affairs Prussia has almost entirely
ceased to exist as a separate state, her special interests
having blended in those of the Zollverein, under which head
all masters relating to export and import will be fully treated.
Only a portion of goods being objects of trade enter the
Prussian dominions, or leave them by Prussian seaports,
or along the frontiers touching upon countries not belong¬
ing to the Zollverein. Again, a portion only of the im¬
ported articles remains in Prussia, the rest travelling across
the country into foreign or Zollverein states. Generally
speaking, the Prussian seaports export corn and timber,
and import coals, iron, and salt. According to the best
sources of information, the amount of all more notable goods
imported into Prussia in 1857 (although not of course for
Prussian consumption only) may be calculated as follows :—
Coals   12,040,338
Raw-iron generally  4,161,357
Wrought-iron, steel, &c  1,852,809
Copper and brass, unprepared  92,671
Flax, hemp, and tow  390,755
Hemp-seed, linseed, and rape-seed  1,111,155
Aloe, gall-nut, resin, &c    526,136
Logwood   391,407
Soda  107,598
Potash,    114,978
Oil in casks  208,197
Cocoa-nut oil, palm oil, and spermaceti  288,244
Train oil  106,517
Pitch, tar, &c  138,652
Hides  217,223
Charcoal  186,276
Salt  959,959
Wool  251,661
Raw cotton    327,205
Cotton yarn, wadding, &c  393,756
Linen yarn and linen    69,514
Tobacco in leaves  213,834
Unrefined sugar   315,334
Coffee and cocoa  704,243
Tea     SlASl
Rice    440,098
Wine, cider, &c  165,269
The total amount of the above goods, together with divers
others not here enumerated, was 27,025,669 cwt. Also,
Bushels.
Wheat  3,200,285
Rye  3,371,052
Oats, buckwheat, and spelt  600,009
Barley and malt  339,897
Beans, pease, &c    177,285
The following list gives the number of sea-going vessels
which entered or left the Baltic ports in 185/ :
Flags.
Entered.
Vessels. Tonnage.
Left.
Vessels. Tonnage.
Prussian flag
Other flags....
3974
4559
761,610
823,012
3880
4561
737,950
826,434
Total.
8533
1,584,622
8441
1,564,384
In these numbers the coasting trade has not been in- Statistics,
eluded, which is carried on by smaller vessels, above 500
in number, and with an aggregate burden of about 16,000
tons. Stettin, Stralsund, Kbnigsberg, and Dantzic are the
most frequented ports.
The abolition of the British navigation laws would have
given a far greater impulse to ship-building in the Prus¬
sian ports, did not the high protective duties afforded by
the Zollverein to the native iron enhance the price of this
indispensable metal. Only 271 sea-going vessels were
built in the three years 1855 to 1857, leaving 77 on the
stocks at the end of that year. An improvement is, how¬
ever, traceable in the number of Prussian vessels partici¬
pating in the traffic between Prussia and British ports, as
will be seen from the following official list:—Number of
Prussian vessels entering British ports in 1855, 1205 ; ton¬
nage, 278,350: in 1856, 1238 ; tonnage, 296,362 : in 1857,
1353 ; tonnage, 319,196. Number of Prussian vessels quit¬
ting British ports in 1855, 1302; tonnage, 286,404: in
1856, 1395 ; tonnage, 326,162: in 1857, 1561 ; tonnage,
354,412. The total number of Prussian sea-going vessels,
not including the coasting trade, was 953 vessels, of 278,251
tons in 1854, 29 of them steamers; and 1033 vessels of
326,569 tons in 1857, 63 of them steamers; showing an in¬
crease of 80 vessels, and 48,318 tons. During this period
42 vessels had been sold into other countries, and 113 had
been lost at sea. A new and most salutary stimulus to
navigation in these parts was given by the treaty of 14th
March 1857, in which the King of Denmark renounced
the sound dues for the payment of sums apportioned to the
amount of shipping of each country. If little advantage
has been taken as yet (1858) of this dearly-bought liberty
of the seas, the reason is to be found in the distress occa¬
sioned by the great commercial crisis of 1857.
The miserable condition, and in some parts the absence Roads,
of roads, in the beginning of this century, has given way to
plentiful and excellent means of communication. Turn¬
pike roads, of which Frederick II. had professed so great a
horror, were never seriously taken in hand until the general
peace of 1815; and since that time no trouble or money
has been spared to render the net-work complete. In 1857
Prussia possessed 14,331 miles of first-rate macadamized and
mostly turnpike roads, or about one mile of macadamized
road to every 7‘76 square miles of land ; 5992 of which be¬
long to trusts or corporations, and 8340 to the state. The
gross yearly cost of keeping up the latter is L.330,000, of
which sum L. 195,000 are covered by tolls, &c.
Prussia possesses 26 railroads belonging to private com¬
panies, and 5 belonging to the state. The aggregate
length of railways (finished in 1858) is 2725 miles, which
makes 1 mile of railway to every 193 square miles of land.1
The increase since the end of 1848 has been of 938 miles,
or of 84 per cent. The railways of the state have cost the
sum of L.10,726,665. For the rest, L.16,516,380 were
raised by ordinary shares, and L.13,746,120 by preferen¬
tial shares and debentures ; making a total expenditure of
L.30,262,500 for private railways, and L.40,987,500 for all
railways together. Seventeen more railways are to be
finished by the end of 1860, 938 miles in length, which
will increase the length of railways in Prussia to 3663^
miles. All state railways lie in districts where the expense
of construction has been in too unfavourable a proportion
to the traffic of the line. Thus the principal state railway—
that to Kbnigsberg, 289 miles long—required works of
gigantic dimensions in the crossing of the Vistula and the
Nogat, and passes through districts but thinly peopled.
Yet the necessary sums were cheerfully voted on grounds
of general utility. The lines belonging to the state conse¬
quently are not paying ones.2 I he condition of the pri-
1 In Great Britain, the ratio was given as 1 mile of railway to every 65 ; and in France, 1 to every 213 square miles.
2 The above-mentioned Eastern Railway produced a nett profit of 2*17 per cent, in 1857.
PRUSSIA.
671
Banking
system.
Statistics, vate lines, on the other hand, is highly favourable, pro¬
ducing an average dividend on the paid-in capital (on an
average of all the private lines together) of no less than 7
per cent. The Magdeburg-Leipsic line ranks first, with 24
per cent.; then the Upper Silesian and Magdeburg-Halber-
stadt line, with 13 per cent.; the Berlin-Stettin line, with
9^ per cent.; the Berlin-Anhalt line, with 9 per cent.; the
Cologne-Minden line, with 8-§- per cent.; the Rhenish line,
with 6 per cent. If the nett profits, therefore, more than
double the average of the nett profits in Great Britain, the
gross receipts were 71^ P^1" cent, of British icceipts (in
1857), those on Prussian lines being L.1887 per mile.
The aggregate traffic was of 12,982,000 passengers, and
170,518,000 cwt. of goods.
The Bank of Prussia (Preussische Bank) was instituted
by Frederick the Great in 1765, and the following years,—
first, by a loan of L. 1,200,000, and then by directing that
all deposits of tribunals and other public offices should be
paid to one of the bank’s offices, and deposited there at an
interest of 3 per cent., and at a week’s notice. The opera¬
tions of the bank soon became extensive, and so profitable
that its directors were enabled to repay the loan in the
reign of Frederick’s successor. After a partial suspension
of payment in 1806, the bank resuscitated in 1815, and has
ever since been increasingly beneficial. In 1846 the ca¬
pital of private shareholders was admitted to the amount of
L. 1,500,000, and leave given to issue bank-notes, one-third
of the amount to be covered by bullion. By an act passed
May 6, 1856, the bank has been permitted to double its
capital, and to increase its circulation of notes very con¬
siderably. The maximum of circulation in 1857 was
L.l 1,055,600, and nearly L.15,000,000 in 1858. The bul¬
lion collected reached the sum of L.6,000,000 in 1857, and
L.10,849,836 in 1858. Deposits were nearly L.3,000,000
at the close of the latter year. Originally the bank had
two offices, in Berlin and Breslau; gradually the number
has increased to 103. There are eight joint-stock banks^
in the monarchy licensed to issue notes at the rate of
L.150,000 each. The number of private banks and money-
offices (some of them very insignificant) is 512.
In Prussia the army is in a certain sense co-extensive
with the people. All men capable of bearing arms are ex¬
pected to co-operate, if need be, to the country s defence.
We shall have to speak,—1^, Of the standing army, with
its reserve ; 2c?, Of the landwehr or militia ; and 3c?, Of
the landsturm. The standing army consists of two dis¬
tinct classes, to the higher of which belong the commis¬
sioned officers, who are gentlemen by birth and education
and the non-commissioned officers or sergeants ; to these
commissioned and non-commissioned officers the military
service is a profession for life, as in any other army in the
world. The privates of the standing army, on the contraiy,
are recruits of one, two, and three years’ standing, and com¬
prise all able-bodied youths in the country, excepting the
only sons of poor widows, or others similarly situated.
They enter the army at the age of twenty, are drilled
during three years, and then during the two following years
are subject to be caUed back to their regiments regu¬
larly for a few weeks’ exercising, and, if necessary, for war.
By means of this reserve, the standing army can^ be in¬
creased by two-thirds of its numbers at three days’ notice.
One class of Prussians is, however, privileged to serve in
the ranks only one year, after which they are at once placed
on the lists of the reserves; to it belong all young men o
superior education without distinction of birth or parent¬
age, who are able to pay for their own sustenance, uni¬
form, &c. If they prove themselves capable, and if they
are admitted by the officers, these young “ Fre.wilhge as
they are called, afterwards enter the landwehr with a
commission as landwehr officers. All the rest, at the ex¬
piration of five years from their first entrance into the army,
Array
become privates or sergeants in the landwehr. This land Statistics,
armament or militia is composed of all the drilled men ^ t- v-n»y
during a further term of thirteen years, after they have
quitted the standing army and reserve. Six years out of
these thirteen constitute the fast Aufgebot or levy, and the
rest the second Aufgebot. The first Aufgebot is called
under arms every three or four years for several weeks’
practice in manoeuvring. All the landwehr lists, accoutre¬
ments, &c., are kept in such perfect order that a fortnight’s
notice will suffice to equip them ready for war. After at¬
taining his thirty-ninth year a Prussian is free from military
service, excepting in cases of extreme need, when the
king is by law empowered to call upon every man, up
to his fiftieth year, to rise and take arms for the defence
of the district in which he lives. This last-named for¬
midable levy would, if ever called out, constitute the land¬
sturm.
The education of officers and sergeants for their military
profession is attended to as carefully as in most other well-
organized armies, by military and cadet schools for the in¬
fantry and cavalry, as well as for the artillery and engineers.
No officer can, however well qualified, enter a regiment,
even with a royal commission in his pocket, unless the
officers of that regiment declare their willingness to receive
him as a man of unimpeached honour. Sergeants are
picked men from the rank and file, induced to remain in
the service by the certainty of being provided for by the
state when disabled by wounds or old age to serve any
longer. The privates of the Prussian militia or landwehr
make better soldiers on the whole, at any given time, than
those of the standing army. This may seem a paradox, as
the latter are actually under arms, whilst the former return
to their banners, each from his civil employment. But in
the landwehr you have men perfectly drilled, and in the
prime of life, against recruits who have scarcely outgrown
their boyish years. Of the officers of the landwehr the
same cannot be said. One year’s training, and after that
a few weeks of field practice, with long intervals between,
do not enable the majority of those even in the position of
subalterns to act independently of officers of the standing
army. A partial reform of the militia institution has there¬
fore been considered necessary. The landwehr, instead of
being combined into separate regiments, is to form addi¬
tional (4th, 5th, and 6th) battalions of each regiment in the
standin0- army. With this view, the staff of officers in the
latter is being greatly augmented, in order that every re¬
giment may be able to grant a sufficient number of them
to their respective landwehr battalions, whenever the militia
may be called out.
The standing armv, with its reserve and the militia (we
may omit the landsturm in our further remarks) is divided
into 9 army corps, 1 of which is formed by the household
troops, and each of the 8 others belonging to one of the
princes of the monarchy. The first army corps-darmee is sta¬
tioned in Prussia proper, the eighth in Rhineland. An army
corps is divided into 2 divisions, of 2 brigades each. Again,
it consists of 4 regiments of infantry, 4 regiments of cavalry
(the guards onlv have 6 cavalry regiments), 1 regiment of
artillery, 1 rifle 'battalion, and L detachment of pioneers.
The Prussian infantry consists of 144 battalions of the
standing armv, including 10 rifle battalions, and 116 of
landwehr of the first aufgebot. Nearly all regiments con-
tota 3, but some of theS. have 2 battalions of 1000 men
each In the cavalry the numbers are,—lo2 squadrons of
the standing armv, and 144 of landwehr, 4 squadrons to a
regiment, and each squadron of 120 horses in times of
peace, 160 horses in its war strength. 4 he artillery also is
divided into regiments, 9 in number, and consisting of 16
batteries each, with 5 additional, making 149 batteries in
all. There are in time of peace 216 guns, full} equipped,
belonging to the horse artillery (a corps first instituted by
672 PRUSSIA.
Statistics. Frederick the Great), 648 to the foot artillery, and 10 to
the fortress companies,—874 in all.
Without further enumerating pioneers, Sec. See., we shall
now state the numbers of the Prussian army. Its real
numbers in times of peace amount to 161,000 officers and
men. In case of war, this can be instantly increased to an
effective force of 357,000. Sealed orders for completing
this number (“ mobilizing,” as it is termed) always lie ready
in the office of every officer holding a separate command.
In warlike contingency, a telegram would direct him to
open the sealed packet, and then the work of producing
his troops, complete in every respect, must be done in a
fortnight’s time. In addition to the above number, there
would further be 246,000 men armed and equipped for
doing the service in the interior, ready for any emergency.
Thus the Prussian army, in case of war, can at any time
be raised to the formidable number of 603,000 men, all
perfectly drilled,—a popular army, such as no other country
possesses, unassailable for defence in a cause of undoubted
necessity and justice. Many people were of opinion that
this popular institution contains elements which might
prove dangerous to the state, or at least not be available
under all circumstances and for every purpose alike. The
latter of these doubts seems to be well-founded ; for it may
be asserted that for any prolonged war merely for dynastic
interests,—in fact, for any war not absolutely forced upon
the country,—an army so composed would be no suitable
instrument. But there is no fear of this militia being
turned to purposes subversive of public order and tranquil¬
lity. When the king called out part of the landwehr in
the midst of the revolutionary commotion of 1848, they
assembled under their banners as willingly as they would
at any other time. Exception is also frequently taken to
the rawness of these troops, which must, it is believed,
place them in disadvantages if opposed to elder men. It
would seem that there must be advantages as well in the
greater youthfulness of part at least of the Prussian troops
(for the landwehr are grown-up men), for it is a historical
fact, that the greatest general of modern days, on being
asked which of the three armies, the Russian, Austrian, or
Prussian, he would most like to command, declared un¬
hesitatingly, “ They are all three very good, but I should
prefer commanding the Prussian army.”1
The pay of a Prussian soldier in times of peace is very
small, and his keep as economical as possible. The private
receives twopence-worth in kind, and 3^d. in money, or
5jd. a day, which is even less than the Frenchman’s pay
ot 6d. per day, and only fths of an English private’s pay.
For officers of the lower grades also the emoluments are so
trifling that it would appear almost impossible for any of
them to clothe and feed themselves without some private
fortune. A great many of them, however, manage to exist
upon that pittance, without any such extra help, proud ot
their profession and the social distinctions it confers upon
them. Nevertheless, the cost of the military establishment
swallows up nearly one-fourth of the entire annual expen¬
diture of the state.
Prussia keeps federal garrisons (alone or jointly with
Austria and other German states) in the fortresses of
Luxemburg, Maintz, and Rastadt. Pier own fortresses are
numerous, and some among them of the first magnitude.
Towards France, Saarlouis holds the first line of defence,
then Jiilich, Wesel, Cologne, and Coblentz, with Ehren-
breitstein. Towards Russia the line of fortifications has
been more attended to of late, but is far from complete yet.
Here the fortress of Posen forms the principal bulwark
against aggression. Kdnigsberg on the Baltic will soon
equal it in strength. Further on, the line of the Vistula is
defended by Thorn, Culm, Grandenz, and Dantzic; and Statistics,
the Oder line by Neisse, Cosel, Glatz, Glogau, Ciistrin, v/W
Stettin; the Elbe line by Torgau, Wittenberg, and Mag¬
deburg. Besides these, Pillau, Colberg, and Stralsund
must be mentioned as maritime defences, and Schweidnitz
and Silberberg as defences against Austria. Among this
large number, six are of first magnitude (in italics), nine
other of second, and the rest of third rank.
The total absence of a fleet had placed the coasts ofNaval<fe
Prussia and Germany at the mercy of their Danish neigh-fences-
hour in 1848. Hence the general desire in Prussia that
the coasts should be adequately protected, and that there
should be a small number of armed vessels of the best de¬
scription, to prevent a third-rate power from again seriously
damaging the trade of their large and mighty country.
Accordingly, Dantzic and Stettin, Stralsund and the island
of Riigen, received additional fortifications on the sea-side.
These places were not, however, considered as sufficiently
good harbours; and the Prussian government purchased the
Bay of Jahde, a waste stripe of coast, from the Grand Duke
of Oldenburg, which is eventually to become the naval port
of Prussia. The Prussian flotilla at present consists of 2
frigates, 3 corvettes, 3 steamers of 12 guns each, 3
schooners, 42 gunboats, a transport vessel of 292 guns
altogether, 90 officers, 1300 sailors, and a battalion of ma¬
rines, with 622 officers and men.
Prussia has strenuously laboured to earn the reputation PuHicedu-
of being inhabited by a better-educated people than any catlon-
in the world. “ Every child shall be taught to read and
write and to make sumssuch is the principle of Prussian
law—by its parents, or if not, by professional masters and
mistresses, and at the expense of every parish. The state
providing,—1st, Normal schools and examiners for the school¬
masters, no schoolmaster being licensed to teach publicly
who has not passed the prescribed examination; 2d,
Supplementary means, where the parish funds do not suffice,
in which cases the government has the appointment, or a
share in it; and 3o?, The strong hand of the law, if parents
disobey the country’s injunction to send their children to
school. In 1855, out of 2,943,251 children of school age in
all stations of life then living in the monarchy, 2,758,472
went to elementary schools. The number of schools wras
24,292; of schoolmasters, 31,467; of schoolmistresses, 1523.
The pay of all elementary schoolmaster's and schoolmis¬
tresses together throughout the monarchy, from private
and government funds, amounted to L.900,000 in 1857,
which is more by L.64,500 than the sum-total was in 1852.
In this the contributions of government are only L.60,000.
A Prussian schoolmaster or mistress receives, on an aver¬
age, L.28, 13s. a year of fixed salary, besides lodging and
some other emoluments and occasional helps. The cry for
increased salaries is becoming very loud (the government
board is now, 1858, granting relief at the rate of L.5,500
a year), and there seems to be a growing inclination to
enforce an improvement by law.
Normal schools (Semmare) were first instituted in 1820;
their number is at present 39 for the education of masters,
and 4 for mistresses. Of these, 43 were Protestants, and 15
Roman Catholic. There are 2398 pupil teachers educated
in them, at a cost to the state of L.29,731, or about L.12,
15s. each.
Another higher class of schools, also entirely supported
by parishes (or nearly so), is comprised under a variety of
names, beginning from middle-schools {Progymnasieri), and
rising up to Hohere Burgerschulen or Realschulen. Iheir
number was 512 for boys, with 2394 teachers and t2,653
scholars; and 382 higher schools for girls, with 2015
teachers and 54,753 scholars in the year 1852. Ihe in-
1 These words fell from the lips of the late Duke of Wellington in an after -dinner conversation in the year 1849.
PRUSSIA.
Statistics, struction in these schools is grounded principally on ma-
thematics, and not on the classics, and is carried on with a
constant and almost exclusive view to those practical occu¬
pations in after-life for which most of the pupils are brought
up. The highest of this class, called Realschulen (mathe¬
matical schools, as we should call them), 56 in number,
have the right of giving certificates to their pupils on leav¬
ing. The number of gymnasia or classical schools is 131,
with about 1000 ordinary masters, 700 assistants, and
34,000 pupils. Only a few of these gymnasia have accom¬
modation for the pupils; among them is the famous old school
of Pforta, in the Saxon province, founded in 1543. These
are mostly ancient foundations, and self-supporting; nearly
673
all the rest require very large assistance at the hands of Statistic,
government, if they are not entirely supported by it. v . “ /
The Prussian universities, alike in every respect to those
of the rest of Germany, are divided into four “faculties,”
according to the principal branches of learning; the first
of theology (subdivided in Breslau and Bonn into an evan¬
gelic and Roman Catholic faculty), the second of jurispru¬
dence, the third of medicine, and the fourth of philo¬
sophy, which comprises all studies, without exception, not
taught under any of the above heads. The number of
students is subject to considerable fluctuations. The fol¬
lowing table for 1856-57 can be taken as tolerably near
the average of the last years :—
VII. Attendance at the different Prussian Universities, 1856-57.
Universities.
Divinity.
Evangelical,
Jurispru¬
dence.
Philosophy.
Total Num¬
ber of
Students.
Number
of Students
in 1836.
Professors.
Yearly Ex¬
penditure.
Berlin  
Bonn  
Breslau 
Halle  
Kbnigsberg..
Munster  
Greifswalde .
Total.
292
61
83 |
445 i
94
35
211
203
301
694
213
202
125
123
46
265
96
138
47
86
101
319
247
158
79
46
148
55
1570
828
784
696
349
449
137
1832
835
875
777
430
255
204
1010
715
1403
733
1052
4813
5208
149
71
72
74
60
16
41
483
L.19,228
16,365
14,074
13,508
12,600
10,284
On a comparison of these numbers with those of previous
years,—for instance, 1836,—we find that in almost every
university, and particularly in the faculties of divinity, a de¬
cided diminution has taken place, the only exception being
the university of Munster, and these just in its theological
faculty. The cause of this lies mainly in the circumstance,
that all learned professions are at present overstocked in
Prussia, and that the progress of industrial and commercial
activity in the country carries many young men straight
from school into practical life. As for the exception (viz.,
Munster), it is explained by the decided predilection
evinced by Romanist bishops for a place where their
students should be free from contact with any other but
their own doctrine.
The highest literary body in the country is the Academy
of Sciences at Berlin, instituted by Frederick I. in 1706,
after an elaborate plan of the great Leibnitz, much en¬
couraged (though in imitation of the Parisian model) by
Frederick II. Its publications are of the highest order
both in physical science, mathematics, &c., and in classical
philology, geography, &c. Its membership is much coveted
in Prussia, as well as in other countries; the present
numbers are,—50 German members, 20 foreign members,
185 corresponding members. There is a Royal Academy
of Arts in Berlin, and a Royal Academy for Painting at
Dusseldorf. Veterinary schools, deaf-and-dumb schools,
and blind asylums abound.
LaWi The criminal law of the country was entirely codified
and proclaimed as one and the same for the whole mo¬
narchy, in 1851. Not so the common law; in this there
exists a considerable diversity, according to provinces and
districts. In parts of Pomerania, and near Ehrenbreitstein,
for instance, the old laws of the Empire still exist; local
customs prevail unimpaired in other districts ; in the greater
portion of Rhineland the French code has remained in
force, and is much esteemed for its distinctness and sim¬
plicity; and in the rest of the monarchy the landrecht
(essentially instituted by Frederick the Great, but promul¬
gated only in 1794) holds its sway, except where more
modern statutes have modified its tenets.
The law acknowledges no inequality amongst Prussians.
All special jurisdictions are by law abolished, excepting the
military code for persons in actual military service, and a
VOL. XVIII.
special tribunal for students of universities, before which,
however, only matters of discipline are brought.
The highest court of the monarchy is the Ober Tribunal
in Berlin, to the decrees of which distinguished body the
judges of other courts invariably refer in questions of pre¬
cedents. The next class of tribunal is formed by twenty-
two to which parties may appeal from
the judgments of the Stadt- or Kreis-Gerichte. The former
of these exist in the five most populous towns ; and of the
latter there are 238, or nearly one to every administrative
Kreis or district in the realm. Assizes, with trial by jury
(instituted since 1848 throughout the monarchy, and imi¬
tating rather too closely the French instead of the English
model), are held four times a year, in eighty of the towns.
The kingdom of Prussia is a limited monarchy. WeConstitu-
have seen above that on February 6, 1850, King Frederick-tion.
William IV. solemnly took the oath required by the new
law of the country, “ to observe faithfully and unswervingly
the constitution of his country and monarchy, and to govern
in accordance with it and the laws.” Thus the new order
of things was inaugurated ; and the constitution (called,
after the day of its publication, that of the 31st of January
1850) has existed ever since; painfully, it is true, and subject
to several modifications, but beneficently, if we consider
what the country would have been without it, and hope¬
fully, too, for the future. The usual form and character of
continental constitutions is well known to our readers, and
on the whole, it is adhered to in the Prussian fundamental
law as now in force ; we will therefore extract those points
only which merit special attention. The king is inviolable
and irresponsible. The signature of a responsible minister
is necessary for the validity of every act of government.
His majesty, the ministers, and all civil servants of the state,
are required to swear an oath on the constitution , also the
members of parliament, but not the army, whose oath is to
the king only. Parliament consists of two houses,—tlm
Herrenhaus (literally House of Lords), and the House of
Representatives (Abgeordneten). In the composition of
the Prussian House of Lords, which now numbers a little
more than 200 members, four elements are mixed up,—
birthright, dignity, nomination, and, finally, election. By
right of birth, seats in this house belong to 51 persons in
aq viz., the princes of Hohenzollern,the heads of 14anciept
674
PRUSSIA.
Statistics, mediatized families, whose possessions lie within Prussia,
and some other princes, counts, and lords of extensive pa¬
trimony ; to this number of hereditary peers the king can
add new lords at his pleasure, as in England. 1 here are
four members in virtue of official dignity, each occupying
one of the mediaeval high dignities of Prussia proper, which
have outlived the reforms of modern days. The princes ot
the blood take their seat in the house for life, of course. Of
real life-peers there are at present 31 in the house, law-
advisers of the crown, and others. Lastly, the right of
election (subject to his majesty’s approval of the elected can¬
didate) is granted to the universities, to certain large towns,
and in each province to three bodies of noblemen who are
landed proprietors—viz., Counts ; 2c?, Noblemen of con¬
siderable property; 3c?, Noblemen, and others, of ancient
landed property ; each of these classes electing a life-peer,
and presenting him for the king’s approval. The Lower
House consists of 352 representatives of the people, returned
by a peculiar kind of double election which we will
elucidate in a few words. The franchise being extended to
every man twenty-five years old (who has not lost the right
of voting in the parish elections), the electors first of all
meet in their respective parishes, divided into three classes,
according to property. Each class of electors then choose,
not the member, but a man of confidence, who is now
called a wahlmann, within the parish. On a later day
these men of confidence assemble at the town appointed for
polling, and return a member for the electoral district, every
Prussian thirty years old being eligible for this distinction.
The constitution accords to the houses of parliament
the following fundamental rights, without which, indeed,
it would be worthless :—\st, The right of originating laws,
as well as deliberating upon such as have been proposed^
by tbe crown, no law being valid without the assent of
both houses ; 2d, The right of voting the yearly budgets;
3c?, Of investigating by commissions any public matter ; 4.th,
Of accepting or rejecting, before ratification, every com¬
mercial treaty, and all such conventions with foreign powers
which may in any way affect the financial obligations of the
country. No member of parliament can be arrested or put
on his trial without leave given by the house to which he
belongs. The Upper House is not permitted to propose
amendments to the budget, but must accept or reject it as a
whole. The Lower House is elected for three years. Both
houses are annually convoked by royal summons \ the usual
period is about New-year.
Provincial Besides this general parliament (Landtag) Prussia still
and other possesses some antique assemblies of Stande for each pio-
assemblies. vince and district, which have been mentioned in our histo¬
rical introduction. Their deliberations extend to local
matters only; and besides these, they have the management
of certain local funds. It is probable that they will soon
make room for local elective bodies differently constituted.
Govern- The king’s cabinet consists seven of ministers, viz.: 1.
raent. Of Foreign Affairs ; 2. Of the Interior; 3. Of Finance ; 4.
Of Justice; 5. Of War; 6. Of Commerce, Trade, and
Public Works; 7. Of Church Affairs, and Public Educa¬
tion. Besides these, the cabinet contains a president, or
even, as at present, two presidents, without special office.
Not belonging to the cabinet are—the minister of the Rojal
Household, and the president of the Board of Agriculture.
The government of the interior is entrusted under the Statistics,
minister to'eight presidents of provinces (05er-PrcYm?e?j-
ten) ; under each of them to liegierungs-Prasidenten, or
presidents of departments ; and under these again to Land-
rathe, or commissioners of districts. These Kreise. or dis¬
tricts correspond to our hundreds ; their number is 335.
The management of the woods, forests, &c., forms part
of the functions of the minister of finance. The minister
of commerce, trade, and public works, is responsible also
for the general post-office. In the bureaucratic country of
Prussia, the most dreaded public office, the object of a pro¬
founder awe than either the king, or laws, or police can com¬
mand, is the Ober-Rechnung-Kammer, or General Board
of Accounts, to whose radamanthine scrutiny every official
account of money, without exception, has to be submitted.
Prussia never was and never can be a rich country.1 * * * *
Economy, not to say parsimony, and strictest order alone,
have preserved a firmness to Prussian credit, even in the
times of great calamity, such as few other states possess,
and enabled her to furnish means for the exigences of war
and for national progress in times of peace. The country’s
debt, which Frederick-William III. had brought down to
the trifling sum of L.3,750,000 in 1806, had risen to
L.43,125,000 during the disasters and triumphs of war
following that year. But ever since 1815 it continued
steadily decreasing under the careful hands of that monarch,
who paid off no less than L.18,825,000 during the twenty-
five remaining years of his reign. In order to give every
security to the native and foreign holders of Prussian
stock, he declared, on the 17th January 1820, that no new
loan should be raised for the state without the consent and
under the guarantee of an assembly of representatives of
the people. Accordingly, no new loan was made until
1848, since when, every succeeding parliament has listened
but too indulgently to the increasing demands on the
country’s purse by the king’s ministers, some of them very
useful (as, for instance, for the Eastern Railway, mentioned
above), others of a more doubtful nature. In 1851 the
public debt had already increased to L.28,892,832; in 1855,
to L.36,415,292; in 1856, to L.37,177,726; in 1857, to
L.38,038,745. There seems now to prevail a decided in¬
clination to stop in this headlong progression; indeed the
year 1858 shows already a diminution of about 1£ million
pounds sterling. The public credit of these securities never
suffered to any considerable extent during the late years of
revolution and panic, either within the limits ot the country
or without. Besides this debt, for which interest is paid,
another debt of L.2,488,852, paying no interest, should be
mentioned in this place,—i.e., the convertible paper-money
of the state. The property of the state in wmods and
forests, &c., from which profit can be made, is officially
calculated at L. 12,832,704. Taxation is by no means light
in Prussia, and almost in the same unfavourable proportion
as the public debt, the taxes of the country have increased
in an exorbitant degree. The direct taxation comprises,
1a'£, A land and house tax, worth about 1-| million pounds.
2d, Income-tax, paid by all whose income is above L.150 a
year, classified under thirty heads, and so arranged as to be a
little below 3 per cent, for each class. The highest amount
of income-tax paid in Prussia is L.1080, corresponding to an
income of L.30,000 a year. I his tax produces to the state
l All calculations regarding the wealth of a given population must needs he of a precarious nature. This want of exactitude h
diminished since the introduction into European states of income-taxes, but rather increased f6 s\°at^fc^publica.
1850 (the year previous to the introduction of the income-tax) to all the more specious accounts to be found in ^ent statis^c^pu ca
tions. In that year the number of rate-payers was 4,950,454. Of this number only 19 988 or 0-4 per cent appear from oftc ai nsts
to have been raied as enjoying an income of more than L.180 ; 159,985, or 3-23 per cent between L.60 i80 000
7-26 per cent., L.30 to L.60 ; 835,537, or 16-88 per cent., L.15 to L.30 ; 3,575,380, or 72-23 per cent., L-3> f L 60
heads of households, therefore, or persons living singly throughout Prussia, or 4 per cen . o a ra e paj > .^.£{ \ tke prus.
in the year 1850. Another fact worth mentioning in this place, perhaps, is this : taking 1 e ^ value or t0 two-thirds
sian monarchy all together, the mortgages officially registered against them amount to four-fifths of
of the selling price which they would fetch in the market.
PRUSSIA.
675
Statistics, about L.450,000. Zd, The Classensteuer, a misnomer, by
which is understood another and older kind of income-tax,
averaging about 2 per cent., laid upon those persons or house¬
holders whose yearly income does not reach L.150. These
are divided into three classes. From this tax are exempt
the poor, children, and old people'; soldiers, &c., on active
service; all foreigners; and, lastly, the citizens of larger
towns, in consideration of the octroi (see below). Its
result to the state is about million. A.th, A tax on
trades (Gewerbe-Steuer), producing about L.4o0,000 a
year. 5th, A railway-tax of very modern date, raised on
the yearly dividend in a progressive ratio, which produces
about L. 100,000. In the chapter of indirect taxation,
custom-house and transit dues rank first in productiveness,
viz., L.1,800,000; then follows the malt-tax, with the
excise on brandy and beet-root sugar, worth 1J million
pounds sterling; the stamp-duty contributes L.600,000;
the octroi, or Maid und Schlachtsteuer, raised at the gates
of 83 Prussian towns on cereals and butcher’s meat, about
L.350,000; turnpike roads, nearly L.200,000; tolls and
port dues, about L.140,000; shipping dues, L.65,000.
The yearly expenditure of the state for raising these
sums of direct and indirect taxation, which amount in the
aggregate to above eight and a half million pounds sterling,
is only L.780,000. There are two state monopolies still
in existence, both contrasting strangely with the general
and financial progress of the country, the one raising the
price of one of the first necessaries of life, the other
pandering to an unruly love of gain. We mean the mono¬
poly on salt, which produces L. 1,350,000, at a cost of no
less than L.480,000, and which is relaxed in its severity
only in favour of cattle-salt; and the state-lottery, whose
evil effects on the lower classes the government have in
vain fancied to conjure by the high price of lots, and the slow¬
ness of its operations (only four times a year),—a monopoly
in the strictest sense of the word, as all other public gam¬
bling, roulette, &c., is prohibited in the Prussian dominions.
The wages of this sin to the state are L.200,000, gained at a
trifling cost of L.15,000. The share of state profit in the oper¬
ations of the Bank of Prussia was about L.150,000 latterly.
The Domanen (woods, forests, &c., according to our no¬
menclature) are royal estates which Frederick-William III.
gave over to the country in that same memorable decree of
17th January 1820, which we had occasion to mention
above. They are administered by the minister of finances.
A sum of L.385,965 is deducted first of all from their
rental, for the maintenance of his majesty and the royal
family, and ail the expense of their different households.
It should be remarked that this sum of L.385,965, . al¬
though partaking of the nature of a civil list, is not subject
to an annual vote by the legislature, but is deducted at once
from the receipts under the form of a standing and inalien¬
able charge. The Prussian Chamber of Representatives,
without ever calling into doubt this prerogative of the crown,
which is, moreover, sanctioned by the constitution; and with¬
out claiming the power of reducing that sum, have, however,
willingly taken it upon themselves to raise it (March 1859)
by L.75,000, in consideration of the altered value of money.
Having premised these few preliminary explanations of
Prussian finance, we now give the budget of 1858, con¬
tracting a number of its minuter details :—
RECEIPTS.
1. Minister of finance  L.11,890,954
Woods and forests, &c. {minus
L.385,965 for crown, as above) L.1,409,061
Direct taxation  3,813,549
Indirect taxation  4,847,139
Salt monopoly  *>355,625
State lottery   197,115
Share of profit in the Bank of
Prussia, &c. &c  162,900 
Carry forward.     L.11,890,954
Brought forward L.11,890,954
2. Minister of commerce, trade, and public works...
General post-office L.1,706,070
Electric telegraph   105,751
Mines, &c    2,077 019
State railways, &c  1,262,789
3. Minister of justice 
4. Minister of the interior 
Prisons    L.78,459
5. General Board of Agriculture 
Studs of Trakehnen, &c  L.65,443
6. Minister of church affairs and public education...
7. Minister of war  
8. Minister of foreign affairs (consular and passport
dues) 
9. Receipts from Hohenzollern 
5,192,590
Statistics.
1,445,084
117,772
222,972
13,738
45,725
1,345
31,286
Total of receipts  L.18,961,466
EXPENDITURE.
1. Public debt  L.1,979,977
Interest  L.1,341,895
Sinking fund    570,598
2. Parliament  36,250
3. Council of ministers (Staats ministerium)  37,153
4. Minister of foreign affairs  127,092
Diplomatic service  L.66,817
Consular service    16,189
5. Minister of finances   .... 2,828,961
а. General expenses L.957,176
б. Special expenses 1,871,785
Woods, forests, &c L.574,799
Direct taxation   152,811
Indirect taxation  628,389
Salt monopoly   487,577
State lottery   16,515
6. Minister of commerce, trade, and public works.... 4,974,810
a. General expenses   L.798,318
b. Special expenses  .....4,176,491
Post-office L.1,409,456
Mines  1,585,636
Electric telegraphs... 69,571
State railways, &c. &c. 1,081,902
7. Minister of justice     1,698,738
8. Minister of the interior   813,724
Gaols   L.326,729
Police   296,430
Statistical and meteorolo¬
gical office only  2,716
9. General Board of Agriculture   337,130
Studs of Trakehnen, &c L.95,721
10. Minister of church affairs and public education ... 539,647
Affairs of the Evangelic Church L.61,071
Affairs of the Roman Catholic Church. 11,312
Universities  73,068
Grammar and mathematical schools
{Gymnasien &nd Jtealschulen)  47,144
Elementary schools  66,817
Science and art  30,936
11. Minister of war  4
12. Board of Admiralty   ^
13. Expenditure on Hohenzollern 
14. Special credits for 1858  917,8“°
Total of expenditure L.18,961,466
The budgets of Prussia have, like her public debt, been
rapidly increasing of late years. The first budget pub¬
lished by authority was that of 1821. It amounted, in
receipt and expenditure, to L.7,500,000 and was followed
by as moderate ones during the reign of Frederick-Wdham
III. In 1844 it had risen by rather more than L.l,OUU,UUU,
and in 1850 it was L.13,695,353. From 1851 to 1854
there were successive deficits to cover. The balance was
re-established in 1855, when it was L. 16,774,168; it was
L.17,829,610 in 1856; L.18,036,346 in 1857 ; and
LJ 8 961,466 in 1858. If we distribute the expenditure
equally over its entire population at given epochs, we shall
firnl that the contribution of each inhabitant would have
been in the years from 1821 to 1844, 11s. 6’ld.; in 1849,
16s. 2-4d.; in 1852, 17s. 7-2d.; in 1855, 19s. 6d. ; in
1856 20s. 7'2d.; in 1857, 20s. 9,4d. ; in 1858, 21s.
8'4d. .l(g.v.b.)
676 P R U
Prussia. PRUSSIA, a province of the kingdom of that name,
. ^ forming its most easterly portion, bounded on the N. by
the Baltic, E. by Russia, S. by Poland and the province
of Posen, and W. by those of Brandenburg and Pomerania.
The division into E. and W. Prussia, historically of con¬
siderable importance, is now only used as a convenient
way of designating the two chief parts of the province, as
they have long ceased to be two distinct provinces. Ex¬
treme length from E.N.E. to W.S.W. about 300 miles;
greatest breadth, 150 ; area, 24,967 square miles. The sur¬
face is in general low, but not by any means flat; fora
chain of hills, on an average 300 or 400 feet high, extends
in a curved line from the vicinity of Goldap, near the Rus¬
sian frontier, to that of Marienburg on the Vistula. Of
these hills, and of the whole province, the highest point is
the Hasenberg, near Landsberg, to the S. of Kbnigsberg,
which attains the height of 725 feet. Along the coast of
the Baltic there are on the west of the Vistula many well-
wooded hills, from 150 to 500 feet high; but to the east of
that river the shores are perfectly flat, except where shift¬
ing sand-hills break the level. The Gulf of Dantzic and
the arms of the sea called the Frische and the Kurische
Half, indent the coast of this province. The largest rivers
are the Vistula, flowing northwards from Poland into the
Gulf of Dantzic by several arms; the Passarge from the
south and the Pregel from the east, flowing into the Frische
Half; the Memel, the Mange, and the Dange, flowing
westwards from Russia into the Kurische Half. Of lakes
the province contains a great number, distributed in three
principal groups. The largest of these groups lies near the
eastern extremity of Prussia, between the basins of the
Pregel and Vistula, in a valley more than 300 feet above the
sea, and it includes Lake Spirding, 45 square miles in ex¬
tent. Another group of lakes, smaller in size and lower in
elevation, lies between the Passarge and the Vistula; while
the third group lies to the west of the latter river. There
are several extensive swamps and moors, especially towards
the north-eastern extremity of the province. The soil is in
general very fertile ; and no other province in the kingdom
lias such an extent of good land. About two-thirds of the
surface is good land; the rest being mostly sandy ground.
Of the whole area of the country, 6,930,985 acres con¬
sisted in 1852 of arable land; 204,240 of gardens, vineyards,
&c.; 2,955,726 of meadows and pastures; 2,513,460 of
forests; and 3,368,667 of waste land. Wheat is one of
the principal crops raised, especially in the low country
along the Vistula, Pregel, and Memel; rye is also raised
of such excellence as to be much exported. Besides these,
most of the common crops are grown in the province.
Prussia contained in 1855, 461,504 horses, 987,023
horned cattle, 2,642,268 sheep, 17,143 goats, and 520,512
swine. Manufactures are not very extensively carried on
in the province, the whole number of hands employed be¬
ing 128,568 ; less in proportion to the population than there
are in any other province of the kingdom. The only
important mineral found here is iron, which is plentiful in
various places; but on the shores of the Baltic amber is
obtained in greater abundance than anywhere else in the
world. The trade is considerable ; three of the chief sea¬
ports in the kingdom, Dantzic, Konigsberg, and Memel, be¬
ing in this province. Corn, timber, hides, tallow, and other
articles are exported. Though there are numerous excellent
educational institutions in the province, the percentage of
those receiving instruction is considerably under the average
of the kingdom. There is one university, that of Konigs¬
berg ; 8 normal seminaries ; 14 gymnasia, with 188 teachers
and 4207 scholars ; 6 progymnasia; 42 middle schools ; and
4417 elementary schools, with 5059 teachers and 338,516
scholars. In regard to religion, the most of the inhabitants
belong to the Evangelical Church. Besides these, who are
1,885,256 in number, there are 703,252 Roman Catholics,
PRY
1204 of the Greek Church, 12,693 Mennonites, and 34,351 Pry:
Jews. For administrative purposes the province is divided
into the governments of Konigsberg, Gumbinnen, Dantzic,
and Marienwerder. The ^Estui, who are described by Taci¬
tus as a nation largely employed in collecting and trading
in amber, seem from this fact to have been the original occu¬
pants of this province. After this, however, the history
of the country is for a long period involved in almost total
obscurity. Bands of Goths and Scandinavians in the
third century, and of Letts and other nations in the sixth,
settled here, and mingled with the original inhabitants.
The Prussians, as they were called from a very early pe¬
riod, resisted for a long time all the efforts made to con¬
vert them to Christianity. St Adalbert, who was the first
to attempt it, suffered martyrdom in 997. Bruno, a monk,
who renewed the attempt, met with a similar fate; and
neither the persuasions of these and similar missionaries,
nor the sword of the kings of Denmark and Poland, pro¬
fessedly drawn in the service of the church, could induce
the Prussians to abandon a religion believed to be inse¬
parable from their freedom, till the Teutonic Knights in
1230 entered the country. Little by little this crusade
proved successful, and the knights possessed themselves of
the whole country ; the grand-master establishing his seat at
Marienburg in 1309. On the introduction of Christianity,
many Germans settled in the country ; thriving towns rose;
and commerce began to extend itself. But the prosperity
of the country excited the envy of the Polish sovereigns,
who proceeded to open hostilities, which resulted in the
battle of Tannenberg in 1410, so decisively against the
Teutonic order that Prussia became then actually, and
afterwards also formally, a fief of the Polish crown. The
contest, however, did not cease here; and the fortune of
war still proving adverse to the knights, they were obliged
by the peace of Thorn in 1466 to give up West Prussia
entirely to Poland, retaining the eastern portion as a fief
from the crown. The office of grand-master afterwards
became hereditary in the Brandenburg family ; and in 1525
the Margrave Albert, having adopted the Protestant faith,
had the office changed into a dukedom. The victory ot
Warsaw, gained in 1656 by the Elector Frederic William
over the Poles, enabled him to get rid of the Polish
supremacy over East Prussia ; and the western part ol
the province was restored to the kingdom of Prussia by
degrees in the successive partitions of Poland. It was
from this province that Frederic III., the elector of Bran¬
denburg, took, in 1701, the title of King of Prussia. Pop.
(1855) 2,636,766.
PRYNNE, William, an English lawyer, noted alike
for his pamphlets and his punishments, was born at Swains-
wick, near Bath in Somersetshire in 1600. After gradu¬
ating at Oxford in 1620, he became an outer barrister of
Lincoln’s Inn, was well read in English law, and was filled
with zeal for gospel doctrine and morality. On his arrival
at the Inn he became a follower and admirer of the Puritan
lecturer Dr John Preston, who, finding Prynne hot-spirited
and zealous to a degree, put him forward on occasions
where a considerate man would not have dared to appear.
Struck by certain scandals of the time, real or imaginary,
especially by that of play-acting and masking, Prynne saw
good, in 1632, to assail them in his Histriomastix, or
“ Player’s Scourge.” Dr Peter Heylin, “ lying Peter,” as
men sometimes call him, who had an old grudge at this
zealous lawyer for “ confuting some of his doctrines,” was
busy reading this book with the most intense interest, and
by Laud’s direction, making excerpts from it. I his being
done, Laud charged Attorney-General Noy to prosecute
Prynne before the Star Chamber. Phis Noy did with
rigour, and the young barrister was sentenced to pay a fine
of L.5000, to stand in the pillory, to lose his ears, to suffer
perpetual imprisonment, and to witness the burning of his
PRY
Prytanes Histriomastix by the common hangman. During his re-
II sidence in prison he continued writing and publishing
Przemysl. fuiminations against the bishops, “ calling them Luciferian
  lord bishops, execrable traytors, devouring woolves, with
many other odious names not fit to be used by a Christian,”
thinks old Wood. {Aiken. Oxon., vol. iii. Bliss.) He
published his pamphlet, News from Ipswich, in 1637, in
which he fell foul of bishops and archbishops, and roused
afresh the indignation of Laud ; on which he was again
before the Star Chamber; was fined again in L.5000; to
lose his ears the second time, having had them “ sewed on
again” before ; to be branded on both cheeks S. L. (sedi¬
tious libeller); and to be perpetually imprisoned in Caernar¬
von Castle. A great crowd, we are told, witnessed the
spectacle in the Old Palace Yard on the 30th June 1637,
“silent mainly and looking pale” (Carlyle’s Cromwell, vol.
i.), with Prynne addressing them from his exalted position,
defying Lambeth, with Rome at the back of it, to prove
to him that these practices were according to the law of
England. It was against Laud and his “ surplices at All-
hallowtide” that Prynne had offended, and not against the
law of England. He was borne to Caernarvon ; thence to
Mount Orgeuil Castle; when, on November 7, 1640, there
came an order from “ the blessed House of Commons” (so
termed by his party) for his releasement. “ On the 28th
of the same month,” writes Anthony a Wood, “ they
triumphantly entered, being then accompanied with thousands
on foot and horseback, and in coaches, with rosemary and
bays in their hats, crying ‘ Welcome home, welcome home !
God bless you ! God be thanked for your return ! ’ &c., to
the great contempt of authority and justice.” Prynne was
elected member of Parliament for ^Newport in Cornwall,
shortly after. Here he kept up his original assault against
the bishops, and played an important part in the trial of
Archbishop Laud. In the Long Parliament he was zeal¬
ous in the Presbyterian cause ; and when the Independents
gained the ascendancy, he opposed them strongly. On his
being excluded from the House by the “ purging” which
it received, he attacked Cromwell and his party with so
great bitterness that he was again thrown into prison. He
was shortly afterwards released, and took to his favourite
exercise of the pen. Being raised to his seat after Crom¬
well’s death, he was active in furthering the Restoration,
and was chosen keeper of the records of the lower, with a
salary of L.500. He died in 1669.
He was a most voluminous writer, but we fear more than
the Histriomastix is now altogether unreadable. He wrote
Records of the Tower, in 3 vols., and Parliamentary Writs,
in 4 vols.; and presented his works, nearly 200 of them in
all (a list of which is to be found in Wood’s Athence Oxo-
nienses, vol. iii.), in 40 vols., to the Lincoln’s Inn library.
PRYTANES (Trpvravas), in Grecian antiquity, were the
presidents of the Senate, whose authority consisted chiefly
in assembling the Senate, which for the most part was done
once every day. The Senate consisted of 500, fifty sena¬
tors being elected out of each tribe; after which lots were
cast to determine in what order the senators of each tribe
should preside, which they did by turns, and during their
presidentship were called prytanes. Their period of office
was termed a prytany (Trpvraveta), and the building in
which they held their meetings was called the prytanium
(irpyravdov). However, all the fifty prytanes of the tribes
did not govern at once, but one at a time, namely for seven
days; and after thirty-five days another tribe came and
presided for other five weeks; and so of the test
PRZEMYSL, a town of the Austrian empire, in Galicia,
on the San, 51 miles W. of Lemberg. It is walled, and
is one of the most ancient towns in the country. On a
hill in the vicinity stand the remains of an old castle, once
the residence of the princes of Przemysl, which was in the
tenth century an extensive Rusmak principality I he tow n
PSA 677
is the seat of a Roman Catholic and of a Greek bishop; Przibram
and it contains several fine Gothic churches, the chief be- II
ing the Roman Catholic cathedral, with some interesting Psalmana'
paintings and old military trophies. There are also here v zar'
several schools and an hospital. Leather, linen, and
woollen articles are manufactured. Pop. 8650; more than
the half being Jews.
PRZIBRAM, a town of the Austrian empire, in Bohe¬
mia, on the Litawka, 35 miles S.S.W. of Prague. It is a
small place, and chiefly remarkable for its mines of silver
and lead, the former producing upwards of 1500 lb. an¬
nually. There are here smelting-houses and paper-works.
Pop. 5638.
PSALMANAZAR, George, the fictitious name of a
pretended Formosan, a person of learning and ingenuity.
Born in France about 1679, he was educated in a free
school, and afterwards in a college of Jesuits, in an archi-
episcopal city, the name of which, as likewise those of his
birth-place and his parents, are unknown. Upon leaving
the college, he was recommended as a tutor to a young gen¬
tleman, but soon fell into a mean and rambling life, which
involved him in disappointments and misfortunes. His
first pretence was that of being a sufferer for religion. He
procured a certificate that he was of Irish extraction,
that he had left that country for the sake of the Catholic
faith, and was going on a pilgrimage to Rome. But being
unable to purchase a pilgrim’s garb, and observing one
in a chapel dedicated to a miraculous saint, which had
been set up as a monument of gratitude by some wandering
pilgrims, he contrived to take away both the staff and
the cloak; and, thus accoutred, he begged his way in fluent
Latin, accosting only clergymen or persons of figure, whom
he found so generous and credulous that, before he had
gone 20 miles, he might easily have saved money, and put
himself in a much better dress. As soon as he had got
what he thought sufficient, however, he begged no more,
but viewed everything worth seeing, and then returned to
some inn, where he spent his money as freely as he had
obtained it. Having heard the Jesuits speak much of China
and Japan, he started the wild scheme, when he was in
Germany, of passing for a native of the island of Formosa;
and what he wanted in knowledge he supplied by a preg¬
nant invention. He formed a new character and language
on grammatical principles, which, like other oriental lan¬
guages, he wrote from right to left with great readiness ;
and he planned a new religion, and a division of the year
into twenty months, with other novelties, in order to give
credit to his pretensions. He now assumed the character
of a Japanese convert to Christianity, travelling for instruc¬
tion, with an appearance of greater wretchedness than even
that of common beggars. He then entered as a soldier in
the Dutch service; but, being still desirous of passing for
a Japanese, he altered his plan to that of being an uncon¬
verted heathen ; and at Sluys, Brigadier Lauder, a Scotch
colonel, introduced him to one James, chaplain to the forces,
who, with the view of recommending himself to the Bishop
of London, resolved to carry him over to England. At
Rotterdam, some persons having put shrewd questions to
him that carried an air of scepticism, he took one more
whimsical step, which was to live upon raw flesh, roots, and
herbs, thinking that such strange food would remove all
scruples. The Bishop of London patronized him with cre¬
dulous humanity ; and Psalmanazar found a large circle of
friends, who extolled him as a prodigy. Yet there were
some who entertained a just opinion of him, particularly
Dr Hallev, Dr Mead, and Dr Woodward; but their en¬
deavours to expose him as a cheat, only made others think
the better of him, especially as these gentlemen were sup¬
posed to be unfriendly to revelation. In this instance, at
least, easiness of belief was no great evidence of penetra¬
tion.’ He was employed to translate the Church Catechism
678 PSA PSA
Psalmody into the Formosan language, which was examined, approv-
II ed, and laid up as a valuable manuscript; and the author,
^ Psalms, ^ after writing his well-known History of Formosa, was re-
J warded and sent to Oxford to study what he liked, whilst
his patrons and opponents were learnedly disputing at Lon¬
don on the merit of his work. The learned members of
the university were no better agreed in their opinions than
the savans of London ; but at length the sceptics triumphed.
Some absurdities were discovered in his History of such a
nature as to discredit the whole narration, and saved him
the trouble of an open declaration of his imposture, which,
however, he owned at length to his private friends. For
the remainder of his life, his learning and ingenuity enabled
him to procure a comfortable support by his pen ; and he
was concerned in several works of credit, particularly The
Universal History, and The Complete System of Geography,
1747. He published anonymously an Essay on Miracles,
by a Layman, which enjoyed considerable reputation.
He lived irreproachably for many years, and died some
time in 1763. There was printed after his death, Memoirs
of , commonly known by the name of George
Psalmanazar, a reputed native of Formosa, written by
himself, London, 1765.
PSALMODY, from the Greek -^aXpos, the art or act
of singing psalms. The earliest music of the Psalms is
not now known. The modern Jewish psalmody is by
no means the same in all their synagogues in different
countries. Psalms were sung by the primitive Christians,
but there are no data to show the precise nature of
the melodies. St Augustin (lib. x. Confess, cap. 33) says,
“ De Alexandrine Episcopo Athanasio saepe mihi dictum
commemini, qui turn modico flexu vocis faciebat sonare
lectorem psalmi, ut pronuncianti vicinior esset quam ca-
nenti.” St Athanasius was made bishop of Alexandria
in 326. Of the Ambrosian and Gregorian chants of the
fourth and sixth centuries time and change seem to have
spared little more than the tonalities. In Homan Catholic
church services the psalmody varies according to the par¬
ticular occasion ; and so also in some Protestant churches.
Many of the psalm-tunes now in general use in Protestant
churches were composed in the time of Luther, or not
long afterwards, for the Protestant congregations which
then began to spread over the European continent. Others
of these tunes are the productions of various Protestant
musicians in later times. Amongst the authors of these
more recent tunes we find the names of some of the Bachs,
of Handel, and several other eminent German composers.
Psalm-tunes are for voices only, or for voices accompanied
by the organ, or for voices accompanied by different instru¬
ments; others for a single voice alone, or accompanied, and
so on. (g. f. g.)
PSALMS, The Book of, received its name, 'ifaXgal, in
consequence of the lyrical character (ifrdXXw, to touch or strike
a of the pieces of which it consists, as intended to be
sung to stringed and other instruments of music. Another
name, Psalter, was given to this book, from the Greek xf/aX-
rrjpiov, the stringed instrument to which its contents were ori¬
ginally sung. The Hebrew title (tehilim) signifies hymns or
praises, and was probably adopted on account of the use
made of the collection in divine service, though only a part
can be strictly called songs of praise, not a few being lamen¬
tations and prayers. In Ps. Ixxii. 20, we find all the preced¬
ing compositions (Ps. i.-lxxii.) styled prayers of David,
because many of them are strictly prayers, and all are per¬
vaded by the spirit and tone of supplication. All the best
judges, as Lowth, Herder, De Wette, Ewald, Tholuck,
and others, pronounce the poetry of the Psalms to be of
the lyric order. “ They are,” says De Wette {Einleitung
in die Psalmen, p. 2), “ lyric in the proper sense ; for
among the Hebrews, as among the ancients generally,
poetry, singing, and music were united, and the inscrip¬
tions to most of the Psalms determine their connection Psalms,
with music, though in a way not always intelligible to us.
Also as works of taste these compositions deserve to be
called lyric. The essence of lyric poetry is the immediate
expression of feeling; and feeling is the sphere in which
most of the Psalms move. Pain, grief, fear, hope, joy,
trust, gratitude, submission to God, everything that moves
and elevates the heart, is expressed in these songs. Most
of them are the lively effusions of the excited susceptible
heart, the fresh offspring of inspiration and elevation of
thought; while only a few are spiritless imitations and com¬
pilations, or unpoetic forms of prayer, temple hymns, and
collections of proverbs.” We shall consider in their order
the Titles of the Psalms, their Authors, their Collection
and Arrangement, and their Canonicity and Use.
Titles.—All the Psalms,-except thirty-four, bear super¬
scriptions. According to some, there are only twenty-five
exceptions, as they reckon a title in all the Psalms which
commence with it. The authority of the titles is a matter
of doubt. By most of the ancient critics they were con¬
sidered genuine, and of equal authority with the Psalms
themselves, while most of the moderns reject them either
in whole or in part. They were wholly rejected at the
close of the fourth century by Theodore of Mopsuestia, one
of the ablest and most judicious of ancient interpreters.
They are received, on the other hand, by Tholuck and
Hengstenberg in their works on the Psalms. Of the an¬
tiquity of the inscriptions there can be no question, for they
are found in the Septuagint. They are supposed to be even
much older than this version, since they were no longer in¬
telligible to the translator, who often makes no sense of them.
Their obscurity might, however, have been owing not so
much to their antiquity as to the translator’s residence in
Egypt, and consequent ignorance of the Psalmody of the
Temple service in Jerusalem. At any rate the appearance
of the titles in the Sept, can only prove them to be about
as ancient as the days of Ezra. Then it is argued by
many that they must be as old as the Psalms themselves;
for very important traces of the custom of prefixing titles
to their songs by Orientals appear in Isa. xxxviii. 9, in
Llab. iii. 1, and in 2 Sam. i. 17, 18 (Tholuck’s Psalmen, p.
xxiv.). In 2 Sam. xxiii. 1, and Num. xxiv. 3, there is strong
proof of the usage, if, with Tholuck, we take the verses
as inscriptions, and not as integral parts of the songs, which
most hold them justly to be from their poetical form.
The following considerations militate against the autho¬
rity of the titles:—1. The analogy between them and the
subscriptions to the apostolical Epistles. The latter are
now universally rejected: why not the former ? 2. The
Greek and Syriac versions exhibit them with great and
numerous variations, often altering the Hebrew. Could
such variations have arisen if the titles had been considered
sacred like the Psalms themselves ? 3. The inscriptions
are occasionally at variance with the contents of the
Psalms.
The design of these inscriptions is to specify either the
author or the chief singer (never the latter by name,
except in Ps. xxxix.), or the historical subject or occasion,
or the use, or the style of poetry, or the instrument and
style of music. Some titles simply designate the author,
as in Ps. xxv,, while others specify several of the above
particulars, as in Ps. li. The longest and fullest title ot all
is prefixed to Ps. lx., where we have the author, the chief
musician (not by name), the historical occasion (comp.
2 Sam. viii.), the use or design, the style of poetry, and the
instrument or style of music. It is confessedly very diffi¬
cult, if not impossible, to explain all the terms employed
in the inscriptions; and hence critics have differed exceed¬
ingly in their conjectures.
Authors.—Many of the ancients, both Jews and Chris¬
tians, maintained that all the Psalms were written by David:
PSALMS.
67-9
Psalms.
which is one of the most striking proofs of their uncritical
judgment. So the Talmudists {Cod. Pesachim, c. x.,
p. 117); Augustine {De Civ. Dei, xvii. 14) ; and Chrysos¬
tom {Prol. ad Psalmos). But Jerome held the opinion
which now universally prevails {Epist. ad Sophronium).
The titles and the contents of the Psalms most clearly
show that they were composed at different and remote
periods by several poets, of whom David was only the
largest and most eminent contributor. According to the in¬
scriptions, we have the following list of authors :—
1. David, “ the sweet Psalmist of Israel” (2 Sam. xxiii.
1). To him are ascribed seventy-three Psalms in the
Hebrew text, and at least eleven others in the Septuagint,
namely, xxxiii. xliii. xci. xciv. xcix. civ. cxxxvii. ; to
which may be added Ps. x., as it forms part of Ps. ix. in
that version. From what lias been advanced above respect¬
ing the authority of the titles, it is obviously injudicious to
maintain that David composed all that have his name pre¬
fixed in the Hebrew, or to suppose that he did not com¬
pose some of the eleven ascribed to him in the Septuagint,
and of the others which stand without any author’s name
at all. Of those which the Septuagint ascribes to David,
it is not improbable that Ps. xcix. and civ. are really his ;
and of those which bear no name in either text, at least
Ps. ii. appears to be David’s. David’s compositions are
generally distinguished by sweetness, softness, and grace ;
but sometimes, as in Ps. xviii., they exhibit the sublime.
His prevailing strain is plaintive, owing to his multiplied
and sore trials, both before and after his occupation of the
throne. See Herder’s Geist der Ebr. Poesie, ii. 297-301 ;
and especially Tholuck {Psalmen, Einleitung, § 3), who
gives a most admirable exhibition of the Psalmist’s history
and services. The example and countenance of the king
naturally led others to cultivate poetry and music. Of
these Psalmists the names of several are preserved in the
titles.
2. Asaph is named as the author of twelve Psalms, viz.,
1., Ixxiii.-lxxxiii. He was one of David’s chief musicians.
All the poems bearing his name cannot be his; for in Ps.
Ixxiv. Ixxix. and Ixxx. there are manifest allusions to
very late events in the history of Israel. Either, then, the
titles of these three Psalms must be wholly rejected, or the
name must be here taken for the “ sons of Asaphwhich
is not improbable, as the family continued for many gene¬
rations in the choral service of the Temple. Asaph ap¬
pears from Ps. 1. Ixxiii. and Ixxviii., to have been the
greatest master of didactic poetry, excellent alike in senti¬
ment and in diction.
3. The sons of Korah was another family of choristers,
to whom eleven of the most beautiful Psalms are ascribed.
However, in Ps. Ixxxviii. we find, besides the family de¬
signation, the name of the individual who wrote it.
4. Heman was another of David’s chief singers (1 Chron.
xv. 19). He is called the Ezrahite, as being descended
from some Ezrah, who appears to have been a descendant
of Korah ; at least Heman is reckoned a Kohathite (1 Chron.
vi. 33-38), and was therefore probably a Korahite ; for the
Kohathites were continued and counted in the line of
Korah.
5. Ethan is reputed the author of Ps. Ixxxix. The
Ethan intended in the title is doubtless the Levite of Me-
rari’s family whom David made chief musician along with
Asaph and Heman (1 Chron. vi. 44 ; xxv. 1, 6). The
Psalm could not, however, be composed by him, for it
plainly alludes (ver. 38-44) to the downfall of the kingdom.
6. Solomon is given as the author of Ps. Ixxii. and
cxxvii., and there is no decided internal evidence to the
contrary, though most consider him to be the subject, and
not the author, of Ps. Ixxii.
7. Moses is reputed the writer of Ps. xc., and there is
no strong reason to doubt the tradition. But the lalmud-
ists, whom Origen, and even Jerome, follow, ascribe to Psalms,
him also the ten succeeding Psalms (xci.-c.), on the prin-
ciple that the anonymous productions belonged to the last-
named author. This principle is manifestly false, since in
several of these Psalms we find evidence that Moses was
not the author. In Ps. xcv. the forty' y'ears’ wanderin0, in
the wilderness is referred to as past; in Ps. xcvii. 8, men¬
tion is made of Zion and Judah, which proves that it can¬
not be dated earlier than the time of David ; and in Ps.
xcix. 6, the prophet Samuel is named, which also proves
that Moses could not be the writer.
The dates of the Psalms, as must be obvious from what
has been stated respecting the authors, are very various,
ranging from the time of Moses to that of the Captivity—
a period of nearly 1000 years. In the time of King Je-
hoshaphat (about b.c. 896), Ps. Ixxxiii., setting forth the
dangers of the nation, as we read in 2 Chron. xx. 1-25, was
composed either by himself, as some suppose, or most likely,
according to the title, by Jahaziel, “a Levite of the sons of
Asaph,” who was then an inspired teacher (see 2 Chron.
xx. 14). In the days of Hezekiah, who was himself a poet
(Isa. xxxviii. 9-20), we may date with great probability
the Korahitic Psalms xlvi. and xlviii., which seem to cele¬
brate the deliverance from Sennacherib (2 Kings xix. 35).
In the period of the Captivity were evidently written such
laments as Ps. xliv. Ixxix. cii. and cxxxvii.; and after its
close, when the captives returned, we must manifestly date
Ps. Ixxxv. and exxvi.
Collection and Arrangement.—As the Psalms are pro¬
ductions of difterent authors in different ages, we are led to
inquire how and when they were collected. The truth
seems to be, as Ewald and Tholuck maintain, that the col¬
lection was made not so much with reference to the beauty
of the pieces as to their adaptation for devotional use in
public worship. When the Psalms were collected, and by
whom, are questions that cannot be confidently answered.
It is certain that the book, as it now stands, could not have
been formed before the building of the second temple, for
Ps. exxvi. was evidently composed at that period. In all
probability it was formed by Ezra and his contemporaries,
about B.c. 450 (Ewald’s Poet. Bucher, ii. 205). But in
the arrangement of the book there is manifest proof of its
gradual formation out of several smaller collections, each
ending with a kind of doxology. The Psalter is divided
in the Hebrew into five books, and also in the Septuagint
version, which proves the division to be older than b.c. 200.
The first book includes i.-xli.; the second, xlii.-lxxii.; the
third, Ixxiii.-lxxxix.; the fourth, xc.-cvi.; and the fifth,
cvii.-cl. These five books may, with some propriety, be
thus distinguished :—The first Davidic, the second Kora¬
hitic, the third Asaphitic, and the two remaining Liturgic.
Various classifications of the Psalms have been proposed
(Carpzov, Introductio, &c., ii. 132-134). Tholuck would
divide them, according to the matter, into songs of praise,
of thanksgiving, of complaint, and of instruction. De
Wette suggests another method {Einleitung, p. 3), into—-
1. Hymns, as viii. xviii.; 2. National Psalms, as Ixxviii.
cv.; 3. Psalms of Zion and the Temple, as xv. xxiv.;
4. Psalms respecting the king, as ii. cx.; 5. Psalms of
complaint, as vii. xxii.; and 6. Religious Psalms, as xxhi.
xci It is obvious, however, that no very accurate classifi¬
cation can be made, since many are of diversified contents
and uncertain tenor. , .
Canonicity and Use.—The inspiration and canonical
authority of the Psalms are established by the most abun¬
dant and convincing evidence; and no other writing is
so frequently cited in the Scriptures. In every age of the
church the Psalms have been extolled for their excellence
and their use for pious purposes (Carpzov, l. c., pp. 109-
116). Among the early Christians it was customary to
learn the book by heart, that psalmody might enliven their
t
680 PSA
Psammi- social hours, and soften the fatigues and soothe the sorrows
tichus of life. They employed the Psalms not only in their re¬
ligious assemblies, but also at their meals and before retir-
v Fsellu^' f ing to rest.
^ ft may be well here to notice what are called the vindic¬
tive Psalms, namely, those which contain expressions of
wrath and imprecations against the enemies of God and
his people, such as Ps. lix. Ixix. Ixxix., and which in con¬
sequence are apt to shock the feelings of some Christian
readers. In order to obviate this offence, most of our pious
commentators insist that the expressions are not maledic¬
tions or imprecations, but simple declarations of what M ill
or may take place. But this is utterly inadmissible ; for
in several of the most startling passages the language in
the original is plainly imperative, and not indicative. (See
Ps. lix. 14; Ixix. 25, 28; Ixxix. 6.) The truth is, that in
reality they are not opposed to the spirit of the gospel, or
to that love of enemies which Christ enjoined. Resent¬
ment against evil-doers is so far from being sinful, that we
find it exemplified in Christ himself. (See Mark iii. 5.)
If the emotion and its utterance were essentially sinful,
how could Paul (1 Cor. xvi. 22) wish the enemy of Christ
to be accursed, or say of his own enemy, Alexander the
coppersmith, “ the Lord reward him according to his
works” (2 Tim. iv. 14); and, especially, how could the
spirits of the just in heaven call on God for vengeance
(Rev. vi. 10) ? See a good article on this subject (“The Im¬
precations in the Scriptures”) in the American Bibliotheca
Sacra for February 1844.
The following are among the chief exegetical aids for
explaining this book:—Poli Synopsis; Venema, Comment,
in Psalmos; De Wette’s Commentar uber die Psalmcn,
1836; Rosenmulleri Scholia in Epit. Redacta, vol. iii.;
Maureri Comment. Crit. Grammaticus, vol. iii.; Hitzig’s
Comment, und Uebersetzung ; Ewald’s Poet. Bucher, vol.
ii.; Tholuck’s Uebersetzung und Auslegung der Psalmen;
and Hengstenberg’s Commentar ueber die Psalmen. The
last two are excellent.
The principal English works on the Book of Psalms are
the translations (mostly with notes) of Mudge, 1744 ; Ed¬
wards, 1755 ; Fenwick, 1759 ; Green, 1762 ; Street, 1790;
Wake, 1793; Geddes, 1807 ; Horsley, 1815 ; Fry, 1819;
French and Skinner, 1830; Noyes, 1*831 (Boston, U.S.);
Walford, 1837 ; Bush, 1838 (New York); and numerous
commentaries. An excellent work is, Rev. John Jebb, A
Literal Translation of the Book of Psalms, with Disserta¬
tions, Lond. 1846. There is also a tolerably well executed
translation into English verse, by E. A. Bowring, Lond. 1858.
PSAMMITICHUS, a renowned sovereign of Egypt,
who flourished b.c. 664. (See Egypt.)
P SELL US, Michael Constahtinus, a learned Chris¬
tian of the eleventh century, was by birth a Constantino-
politan of consular rank, and flourished under the Emperor
Constantine Monomachus, 1020 a.d. His genius and in¬
dustry raised him far above the level of his contemporaries ;
and the celebrated historian Anna Comnena speaks ' f
him as one who had been more indebted for his attain¬
ments to his own excellent talents than to the instructions
of his preceptors ; adding, that having made himselt master
of all the wisdom of the Greeks and the Chaldseans, he was
justly esteemed the most learned man of the age. Thus
furnished, he became the chief instructor of the Constan-
tinopolitan youth. He was at the same time the com¬
panion and preceptor of the emperor, who became so cap¬
tivated by the studies and amusements in which Pselius
engaged him, that, according to Zonaras, he neglected the
concerns of the empire. The Byzantine historians com¬
plain, that the emperor, deluded by “ the Prince of the
Philosophers,” the title with which Psellus was honoured,
lost the world. Towards the close of his life, Psellus,
meeting with some disappointment, retired into a monas-
P S K
tery, and soon afterwards died; but the time oi his death Pseudo
is uncertain. He was not only the most accomplished II
scholar, he was likewise the most voluminous writer of his ^ Fskov-
age. He published a great variety of works, both prose
and poetical, written with a high degree of eloquence and
taste. Besides his Synopsis Organi Aristotelici, 8vo, 1597,
and his mathematical works; there are sixteen other works
which have been printed separately. There are likewise
numerous writings of this author still inedited. (For an
account of those writings, see Fabricius, and Cave.)
PSEUDO {if/evSos, a falsehood), is used in the composi¬
tion of many words to denote false or spurious.
PSEUDONYMOUS, amongst critics, is an author who
publishes a book under a false or feigned name; as cryp-
tonymous is given to him who publishes one under a dis¬
guised name, and anonymous to him who publishes with¬
out any name at all.
PSKOV (Germ. Pleskau), a government of European
Russia, bounded on the N. by that of St Petersburg, N.E^
by that of Novgorod, E. by that of Iver, S.E. by that of
Smolensk, S. and S.W. by that of Vitebsk, and W. by that
of Livonia : length, from *N. W. to S.E., 202 miles; greatest
breadth, 140; area, 17,705 square miles. The surface is
low and very nearly level, having only a gradual slope
from the Valdai Hills, in the S.E. of the government, to¬
wards the N. and W. Most of the rivers flow in a north¬
easterly direction, the principal exception being the Diina,
which flowing S.W., forms the boundary between this
government and that of Smolensk. Though numerous,
the rivers are all of small size; the principal being the
Velikaia Pskova, Lovat, and Schelou, which are navigable
for flat-bottomed boats. The latter two rivers flow into
Lake Ilmen in Novgorod, the former two into Lake Pskov,
at the N.E. extremity of the government; all discharging
their waters finally into the Gulf of Finland. I he princi¬
pal lake is that already mentioned, communicating by a
strait with that of Peipus. A great part of the country is
occupied with marshes, and the soil is generally of inferior
quality ; but by dint of careful cultivation and manuring, it
is made to produce more corn than the wants of the inha¬
bitants require. The quantity of arable land in the govern¬
ment in 1849 was 3,462,151 acres; of meadow land,
522,425 acres; of wood, 5,760,156 acres; and of waste
land, 1,183,105 acres. Wheat is little grown ; the chief
crops being rye, oats, barley, pulse, &c. Hemp and
flax are also raised. In 1849, 15,584,447 bushels of corn
and 1,594,839 bushels of potatoes were produced in Pskov.
In the same year the government contained 144,720
horses; 226,960 horned cattle; 112,945 sheep; 122,890
swine ; and 5460 goats. Game and various other wild
animals are found in the forests, and the rivers abound in
fish. No minerals of any importance are found in the
country ; but timber, especially pine, is obtained from the
forests. The people are chiefly engaged in agriculture,
and manufactures are not extensively carried on. Of these
there were in 1849, 112, employing 4057 hands ; the most
important being the tanneries, 41 in number. Corn,
timber, hemp, flax, hides, &c., are exported ; while colonial
and other produce is imported. The majority of the people
are of Russian origin, and belong to the Greek Church;
but there are also a few Roman Catholics, Protestants, and
Mohammedans. The government contained in 1854 thirty
village schools, with 806 pupils. Pop. (1851) 657,283.
Pskov, the capital of the above government, on the left
bank of the Velikaia, about 5 miles above its mouth in
Lake Pskov, and 165 S.W. of St Petersburg. In the
centre stands the Kremlin or citadel, inclosed by a. wall;
the middle town, also walled, surrounds this in a semicircular
form, beyond which is the great town ; the whole being
inclosed by a wall 5 miles in circuit. J he houses and
many of the public edifices are built of wood. Some of
P S Y
P U E 681
Psyche tlie latter are splendid buildings, such as the cathedral and
|j the palace of* the archbishop, formerly that of the princes
Publicola. {)f psk0v. The churches are numerous; and there are also
a gymnasium, several other schools, an orphan hospital,
and three convents. The manufacture of leather is actively
carried on ; glass, linen, and sail-cloth are also made.
Large markets are held here annually, and there is much
trade in the produce of the country. Pskov was in the
middle ages an independent town, and carried on a very
extensive trade with the Hanse towns. Though much in¬
ferior now to its ancient greatness, it is still a large and
important place. Pop. 10,842.
PSYCHE ('&vxrj, breath, the soul) is represented in
later antiquity as the personification of the human soul,
and about whom Apuleius {Met. iv. 28, &c.) has the fol¬
lowing beautiful allegory:—Psyche, the youngest of the
three daughters of a king, having aroused by her beauty
the jealousy and envy of Venus, that goddess ordered
Amor or Cupid to inspire her with a love for the most con¬
temptible of mortals. Amor had no sooner beheld this
matchless beauty than he became suddenly enamoured of
her. He bore her to some charming spot, where he un¬
seen and unknown visited her every night, and left her
when the day began to dawn. Her sisters persuaded her
that she embraced some hideous monster under the dark¬
ness of the night. To satisfy her curiosity, she arose with
a lighted lamp, and beheld to her inexpressible delight the
most handsome and lovely of the gods. In her bewil¬
derment of joy and fear, she gazed on him as he slept,
when a drop of hot oil fell from her lamp upon his breast.
Amor awoke, censured Psyche for her mistrust, and imme¬
diately vanished. Her peace was now gone; she attempted
in vain to throw herself into a river; she wandered about
inquiring for her beloved; when she arrived at the palace
of Venus. The goddess retained her as a slave, and im¬
posed upon her the hardest tasks. Amor, who still secretly
loved her, brought her invisible comfort and assistance,
till Venus, overcome by the gentle obedience and silent
attention of the fair slave, granted her immortality, and
she became united with Amor for ever.
In this lovely story one can recognise in the misfortunes
of Psyche the purification of the soul by suffering and trial
before entering upon true and lasting happiness. Psyche
is represented by artists as a maiden with the wings of a
butterfly. Lafontaine has wrought her story into a pasto¬
ral, and Mrs Tighe into a poem. (See vol. li. of Bohn’s
“ Classical Library.”)
PSYCHOLOGY. See Metaphysics.
PTOLEM-dEUS, Claudius, a great astronomer and
geographer. (See Astronomy, and Geography.)
PTOLEMIES, The. See Egypt.
PUBLICOLA was the surname given to Publius
Valerius, an old Roman consul. The character of this
famous man, as portrayed by Livy and Plutarch, is that
of a magnanimous patriot. He was one of those who wit¬
nessed the suicide of the ill-fated Lucretia, and who swore
over the reeking dagger to avenge the outraged matron.
Nor was his oath carelessly performed. He bore a chief
part in expelling the Tarquins, and both in his private
capacity and after he was elected one of the consuls, he
foiled the attempts of the detested family to regain the
Roman crown. His zeal became still more disinterested
when the death of his colleague, Junius Brutus, left him
for some time alone in the consulship. Hearing that the
citizens began to be suspicious lest he should suddenly
change into a despot, he at once adopted the most deci¬
sive measures to disabuse them of this notion. A pala¬
tial edifice which he had reared on the Velian Hill was
forthwith demolished in a night. The fasces, the insignia
of power which were carried before him, were ordered to
be henceforth lowered whenever he came into the pre-
VOL. XVIII.
sence of the people. The most decided and stringent laws
were instituted to protect the liberties of the citizens.'
Among other decrees, it was enacted that every convict
should have the right of appeal from the consuls to the
people, and that whoever should attempt to set himself up
for a king might be slain by any man at any time. For
these services Publius Valerius was raised to the very
highest place of honour in the state. The surname of
Publicola (“friend of the people”) was conferred upon him
and his descendants for ever. He was thrice re-elected
to the consulship. On the last of these occasions he had
the honour of leading a successful attack against the
Sabines, and of entering the city in triumph. The popu¬
lar favour continued with him to the last; and on his
death in 503 B.C., he was buried at the public expense,
and lamented by the Roman matrons for ten months.
PUBLIUS Syrus, a celebrated writer of mimes,
flourished at Rome about B.c. 42. He was of Syrian ex¬
traction, as his name implies, and was brought to Rome as
a slave ; but his talents having excited the admiration of
his master, he received his freedom, and assumed the name
of Publius. His farces were much admired, and Julius
Caesar is said to have considered them as superior even to
those of Laberius. He interspersed them with moral sen¬
tences, many of which have been preserved by later
writers. St Jerome states that a collection of these moral
sentences was made, and that the Romans employed them
as a school-book. They have been collected from various
sources, and published several times, along with Seneca
or Phaedrus; and they have also occasionally appeared
separatelv. The best editions are those of J. C. Orellius,
Leipsic, 1822; and of Bothe, in his Poetarum Latin.
Scenic. Fraqmenta, vol. ii., p. 219, 8vo, Leip. 1834.
PUCHBUDRA, a town of British India, in the Raj¬
poot state of Jodhpoor, in a rich but little cultivated region,
CO miles S.W. of Jodhpore. In the vicinity there are ex¬
tensive and rich salt marshes, which yield a considerable
revenue to the maharaja of Jodhpoor. Coarse cloth is also
made here. Pop. 5000.
PUEBLA. See Mexico.
Puebla de Don Fadrique, a town of Spain, in the
province of Granada, at the toot of Mount Calar, /7 miles
N.E. of Granada. It has a town-hall, several churches
and schools, and an hospital. Linen and woollen fabrics
are woven here, and there is a considerable trade in
timber. Pop. 6555.
Puebla de Montalyan, a town of Spain, in the
province of Toledo, in a rich and beautiful country on the
Tagus, 17 miles W. of Toledo. It is remarkable for its
noble and splendidly-ornamented churches, hospital, and
convent. Here is also a palace of the dukes of Uceda.
The town has oil and flour mills ; and an annual fair is held.
Six miles off is the old castle of Montalvan, picturesquely
Publlua
situated in a ravine. Pop. 4332. ...
PUENTE GENIL, a town of Spain, in the province
of Cordova, on the Genii, 27 miles S. of Cordova. Wool-
len cloth, oil, and earthenware are manufactured here.
PUERTO-DE-SANTA-MARIA, commonly called
El Puerto (“ The Port”), a town of Spain, Andalucia, in the
province and 7 miles N.E. of Cadiz, near the mouth and
on the mlit bank of the Guadalete, which is crossed by a
suspension-bridge. It is a pleasant and well-built though
somewhat dull town, in a fertile country ; and its houses
resemble these of Cadiz, though they are often larger, and
nrofusedlv decorated with painting. 1 he principal street,
called the Calle Larga, about a mile long, is handsome
and well paved, which cannot be said of the other thorough¬
fares. There are several beautiful public walks shaded
with trees ; that called La Victoria being the finest. The
places of public amusement include a theatre and a ring
1 4 R
682
P U E PUG
Puerto for bull-fights ; the scene of one given in honour of Wel-
Cabello lington, and described by Byron. Puerto is chiefly im-
II portant as a place of exportation of wine. The bodegas, or
Puffendorf. wjne stores, are large and lofty buildings, with thick walls
and narrow windows ; but they are not on such a large
scale as those of Xeres. The people are employed to a
large extent in farming. So excellent is the water of this
place, that most of the drinking-water of Cadiz is con¬
veyed from hence. The harbour of Puerto is formed by
the river, but its mouth is obstructed by a dangerous bar.
Steamers ply between this port and Cadiz. Timber and
iron are the chief imports of the town. Pop. 1 / ,930.
Puerto Cabello, a town of Venezuela, in the pro¬
vince of Carabobo, on a small island connected with the
mainland by a bridge, 20 miles N.W. of Valencia. It is
well built but unhealthy, has an excellent harbour, and a
flourishing commerce. Pop. 7500.
Puerto Llano, a town of Spain, in the province and
20 miles S.S.W. of Ciudad Ileal. It has manufactures of
lace, pottery, flour, &c. Near it there are mineral baths.
Pop. 5000.
Puerto Principe, a town of Cuba, capital of a juris¬
diction of the same name, stands in the interior of the
island, 36 miles W.S.W. of its port, Las Nuevitas, with
which it is connected by a railway. It was formerly the
seat of the supreme court of justice for the island, but
this is now at Havana. A considerable trade is carried
on through the port, sugar and tobacco being the chief
exports. Pop. of the jurisdiction (1854) 46,532; of the
town, 26,648.
PUFFENDORF, Samuel, a distinguished juridical
writer and historian, was born in 1632 at Chemnitz, a
small town in Saxony, where his father, Elias PufFendorf,
was a Lutheran clergyman. He received his elementary
education from his father, and studied the humanities at
the school of Grimma, theology at Leipsic, and philosophy
under Erhard Weigel at Jena. The teaching of Weigel
was then exciting considerable attention in Germany, and
PufFendorf seems to have eagerly availed himself of his
instructions. It was here he seems to have first applied
himself to the study of the law of nature on which he was
destined to become an eminent writer. Full of the philo¬
sophy of Descartes, of the jurisprudence of Grotius, and of
the rigorous method ot Weigel, he offered his services to
his country. His brother Isaac, who was employed by
Oxenstierna in lucrative and confidential offices under the
government of Sweden, prevailed upon him to seek his
fortune in foreign diplomacy; and with that intent he be¬
came tutor to the son of the Swedish ambassador at Co¬
penhagen. He had hardly joined the legation when a
rupture occurring between the governments of Denmark
and Sweden, the embassy was detained as prisoners for
eight months in the Danish capital. PufFendorf employed
his leisure in reducing to writing, with occasional reflections
of his own, the principles of general law contained in the
works of Grotius, Hobbes, and other writers of that class.
He published this work shortly afterwards, on visiting Hol¬
land, with the title of Elementa JunsprudentKZ Univer¬
salis, 1660. This crabbed yet original work was dedicated
to the elector-palatine Charles Louis, which laid the foun¬
dation, perhaps more than the substantial merits of his
book would warrant, of the subsequent fortunes of the
author. In the university of Heidelberg, which had been
gradually falling into decay, Charles Louis founded a pro¬
fessorship of the law of nature and of nations, and chose
Puffendorf to fill the chair. He had no sooner opened his
course in 1661 than the class-room was crowded with eager
listeners to the new professor of law. Flattered by this
encouragement, he pursued his juridical studies with un¬
abated zeal; and shortly afterwards published anonymously,
at Geneva, Severini de Mozambano, De Statu Imperii
Germanici. This book exhibited in somewhat strong Puget,
colours the absurdities and incongruities of that strange
compound called the Germanic empire, urging at the same
time certain practical remedies for the grievous abuses
which had grown up under it. The work created great
excitement throughout Europe, and particularly in Austria,
where it was put upon the Index Expurgatorius, and the
executioner was ordered to burn it. PufFendorf defended the
work without daring to declare himself the author. The
work was printed again and again, and translated into
almost all the languages of modern Europe. Meanwhile
PufFendorf found his position so uncomfortable that, to
avert the possible consequences of the stir, he was glad
to accept in 1670, from Charles XI. of Sweden, the chair
of the law of nations at the university of Lund, then re¬
cently founded. He had hardly occupied his new posi¬
tion two years, when the great work on which his repu¬
tation now chiefly rests made its appearance. It bore the
title Be Jure Natures et Gentium. It was much more
scientifically constructed than the Be Jure Belli et Pads
of Grotius. PufFendorf, though without the genius or
learning of his master, commences with the law of nature,
discusses the subject as applied to individuals, and finally
investigates the numerous complicated questions which
emerge in the intercourse of nations. The new views con¬
tained in the work were virulently assailed by some of
his contemporaries, and as enthusiastically admired by
others, while the tide of his reputation steadily arose until
it flooded over Europe. A few years afterwards he re¬
moved to Stockholm at the request of the King of
Sweden, who appointed him his historiographer, and
bestowed upon him the title of Counsellor of State. In
this official capacity he published Commentarii de rebus
Suecicis ab expeditions Gustavi Adolphi usque ad abdi-
cationem Christianee, Utrecht, 1686. 1 he theme ''as
promising, but PufFendorf was more familiar with the law
of nations than he was with the rich details of their his¬
tory. The work had gained the favour, however, of
Frederic William, Elector of Brandenburg ; for in 1688 he
invited him to Berlin, and, with the consent of the King of
Sweden, employed him to write the history of his life and
reign. He was again made counsellor of state, and what^
was more to the purpose, he received an annual pension ot
2000 crowns. Accordingly, there appeared in due time
Commentarii de Rebus Gestis Erederid W ilelmi Magni,
Eledoris Brandenburgici; and we hope the Elector ot
Brandenburg received the performance with great enthu¬
siasm, for it has to be recorded that nobody else did. His
engagement at Berlin being merely temporary, he purposed
returning to Stockholm; but as the King of Sweden had
raised him to the dignity of a baron while resident at
Berlin, and the climate being less severe in the southern
metropolis, Puffendorf preferred postponing his jouiney
northward. He died at Berlin on the 26th October
1694.
Puffendorf’s works, which were somewhat voluminous,
will be found in a detailed list appended to his Life in the
Biographic Universelle.
PUGET, Pierre, a celebrated sculptor, architect,
painter, and ship-builder, was born at Marseilles on the
31st October 1622. His genius developed itself under
very unfavourable circumstances. He had little artistic
education and few facilities for artistic study ; yet his own
innate bias forced him on towards excellence^ very
opportunity, however unfavourable, was seized for giving
embodiment to those great ideas that began to rise vaguely
before his boyish mind. Design in any of its branches,
and on any occasion, was ardently practised by the pre¬
cocious youth. When a mere lad of sixteen he was
superintending the building of a galley in tie oc y3^15
of his native city. At the age of eighteen he was gaining
PUG
a livelihood in Florence by carving in wood. A year had
not elapsed before he was found in Rome the favourite
pupil of the famous painter Pietro de Cortona. He then
returned home at the age of twenty-one, ready to prac¬
tise in any department of art that might suit his purpose.
The established reputation of Puget now secured for him
a series of commissions. The building of a most magni¬
ficent vessel, named La Reine in honour of Anne of
Austria, was entrusted to his superintendence. No sooner
had that been completed in 1646 than he was despatched
to Rome to make drawings of the most celebrated monu¬
ments of antiquity. Six years were spent in this employ¬
ment, and he then came back to France to undertake the
painting of several pictures. His pencil was plied vigor¬
ously, until the towns of Marseilles, Aix, Toulon, Cuers,
and Ciotat, w'ere embellished with his productions, and his
health gave way under the continued toil. Puget, thus
compelled to change his vocation, turned his attention to
sculpture and architecture. In no long time he began to
take a prominent place in the profession. His own native
genius, in spite of an imperfect education, led him to dis¬
cover the secrets of his art. The edifices which he erected
at Marseilles and Toulon were remarkable for the bold¬
ness, the originality, and the grandeur of their architec¬
ture. The statues which he set up at Genoa and other
places were unrivalled for their rough vigour and intense
expression. Especially did the colossal group of Milo
excite the admiration of his contemporaries. While it w^as
still unfinished, intelligence reached the French court
about the figure, instinct with the throes of pain and baffled
strength, which was gradually coming out from the dull,
formless marble in a quiet studio at Toulon. King Louis
XIV. issued orders that it should be conveyed to Ver¬
sailles as soon as it was completed. A chest containing it
arrived at the palace in the spring of 1683, and the court
gathered round to see it produced. “ Ah, poor man!
exclaimed the queen Maria Theresa, as she saw the
agonized face of the statue appear. 1 his cry of pity
brought the reputation of Puget to a climax, from that
time till the time when he died at Marseilles in 1694, he
was recognised by his sovereign and countrymen as the
greatest sculptor in Europe.
PUGHE, William Owen, an eminent Welsh scholar,
was born in the parish of Llanfihangel-y-Pennant in Me¬
rionethshire in 1759. All his energies from an early period
were devoted to the advancement of his native language.
On removing to London at the age of seventeen, he began
a series of exertions for preserving and illustrating the
ancient Welsh literature. He assisted Owen Jones in
editing the poems of Dafydd-ap-Gwilym and of Llywarch
Hen, and in compiling the Myvyrian Arcluzology of Wales.
At the same time he was producing several works on his
own account. His great work, Fhe Welsh and English
Dictionary, appeared in 1793-1803; and his Cambrian
Biography, in 1803. Scarcely less indefatigable weie his
labours in behalf of his mother-tongue, after he had suc¬
ceeded in 1806 to a considerable estate near Denbigh.
He wrote Welsh translations of Milton’s Paradise Lost,
Heber’s Palestine, and other English poems. He was
preparing for the press a treatise on The Ancient Romances
of Britain, when he died in 1835 at Dolyddy-Cay, a house
at the foot of Cader Idris.
PUGIN, Augustus, was an eminent architectural
draughtsman who was born in France in 1 /69, and came
overdo London to practise his profession. The principal
part of his attention was directed to the illustration of the
architecture of the middle ages. He published Specimens
of Gothic Architecture selected from various Ancient hdi-
fices in England in 1821-23 ; and / the
Architectural Antiquities of Normandy in 1820-28. He
was also in 1831, the year before his death, assisting
PUL 683
his son in producing a work entitled Gothic Ornaments pUgin
selected from various Buildings in England and France. II
Pugin, Augustin Welby Northmore, the son of the pre- Pugnani.
ceding, was born in 1811, and learned the profession of v'—
architectural draughtsman under his father. It was not long
before he resolved to devote his time to the archaeological
study of style and symbolism in ornaments. Settling down
at Ramsgate in 1833, he carried his resolution into prac¬
tice both with pen and pencil. Designs for Gothic Fur¬
niture in the style of the Fifteenth Century, and Designs
for Iron and Brass Work in the Style of the Sixteenth
and Seventeenth Centuries, were published in 1835. De¬
signs for Gold and Silver Ornaments, and Ancient Timber
Houses, were produced in 1836. There followed soon
afterwards an arrogant tract entitled Contrasts, or a Pa¬
rallel betvjeen Ancient and Modern Architecture. His zeal
increased when he had become a member of the Roman
Catholic Church. All his energies from that time w'ere de¬
voted to the promotion of that magnificent style of archi¬
tecture which has been identified with the Popish worship.
Numerous churches, chapels, convents, and schools were
erected under his superintendence throughout the country
to shame the degenerate taste of the age. Especially did
he concentrate all his powers upon rearing a model fabric
at his own expense at Ramsgate. Nor did he neglect to
advocate his views by plain statements. Fie published
The Principles of Christian or Pointed Architecture,
1841 ; An Apology for the Revival of Christian Archi¬
tecture, 1843; A Glossary of Ecclesiastical Ornament,
1844; and A Treatise on Chancel Screens and Rood
Lofts, 1851. In fact, so much and so constantly did the
one prevalent idea engage and harass his mind, that his
brain became distracted, and he had only been brought
back from a lunatic asylum when he died, on the 14th Sep¬
tember 1852
PUGNANI, Gaetano, the founder of a celebrated
violin-school, was born at Turin in 1727, and became a
pupil of Somis, who had studied under Vivaldi and Corelli.
Pugnani afterwards took lessons from Tartini, and when
twenty-five years old, was appointed first violin of the King
of Sardinia’s chapel, and director of his concerts. In 1754
he visited Paris, and performed there in public with bril¬
liant success. He was received with great applause in
several other European capitals, and remained a consider¬
able time in London, returning to Turin and settling there
in 1770. Being made director of the orchestra of the
king’s theatre, he opened a violin school which sent forth
several great artists, the most distinguished of these being
the famous Viotti. Besides being a great violinist, posses¬
sing a fine tone, a grand and impassioned style, and perfect
skid in all the artifices of bowing, Pugnani was remarkable
for his talent of conducting an orchestra, a rare talent which
he imparted to several of his pupils. He was an excellent
composer for stringed instruments, in a bold and original
style. Many of his compositions remain in manuscript.
One of his nine Violin-Concertos was published at Paris;
and there also he published four books of Violin Sonatas,
two books of Violin Duets, and three books of Trios for
two violins and bass, Paris and London. Six Quartets for
two violins, viola, and bass, London. Twelve Symphonies
for two violins, viola, bass, two oboes, and two horns, Lon¬
don Two books of Quintets for two violins, two flutes,
and’bass, London. He composed the music of nine operas
for the theatre. The French invasion of Italy caused him
the loss of his offices and income. He died at Turin in
1803. In 1818 the writer of this article saw a portrait of
Pugnani in the Gallery of the Liceo at Bologna. The
countenance was full of energy and intelligence ; but Ins
nose (resembling the exaggerated beak of an eagle), was
much too large to be handsome, and gave a ludicrous air
of caricature to the portrait. However, Signor Felice
684 PUL
Pulci Radicati, violin-master in the Liceo, said that the picture
II was really a faithful likeness. (g. f. G.)
Pulpit. PULCI, Luigi, a celebrated Italian poet, was born in
Florence in 1431. His talents were fostered and developed
under very favourable circumstances. A comfortable office
in the Florentine republic was held by him. Lucrezia, the
mother of Lorenzo de Medici, encouraged him in the cul¬
tivation of poetry. Lorenzo himself kept a place for him
in that brilliant company who were wont to display the
bright coruscations of their wit and genius at his hospitable
table. It was under this propitious patronage that Pulci
thought of composing an epic poem. Choosing for his
subject one of the legends regarding Charlemagne and his
paladins, he commenced to treat it on a novel plan. The
prevalent custom of narrating the most ridiculous fables
with imperturbable gravity, and in pompous mediseval Latin,
was repudiated. The ways and manners of ordinary life
were introduced into the mysterious regions of romance.
He looked upon the marvels there with familiar eye. He
described them with the plain colloquial language of Tus¬
cany, and in easy gossiping verse. Nor was his artistic
treatment less guided by common sense. Whenever he
alighted upon incidents that were natural and impressive,
he warmed into earnestness and emotion. Whenever he
fell back again upon the absurd exaggerations of the fable,
he relapsed into his usual strain of banter and burlesque.
The hem Orlando passed across the stage, and was pointed
out as the model of a true and chivalrous knight. The
villain Gano appeared, and was held up as an object of re¬
prehension and righteous indignation. In this manner the
Morgante Maggiore (deriving its name from one of its
characters, the giant Morgante) was composed, and appeared
before the public in 1481. After the author’s death, in
1487, it continued to pass through several editions; and its
character and merits were for a long time a subject of dis¬
pute. It still holds a place among the Italian classics.
Luigi Pulci was also the author of a collection of satirical
sonnets, and of several other poems.
PULGAll, Fernando del, an eminent Spanish his¬
torian, was born at Madrid in the first half of the fifteenth
century. Making a fair start, he advanced through life a
successful courtier, and a favourite of several successive
sovereigns. John II. made him one of his pages. Henry
IV. gave him several honourable posts. Isabella brought
his preferment to a climax by keeping him near her person
as her counsellor, secretary, chronicler, and confidential
correspondent. It was in this favourable position that Pul-
gar set himself to describe the events and men of his time.
His annals of the reign of Isabella rose to no great degree
of excellence. The former part of this work, ending with
the events of 1482, is not trustworthy. The latter part,
bringing the narratives down to 1490, abandons the easy,
picturesque style of a chronicle, to imitate the ancient his¬
tories in their lofty speeches and profound philosophical
reflections. Much more able was his other work, Claros
Varones de Castilla, or lives of forty-six of the most cele¬
brated men of his own age. Catching the spirit ol the great
classical biographers, he described the knights and gentle¬
men of Castile with great force and effect. His conception
of their characters was earnestly appreciative, his moral
reflections were elevated in tone, and his style was digni¬
fied and elegant. Pulgar had died about the close ot the
fifteenth century, before these two productions were pub¬
lished. The Claros Varones appeared along with thirty-
two of his letters, in 4to, 1500; and the History was first
printed in 1565, under the name of Antonio de Lebrija.
I he best edition of the latter work is that published at
Valencia, fob, 1780. One of the best editions of the
former is that of Madrid, 4to, 1775. (See Ticknor’s
Sp. Lit.)
PULPIT (Lat* pulpituni)} is a word which has under-
P U L
gone a great change of meaning. It is now an elevated Puls®
place in a church in which the preacher stands. Originally II
it signified that part of the Roman stage on which the ^ u eneyj
actors performed their parts. The French Pupitre signi- ^
fies a reading-desk; while Chaire (KafleSpa) corresponds
with the English pulpit.
PULSE, is the alternate contraction and dilatation of the
heart and arteries. As the beats of the arteries correspond
with the motions of the heart, we can determine from the
pulsation of the arteries the state of the circulation, which
is highly valuable in many forms of disease. When in a
healthy state the pulse beats about 72 times in a minute,
or it ranges from 60 to 80 times. It is quicker in women
than in men ; and it is quicker in the sanguine than in the
melancholic temperament, in youth than in age. The
pulse of an infant is from 130 to 140; and during the first
year it averages from 108 to 120. In feverish complaints
it ranges from 100 upwards to 120, 168, and even becomes
innumerable. The radial artery is usually chosen for as¬
certaining the state of the circulation, where it is conveni¬
ently seated in the wrist. When this cannot be reached,
the temporal artery, at the corner of the lower jaw, may be
tried.
PULTENEY, William, Earl of Bath, an eminent
politician, was descended from a good family, and was born
in 1682. After spending his years of education at West¬
minster School, and at Christ Church, Oxford, he travelled
for some time on the Continent, and on his return was sent
to Parliament by Henry Guy, Esq., formerly secretary to
the Treasury, .is representative of the borough of Hedon
in Yorkshire. Guy subsequently left him a legacy of
L.40,000, and landed property to the value of L.500 a
year. Pulteney had a good estate of his own, and this
legacy, together with a large portion brought him by his
wife, Anna Maria, daughter of John Gumley, Esq. of Isle-
worth, enabled him in alter life to perform numerous acts
of charity and benevolence. On his entry into the House
of Commons, he attached himself to the Whig party, and
continued to represent Hedon throughout the entire reign
of Queen Anne. He made his maiden speech on the
“ Place Bill;” he distinguished himself on the prosecution
of Dr Sacheverell; and, in a word, rendered himself so ob¬
noxious to the Tories, that when they came into power in
1710, they are said to have been avenged on the youthful
orator by removing his uncle, John Pulteney, Esq., from
the Board of Trade. During the latter years of the Queen’s
reign he had a principal share in the debates, and in 1712,
on the prosecution of W’alpole, he defended him in an ele¬
gant oration.
W'hen George I. came to the throne, Pulteney was made
secretary-at-war, an office which he held till 1717, when
Walpole resigned. He was subsequently, in 1720, pro¬
moted to the valuable sinecure of cofferer of the household ;
but in 1725, alter a disagreeable quarrel with his friend Sir
Robert Walpole, he threw himself into the ranks of the op¬
position, was dismissed from his office of cofferer, and became
so obnoxious to the King, that in 1731 his Majesty called
for the council-book, and w’ith his own hand struck out his
name from the list of privy-councillors. This proceeding
served to inflame his resentment and to increase his popu¬
larity ; and he continued his attacks upon W7alpole with a
severity of eloquence and sarcasm which nothing could
withstand. Nor did he confine his opposition to his speeches
in Parliament: out of doors he assisted Bolingbroke in his
paper called the Craftsman, and in numerous pamphlets he
held up the minister and his friends to the scorn and re¬
probation of the nation. His shining qualities as a debater,
the hot patriotism with which he spiced his harangues as
leader of the opposition, lifted him to the height ot public
esteem, and rendered him the most popular man in the
country. Meanwhile Walpole was at last overthrowhj
Pun.
PUL
Pultusk February 1742, and the entire authority seemed for a mo¬
ment to lie at the feet of Pulteney. But Walpole secretly
influenced his Majesty in his negotiations with his rival; the
composition of the new. cabinet disappointed the expecta¬
tions both of his immediate partisans and of the public ; sus¬
picion and a sense of injury done to the cause burst into a
perfect storm of popular indignation ; when Pulteney, under
cover of the smoke thus raised, walked into the House of
Lords as Earl of Bath—shrunk, in short, as Chesterfield
phrased it, “ into insignificance and an earldom.” In
February 1746, on the resignation of the Pelham ministry,
he held the premiership for two days, but was constrained
to retire, as no persons of weight would join him. In 1760
he published A Letter to Two Great Men (Pitt and the
Duke of Newcastle), recommending proper articles to be
insisted on in a treaty of peace. It was published anony¬
mously, was greatly applauded, and went through several
impressions. He died in 1764 ; and as his only son had
died before him, the title became extinct.
PULTUSK, a town of European Russia, in the king¬
dom of Poland and government of Plock, on the Narew,
32 miles N.N.E. of Warsaw. It has an episcopal palace,
cathedral, and other churches ; a nunnery, school, and hos¬
pital. Brandy is made, and an active trade carried on here.
At Pultusk, in 1703, Charles XII. gained a victory over
the Saxons and Poles; and in 1806 a battle was fought
between Napoleon and the Russians, in which the former
had the advantage, though both sides claimed the victory.
Pop. (1854) 4772.
PUMP. See Hydrodynamics, part hi., c. hi.
PUMPKIN. See Botany, c. hi., Nat. Ord. Cucur-
bitacece.
PUN is defined by Addison, in a paper in which he
traces the history of punning from its original to its down¬
fall (Spectator, No. 61), as “a conceit arising from the
use of two words that agree in the sound but differ in the
sense.” To render this definition less objectionable, it
mav be varied into,—a conceit produced by the novelty
and unexpectedness arising from the use of two words that
agree in the sound, but differ in the sense, or of one word
used with a double application. Addison observes, in the
paper just mentioned, that “Aristotle, in the eleventh
chapter of his Rhetoric, describes two or three kinds of
puns, which he calls paragrams, among the beauties of good
writing, and produces instances of them out of some of the
greatest authors in the Greek tongue.” “ Cicero,” he goes
on to observe, ‘has sprinkled several of his works with
puns; and in his book, where he lays down the rules of
oratory, quotes abundance of sayings, as pieces of vvit,
which also, upon examination, prove arrant puns.” Ihe
age in which this species of wit chiefly flourished was in
the reign of King James I. His majesty was a tolerable
punster, and the taste of the sovereign was studied by the
courtiers and by the clergy. The greatest authors, in their
most serious works, made frequent use of puns. 1 he
sinner was punned into repentance, and in the theatres
tears were solicited and got at no higher price. Quintilian
and Longinus seem to have been the first among the an¬
cients to distinguish between puns and true wit.
The writer of a clever paper in the Guardian, No. 36,
named Birch, in “ A Modest Apology for Punning,” draws
the distinction between the extemporaneous puns of con¬
versation, and the deliberate and grave use of this species
of false wit in general composition. While defending the
pun as a means of enlivening the dull wits of those engaged
in common conversation, he nevertheless affiims, I look
upon premeditated quibbles and puns committed to the
press as unpardonable crimes. 1 here is as much diffeience
betwixt these and the starts in common discourse, as
betwixt casual rencounters and murder with malice pre¬
pense.”
PUN
PUNCH, a principal character in a well-known puppet-
show, seems to be a corruption of the Italian Policinella,
who is usually the leading character in Neapolitan puppet-
shows. According to Gaiiani, in his Vonabolario del Dia-
lelto Napoletano, Policinella, or Polecenella, was the name
assumed by the successors of a facetious vintager with a
very large nose and grotesque appearance, named Puccio
d’Aniello, who, taking to the stage, crowded the theatres
with his antic tricks and farcical drollery. By degrees, per¬
sonifications of the original Polecenella were multiplied all
over the country. On being transported into Britain, the
name became Pochinella, and Punchinella, and, for short¬
ness, Punch. Hence the name also of that popular pub¬
lication the London. Charivari.
PUNCTUATION, in grammar, the art of pointing,
or of dividing a discourse into periods, by points expressing
the pauses to be made therein.
The points used in English composition are as follows:—
The comma, marked thus ( ,); the semicolon, marked thus
(;); the colon, marked thus (:); the period, marked thus
(.); the interrogation, marked thus (?); the admiration,
marked thus (! ) ; to which may be added the dash. ( — ),
the apostrophe (’), and the parenthesis ( ). We shall
only observe, in general, that the comma is used to distin¬
guish nouns from nouns, verbs from verbs, and such other
parts of a period as are not necessarily joined together.
The semicolon serves to suspend and sustain the period
when too long; the colon to add some new or supernume¬
rary reason or consequence to what is already said; and
the period to close up the sense and construction, and re¬
lease the voice.
It has been asserted that punctuation is a modern art,
and that the ancients were entirely unacquainted with the
use of our commas and other points, and wrote not only
without any distinction of numbers and periods, but also
without distinction of words; a custom which, Lipsius ob¬
serves, continued until the hundred and fourth Olympiad,
during which time the sense alone divided the discourse.
What places this beyond dispute is the Alexandrian manu¬
script, in the British Museum. Whoever examines this
codex, will find that the whole is written continuo ductu,
without distinction of words or sentences. How the an¬
cients read their works written in this manner it is not easy
to conceive. After the practice ceased of joining words
together, notes of distinction were placed at the end of
every word. In all the editions of the Fasti Capitolini
these points occur. The same are to be seen on the Columna
Rostrata. For want of them, we find much confusion in
the Chronicon Marmoreum, and the covenant between
the Smyrnaeans and Magnesians, which are both at Ox¬
ford. In Salmasius’s edition of Dedicalio Statuce RigiUcz
Herodis the same confusion occurs, where we find
AEYPITE and Aeup ure.
Of these marks of distinction, the Walcote inscription
found near Bath may serve as a specimen
IVLIUSv VITALTSv FABRI
CESISv LEGv XXVv Vv V
STi PEN DIOR U.Mv
After every word here, except at the end of a line, we see
the mark v. There is an inscription in Montfaucon, which
has a capital letter laid in an horizontal position, by way
of interstitial mark, which makes one apt to think that this
way of pointing was sometimes according to the iancy ot
the graver:—
P. FERRARIVS HERMES
CAECINIAE i-3 DIGNAE
CON1VGI *3 KARISSIMAE
NVMERIAE ^
Here we observe after the words a T laid horizontally, but
685
Punch
686 PUN
Punctua- not after each word, which proves this to be of a much later
tion. age than the former. As the improvement of stops appears
not to have taken place whilst manuscripts and monumental
inscriptions were the only known methods of conveying know¬
ledge, it is conjectured that it was introduced with the art of
printing. The fourteenth century, to which we are supposed
to be indebted for this invention, did not, however, bestow
those appendages which we call stops. Whoever will be at
the pains of examining the first printed books will discover
no stops of any kind, but arbitrary marks here and there,
according to the humour of the printer. In the sixteenth
century we observe their first appearance. ! rom the books
of this age, we find that they were not at all produced at
’ the same time; those we meet with in use being only the
comma, the parenthesis, the interrogation, and the full
point. To prove this, we need but look into Bale’s Acts
of English Worthies, in black letter, printed in 1550. In
the dedication of this book to Edward VI. we discover a
colon, it is true; but as this is the only one of the kind
throughout the work, it is plain that the colon was not
established at that time, or, if it was, that it had not yet
come into common use. Thirty years afterwards, in the
sensible and judicial performance of Sir Thomas Elyot,
entitled The Governour, imprinted in the year 1580, we see
the colon as frequently introduced as any other stop; but
the semicolon and the mark of admiration were still want-
jn^ neither of these being visible in Sir Thomas’s book.
In^Hackluyt’s Voyages, printed in 1599, we meet with the
semicolon ; but, as if the editors did not fully apprehend
the propriety of its general admission, it is sparingly intro¬
duced. It has been said, indeed, that the semicolon was
brought into use at a much earlier period; but it appears
that it was only for the purpose of an abbreviation, as in
fnamqf) {neq;) for namque, neque, and not in the sense
in which it is now employed.
The semicolon, as well as all the ordinary points, is used
in a work entitled Imagines Deorum, printed at Leyden
in the year 1581, in Roman characters. We likewise meet
with them in the translation of a book written in French
by Philip de Mornay, lord of Plessis; in the Schoolmaster
of Roger Ascham, printed in 1570, with the exception of
the semicolon ; and in the Trewnesse of the Christian Re¬
ligion, by Sir Philip Sidney, published in 1587, in which
we find the asterisk, brackets, the interrogation, the comma,
and the semicolon, all as we now use them, the colon and
period being square dots. In an alchemical manuscript, of
date 1572, the semicolon is said to be met with, as well
as the other three points which are now in common use.
The colon and period are abundant in a work entitled
Dionysius de Situ Orbis, printed at Venice in 1498, but
none of the other stops or points occur. The single point ( • ),
appears to be the most ancient. Since the year 1485 the
colon was introduced; the comma is first seen about the
year 1521 ; and the more refined semicolon was brought
into use about the year 1570. The invention of the semi¬
colon is most probably due to the English ; for, from the
Leyden edition of Pliny, 1553, it is evident that the Dutch
printers were not then in the practice of using it; and if
they were in 1570, Roger Ascham would probably have
employed it, since the Dutch were the principal classical
printers in his time. But we find that some English books
were marked with it at that period. The note of admi¬
ration was the last stop invented, and seems to have been
added to the rest at a period not very far distant from our
own time.
Thus we see that these notes of distinction came into use
as learning gradually advanced and improved; one inven¬
tion, indeed, but enlarged by several additions. But not¬
withstanding what has been said relative to the use of
stops as being a modern invention, we shall find reason to
be satisfied that the ancients were not unacquainted with
PUN
the method of making pauses in speaking and writing, if Punder-
we attend to the following investigation of Warburton :— P°or
“ Some species of pauses and divisions of sentences in puJish
speaking and writing must have been coeval with the know- ments*
ledge of communicating ideas by sound or by symbols, v
Suidas says that the period and the colon were discovered
and explained by Thrasymachus about 380 years before
the Christian era. Cicero says that Thrasymachus was
the first who studied oratorical numbers, which entirely
consisted in the artificial structure of periods and colons.
It appears from a passage in Aristotle that punctuation was
known in his time. The learned Dr Edward Bernard
refers the knowledge of pointing to the time of that philo¬
sopher, and says that it consisted in the different positions
of one single point. At the bottom of a letter, thus (A.),
it was equivalent to a comma; in the middle (A-) it was
equal to a colon ; at the top (A*) it denoted a period, or the
conclusion of a sentence. This mode was easily practised
in Greek manuscripts, while they were written in capitals.
But when the small letters were adopted, that is, about the
ninth century, this distinction could not be observed; a
change was therefore made in the scheme of punctua¬
tion.^ According to Cicero, the ancient Romans as w'ell
as the Greeks made use of points. He mentions these
under the appellation of librariorum notce; and in seve¬
ral parts of his works he speaks of ‘ interpunctce clau-
sulce in orationibus? Seneca, wdio died a.d. 65, expressly
says that Latin writers in his time had been used to punc¬
tuation. ‘ Nos, cum scribimus, interpungere consuevimus.’
Muretus and Lipsius imagined that these words alluded to
the insertion of a point after each word; but they certainly
were mistaken, for they must necessarily refer to marks of
punctuation in the division of sentences, because in the
passage in which these words occur, Seneca is speaking of
one Q. Haterius, who made no pauses in his orations.
According to Suetonius, Valerius Probus procured copies
of many old books, and employed himself in correcting,
pointing, and illustrating them ; devoting his time to this
and no other part of grammar. It appears from hence
that, in the time of Probus, or about the year 68, Latin
manuscripts had not been usually pointed, and that gram¬
marians made it their business to supply this deficiency.
Quintilian, who wrote his celebrated treatise on Oratory
about the year 88, speaks of commas, colons, and periods;
but it must be observed that by these terms he means
clauses, members, and complete sentences, and not the
marks of punctuation. iElius Donatus published a treatise
on Grammar in the fourth century, in which he explains
the distinctio, the media distinctio, and the subdistiuctio ;
that is, the use of a single point in the various positions
already mentioned. Jerome, who had been the pupil of
Donatus, in his Latin version of the Scriptures, made use
of certain distinctions or divisions, which he calls cola and
commata. It has, however, been thought probable that
these divisions were not made by the addition of any points
or stops, but were formed by writing, in one line, as many
words as constituted a clause, equivalent to what we dis¬
tinguish by a comma or a colon. These divisions were
called errt^ot or pfj^aTa., and had the appearance of shoit
irregular verses in poetry. There are some Greek manu¬
scripts still extant which are written in this manner.
PUNDERPOOR, a town of British India, in the pre¬
sidency of Bombay and province of Sattara, stands on the
Beema, an affluent of the Kistna, 112 miles S.E. of I oona,
and 185 S.E. of Bombay. It is well and regularly built,
containing several palaces, and a celebrated temple of
Vishnu, which is an object of great reverence to the Brah¬
mins. There is here a large market, which is well supplied
with the produce of the country and with Biitish goods.
Pop. about 20,000.
PUNISHMENTS. See Law, and Prisons.
687
PUNJAB.
Punjab.
j Extent and
:>oundarie.c.
The Punjab, or more properly Punjab, so called from
the Persian words, panj, “ five,5’ db, “ water,” in allusion
to the five rivers, the .Tilam1 or JJijdcispcs, the Ghenab or
Acesines, the Ravi or Hydraotes, the Beah or Hijphasis,
and the Satlej or Hysudrus, which water it, is bounded on
the W. by the Sulaiman Mountains and that part of Af-
<rhanistan which adjoins the Khaibar Pass, on the N. by the
dominions of the Raja of Jamu, on the R. by the HimaKa
Mountains, and on the S. by the batlej. According to this
limitation, the Panjab does not coincide with the dominions
of Ranjit Singh ; the Jamu territory and Kashmir having
been formed into an independent kingdom under Gulab
Singh in March 1849, when the main portions of the Pan¬
jab "were annexed to the British empire. It is further to
be observed that the portions then annexed are called the
Panjab proper, in contradistinction to two provinces, the
Jalandar Doab, or Irans-Satlej states, with the adjoining
hill district of Kangra, and the Cis-Satlej states which had
been annexed previously. I he Cis-Satlej states not pro¬
perly belonging to the Panjab, are excluded altogether from
consideration here.
The Jalandar Dodb is the rich tract lying between the
Beah and the Satlej, or between N. Lat. 30. 57. and 32. 5.,
E. Long. 75. 4. and 76. 38. It contains an area of 374
square miles; and Jalandar, the chief town, has a popula¬
tion of 40,000.
The Kdngra Valleyj divided into three portions, the
western or Rilu valley; the middle or Kangra valley, pro¬
perly so called; and the eastern or Pahlam valley, is about
60 miles long, and averages 10 in breadth. These valleys
are surrounded by hills. The complete area of the Kangra
district, including both hills and valleys, has not been accu¬
rately ascertained.
The Panjdb proper extends from the 34th to the -.Jth
decree of N. Lat., 344 miles in its greatest length, and
from the 70th to the 75th meridian of E. Long., 293 miles
in its greatest breadth. Its area is about 66,700 square
miles. It is of a triangular shape, the apex being to the
south, where the Panj-nad unites with the Indus. It is di¬
vided into four dodbs or vallevs, interjacent between two
rivers. These doabs are—1. The Bari,3 between the Beah
and Ravi; 2. The Rechnah, between the Ravi and the
Chenab ; 3. The Chaj, between the Chenab and the Jilam;
and 4. The Sindh Sagar, between the Jilam and the Indus.
Besides these doabs, the Hazdra country and the Irans-
Indus frontier must likewise be included in the Panjab
proper. The Hazara country has an area of 2500 square
miles. It constitutes the extreme north-west angle of the
Sindh Sagar Doab. It consists of a series of valleys
encircled by hills, the most remarkable of which are the
Bond and Sati, on a spur of which latter range the sanata-
rium of Marri {Murree) was built in 1852, at the height o
7330 feet above the sea. In this delicious climate every
kind of European and tropical fruit may be successfully
cultivated. The station is fast becoming populous, and
houses are rising in every direction. North-west of Hazara,
and separated from it by the Indus, is the province of
Peshawar, divided into the Yusufzye country, Hashtnagar,
the Doaba, and Peshawar proper ; the total area being
about 2400 square miles. Yusufzye is bounded on the Punjab,
south by the Indus, north and east by the Swat Mountains, ^
and west by the Kabul River, and the Mehra, or desert,
between it and Hashtnagar. Hashtnagar, or “Eight Cities,”
is a narrow but fertile tract on the Swat River, and has its
name from eight large villages in that locality, of which the
chief is Tungi. Doaba is inclosed by the Swat and Kabul
rivers. Peshawar proper is divided into two districts,—one
on the right bank of the Kabul River, and adjoining the
Khatak and Afridi Hills, which run down to a point at
Atak ; the other of a triangular shape, the base being the
Khaibar Hills, and the two sides the Kabul River and
the Bara, one of its tributaries. South of Peshawar is
Kohat, a valley 30 miles long, and on an average 4 miles
broad. Its other boundaries are the Bannu valley to the
south, the Waziri and Bangash country to the west, and the
ridges which overhang the Indus to the east, which are in¬
habited by the Khataks, a valiant Afghan tribe. The Kohat
valley is continued by the valley of Hangu, 20 miles long
by 3 broad, which opens into the plains of Miranzye. This
plain is 9 miles square, and is bounded on the south-west
by the Khuram River, 20 miles from where it emerges into
the Bannu plain.
South of Kohat is the valley of Bannu, which is rich,
fertile, and well irrigated. The capital is Dhalipgarh,
where there is a substantial fort with a cantonment. Still
more to the south are the valley of Marwat, and the ad¬
joining valley of Tsa Khail, containing 45 villages. The
Tank valley comes next, and in fertility equals Bannu.
South-east of Tank is Derail Ism’ail Khan ; 60 miles south
of this, Derah Path Khan; and 70 miles farther in the same
direction, Derah Ghazi Khan; all three formerly the camps
of powerful Afghan chiefs who three^ centuries ago invaded
the Panjab. After passing Derah Ghazi Khan, the coun-
trv of the Biluchis is reached. Of these, there are the
Ushtaranis, the Bozdars, the Lagharis, Bugtis, Maris, and
Ghurchanis, all valiant and refractory tribes.
The total area of the Panjab, and the allied state ot
Jamu, is about 126,000 square miles.
The Panjab is a country of extensive plains, but little General
above the level of the sea, bounded on the N. and N.E. by aspect^of
hills which unite with the spurs ot the gigantic Himaha
Mountains. The slope of the whole region is trom N.L. to
S.W. as is shown by the uniform course ot the rivers.
JacquemonP argues, from barometric and other observa¬
tions, that the plain of the Panjab is lower than that ot
Eastern Hindustan, and supposes that the beds ot thenveis
from the Jamna to the Indus are successively lower than
one another. „ ,
According to Elphinstone5 the fertility ol the 1 anjab has
been exaggerated ; and, except near rivers, no part is com-
narable to the British provinces in Hindustan oi Upper
India, far less with Bengal. Of the four doabs east of t e
Jilam, the two nearest that river are chiefly pasture g>ounds,
the third, though most sterile, is best cultivated. 1 he two
former are flat, the latter undulating, lo the east of the
lilam there is scarce a hill or a tree except the mimosa
IccoZg to the General Report,“‘the face ot the
country presents every variety, from the most luxuriant
iM'GregopT^y of the Sikhs, p. 1. If the Indus be included in the of UitTvf rivers’b^he
" r il -
thl ^ectiomfrim'the Public Correspondence for the Affairs of the Panjdfi, voLi., p. 293 (Dr Jam^o )f ^ river8 that f0rm their
a pc will be seen that the names of three of these Doabs are composed of consonants U ^ * ^«»t of Mbul, 81.
U"?% ^eAd^adon ofZ Pa^,"printed for the'court of directors in 1854, p. 2.
688
PUNJAB.
Panjdb. cultivation to the most sandy deserts, and the wildest
—prairies of jrrass and brushwood. A traveller, passing
through those lines of communication which traverse the
northern tracts, would imagine the Panjab to be the garden
of India; again, returning to the road which intersects the
central tracts, he would suppose it to be a country not worth
annexing. The culture manifestly depends upon two
causes—the lower Himalyan range and the rivers. From
the base of the hills southward there stretches a strip of
country from 50 to 80 miles broad, watered by mountain
rivulets, and for fertility and agriculture unsurpassed in
Northern India. In their downward course the rivers spread
wealth and fruitfulness on either side, and their banks are
enriched with alluvial deposits, and fringed with the finest
cultivation. These tracts, though unadorned with trees,
and unrelieved by any picturesque features, are studded
with well-peopled villages, are twice a year covered with
waving harvests, and are the homes of a sturdy, industrious,
and skilful peasantry. Within this tract are situated the
sister capitals of Labor and Amritsir, and most of the chief
cities, such as Dinanagar, Battala, Siyalkot, Wazirabad,
Gujaranwala, Ramnagar, and Gujarat. Far different is the
scene which meets the eye in the centre of the Bari, the
Rechnah, and the Chaj Doabs. Here are interminable
wastes, overgrown with grass and bushes, scantily threaded
by sheep-walks and the footprints of cattle. These parts
are chit fly tenanted by nomad pastoral tribes, who, know¬
ing neither law nor property, collect herds of cattle, stolen
from the agricultural districts. Flere and there a hamlet
stands alone in the wilderness, whose semi-barbarous inha¬
bitants are the aborigines of the land.” Around the home¬
steads are patches of good cultivation, for the soil repays
irrigation, though water must be raised from a considerable
depth. But there are many proofs that these regions were
once thickly populated. Everywhere are the ruins of cities,
villages, temples, tanks, and water-courses. Even now
these tracts are not without their practical value. They
yield an abundant supply of grass, on which vast herds of
cattle and buffaloes, and flocks of sheep and goats, are
pastured, and firewood is collected from them sufficient for
the requirements of all the neighbouring towns and villages.
Camels, too, in great numbers, are fed in these plains, and
form the carriage for the traffic with Kabul and the rest of
Afghanistan. The Sindh Sagar Doab is far less productive,
being in fact little better than a sandy desert, within
which the famous fort of Mankhera is the only spot where
men seem to have a fixed abode.
But the want of vegetable products in this doab is more
than made up by its richness in minerals. The line of
mountains called the Salt Range present an inexhaustible
supply of salt, which, at its western extremity, near Kala-
bagh, is thus described by Elphinstone —“The road be¬
yond was cut out of the solid salt at the foot of cliffs of that
mineral, in some places more than 100 feet high above the
river. The salt is hard, clear, and almost pure. It would
be like crystal, were it not in some parts streaked and tinged
with red. In some places salt springs issue from the foot of
the rocks, and leave the ground covered with a crust of the
most brilliant whiteness. All the earth, particularly near
the town, is almost blood-red ; and this, with the strange
and beautiful spectacle of the salt rocks, and the Indus
flowing in a deep and clear stream through lofty mountains
past this extraordinary town, presented such a scene of
wonder as is seldom to be witnessed.” The Cis-Indus salt
mines, seven in number, have long been known, and are
mentioned in the A yin i Akbari.2 Buvnes3 states that in
1^32 the quantity of salt dug out was 80,000,000 lb. The
salt is either found cropping out in all directions, or else
lies in strata, commencing near the surface, and extending
The Salt
Range.
downwards in deep veins of inexhaustible fecundity. The Pnnj&b.
salt is brought to the mouth of the mine for less than 2
anas (3d.) a man of 80 lb., but is sold at the government
depots at 2 anas. The mines now worked are five,—
Khewra, near Find Dadan Khan (which is the principal one),
Makrach, Sardi, Chua Varcha, and Karabagh. The total
yield for 1851 was51,249,440 lb.; for 1855-6, 77,268,8001b.,
yielding a revenue of L. 193,000. In 1857-58 the revenue
from the salt mines was L.207,500. The mineral in all its
varieties is a nearly pure chloride of sodium with a trace of
sulphate of lime.4 For consumption it requires no prepara¬
tory process, except pounding. It is of excellent flavour
and purity, of transparent brilliance and solid consistency ;
but it assumes a reddish hue,5 when, as is sometimes the
case, veins of iron lie adjacent to the strata. The Trans-
Indus salt has a darker tinge than the Cis-Indus, and is
generally of inferior quality. Some useful works have lately
been executed to facilitate the mining operations. Roads
have been cut, and a gallery carried through the heart of
the mountain to the Longewala, the chief of the Khewra
mines. Fresh water has also been brought to the mines by
a canal, as the miners suffered greatly from the use of
brackish water in former years.
The mountains in the Panjab increase gradually in Mountains,
height as they approach the Himalya. In Kangra, for
example, the greatest altitudes are between 3000 and 4000
feet. Thus, Barwanah, about 20 miles E. of Kangra, is
3198 feet high ; Baijnath, 15 miles E. of Barwanah, 3357 ;
and about 30 miles E. of this, again, are the snowy peaks,
of which the nearest are 14,8«6, and the more remote
16,017 feet high. Beyond these, again, are the Great Hi¬
malya, rising to from 20,000 to 25,000 feet.
In the Raja of Jamu’s country, in N. Lat. 33. 20., E.
Long. 73. 50., is the isolated peak of Chau Mukh, 4461 feet
high. Not very far to the N. the barrier-line of mountiiins
on the S. of Kashmir is more than double this altitude.
Thus, Tikhear peak, in this range, is 15,305 feet; theBarina
Sakai is 15,483 feet; the Kohnardwa, 12,746 feet; and the
Didgun Mountain is 14,952 feet. In the N.W. angle of
the Panjab, where the province joins the Afghan hills, the
heights range from 4000 to 8000.
The Panjib is a land of many rivers. Of these, the 11,1(1
most eastern, the Satlej, has its source in Thibet, in N. cana s‘
Lat. 30. 8., E. Long. 81. 53., and after a course of 550
miles, receives the Beah near Hareki, in Lat. 31. 12., Long.
75. 3., whence the united stream of the two rivers is called
Ghara, until it joins the Chenab, after which it bears the
name of Panjnad to its confluence with the Indus, a dis¬
tance of 60 miles. The Beah, which comes next, following
the order from S.E. to N.W., rises in Lat. 32. 24., Long.
77. 12., and joins the Satlej after a winding course of 290
miles. The next stream in the same direction is the Ravi,
which rises in a lake in the Himalyas, in Lat. 32. 30.,
Long. 77. 1., and after a tortuous course of 420 miles, runs
into the Chenab. The Chenab rises in Lat. 32. 48.,
Long. 77. 27., and after a course of 600 miles unites with
the Jilam at Trimu Ghat. From this point it is called the
Trimab. It receives the Ravi after a further course of 50
miles, and after 110 miles more the Ghara. Hence to the
Indus it is called the Panjnad or “ Five Rivers,” being the
united streams of the Beah, the Satlej, the Ravi, the Chenab,
and the Jilam. The Jilam rises in Kashmir, and, as above
mentioned, joins the Chenab after a course of 490 miles.
The Indus, which is properly the boundary of the Panjab
to the W., washes the confines of the province for 500
miles, in a course nearly due S. from Darband to its con¬
fluence with the Panjnad, a few miles N. of Mithankot.
The canals in the Panjab are classed under two heads,
—Inundation canals, which are full during the latter part
1 Account of Kdbul, p. 3G.
= ii. 100.
3 Bukhdra, i. 35.
Dr Fleming’s Rep., p. 270.
6 Report on the Punjab, p. 76.
PUNJAB.
689
of spring,1 the summer and autumn, and empty during the
i‘ nja ■* winter. " The fertility of the province, particularly of the
S.W. portion, depends greatly on these canals, which, though
individually insignificant, are in the aggregate of great im¬
portance. Permanent canals are full all the year round,
and are adapted for navigation as well as irrigation. Of
these, the principal is the Bari Doab Canal, running from
N. to S. right down the centre of the tract between the
llavi and Satlej. It leaves the Beah exactly in Lat. 32.,
about 9 miles E. and by S. of Ghordaspur, and passing 3 miles
to the E. of Amritsir, enters the Ravi in 30. 32. between
Chichawatru and Burji. This is called the main branch,
and is 265 miles long. It throws off 28 miles S. of the
place, when it leaves the Beah, a branch to the W. called
the Labor branch. This will be 74 miles long, and of this
distance 60 miles have been excavated. There are to be
two eastern branches, one of which, called the Kassur
branch, is to be 84 miles long, and of this about 30 miles
are finished; the other is an offshoot of the Kassur branch,
and when finished will be 61 miles long. At intervals of
2£ miles above Labor, and of 4 miles below that latitude,
there will be bridges, in all 115. The main channel is
120 feet broad, and 8£ deep. After the divergence of the
Kassur branch it is 85 feet broad, with the same depth ;
and after the Labor branch leaves it, 68 feet wide and 4£
deep. The last report on the administration of the Panjab
speaks of only 133 miles of the main branch being opened
by the present year, down to the tail of the Labor branch.
It adds that the canal is eventually to be carried to To-
lamba, near Multan. In connection with the canal, 500
miles of road have been completed, and 440,000 trees have
been planted along its banks. Permanent workshops are
in course of erection at Madhupur, the canal head station.
The total cost of this grand canal is estimated at L.1,350,000
sterling. The Hash Canal was made in 1633 a.d. by
command of Shah Jahan, to supply the royal gardens near
Labor. When the Sikhs rose to power they carried a
branch from it to Amritsir. It has a winding course of 110
miles, and is from 50 to 15 feet broad, from 7 to 2 feet deep.
In the Pak Patan district of the Bari Doab is the Khanw a
Canal, 54 miles long. The canals in the Multan districts
are particularly numerous.
Koads Up May 1854 roads to the extent of 5229 miles had
been constructed, at a cost of L.545,000. Since that time
very great progress has been made. 1 he Panjab section
of the grand trunk road from Calcutta to Peshawar is the
most important. This would probably have been nearly
finished ere this, but owing to the mutinies and the ex¬
penses they entailed, no progress worth mentioning has
been made during the last two years* I he portion from
Firuzpur to Labor, 45 miles, is still unfinished. Much
remains to be done on the part from Labor to Peshawar;
and, according to the estimates, L.535,0002 are required
to complete the works, and the whole road will then have
cost 1£ million. Along this road the main forces of the
Panjab army are massed; and its military and commercial
importance cannot be exaggerated. Minor roads have been
made in many directions; and since May 1854 the extent
of new-made roads amounts to 3542 miles.
Kailroads. The first sod of the intended railway between Labor and
Amritsir, a distance of 35 miles, was turned by Sir J.
Lawrence on the 8th of February 1859. Amritsir is the
northern terminus of the Multan and Labor Railway, which
wiU join or cross the Great North-Western line between Cal¬
cutta and Peshawar. From Multan to Karachi, the port
of the Indus in Sindh, 425 miles, the communication will
be continued in the first instance by steamers to Haidarabad,
the capital of Sindh, 302 miles, and thence by rail to
Karachi. Ultimately the railway will be continued from Punjab.
Multan to Haidarabad. By this line the whole com-
merce of the Indus valley will he drained. In a military
and political view, the line between Labor and Peshawar,
as yet uncommenced, is of hardly less importance.
The climate of the Panjab is very trying to European Climate,
constitutions. In the northern parts the fall of rain3 ex¬
ceeds that at Delhi, but towards Multan there is hardly
any at all, and in the central districts the rain is scanty.
The average fall for the whole province was in 1853-54
only 39’38 inches; in 1854-55, 23#84 ; and in 1855-56,
15T8 inches. The general character of the climate may
indeed be inferred from a well-known oriental couplet,
often quoted by natives :—
“Dust, beggars, dog-days, dead men’s graves—these four
Blessings, are the greetings of Labor.”
The months from October to March are pleasant; but
during the rest of the year the heat is inconvenient, and at
times almost insupportable. The thermometer then rises
to 112° in a tent, with all cooling appliances. In the
winter months, viz., December, January, February, the
thermometer is some nights as low as 34°. In the northern
and hilly parts it occasionally falls several degrees below the
freezing-point. Fevers and ague are very common in the
Panjab, and may decidedly be attributed to the climate,
the intense heat rendering the body susceptible of such
complaints.
The beasts of prey ordinarily found in India are to be Zoology,
met with in the Panjab. Tigers are not uncommon. The
lion, which was some years back occasionally seen, is now ex¬
tinct. Panthers, chitas, bears, and hyaenas, are by no means
scarce ; and lynxes, foxes, jackals, otters, martins, storks, nxl-
gaes, wild hogs, porcupines, deer, and monkeys are found, as
in India ; but wolves are very numerous, and in some years
have committed great ravages, even entering the villages and
carrying off the children. Of birds there are many varieties,
particularly of water-fowl, such as pelicans, cranes, herons,
and ducks ; eagles, vultures, hawks, pheasants, jungle-fowl,
pea-fowl, parrots, partridges, quails, snipe, magpies, hoo-
pooes, pigeons, doves, the bulbul, kokil or Indian cuckoo,
and bats are also seen in great numbers. Alligators and
the sharp-snouted porpoise of the Indus are plentiful in
the rivers, which abound with fish, particularly with the
pa/la, which in flavour somewhat resembles the salmon.
Snakes are rather common, and* some kinds, as the cobra,
are deadly. The silk-worm thrives ; and the bees produce
honey of the finest quality. Amongst domestic animals,
the horse is verv much cared for, and the breed is fine.
Great herds of buffaloes are fed on the rivers’ banks; and
the camel seems to find the country and climate congenial.
About one-fourth of the whole area of the plains is under Natural
cultivation, but the cultivated land is now continually P1'od‘Jce
increasing. The crops are much dependent upon rain ;
and, besides, in most places constant irrigation from wells
or canals is requisite. The great staples are cereals, three-
fourths of the produce consisting of wheat, barley,4 Indian
corn and maize of all sorts, and rice. In various districts
sugar of excellent quality, gram ( Cicer arietinum), cotton, in¬
digo, linseed, turnips, pepper, tobacco, turmeric, poppy, hemp,
and vegetables are largely grown, and one or other of these
crops in detailed patches is to be found everywhere. All
these miscellaneous products, however, united, do not cover
more than one-fourth of the cultivated area, the rest being
occupied by cereals. There is vast pasturage; and enor¬
mous numbers of sheep, goats, camels, and hoined cattle
are supported on it. Wheat is exported to the Mauritius ;
and upwards of 5000 tons of produce are annually carried
1 Report of the Administration of the Panjdb
3 Elphinstone’s Account of Kabul, i. 130.
from 1844-45 to 1855-56, p. 58.
4 General Report from
2 Report for 1857-58.
1854-55 to 1855-56, p. 22.
4 1?
YOL. XVIII.
, ^ rriTf+A
690
Punjab.
Territorial
divisions.
PUNJAB.
from the Panjab down the Indus, consisting of cereals,
indigo, sugar, cotton, flax.1
In the Kangra valley, at Nagrota and at Bowarnah, in
the eastern portion of the valley, are tea plantations, and
excellent Pouchong, Souchong, and Bohea are made there.
At Holta, in N. Lat. 32. and E. Long.76. 30., also in Kangra,
another plantation lias been formed. The height of the
tract above the sea is from 3500 to 4000 feet, and the teas
at this height are said to be very highly flavoured.
The cultivators of the Panjab are essentially peasant
proprietors. There are no farmers or middle-men, and
generally no great landlords. As a rule, each man owns
and tills his own glebe, upon which he pays the revenue
and pockets all the profits. In the Panjab one and the
same man is usually absolute proprietor, and generally the
sole cultivator, though he may occasionally lease out a few
fields to tenants. He is saddled with no rents. He has
to provide for the cost of cultivation and for the govern¬
ment demand; and the rest of the produce is his own.
But these men, while maintaining their individuality, do
yet belong to village communities. A village is not in¬
habited by a certain number of peasants, unconnected with
each other, but by a number of persons of common descent,
forming one large brotherhood, having their own head¬
men, accustomed to joint action and mutual support.
The Panjab beyond the Beah is divided for ad¬
ministrative purposes into five provinces. Between the
Beah and tire Satlej are the Trans-Satlej states, which may
be viewed as one large province with five divisions. The
whole country may be classed therefore under the follow¬
ing heads, the order being from S.E. to N.W.:—
Area
in Square
Miles.
Population.
Pop. per
Sq. Mile.
Trans-Satlej
States.
1. Kangra 
2. Hushyarpur
3. Phagwara—
4. Jalandar 
5. Kapurthala .
Panjab Proper.
1. Labor  
2. Multan 
3. Leia 
4. Jilam.........
5. Peshawar....
Native States.
1. Trans - Satlej j
principalities J
2. Maha Raja \
Rambir Singh’s >
territories J
Total 
6,791-83
11,627-88
15,494-00
15,271-70
16,761-22
7,588-50
339,129
431,711
237,730
169,666
237,730
95,164
5,316-00 81,828
60,000-00
138,851-13 2,402,958
800,000
2,273,037
3,458,694
971,175
1,122,621
1,762,488
847,695
498,163
3,000,000
334-67
297-41
62-68
73-50
105-35
111-70
54-68
50 00
16,933,873 136-24625
From this calculation the Cis-Satlej states and princi¬
palities, and Bhawalpur, and the hill states near Simla,
are excluded. They are given in the Panjab Reports ; but
not properly belonging to that country, are here omitted.
The following table gives the income and expenditure
for the three years from 1855 to 1858 of the Panjab terri¬
tories, including the Cis- and Trans-Satlej states :—
1855-6. 1856-7. 1857-8.
Income L.2,012,693 L.2,037,779 L.2,053,071
Expenditure  1,632,974 1,650,007 1,766,676
Surplus  L.379,719 L.387,772 L.286,395
The various sections of the income and expenditure for
the last of these years were as follows :—
Revenue, 1857-8. Punjab.
Ordinary— V .
Land tax  L.1,546,752
Excise and stamps  275,123
Nuzurana tribute, &c  42,025
Postal, &c  31,894
M iscellaneous  47,5 52
Toshakhana  9,976
Total ordinary  L.1,953,322
Extraordinary  522
Local funds  99,227
Grand total  L.2,053,071
Expenditure, 1857-58.
Ordinary—
General  L.60,421
Judicial  229,995
Revenue  148,573
Excise and stamps  31,508
Postal, &c  152,485
Miscellaneous  46,591
Military  771,704
Toshakhana  9,923
Total ordinary  L.1,451,200
Extraordinary—
Settlement and survey  15,942
Public works  224,994
Miscellaneous   3,643
Total extraordinary   L.244,579
Local funds   70,897
Grand total
L.1,766,676
The expenditure for the year 1857-8 was considerably
affected by the unsettled state of the country at that time.
There was an increase of 8 per cent, on judicial charges
for extra police ; and on the other hand there was a more
than corresponding reduction in public works. In military
charges the difference was great; some 77 lakhs being
charged this year, instead of 50 lakhs in the preceding
years. It is to be observed, however, that the income did
not materially fall off during that year. Under the expendi¬
ture are included all charges for civil and political establish¬
ments, works of public improvements, &c., but not charges
for the regular army or the construction of cantonments.
The outlay on public works for the last two years, together
with the total previous expenditure, was as follows :—
Roads 
Canals 
Miscellaneous...
Military 
Total.
L.
60,141
171,841
17,433
207,526
456,941
1857-8.
55,162
127,000
7,147
114,097
303,406
Previous
Expendi¬
ture.
L.
1,122,460
715,300
265,500
1,142,100
3,245,360
Total.
L.
1,237,763
1,014,141
290,080
1,463,723
4,005,707
In the Trans-Satlej states the only town of any importance principai
is Jalandar, which contains a population of about 40,000. In cities,
the Labor division the two principal cities are Labor and
Amritsir. Labor, in N. Lat. 31. 36., E. Long. 74. 21., is
situated a mile E. of the Ravi River. It is surrounded by a
fortification 7 miles in circuit. The citadel is on the N.W.
angle of the city, and contains vast magazines of stores.
There are many fine mosques, of which the Padshah masjid,
built by Aurangzib, and the mosque of Vazir Khan, are the
most remarkable. Three miles to the west, across the Ravi,
is the mausoleum of Jahangir, quadrangular, with a minaret
70 feet high at each corner, and built of red sandstone.
About the same distance to the N.E. is the famous garden
ofShah Jahan, called the Shdlindr, or “House of Joy. It
contains 450 fountains, and has three terraces rising one
1 General Report from 1854-55 to 1855-56, p. 72.
P U N
Punjab, above the other. The population of Labor is reckoned at
95,000. This city was taken by Mahmud of Ghazni in 1009,
and in 1152 became the capital of the Ghaznivite dynasty.
In 1186 it was taken by Sahibu’d-Din, of the House of Ghor,
and in 1523 by Babar. In 1748 it fell into the hands of Ah¬
mad Shah Durrani; and in 1799 Ranjit Singh was made gover¬
nor by Zaman Shah, and soon established his independence.
Amritsir (“ The Fount of Immortality”), in N. Lat. 31.
40., E. Long. 74. 45., is situated about 30 miles E. of Labor.
It has its name from a sacred tank made by Ramdas, the
fourth guru, or spiritual teacher of the Sikhs, in 1581.
The tank is 150 paces square, and is filled with beautifully
clear water. In the centre is an island with a temple to
Vishnu, which blazes with gold and ornaments. The trade
of the place is very great, and some of the richest merchants
in India reside here. One of this class about twenty-five
years ago established a banking-house at St Petersburg,
and died worth millions of rubles. The city is completely
commanded by the huge fortress of Govindgarh, built by
Ranjit Singh in 1809, under the pretence of protecting the
sacred spot, but in reality to overawe the turbulent mul¬
titudes that assembled there. The population of Amritsir
is reckoned at 90,000. Siyalkot, in N. Lat. 32. 29., E.
Long. 74. 33., with 20,000 inhabitants; Ramnagar, in N.
Lat. 32. 20., E. Long. 73. 50, a large town ; Wazirabad,
with 17,000 inhabitants, in N. Lat. 32. 27., E. Long. 74.
10.; and Gujaranwala, in N. Lat. 32. 10., E. Long. 74.
13., the original residence of Ranjit Singh’s family, are also
in this division. Wazirabad is the handsomest town in
the Panjab, having been rebuilt on a regular plan, with
wide streets and a fine bazar, by General Avitabile.
In the Multan division the city of that name is the only
one of great note. It stands in N. Lat. 30. 12., E. Long.
71. 30., 3 miles E. of the Chenab. According to Burnes,
its name is properly Mallithdn (“ The City of the Malli”),
taken by Alexander. It is more certain that it was cap¬
tured by Muhammad-bin-Kasim in the close of the
eighth century, by Mahmud of Ghazni at the beginning
of the eleventh, and by Timur in the fourteenth. In
1828 it was stormed by Ranjit Singh with great slaughter
on both sides. The conqueror is said to have lost 10,000
men out of 25,000 during the siege, and the garrison of
3000 Afghans were all put to the sword. In 1848 the
Governor Mulraj murdered two British officers, which led
to the campaign in which Major Edwardes so much dis¬
tinguished himself. On the 2d of January 1849 the city
was taken by General Whish; and the citadel surrendered
on the 22d. The population is reckoned at 81,000.
The towns in the province of Leia are none of them very
large or populous, but their size and population are increas¬
ing with most rapid strides, and under the peaceful rule of
the English it may be predicted they will soon grow up into
great cities. Leia, in N. Lat. 30. 57., E. Long. 71. 4., has
now 15,000 inhabitants, though Elphinstone in 1807 de¬
scribes it as a poor place, of about 500 houses ; but situated
in the midst of a country producing great quantities of in¬
digo, sugar, silk, and cotton, and being on one of the prin¬
cipal roads from India to Afghanistan by the Kahiri ferry,
the trade of Leia, both direct and transit, is very great. In
the Derajat, the slip of country across the river from Leia,
and between the Indus and the Sulaiman Mountains, the
principal towns are Dera Ghazi Khan, in N. Lat. 30. 4.,
E. Long. 70. 54.; Dera Path Khan, in N. Lat. 31. 9.,
E. Lon o'. 70. 50.; and Dera Isma’fl Khan, in N.Lat. 31. 50.,
E*. Long. 70.58. These places were originally, about three
centuries ago, mere encampments of Biluch chiefs, but
,rrew up into towns, and are now places of great trade.
Dera Ghazi Khan has a population of about 15,000; the
bazar containing 1600 shops, of which about 600 belong
.1 A B. eg]
to weavers and cloth-sellers. The Lohani Afghans carry Punjab,
on a brisk transit trade through this town. Of the other
two Deras, that of Isma’il Khan has a population of about
10,000. The trade in grain and in salt from Kala Bagh is
very considerable ; but the most important dealings are in
cotton cloth, of which two millions of yards are annually
sold here, while eighteen millions of yards pass through.
Jilam, in the division so named, is a large town on the
right bank of the River Jflam, in N. Lat. 32. 56., E. Long.
73. 47. The steamers from Karachi are to ascend as far
as this place. The river is crossed here in the cold season
by a dangerous ford, which is 500 yards across, and has
about 3 feet water running like a sluice. In December
1839, when the English army crossed here on their return
from Kabul, an officer and ten men were drowned at this
ford. Find Dadan Khan, in N. Lat. 32. 36., E. Long. 73.
5., also on the right bank of the Jflam, is a town with
14,000 inhabitants. It is close to the Salt range, and a
vast quantity of salt is raised in the vicinity. Rawal Pindf,
in N. Lat. 33. 37., E. Long. 73. 6., between the Indus and
the Jflam, has a population of 16,000, with a considerable
transit trade. It is the capital of a large district. Here
Shah Shuja, on his expulsion from Kabul, long resided, and
a brick building erected by him is still dignified with the
name of “ The Palace.”
Peshawar, the capital of the division so called, lies in N.
Lat. 34., E. Long. 71. 38. It is the portal of the Khaibar
Pass, being 18 miles E. of the eastern extremity of that
formidable defile. At the beginning of the present century
the city was thought to contain 100,000 inhabitants; but it
suffered much from Ranjit Singh, who, after his victory over
the Afghans at the battle of Naushahra, on the 14th of March
1823,1 sacked Peshawar, demolished most of the fine build¬
ings, and laid waste the surrounding country. The population
at present is reckoned at 541,000, exclusive of a very strong
British force in cantonments, numbering about 10,000 men.
The cradle of the Sikhs is the tract called the Manjha, or Races.
“ Middle Land ;” the Barf Doab, between the Beah and
the Ravi; and to the south of the former river the district
called Maiwah, around Bhutinda and Sunam. There are,
however, in both the Manjha and Malwah, many Bhattfs,
Dogras, Pathans, and Gujars, who are numerous every¬
where in the Panjab, but came originally from Gujarat.
In the territory of Rambfr Singh the mass of the popula¬
tion are Dogras and Kanets to the east; while in the hills
south of Kashmir, and west to the Indus, are Gikkars, Gu¬
jars, Khatirs, and Awans. The people of Kashmir are a
very mixed race ;2 their language is Hindu, their faith that
of Islam. Among the agricultural population Jats are nu¬
merous, and there are besides many wandering tribes, of
whom the Changgars are thought to be the same as the
Zigeuners, Gitanos, or Gypsies.
The country through which the Indus flows is repeat- History,
edly mentioned in the Vedas. It was at the Vaidik era
the abode of the Aryan nation, which was then passing
slowly into India, which it now so completely occupies.
The brief notices in the Vedas of the countries bordering
on the Indus prepare the inquirer to believe the accounts
of the teeming population and abundant resources those
countries are said to possess in the chronicles of the cam-
paio-ns of Alexander the Great. After Taxilas and Abi-
sares kino-s of the most western part of the Panjab, had
submitted^ Porus, King of the Jech Doab, encountered
Alexander on the eastern shore of the Jflam. He had with
him about 30,000 foot,3 4000 horse, and 200 elephants;
and his troops fought with a courage not inferior to that of
their hardy descendants in these more recent times. It is
impossible to trace the exact progress of the Macedonians
after the defeat of Porus. Suffice it to say, that it was suc-
Cunningham’s History of the Sikhs, p. 164.
2 Ibid. p. 5.
3 Arrian, b. v. ch. xv.
692 PUN
Punjab, cessful, and that the Graeco-Bactrian kings exercised a
v'—powerful influence, if‘ they did not actually govern, some
provinces of the Panjab for centuries after the death of
Alexander. The Musliman first made their appearance
in the Panjab in the seventh century, when, under the ge¬
nerals of the Khalifah Walld, they conquered Multan. In
977 a.d., Sabuktagin, King of Ghazni, ravaged the Panjab,
and subsequently several times invaded that country, over
detached provinces of which he established his rule, as at
Peshawar, where he left a governor. Mahmud, son of Sa¬
buktagin, commenced his celebrated invasions of India in
the year 1000 a.d. He repeatedly overran the Panjab, in¬
corporated the province of Multan and some other districts
with his dominions, took many cities and forts, including
Labor, and established a continuous rule over the greater
part of the kingdom of the Five Rivers. In 1152 a.d.
Bahrain, a descendant of Mahmud, was expelled from
Ghazni by Allah of the House of Ghor, but retained Labor
and his Indian dominions, which thus became a separate
monarchy until 1184 a.d., when Muhammad Ghori,
King of Ghazni, took Labor from Khusrau II., and extin¬
guished the so-called dynasty of Ghazni. His career of
victory was terminated in 1205 a.d. by the Gikkars, a wild
tribe who raised a rebellion in the Northern Panjab, and
twenty of whom, having pledged themselves to destroy the
king, forced their way into his tent at night, and stabbed
him to death. From this date commenced the rule of the
Pathan kings of India. Two of the great officers—Elduz
and Kutb—succeeded Muhammad, and divided his empire;
Elduz keeping all to the west ot the Indus, and Kutb the
Indian territories of which he was already viceroy. As he
was originally a slave, the dynasty he founded was called
that of the Slave Kings. Their capital was Delhi; and
thenceforward the Panjab sank into a province, until raised
by Ranjit into an independent kingdom. In order to trace
the rise of the Sikh power, it is necessary to begin with the
history of the founder of their religion. Nanak, their first
guru, or teacher, was born in 1649 a.d. at Talwandi, a vil¬
lage on the Ravi, above Labor ; or, according to one good
authority,1 at Kanakash, 15 miles S. of Labor. He died a.d.
1539 at Kartarpur, on the Ravi, 40 miles above Labor,
leaving many disciples or “ Sikhs,” a term which is now
generally applied to all Hindu Panjabis. He taught be¬
lief in one God the Creator, self-existent, incomprehen¬
sible, sole, timeless, everlasting; that good deeds are
nothing of themselves, and that the only true wisdom is
the knowledge of God ; that this knowledge is only at¬
tainable through the grace of God, but that it must be
linked with good works for the attainment of salvation.
He adopted the Hindu idea of the transmigration of the soul,
and regarded beatitude as the dwelling with God after this
punitory course is over. His doctrines have been handed
down in a book called the Granth, which was composed
not many years after his death, and is still revered as the
scripture of the Sikhs. Nanak left two sons, of whom one,
named Shri Chand founded the Hindu sect of Uddsis,1
ascetics who renounce the world. Angad was the second
Sikh guru. He occupied himself chiefly with committing
to writing the doctrines of Nanak, and died in lo52 a.d. at
Kaddur, on the Beah. He was succeeded by Amardas,
who composed part of the Granth, and died in 15 i4 a.d.
The fourth guru was Ramdas, who established himself at
Amritsir, and died in 1581. He is said to have been much
esteemed by Akbar the Great. Arjun his son became
the fifth guru, end arranged and published the Granth.
The Emperor Jahangir imprisoned him on a charge of
treason, and impaled 700 of his followers. He died, pro¬
bably from the rigour of his confinement, in 1606, and was
succeeded by his son Har Govind, the sixth guru, who
J A B.
first laid aside the peaceful tenets of Nanak for the war- Punjab,
like principles of the modern Sikhs. He died in 1645 at
Kiritpur, on the Satlej, after repeatedly defeating the im¬
perial troops. Under his chieftainship the Sikhs had grown
up to a numerous and martial community. His son Har
Rae succeeded as seventh guru, and died in 1661. His
younger son Har Kishan, a boy of six, was the eighth guru,
and died in 1664 at Delhi. Tegh Bahadur, son of Har
Govind, was the ninth guru, and having opposed and de¬
feated the imperial troops, was ignominiously put to death
by Aurangzib, and his body exposed in the streets of Delhi.
That circumstance was one of the main inducements to the
Sikhs to join the English in capturing Delhi and crushing
the Bengal mutineers. Tegh Bahadur was executed in
1675, and for more than twenty years after his death his
son Govind, the tenth and most famous of the gurus, lived
in retirement, pondering revenge and the means of raising
his oppressed followers to independence and power. It
was he who instituted the Pahal or initiatory ceremony of
the Sikhs, taught his disciples to call themselves Singhs
or Lions, to let their locks grow, and to devote their ener¬
gies to steel, which they were always to wear about their
persons. He thus established the Khalsa or special go¬
vernment of the Sikhs, and soon entered upon a war with
the troops of Aurangzib. His two sons were slain, his
followers dispersed, and he himself was obliged to fly to
the deserts of Bhutinda, where he composed the tenth
chapter of the Granth. After the death of Aurangzib,
Govind took service with Bahadur Shah, and was mur¬
dered in 1708 at Nadarh, on the banks of the Godavari,
by the sons of an attendant whom he had himself put to
death. A disciple named Bandah now headed the sect,
and after a fierce struggle with the Muhammadans, was
taken at Ghordaspur in the Panjab, which he had made
his stronghold, carried to Delhi, and torn to pieces with hot
pincers, after he had been first compelled to murder his
own son. This was in 1716; and so hot was the persecu¬
tion of the Sikhs that followed, that they are scarce heard
■of till 1738, when the invasion of Nadir Shah gave them
courage to re-appear as combatants. After various vicissi¬
tudes, they in 1756 captured Labor ; and their chief Jassa
Singh struck a coin with the inscription, “ Coined by the
grace of the Khalsa in the country of Ahmad, conquered
by Jassa the Kalal.” They were soon after, however,
compelled to surrender Labor to the Marathas, who in
turn were crushed by Ahmad Shah Abdalli at the decisive
battle of Panipat in 1761. During this campaign the
Sikhs hung round the Durrani army, and plundered strag¬
glers. They began, too, to erect forts ; and Charat Singh,
the grandfather of Ranjit, made his stronghold at Gujran-
wala, whence in 1762 he repulsed the Afghans. 1 hat year,
however, Ahmad Shah inflicted a terrible chastisement on
the Sikhs at the battle of Ghalu Ghara,3 south of the Satlej,
where 20,000 of them fell. Nevertheless in 1764 they re¬
covered Labor, struck coins, established a general assembly,
and divided themselves into twelve Misls, or “ confeder¬
acies.” Ahmad Shah made his last inroad in 1766, and
the next year Charat Singh took the great fort of Rhotas,
and the Bhangi Misl conquered as far as Rawal Pindf.
Charat Singh was killed in 1772 by the bursting of his
matchlock, and was succeeded by his son Maha Singh,
who in 1784 rose to pre-eminent power. His son Ranjit
was born in 1780, and was but eleven years old when his
father died, and left him the first position in the Khalsa,
to be still further improved by his own abilities. In 1798
Shah Zeman, King of Kabul, took Labor, but was compelled
to retire by the rebellion of his brother Mahmud. As a
reward for transporting his guns over the flooded Jilam, he
bestowed Labor upon Ranjit. In 1802 Perron, Sindhias
1 Cunningham s Hittory of the Sikhs, p. 37.
2 Asiatic Researches, xvii. 232.
3 “ Great disaster/
PUN
Punjab, general, made an engagement with Ranjit for a joint ex-
—««Y—pedition to the Indus, and the partition of all the country
south of Labor ; but this agreement came to nothing, and
Perron was soon afterwards disgraced by Sindhia, and
obliged to fly. In 1805 Jeswan Rao Holkar retreated be¬
fore Lord Lake into the Panjab ; and by the treaty of
the 24th of December of that year, was allowed to retire to
his dominions. In 1806 Ranjit took Lodiana, and in 1807
Kassur, whither in September 1808 Mr Metcalfe pro¬
ceeded to form a league between the English and the Sikh
ruler. It was not, however, till the 25th of April 1809
that a treaty was made between the two powers, which pre¬
cluded Ranjit from extending his territory to the south,
and which inaugurated a lasting friendship between him and
the British. The Sikh chiefs of Sirhind and Malwa were
declared independent of Labor ; and this was further con¬
firmed by the proclamation of August the 22d, 1811, which
also forbade them to encroach on one another. From that
time till 1818 Ranjit was occupied in consolidating his
power. In June 1818 he took Multan; and in July 1819
annexed Kashmir, and a few months afterwards Derah
Ghazi Khan. On the 14th of March 1823 he defeated
the Afghans in the great battle of Naushahra, and sacked
Peshawar. The French generals Ventura and Allard had
taken service with him the year previous, and his troops
had now all the discipline of regular battalions. In October
1831 an interview took place between Lord W. Bentinck
and Ranjit at Rupar on the Satlej ; and on the 17th of
July previous a present of horses from the King of Eng¬
land arrived at Labor, under the escort of Lieutenant
Burnes. On the 26th of June 1838 the famous tripartite
treaty between the English government, Shah Shuja, and
Ranjit, was concluded, which led to the Afghan war, the
restoration of Shah Shuja to his kingdom, and in the end
to his murder and the expulsion of his English allies.
Ranjit died before these events, on the 27th June 1839,
and was succeeded by his only legitimate son Kharg Singh ;
but on the 8th of October Kharg Singh was seized and
confined by his son Nao Nihal Singh, and died on the 5th
of November 1840, poisoned by small doses of corrosive
sublimate.1 On the same day, as Nao Nihal Singh was
returning from attending the funeral rites to his father, a
gateway fell on him, killed the son of Raja Gulab Singh,
who sate by his side, and so injured him that he expired a
few hours afterwards. This accident was owing to the
‘treachery of Dhyan Singh, the prime minister, brother of
Gulab Singh. Chand Kunwar, widow of Kharg Singh,
now assumed the government; but on the 18th of January
1841 Sher Singh, an illegitimate son of Ranjit, attacked
the citadel where Chand Kunwar was, and compelled her
to recognise him as supreme. Chand Kunwar was mur¬
dered in June 1842, and Sher Singh on the 15th Septem¬
ber 1843, by Ajit Singh ; while at the same moment Pra-
tap Singh, the son of Sher, was killed by Lehna Singh.
These murders were committed with the aid and assent of
the minister Dhyan Sing, who was immediately afterwards
shot by the conspirators. Hira Singh, the son of Dhyan,
a lew days after revenged his father’s death by killing both
the above-named assassins; and Dhalip Singh, said to be a
posthumous child of Ranjit, was proclaimed king, with Hira
Singh as minister. Many murders and insurrections fol¬
lowed ; and on the 21st December 1844 Hira Singh was
put to death. He was succeeded by Jawahir Singh, who
was shot by the soldiery on the 21st of September 1845;
and Lai Singh was then made by them prime minister.
The Sikh army had now for some time been utterly un¬
manageable ; the English agent for Sikh affairs, Major
Broadfoot, rather urged on than deprecated a collision ; and
JAB.
on the 1/th of November 1845 the Khalsa declared war
against the English, and the Sikh troops crossed the Satlej
on the 11th of December. On the 18th the battle of
Mudki was fought. The English under Lord Gough
numbered 11,000; and had 215 killed and 657 wounded.
The Sikhs had about 4000 infantry, 10,000 horse, and 22
guns, of which 17 were taken by the English. ’ On the
21st Sir J. Little joined Lord Gough with a fresh division
and the English advanced to storm the Sikh position at Fx-
ruzshahr, where they had 12 regiments of infantry,2 10,000
horse, and 100 guns. The combat ended doubtfully, though
the English captured many guns, and 2000 of the Sikhs fell.
But the English lost 694 killed and 1721 wounded; and
nothing but the treason of the Sikh general Tej Singh,
whose object was to crush his mutinous army, alone saved
them. The campaign was closed by the decisive battle of
Sobraon'on the 10th of February 1846. The English loss
was 320 killed and 2083 wounded; but the Sikhs had at
least 5000 killed, and all their guns and baggage taken. On
the 9th of March 1846 a treaty was concluded between
Dhalip Singh and the English, by which the Maharaja re¬
nounced all claim to territory south of the Satlej ; ceded
the Doab between the Beah and Satlej, and the hilly
countries between the Beah and Indus, including Kash¬
mir and Hazara; paid 5,000,000 rupees ; disbanded all
but 25 regiments of infantry, and 12,000 horse, re¬
cognised the independence of the Jamu state; and
agreed to other terms which placed the Panjab in de¬
pendence on the British government. This treaty, how¬
ever, was soon disturbed by an outbreak in Multan. Sa-
wan Mall, the able governor of this province under Ran¬
jit, was murdered in September 1844, and was succeeded by
his son Mulraj. His exactions and misrule led to an order
for his deposition ; and in 1848, when the English were
acting as advisers to Dhalip Singh, Mr Vans Agnew and
Lieut. Anderson were sent to depose him, and instal Khan
Singh as his successor. On the 18th of April 1848 they
were attacked and murdered; and the second Sikh war broke
out. The news reached Lieut. Edwardes on the 22d at
Derah Path Khan, where he was on political employ. He
had with him 1 infantry regiment, with 4 extra companies, 2
guns, 20 swivels, and 350 horse. On the 25th he reached
Leia, and commenced raising levies; and, being joined by the
troops of Bhawalpur, held Mulraj in check. Ere long, how¬
ever, the old Sikh army joined the rebels, and Multan was not
taken by the English till the 2d of January 1849. On the
15th of that month the indecisive battle of Chilianwala
was fought, in which the English under Lord Gough had
22 European officers and 580 men killed, 67 European
officers and 1678 men wounded or missing. The Sikhs
under Sher Singh suffered far less. Several other sharp ac¬
tions were fought; and the campaign ended on the 21st of
February 1849 by the decisive victory of Gujarat, in which
the English loss was 5 European officers killed and 24
wounded, 93 men killed and 677 wounded or missing. The
Panjab was then permanently annexed, and has ever since
continued under the British government. The news of
the outbreak of the late rebellion reached Peshawar on the
11th of May, the very day it occurred at Mirat.3 There
were then at Peshawar H.M.’s 70th and 87th regiments,
2 troops of European horse artillery, 2 companies of
artillery, the 5th Bengal light cavalry, the 21st, 24th, 27th,
51st 64th Bengal native infantry, the regiment of Khilati
Ghilzye, the 7th and 18th Bengal irregular cavalry ; in all
about 12,000 men, of whom 2570 were Europeans. At
Naushahra were her H.M.’s 27th regiment, the 55th Ben¬
gal native infantry, the 10th irregular cavalry, and an ar¬
tillery mountain train. At Atak weie a detachment of
1 Smyth’s Reigning Family of Ldhor, p. 33.
3 Report on the Administration of the Punjdb, 1856-58, section x.
2 Cunningham’s Sikhs, p. 303.
694 PUN
Punjab, the 58th Bengal native infantry, a company of artillery,
and one of sappers and miners ; and close by at Shamsabad
the 17th irregular cavalry. At Mardan, in the Yusufzye
country, was the now famous corps of guides. At Rawal
Pindi was H.M.’s 24th regiment, the 58th Bengal native
infantry, the Kumaon battalion of Gorkhas, the 16th irre¬
gular cavalry, and 1 troop of native horse artillery. Jilam
was garrisoned by the 14th and 39th native infantry, and a
native light field battery. H.M.’s 52d regiment, and a
European troop of horse artillery held Siyalkot with the
35th and 46th Bengal native infantry, and 9th light cavalry.
At Labor were H.M.’s 81st regiment, with 2 troops of horse
artillery and 4 companies of reserve artillery,—all Euro¬
peans ; with the 16th and 26th light infantry, and 8th light
cavalry. Close by at Amritsir were the 59th Bengal native
infantry, with a light field battery, and a company of
European reserve artillery in the strong fort of Govindgarh.
Ghordaspur was hel^f by the 2d irregular cavalry ; Kangra
by the left wing of the 4th Bengal native infantry and
half a company of native artillery; Nurpur by a similar
force of artillery and the other wing of the 4th native in¬
fantry ; Hushyarpur by the 33d native infantry, 9th irre¬
gular cavalry, and 1 troop of native horse artillery; Phil-
laur by the 3d native infantry ; Jalandar by H.M.’s 8th
regiment, a troop of European horse artillery, the 36th
and 61st native infantry, and 6th light cavalry. At Firuz-
pur were H.M.’s 61st regiment, a European light horse
battery, a company of European artillery, the 45th and
57th Bengal native infantry, and 10th light cavalry. At
Multan were the 62d and 69th native infantry, 1st irregular
cavalry, and a troop of native horse artillery. At Am-
balah were H.M.’s 9th dragoons, 2 troops of European ar¬
tillery, the 5th and 60th native infantry, and 4th lancers
natives. In the adjoining Himalya range were the Nasiri
battalion, H.M.’s 75th regiment, the 1st and the 2d Bengal
fusiliers. To sum up, there were from Karnal to Pesha¬
war about 36,0001 native troops, most of whom were Pur-
biyahs from the same localities as the Mirat aud Delhi muti¬
neers. Against these were 11 regiments of European in¬
fantry, 1 of cavalry, and 2000 artillery ; in all about 10,500
men. There were, besides, 22,000 Panjab troops inter¬
spersed with a fourth part of Hindustanis. Immediately
after the outbreak 3 regiments of European infantry
and 1 of cavalry marched against Delhi, leaving 7500
Europeans to watch 33,000 Hindustanis, for only 2 native
regiments w ent to Delhi. The whole province of the Pan-
jab was to be held against such odds, the besieging army
at Delhi was to be re-inforced, and the surrounding martial
tribes kept in check. It was a prodigious task that was
imposed on Sir John Lawrence, the chief civil officer in the
Panjab ; but he nobly and successfully accomplished it. It
was soon seen that the Hindustani regiments were ripe for
revolt. On the 14th of May the 45th and 57th native in¬
fantry mutined at Flruzpur, and attempted to seize the great
arsenal. The attempt failed, but most of the mutineers
escaped. An outbreak at Labor was prevented by dex¬
terously disarming the native corps at Miyan Mir, the
cantonment of Labor, on the 13th of May. On the 21st
the 55th mutinied at Mardan on seeing Europeans ad¬
vancing to take their arms, and fled to the hills, but nearly
all perished. On the 22d, the 5th light cavalry, the 24th,
27th, and 51st, were disarmed at Peshawar, and the 10th
irregular cavalry at Naushahra on the 26th. On the 7th and
8th of June the 3d, 36th and 61st native infantry, and 67th
light cavalry, in the Jalandar Doab, rose in revolt, and
marched to Delhi. On the 1st the troops at Multan were
disarmed ; the 5th native infantry at Ambalah on the 15th ;
the 33d and 35th in Jalandar on the 25th ; the 58th and part
of the 14th native infantry at Rawal Pindi on the 7th of
J A B.
July, on which day, however, the bulk of the 14th, seeing Punjab,
the Europeans approach, broke out, and were nearly all i
destroyed. Two days afterwards, the 46th and a wing of
the 9th light cavalry mutinied at Siyalkot, and after mur¬
dering Brigadier Brind, Captain Bishop, two Drs Graham,
the Rev. Mr Hunter, and others, the mutineers marched
for Delhi by way of Ghordaspur and Phillaur. They were
overtaken at Nurpur, 15 miles beyond that station, and,
after a sharp struggle, all put to the sword. On the 30th
of July the disarmed 26th fled from Labor, but were
overtaken and destroyed. The 10th light cavalry escaped
from Flruzpur on the 19th of August. The 51st mutinied,
and were destroyed at Peshawar on the 28th of that month.
On the 15th of July 259 men of the 4th light cavalry were
disarmed at Ambalah; the 59th at Amritsir, seven days
previous ; the 4th at Hushyarpur, three days previous ; the
39th in the Derajat, one day previous. Thus 18 regi¬
ments, numbering 13,000 men, were disarmed without re¬
sistance ; the native gunners of four batteries were removed
from their guns, and their places supplied by European
volunteers. The 21st native infantry, the regiment ,af
Khil’ati-Ghilzye, and the 1st, 2d, 6th, 7th, 16th, 17th, and
18th regiments of irregular cavalry alone remained armed,
and continue so to this day. But not only did Sir J.
Lawrence hold the vast force of mutinous Sipahls garrison¬
ing the Panjab in check, but he also detached powerful re¬
inforcements to Delhi, without which that city would not
have been taken, and India might have been lost. The
first body of troops detached to act against Delhi were the
1st and 2d Bengal European regiments, and H.M.’s 75th,
which went with General Anson. The siege train was
then sent from Phillaur. Then followed a wing of H.M.’s
8th, and one of H.M.’s 61st, the guide corps, the 4th Sikhs,
the 1st Panjab infantry, the 1st, 2d, and 5th Panjab cavalry,
300 Sikh artillerymen, and 1200 Sikh sappers and miners.
General Van Cortlandt, with 1000 irregulars, cleared the
western part of the Delhi territory. Lastly, General Nichol¬
son led the remainder of H.M.’s 8th and 61st, the 52d, the
2d, 4th, and 7th Panjab infantry, a siege train from Firuz-
pur, and the Kashmir contingent, against Delhi, leaving but
4500 European soldiers, sick included, to hold the Pan¬
jab. Not a day had been lost in calling on the rajas of the
protected Sikh states for their contingents. They nobly
obeyed, to the number of eighty chiefs : the Raja of Basahir
alone remained inactive. The Raja of Jhind was actually
the first man, European or native, who took the field against
the mutineers. He openly declared at once that he should
side with the British, under whom he had lived happily for
fifty years,—a speech which powerfully influenced the
popular opinion. He marched with 800 men to Karnal,
and thence in the van of the British troops advancing
against Delhi, clearing the road for them, and procuring
supplies. He held an exposed post during the siege; his
troops guarded the ferry over the Jamna, on the road to
Mirat, and shared in the final assault on the Kashmir gate.
The Maharaja of Pattiala supplied 5000 men, and kept
open the road from Labor to Delhi. The Raja of Nabah
held the fort of Lodiana. The Raja of Kapurthala, of high
rank among Sikhs, next perhaps to the Raja of Pattiala,
furnished 2000 men, and, after serving in Jalandar, marched
with his contingent into Oudh. The Raja of Jamu supplied
2000 men. In short, the Sikh nation threw their sword
into the scale against the rebels. A long-nourished hatred
to Delhi and its people influenced them no doubt in this
decision ; but the stupendous fact remains, that England
recovered her Indian empire mainly by the hands of those
whom she had ten years before vanquished in many bloody
battles. That administration must have been just, politic,
and prosperous that could produce such a result, (e. b. e.)
1 Report on the Administration of the Punjdb, 1856-58, section xi.
PUN
Punnah PUNNAH, a town of British India, capital of a terri-
II tory of the same name in Bundelcund, near a large jM, or
Purcell. artifjciai iake, on the north-eastern slope of the barren
range of the Punnah Hills, 130 miles S. of Calpee, 173
S.W. of Allahabad, and 668 N.W. of Calcutta. Though
once a fine town, it is now quite ruinous. Many of the
streets, well paved and lined with handsome, substantial
houses, are tenanted only by monkeys, which grin on the
passers-by from the roofs and windows. The large and
elegant palace of the rajah, and many Hindu temples, are
the& chief buildings in' the town; and the people being
almost all Hindus, there are no mosques here. Punnah
was formerly an important place, chiefly on account of the
diamond mines in the vicinity. Although the gems are
still found here, the business is now much less profitable
than it once was. On the shores of the jhil, or tank, near
the town, there are many fine mausoleums. The alligators
in the water are considered sacred by the Hindus.
PUNO, a department of Peru, bounded on the N.W.
and N. by the department of Cuzco, E. and S.E. by Boli¬
via, S. and W. by the departments of Moquegua and Are-
quipa; area 25,918 square miles. It is partially occupied
by a range of the Andes, extending northwards from the
province of Carangas in Bolivia to Lampa in this depart¬
ment. The principal rivers are the Ramis, Coata, and
Have, all flowing into Lake Titicaca, which lies to the S.E.
of the department, separating it from Bolivia. Puno con¬
tains extensive and good pasturages; and cattle, potatoes,
and barley are among it products. The silver mines in the
department were at one time second only to those of Po-
tosi; but they have been for some time very little attended to.
The department is divided into five provinces, as follows :—
Districts. Population. Capital.
Carabaya 13 22,605 Crucero.
Azangaro 16 54,333 Azangaro.
Lampa 18 76,488 Lampa.
Guancane 11 56,765 Guancane.
Chucuito 12 75,957 Juli.
Total 70 286,148 Puno.
The town of Puno, the capital, stands on a bay of the same
name on the western shore of Lake Titicaca, 12,832 feet
above the sea, 90 miles E. by S. of Arequipa. It is regu¬
larly and well built, chiefly of stone; and contains a cathe¬
dral, high school, hospital, &c. Puno is the seat ot a
superior court of law. Pop. 8000.
PURBACH, George. See Dissertation Fourth,
section iv.; and Astronomy, History of.
PURBECK. See Dorsetshire.
PURCELL, Henry, the most celebrated of English
musicians, was born at London in 1658, and died there on the
21st of November 1695. His father was a gentleman of
the chapel royal, who died in 1664. It appears that Pur¬
cell received lessons in music from Cook and Humphiey
and Dr Blow; and at the early age of eighteen was ap¬
pointed organist of Westminster Abbey. In 1682 he was
made organist of the chapel* royal on the death of Low,
the successor of Dr Christopher Gibbons. He began very
early to compose music for the church, as well as for the
theatre and the chamber; and superior genius and skill
were shown in all his compositions. His music for the
theatre and the chamber was exceedingly popular, and
many of his compositions for the church still hold their
place in the chapel royal and in English cathedrals.
Unlike some other English composers, Purcell was always
ready to confess his obligations to those Italian models^
which he had studied. In the preface to his first set of
Sonatas, 1683, he tells us that “ he has faithfully endea¬
voured at a just imitation of the most famed Italian masters;
and he thinks (though unskilled in the language of that
country) he may warrantably affirm that he is not mistaken
in the power of the Italian notes, or elegancy of theii com-
P U R 695
positions.’ And again, in the dedication of the Score of Purchas
his opera of Dioclesian (1691) to the Duke of Somerset, II
Purcell says,—“ Musick is yet but in its nonage ; a forward Purgatoiy-
child, which gives hope of what it may be hereafter in Eng-
land, when the masters of it shall find more encouragement.
’Tis now learning Italian, which is its best master. We
must shake off our barbarity by degrees.” If we find occa¬
sional crudity and harshness in the music of Purcell, we
must consider that in his time musical composition was in
a state of transition from rigid scholastic rules to the free¬
dom of musical fancy. Dr Burney severely blames Pur¬
cell for using the chord of minor 6th with major 3d, and
calls it “jargon;” but it so happens that this chord was
freely used afterwards by the Bachs, Haydn, Mozart,
Beethoven, Cherubini, and other eminent composers. Pur¬
cell’s tomb and monument are in Westminster Abbey.
His fertility in composition was wonderful. A great quan¬
tity of sacred music by Purcell remained in manuscript,
when Mr Vincent Novello of London undertook to collect
and edit the whole of Purcell’s church music. This work
appeared in 1826-36, in large folio, with a portrait, and an
essay on the life and works of the composer. (g. f. g.)
PURCHAS, Samuel, an English divine, famous for
compiling a valuable collection of voyages, was born in
1577 at Thacksted in Essex. After studying at Cambridge,
he obtained the vicarage of Eastwood in his native county;
but leaving that cure to his brother, he settled in London,
in order to carry on the great work on which he was en¬
gaged. He published the first volume in folio in 1613,
and the last four twelve years afterwards, under the title
of Purchas, his Pilgrimage, or Relations of the World,
and the Religions observed in all Ages and Places. Mean¬
while he was collated to the rectory of St Martin’s, Ludgate,
in London, and made chaplain to Dr Abbot, Archbishop of
Canterbury. His Pilgrimages, and the learned Hakluyt’s
Voyages, led the way to all the other collections of the
same kind, which have been so justly valued and esteemed.
(See Hakluyt, Richard.) But unhappily, by publishing, he
involved himself in debt, and died in embarrassed circum¬
stances about the year 1628. He likewise wrote Micro-
cosmus, or the History of Man, 8vo, 1619; The King's
Tower and Triumphant Arch of London, 8vo, 1623 ; and
a Funeral Sermon on Psalm xxxix. 5, 8vo, 1619. A
foreign writer describes him as “ an Englishman admirably
skilled in languages and human and divine arts ; a very great
philosopher, historian, and theologian; a faithful priest of
his own church ; very widely known for his many excellent
writings, and especially for his large volumes pertaining to
the East and West Indies.”
PURGATORY, a place in which the just, who depart
out of this life, are supposed to expiate certain offences
which do not merit eternal condemnation. Broughton has
endeavoured to prove that this notion was held by Pagans,
Jews and Mohammedans, as well as by Christians; and it
cannot be questioned that, in the days of the Maccabees,
the Jews believed that sin might be expiated by sacrifice
after the death of the sinner. The following view of it is
taken from a work which is considered as a standard by
Roman CatholicsFirst, every sin, how slight soever,
though no more than an idle word, as it is an offence to
God^deserves punishment from him, and will be punished
bv him hereafter, if not cancelled by repentance here. Se¬
condly such small sins do not deserve eternal punishment.
Thirdly few depart this life so pure as to be totally exempt
from spots of this nature, and from every kind of debt due
to God’s justice. Fourthly, few will therefore escape with¬
out suffering something from his justice for such debts as
they have carried with them out of this world, according
to that rule of divine justice by which he treats every soul
hereafter according to its works, and according to the state
in which he finds it in death. From these propositions,
696 PUR
Puritans which the Roman Catholic considers as so many self-evi¬
dent truths, he infers that there must be some third place
Pushkin. 0f punishment; for since the infinite goodness of God can
's—admit nothing into heaven which is not clean and pure from
all sins, both great and small, and as his infinite justice can
permit none to receive the reward of bliss who as yet are
not out of debt, but have something in justice to suffer, so
there must of necessity be some place or state where souls
departing this life, pardoned as to the eternal guilt or pain,
yet obnoxious to some temporal penalty, or with the guilt
of some venial faults, are purged and purified before their
admission into heaven. This is what the Roman Catholic
is taught concerning purgatory; and though he knows not
where it is, of what nature the pains are, or how long each
soul is detained there, yet he believes that those who are
in this place, being the living members of Jesus Christ, are
relieved by the prayers of their fellow-members here on
earth, as also by alms and masses offered up to God for their
souls. And as for such as have no relations or friends to
pray for them or give alms, or procure masses for their
relief, they are not neglected by the church, which makes
a general commemoration of all the faithful departed in
every mass, and in every one of the canonical hours of
the divine office. The Protestant Church considers
this doctrine to be “ grounded on no warranty of Scrip¬
ture.”
PURITANS. See Nonconformists.
PURNEAH, a district of British India, in the presidency
of Bengal, bounded on the N. by Nepaul and Sikhim, E.
by the district of Dinagepore, S. by those of Malda and
Bhaugulpore, and W. by that of Bhaugulpore : length,
from N.E. to S.W., 117 miles; breadth, 105 ; area, 5878
square miles. It is low and flat, having no mountains or
hills more than 275 feet above the sea. It is watered by
the Ganges at its south-eastern extremity, and by the
Kosee, Gogaree, and Mahanunda, affluents of that river.
These and other smaller rivers are generally navigable for
vessels of considerable size. The climate in the end of
spring and beginning of summer is hot and dry; in
the latter part of summer the rainy season sets in, and in
winter the cold is often considerable. Rice is the principal
crop raised ; but wheat, barley, pulse, maize, millet, &c.,
are also cultivated. Sugar, cotton, tobacco, &c., are grown ;
and indigo is the chief article of commerce produced in the
district. Some trade is carried on with the adjacent British
districts and with Nepaul; cattle, grain, cotton stuffs, silks,
and indigo being the chief exports. Pop. 1,600,000.
Porneah, the capital of the above district, on both sides
of the Little Kosee, 283 miles N.W. of Calcutta. It
covers a wide space of ground, but this is partly occupied
by gardens and plantations. The principal street, which
is on the left side of the river, is broad, straight, and lined
with good tiled houses. The only public building of im¬
portance is that which accommodates the civil establishment
for the district, and which stands in one of the suburbs.
Pop. nearly 50,000.
PURSER. See Navy, “ Paymaster.”
PUSHKIN, Alexander Sergejewitsh, the most
distinguished poet of Russia, was born on the 26th of May
(June 7) 1799. He was sprung from an ancient Russian
family, whose name figures in the history of the country,
and who is introduced among the dramatis persona of one
of the poet’s historical plays. He was likewise of Moorish
descent. The daughter of Hannibal, a Moor whom Peter
the Great bought and bred into a general, had married the
great-grandfather of the poet, and, if we may trust the
testimony of a bust, transmitted a tint of the Moorish
blood to the young genius, who, in a few generations, was
to render her family immortal. During his early education
he seems to have showed capabilities of the first order.
He entered the lyceum at Tsarskoe-selo in 1811, where
P u s
he was distinguished for general ability and for an excellent Push
memory ; but he seems to have been deficient in eoncen-
trative power (such, at least, as the lyceum required), and
too frequently squandered his time in aimless pleasures.
Here he began to sow his wild oats, and wrote, amid much
youthful fervour and excitement, numerous poetical pieces.
His Ruslan and Ljudmila, a tale in verse after the manner
of Ariosto’s Orlando Furioso, closed the first period of his
irregular poetical career. He had for his teachers at the
lyceum Dershawin, Shukowski, and Kunitzin, men whom
the poet ceased not to mention with respect and admiration,
and two of whom were then the most celebrated poets of
Russia. At the age of eighteen (1817) he left the insti¬
tution and entered the civil service. He obtained a
situation in the department for foreign affairs, and, full of
the ardour of youth and of a fiery, poetic temperament, he
found himself at once amid the gay and brilliant circles of
the northern capital. The poem just referred to was
written at the age of one-and-twenty. It was a real work
of art. The critics attacked it because it was new and out
of their line, and the public devoured it. It may be con¬
sidered as the first great poetical work in the Russian
language, and from it dates an important era in Russian
literature. He now entered on his second period—a period
characterized by a revolutionary spirit and a tone of dis¬
appointment and scepticism. It begins with Plennik
Kavkaskoi, or “Prisoner of the Caucasus” (1822), and
ends with the greatest and most remarkable of his works,
Fugene Onegin (1825-1828). His Ode to Liberty cost him
his freedom, and he was exiled to Bessarabia from 1820 to
1825. During this period his lyrical pieces give us his men¬
tal autobiography. In his more deliberate compositions Lord
Byron exerted a great influence over the poetical develop¬
ment of Pushkin. The poets are similar in their form ;
their heroes and heroines resemble each other; and Pushkin’s
gloomy colouring and mysterious connection between guilt
and fate always remind the reader of the great English
poet. This Byronic phase of Pushkin’s development closed
with this second period, when he stepped forth into entire
artistic independence and nationality. The poet returned
from his Caucasian retirement at the invitation of the new
emperor Nicholas, shorn of much of his bacchanalian
wildness and license, and prepared to enter upon the third
and the closing period of his career. He accepted, under
a regime of terrorism, the office of historiographer of
Peter L, with an annual salary of 6000 rubles (L.1350).
He was now looked upon as a traitor to the cause of
liberty ; but three years of exile to the mouths of the
Danube had probably cooled his enthusiasm. As the first
fruits of his new office, he, in 1827, wrote a history of the
insurrection of Pugatsheff. He passed the season of
autumn, his favourite period for literary production, at his
country seat, Michailowsk, in the province of Pskoff, in the
company of an old nurse to whom he read the MSS. of his
new works. In 1829 he published his historical poem
Poltawa, a highly poetical representation of the time
when his country began its great development under Peter
the Great. To the same period also belongs his historical
drama of Boris Godunoff, which some critics place next
Onegin in point of poetical beauty. As a dramatic work,
however, it is inferior to his Stone Guest (1836). During
the same year (1829) he followed the triumphant march of
Field-Marshal Paskiewitsch to Erzeroum, and in February
1831 he married. The handful of years which were yet
in store for him were years of unmingled happiness. He
wrote the charming novel, The Daughter of the Captive,
and took an active share in the publication of a periodical
called The Reading Library. He likewise published some
of his most finished poems, and kept working at his History
of Peter the Great, an achievement which he was not
destined to complete. On the 27th of January 1837*
PUT
Puteoli Pushkin, who had become involved in a duel with one
|| Van Heeckerin, a foreigner, received a wound which
Putney. pVOved mortal on the 29th of the same month (February
10). Thus died the greatest poet which Russia has yet
known, in the prime of his manhood and in the meridian of
his genius. The emperor showed great kindness to the
poet’s widow and family, and commanded a splendid edition
of his whole works to be published at his own expense.
See Sotchinenia A. Pushkina, isdanie Anenkova (“ The
works of A. Pushkin, edited by Anenkov”), 7 vols., St
Petersburg, 1854-57. (See the National Review for 1858.)
PUTEOLI (the modern Puzzuoli), a maritime city of
Campania, was situated on the eastern shore of the Gull' of
Raise. A colony from the neighbouring Greek city of
Cumse founded it. It was originally called Diccearchia,
and it afterwards acquired the name of Puteoli, from the
w^ells (putei) in the vicinity. But the town was of no note
in the history of the country until the second Punic war.
At that time the Romans began to take advantage of its
finely-sheltered harbour. They first used it in their war¬
like operations against Hannibal. After the war was
finished, they made it the emporium of their eastern com¬
merce. A powerful stimulus was in consequence given to
the prosperity of the city. Its shore and vicinity, after
the lapse of several years, presented a pleasing picture of
thriving opulence. Some ships bound for the Turdetanians
in Spain, with Italian produce, were hoisting their sails in
the bay; others from Alexandria were unlading their
cargoes of corn and costly wares along the arch-supported
mole which ran out into the sea. From the extensive
docks rose the huge skeletons of the vessels which were
being built for the purpose of transporting the large
obelisks from Egypt. Conspicuous among the houses on
the shore, and surrounded with busy traffic, stood the
factories of merchants from the Phoenician cities of Lyre
and Berytus; while, studding the hills in the background
were seen the palatial villas of the Roman patricians, and
among others the famous Academia of the great Cicero.
This prosperity seems to have continued during the entire
period of the supremacy of the Romans. On the dis¬
memberment of the empire, however, Puteoli began to
sink in importance, and a series of dire calamities accele¬
rated its decline. Alaric and Genseric plundered it in the
fifth century. The devastation was completed not long
afterwards by an earthquake and the subsidence of the
land. It was re-peopled in the eighth century only to be
assailed once more with severe disasters. In the ninth
century the Lombard dukes of Benevento reduced it. In
1198 the eruption of the volcano of Solfatara damaged it
considerably ; and in 1538 the upheaval of Monte Nviovo
caused it to suffer again under volcanic agency. I he
Puzzuoli of the present day is a poor unhealthy town of
10,000 inhabitants. The only traces of its ancient grandeur
are some ruins, consisting of a building commonly called
the temple of Serapis, a range of baths, a temple of
Neptune, a mole, an amphitheatre, and a theatre.
PUTIVL, a town of European Russia, in the govern¬
ment of Kursk, on the Seim, 100 miles W.S.W. of Kursk.
It is an ancient place, pretty well built, for the most part
of wood; and it contains numerous churches, a convent,
school, and two benevolent institutions. Vitriol, saltpetre,
tiles, See., are manufactured here ; and an active trade in
rural produce is carried on. Pop. (1849) 4310.
PUTNEY, a village and parish of England, in the
county of Surrey, on the right bank of the Thames,
opposite to Fulham, with which it is connected by a
wooden bridge, 6 miles S.M. of St Paul s. 1 lie old
church, which was partially rebuilt in the time ox Henry
VIL, contains some interesting tombs and monuments.
Besides places of worship for Independents and Wesleyans,
Putney has national infant, and endowed schools. It is
vol. xvm.
PUT 697
celebrated as the birth-place of the historian Gibbon. Putrefac-
Pop. of the parish (1851) 5280. tion
PUTREFACTION. See Fermentation. II
PUTTEE, at own of British India,in the Punjab, about 12 ^uy-de'
miles from the W. bank of the Beas, and 38 S.E. of Lahore. Dom^ >
The most of the streets are paved, and the houses built of
brick. The fertile and populous country in the vicinity is
thought to be peculiarly suited for breeding horses, and there
is a large government stud at Puttee. Pop. about 5000.
PUTTEEALA, a town of British India, capital of a
dependent native state of the same name, in Sirhind, on
the Kosilla, 1023 miles N.W. of Calcutta. It is walled,
and has a citadel of no great strength, where the rajah re¬
sides. The town is compactly built of brick; and has a
more neat and cleanly appearance than most Indian towns,
notwithstanding its dense population. The territory of the
state, which has an area of 4682 square miles, is very fer¬
tile, and exports grain in large quantities. It was taken
possession of by the British in 1809; but the rajah retains
the sovereignty, on condition of furnishing a certain number
of troops in case of war to the British government. Pop.
of the state 1,310,960.
PUTTUN, a town of British India, in the presidency
of Bombay, and province of Guzerat, on the Saraswati, an
affluent of the Banas, 63 miles N.W. of Ahmedabad. It
is surrounded by a wall, partially built from the ruins of the
ancient city of Anhulwara, whose site can still be traced.
Several important manufactures are carried on at Puttun,
especially those of swords, spears, pottery, silk and cotton
cloth. Pop. estimated at 30,000.
PUTTY is a kind of paste compounded of whiting and
linseed oil, beaten together to the consistence of a thick
dough. It is used by glaziers for fastening in the squares
of glass in sash-windows, and by painters for stopping up
the crevices and clefts in timber and wainscots.
PUY, Le, a town of France, capital of the department
of Haute-Loire, on the Borne, near the left bank of the
Loire, 68 miles S.W. of Lyons. It presents an exceed-
ingly picturesque appearance from a distance, on account
of its remarkable and striking situation. Nearly the
whole of the town is built on the steep slopes of a hill,
which rises up in the centre to a scarped and flat-topped
summit, crowned with an ancient castle. This rock, which
is of volcanic formation on a calcareous base, is called the
Rock of Corneille. A still more remarkable, though not
so high rock is that of St Michael, which rises from the
bank of the Borne, a short distance off. It is needle-like
in shape, and its sides are almost perpendicular. The top
is occupied by a small chapel dedicated to St Michael, to
which access is gained by a winding stair partly cut in
the rock. On a near view, Le Puy does not present so
many charms to the visitor as at a distance, for it is ill-
built, with narrow, irregular, steep, and ill-kept streets. In
the loftiest part stands the cathedral, a heavy inelegant
edifice in the Romanesque style. It is of considerable
antiquity, and contains a richly-ornamented altar and a
miraculous image of the Virgin. The Gothic church of St
Laurent is chiefly remarkable for containing a monument
of the celebrated Du Guesclin, whose entrails are buried
here. Near the foot of St Michael’s Rock stands an octa¬
gonal Romanesque building, long supposed to be a temple
of Diana, but probably in reality a Christian baptistery.
Le Puy has a good museum, especially rich in mineralogi-
cal and geological specimens, a public library, college, two
hospitals, &c. Many of the women of the town are em¬
ployed in making cotton lace. Woollen cloth, leather,
nails, Sec., are also manufactured; and an active trade is
carried on here. Pop. (1856) 14,428.
PUY-DE-DOME, a department of France, lying be¬
tween N. Lat. 45. 18. and 46. 16., E. Lon. 2. 27. and 3.
57., bounded on the N. by the department of Allier, E. by
4 T
698
P U Y
P Y L
Puy-de-
Dome.
that of Loire, S. by those of Haute-Loire and Cantal, and
W. by those of Correze and Creuse : length, from N.W. to
S.E., 85 miles ; average breadth, about 50; area, 3002
square miles. The surface is undulating, and has a general
slope towards the north, a great part of the area being oc¬
cupied by the valley of the Allier, which is known by the
name of La Limagne. This valley extends from S. to N.,
and is bounded on either side by lofty branches of
the Cevennes, from which smaller valleys descend, each
watered by an affluent of the Allier. The western part
of the department is mountainous, and contains two vol¬
canic groups called the Monts Domes and the Monts
Dores. The former, which is also called the Chain of
Puys, lies more to the north than the other, and reaches its
culminating point in the Puy-de-D6me, which gives its name
to the department, and attains the height ot 4805 feet above
the sea. It has the form of a truncated cone, and has an
uneven summit, with no trace of a crater. The whole
mountain is covered with green and luxuriant vegetation ;
and the only traces of volcanic agency are the projecting
blocks of lava here and there to be seen. The other sum¬
mits of this group, about sixty in number, are of the same
form and character, and in general have open craters. Of
the Monts Dores the highest summit is the Puy de Sancy,
6196 feet above the sea. The slopes of all these moun¬
tains, as well as of those of Forez, which bound the Li¬
magne on the E., are exceedingly fertile and beautiful;
and the whole valley of the Allier, diversified with isolated
hills and slopes, covered with corn-fields, vineyards, and
meadows, and studded with towns and villages, presents a
most picturesque appearance. The rivers of the department
are the Allier, with its affluents, the chief of which are the
Dore on the E., and the Sionte on the W. The Dordogne
rises in this department, and forms part of its western
boundary. The mineral riches of Puy-de-D6me are very
great; antimony, argentiferous lead, iron, coal, marble, gra¬
nite, basalt, &c., being among its productions. The ex¬
tent of arable land in the department is about 677,000
acres, of meadow land 165,000 acres, of vineyards 52,000
acres, of wood 151,000 acres, and of waste land 361,000
acres. Although agriculture is in a backward state, from
the unwillingness of the people to depart from their old
methods, yet the fertility of the soil prevents any deficiency
. in the quantity of the crops; corn, wine of good quality,
potatoes, fruits, hemp, &e., are produced. Cattle are raised
in large numbers, as well as horses of a small size, but much
esteemed for riding. Silk-worms and bees are also reared.
Puy-de-D6me contains about 13,000 horses, 198,000
horned cattle, 528,000 sheep, 68,000 pigs, and 21,000
goats. Boars, deer, hares, rabbits, foxes, and other wild
animals, are found here. Wolves, also, though much
diminished in numbers, are still to be met with ; and eagles,
vultures, &c., haunt the mountainous districts. The forests
produce large quantities of timber and firewood, especially
pine, oak, and beech. The climate of the department is
different in its different parts. In the Limagne the sum¬
mers are very warm, and the winters short, though some¬
times severe ; but the higher regions are exposed to cold
and inclement weather, often to violent storms. Besides
farming, the industry of the people is chiefly employed in
the working of mines and quarries. The manufactures of
the department are not of much importance ; cutlery, nails,
paper, woollen cloth, hempen stuffs, &c., are the chief articles
produced. A great number of the inhabitants of the moun¬
tainous districts leave their homes during the winter season,
and travel through France in the pursuit of their several
occupations. The principal articles of commerce are agri¬
cultural produce, cattle, hides, confectionary, paper, timber,
&c. Numerous fairs and markets are held in the depart¬
ment. Puy-de-D6me forms the diocese of Clermont, and
has at that town a Protestant minister and a Jewish rabbin.
There is an imperial court at Riom, five tribunals of the Puylaurens
first instance, and other courts of law in the department. [|
Its educational establishments include an academy, a lyceum, v Pylu9, j
five colleges, and 508 primary schools. It is divided into
five arrondissements as follows :—
Cantons. Communes. Pop. (1856).
Claremont-Ferrand  14 108 177,834
Ambert   8 52 86,210
Issoire   9 116 97,670
Riom 13 128 152,323
Thiers     6 39 76,025
Total   50 443 590,062
PUYLAURENS, a town of France, in the depart¬
ment of Tarn, arrondissement and 13 miles S.E. of Lavaur.
It has silk-mills, and a considerable trade in horses and
mules. Pop. 6095.
PUZZUOLI, or Pozzuoli (anciently Puteoli), a town
of Naples, in the province and 6 miles W.S.W. of Naples,
on theE. side of the Gulf of Puzzuoli. It is slightly forti¬
fied, and contains a cathedral and several other churches
and convents. It is chiefly interesting on account of the
remains of the ancient town which it contains. The har¬
bour is natural and well sheltered ; and an active fishery is
carried on here. The reddish volcanic gravel found in the
vicinity is formed into a fine cement called pozzolana,
after the name of the town. Pop. 10,000.
PWLLHELI, a sea-port town, municipal and parliamen¬
tary borough of Wales, in the county of Caernarvon, on the
N. side of Cardigan Bay, 21 miles S.S.W. of Caernarvon.
Its situation is very fine, commanding a view ol the whole
of Cardigan Bay in one direction, and of Snowdon and other
mountains in another. There is one principal street, which
is lined with neat and well-built houses. The town con¬
tains places of worship belonging to the Church of Eng¬
land, Presbyterians, Independents, Baptists, and Method¬
ists ; national and other schools, a poor’s-house, and a
town-hall. A large number of the people are employed in
ship-building; and there is a considerable coasting trade.
The harbour is large enough to admit vessels of sixty tons
burden. Excellent salmon is caught here ; and also oysters,
lobsters, crabs, and other shell-fish. Pwllheli unites with
Caernarvon, Bangor, Conway, Crickcieth, and Nevin in
returning one member to the House of Commons. Pop.
(1851) 2331.
PYCNOSTYLE. See G'/ossar?/to Architecture.
PYGMALION, a king of Cyprus, who, being disgusted
at the dissolute lives of the women of his island, resolved
to live in perpetual celibacy; and making a statue of ivory,
he fell so passionately in love with it that he besought
Venus to give it life. On his return, he embraced, as
usual his ivory form, when he perceived that it became
sensible by degrees, and was at last a living maid, who
found herself in her lover’s arms the moment she saw the
light. Venus blessed their union; and he became by her
the father of Paphus.
PYLADES, was a son of Strophius, King of Phocis, by
one of the sisters of Agamemnon. He was educated to¬
gether with his cousin Orestes, with whom he formed the
most inviolable friendship, and whom he assisted to revenge
the murder of Agamemnon, by assassinating Clytemnestra
and (Egysthus. He also accompanied him into I aurica
Chersonesus ; and for his services Orestes rewarded him
by giving him his sister Electra in marriage. Pylades had
by her two sons, Medon and Strophius. ihe friendship of
Orestes and Pylades became proverbial. (See Orestes.)
Pylades, a celebrated pantomimic dancer in the reign of
Augustus Caesar at Rome. (See Ballet.)
PYLUS (Navarino), an ancient town of Messina.
Originally it seems to have stood at the foot of Mount
Aigaleos. In that situation it was probably the “ Sandy
Pylos” so often mentioned in Homer as the city of Nestor.
P Y M
Thither the venerable patriarch returned after the siege
of Troy, and there he was found several years afterwards
by the wandering Telemachus, still enjoying a green old
age amid a family of valiant and intelligent sons. When
the Nestorian capital was destroyed, the name Pylus was
transferred to a new city on the neighbouring promontory
of Coryphasium. This town in its turn was left to fall into
decay and ruin when its inhabitants, at the end of the
second Messenian war, emigrated in a body. Pylus then
remained desolate and unfrequented until, in 425 b.c., it
became the scene of one of the severest checks which
Sparta received in the Peloponnesian war. In that year
a fort, built on the site of the ruined city, and garrisoned
by a small Athenian force under Demosthenes, was unsuc¬
cessfully attacked by a body of Lacedaemonians. The
assailants found themselves foiled on all hands. On at¬
tempting to land in front of the stronghold, they were
repulsed. Equally vain was their endeavour to maintain a
blockade by settling down on the wild and rugged island
of Sphacteria to the south of the fort. In course of time
an Athenian fleet arrived, and, taking up its position in the
Bay of Pylus, between the island and the mainland, block¬
aded them in their turn. They were now completely at
the mercy of their enemies. In vain did they sue for a
truce. Much harder conditions were in store for them. In
no long time they were surprised in their strong position
by a body of troops under Cleon, and were forced to give
up their arms. (See Navarino.)
PYM, John, an English patriot and orator, was the son
of a Somersetshire squire, and was born at Brymore in 1584.
Having prepared for college, he entered Broadgate Hall
(now Pembroke College), Oxford, where he equipped him¬
self with all the resources and accomplishments of polite
learning. On leaving the university he repaired to one of
the inns of court, and stored his mind with the principles
and details of common law. It was his good fortune to be
appointed to an office in the Exchequer, where he could
acquire business tact and financial skill. At length, in
1614, as member for the borough of Colne, he tested his
political knowledge and oratorical powers on the great field
of parliamentary debate. But it was not until 1620 that
Pym began to take an active part in the resistance which
the House of Commons was then making to the crooked
and arrogant policy of James I. He placed himself by the
side of those earnest men who were then forming them¬
selves into a country party. The details of his deeds, it is
true, have not been described; but at intervals his name
becomes audible, and his form is seen amid the turmoil of
the contest. At one time the monarch, balked by the
Parliament in his schemes of kingcraft, is heard calling him
“ a very ill-tempered spirit.” Shortly afterwards, he is
found in the number of the twelve commissioners, or (as
James in a mood of silly sarcasm designated them), “ the
twal kynges,” who went to his majesty at Newmarket with
a vindication of the privileges of Parliament. Then he is
seen along with Coke, Philips, and Mallory, standing before
the council-table, and receiving a sentence of imprison¬
ment in the Tower for his incorrigible opposition to the
court. The parliamentary activity of Pym increased after
the accession of Charles I. in 1625. The cause of his
country then became the task of his life. At all times,
and in every place, his vigorous mind was still occupied
with the one great object. He studied his speeches late
into the night, at his house in Gray’s Inn Lane. He ex¬
plored, in search of precedents, every state-paper in the
manuscript collections at Lambeth. He was found in the
chair at everv religious meeting which the serious-minded
politicians of those troublous times convened. There was
not an important discussion in the House in which his
eloquent tongue was not heard vindicating the liberties of
the people against the pusillanimous stratagems of the
PYM 699
crown. At the bar of the Lords, too, he sometimes ap¬
peared to plead the cases which the Commons had taken
up. It was there that he impeached Buckingham, the
favouiite of the king, for embezzling the public property;
it was there that he aiiaigned IMainwaring, a creature of
Laud, for employing all the persuasions and fulminations
of the pulpit to advocate despotism. Nor when Charles
brought affairs nearer to a crisis, by abandoning the custom
of convoking Parliaments, and by governing by preroga¬
tive, did he bate one jot of his opposition. He opened a
communication with the protesting covenanters of Scotland.
He rode with Hampden through several of the counties,
instigating the people to petition the coming Parliament.
His weapons of eloquence also seem to have been dili¬
gently prepared; for on the meeting of the Short Parlia¬
ment in 1640, he delivered a speech of the length of two
hours, which immediately brought the court party to bay,
and gave occasion for a speedy dissolution.
It was, however, as a member of the Long Parliament
that Pym rose to the height of his influence. The title of
“ King Pym,” which was applied to him in ridicule, well
describes the authority which he now began to wield. To
lead was a duty for which his genius and multifarious ac¬
quirements well fitted him. The Parliament had not long
commenced before he arraigned the Earl of Strafford at the
bar of the House of Lords, on the charge of high treason.
The legal evidence was not sufficient; but recourse was
had to a bill of attainder. Concluding the impeachment on
the 13th of April 1641, he triumphantly proved that the
earl’s government in Ireland had been subversive of “ the
fundamental laws” of the kingdom ; and he demanded in
works of terrific directness and emphasis that sentence of
death should be passed upon the prisoner. “ Nothing,”
said he, “ can be more equal than that he should perish by
the justice of that law which he would have subverted.
Neither will this be a new way of blood. There are marks
enough to trace this law to the very original of this king¬
dom ; and if it hath not been put in execution, as he allegeth,
these 240 years, it was not for want of law, but that all
that time hath not bred a man bold enough to commit such
crimes as these.” Judgment was given in accordance with
this demand; and the champion of the popular cause soon
proceeded to assail other pliant servants of the king. He
again appeared at the bar of the House of Lords to press
the impeachment of Laud, on the charge of high treason.
Not long afterwards he was the mover of the Grand Re¬
monstrance to the monarch and the people, which, after
enumerating a long list of grievances, concluded with the
petition that the bishops should be deprived of their votes.
After the civil war had commenced, Pym continued to
maintain his prominent position and influence. While the
other chiefs of the Parliament were advocating their prin¬
ciples on the field of battle, he was in London ably con¬
ducting the executive. With masterly eloquence, he calmed
the fears and conciliated the affections of the popular meet¬
ings in the Guildhall. With vigorous tact he defeated
Waller’s plot, and dragged the conspirators forth to punish-
Pym.
ment.
By this time, however, the continual toils and anxieties
of Pym were fast bringing his career to a close. In Novem¬
ber 1643 royalist horses were standing constantly saddled
and bridled in the stables at London, ready to ride with
the news of his death to the king at Oxford. On the 8th
of December intelligence was brought to the Commons
that their leader had just died at Derby House. They
resolved to pay him the last honours with all the marks of
esteem which lay in their power. On the 15th of the same
month ten of the chief gentlemen among the Commons
carried his bier on their shoulders ; both Houses of Par¬
liament walked before in mourning ; and he was buried
“ with wonderful pomp and magnificence” in Westminster
700
P Y N
P Y R
Pynaker Abbey. The nation erected a monument over bis tomb,
and appointed themselves the guardians of his family.
Pyrenees. (See an able and erudite Life of John Pym, containing
numerous interesting extracts from his speeches, in Forster’s
British Statesmen, published in Lardner’s “ Cabinet Cyclo¬
paedia.”)
PYNAKER, Adam, an eminent Dutch landscape-
painter, was born in 1621 at Pynaker, the village whose
name he afterwards assumed. His style was formed dur¬
ing a residence of three years in Italy. Accordingly, on
his return to his native land, he painted landscapes very
different in character from those of his fellow-countrymen.
His favourite subject was a wild mountain scene enlivened
by the sheen of a rushing cascade, and softened by silvery
birches and other trees. Occasionally there were intro¬
duced ruined castles crowning the heights, and solitary
herdsmen tending their cattle in the plain below. He was
also fond of representing evening scenes on the Tiber.
The golden glow of the sunken sun was still lingering on
the tops of the trees ; barges were sailing down the stream
laden with goods and passengers; and flocks were grazing
and peasants were sauntering among the luxuriant herbage
on the banks. Pynaker had executed about seventy pic¬
tures at his death, which took place in 1673.
PYRAMIDS. See Egypt, § iii.
PYRENEES, a mountain chain in the S.W. of Europe,
separating France from Spain, and extending from Cape
Creux on the Mediterranean, westwards to the neigh¬
bourhood of Fuenterrabia on the Bay of Biscay. It lies
between N. Lat. 42. 26. and 43. 23., E. Long. 3. 10. and
W. 0. 48. Its length is about 270 miles; and in the
centre, where its width is greatest, it has a breadth of 60
miles. It does not consist of a single chain of heights, but
of two parallel ranges about 20 miles distant, connected
near the centre by a transverse ridge. It is near the
middle of the range that the highest elevations occur; from
this point it gradually slopes downwards to either extre¬
mity. From the central ridge numerous spurs project, both
to the north and to the south ; between which lie the prin¬
cipal valleys of the Pyrenees. These valleys do not ex¬
tend, like those of the Alps, in the direction of the prin¬
cipal chain, but at right angles with it; and they terminate
in what are called necks {cols) or gates {portes), where
there are frequently passes over the mountains. The length
of the valleys ''anes from 10 to 40 miles, and many of
them terminate m vast circular basins called cirques or
oules, surrounded on three sides by steep precipices. The
slope of the mountains on the side of France is much more
gradual than on the other side. On the former side there
are gentle declivities and terraces, which lead down to
smooth and verdant meadows; while on the Spanish side
the scenery is wild and rugged, and the precipices steep.
The principal summits and ridges of the Pyrenees are the
following, beginning from the Mediterranean :—
Height in
feet.
Le Canigon  9,051
Pic Pedroax  9,511
Col de Puynioren  6,240
Pic du Port de Siguier... 9,523
Montcalm  10,663
Nethou 11,063
Maladetta   10,764
Port d’Oo  9,756
Height in
feet.
Port Viel d’Estaube  8,323
Port de Pinede  8,122
Mont Perdu 10,891
Le Cylindre 10,796
Port de Gavarnie  7,582
Passage de Tourrnalet  7,075
Vigneniale  10,718
Pic du Midi  9,350
The chain of the Pyrenees has very much the appear¬
ance of a huge wall between the two countries which it
separates, as the ridge has almost everywhere a height little
less than that of the lofty summits. The passes of the
mountains are at a much greater height than many of
those across the Alps, and they are in consequence much
less accessible. Although there are as many as seventy or
eighty passes in the whole range, many of them are both Pyrenees,
difficult and dangerous, and there are but few practicable for
carriages, such as that of the Bidassoa near the Bay of
Biscay, and that of the Col de Pertus along the shore of
the Mediterranean. The snow-line of the Pyrenees has
an elevation of about 9000 feet on the northern slope, and
8000 on the southern ; being considerably below that of
the Alps. There are numerous glaciers in these mountains,
but they are in general of small size and widely removed
from each other. They only occupy the higher slopes of
the mountains, and not like those of the Alps the deep
glens and valleys. The most important of the glaciers are
those of Maladetta, Cabridoul, Mont Perdu, Vignemale,
and Neouvielle. The most of the glaciers, as well as of the
lakes, which are generally of a small size, lie on the French
side of the mountains. Numerous streams take their rise
in the Pyrenees, but the most of them are small and insig¬
nificant. Each of the valleys is traversed by a brook,
called in French Gave, in Spanish Gaba, and these again
unite to form larger rivers. Those on the north side form
the Adour, the Ariege, and the Garonne, flowing into the
Bay of Biscay; and the Aude, Gly, Tet, and Tech, into
the Mediterranean. Those on the Spanish side, with the
exception of the Bidassoa, which falls into the Atlantic,
and a few small streams into the Mediterranean, join the
Ebro on its left bank. There are many mineral springs,
both cold and hot, especially on the French side of the
mountains. The principal of these, which are much fre¬
quented by visitors, are Bagneres de Luchon, Bagneres de
Bigorre, Barege, Cauterets, St Sauveur, Eaux Bonnes,
and Eaux Chaudes. In geological formation, the nucleus
of the mountains is granitic, and the highest summits of the
chain are of this nature. Micaceous schist, limestone, sand¬
stone, oolite, and calcareous strata also occur on the lower
slopes; and trap, basalt, porphyry, &c., are scattered about
in different places. Iron, copper, zinc, and lead are among
the mineral riches of the Pyrenees ; but iron is the only
one of these that has been profitably worked. The climate
of the mountains varies considerably in different parts:
towards either extremity the lower elevation of the range,
and the vicinity of the sea, renders it more mild than it is
in the centre. Vegetation ascends to a higher altitude here
than in the Alps ; and the immense forests which cover the
sides and sometimes the tops of the mountains, not only of
firs, but of oaks and beeches, form one of the most charac¬
teristic and beautiful features of the Pyrenees. The tim¬
ber has, however, suffered much from the carelessness and
w'aste of the people of the country. These vast forests are
filled with wild animals of many different kinds, the bear,
the boar, the wolf, the lynx, and the fox, being among the
number. The izard, an animal like the chamois, but of
smaller size, and the wild goat, form a great attraction for
the sportsman. The rivers abound in trout, and those that
flow into the Atlantic in salmon. The inhabitants of the
Pyrenees include several races that are remarkable for
their antiquity or peculiarities of dress and manners. At
the western extremity, partly in France and partly in Spain,
dwell the Basques, the descendants of the ancient Canta¬
brians, who so stubbornly resisted the Roman arms, and
have since kept their position in these mountain fastnesses
against all invaders. Further east, on the French side,
are the simple and primitive people of Bearn, from among
whom Henri IV. sprung; and in the eastern part of the
mountains the inhabitants of the French side have much
resemblance to the Catalans of Spain. The people on the
Spanish side of the Pyrenees are a bold hardy race, living
by smuggling and the chase, with an invincible hatred to
the French, and forming excellent guerilla soldiers, as has
often been proved. The Pyrenees have been the scene
of several important historical events. Hannibal crossed
them by the Col de Pertus, just before his more celebrated
P Y R
Pyrenees, passage of the Alps; and Caesar afterwards did so at the
Basses, same place. In 778, Charlemagne, advancing into Spain,
v>—*V“"/ crossed by the Pass of Roncesvailes, where he suffered a
defeat and lost many of his peers at the hands of the Basque
mountaineers. The same pass was again surmounted by
an English army under the Black Prince, invading Navarre ;
and in 1813, after the victory of Yittoria, the British army
under Wellington drove the French across the Pyrenees
into their own country. It was on this occasion that the
battle of Roncesvalles, the assault and capture of St Sebas¬
tian, the passage of the Bidassoa and of the Nivelle, and
other actions, took place.
Pyrenees, Basses, a department of France, in the
south-western corner of the country, lying between N.
Lat. 42. 47. and 43. 35., E. Long. 0. 2. and W. 1. 45.;
bounded on the N. by the department of Landes, E.
by those of Gers and Hautes-Pyrenees, S. and S.W. by
Spain, and N.W. by the Bay of Biscay: length, from E.
to W., 88 miles ; greatest breadth, 54; area, 2900 square
miles. It lies in the lower slopes and at the foot of the
Pyrenees, from which it derives its name ; and a part of
its surface is occupied by the offsets and valleys which
extend northwards from these mountains. The department
is watered by the streams which rise in the Pyrenees, and
flow down these valleys; most of them, except the Ni¬
velle, and the Bidassoa which rises in Spain, and forms
the frontier between the two countries, flow into the Adour.
This river, which only washes the department at its N.E.
corner, and again at the N.W. near its mouth, receives,
among other affluents from Basses-Pyrenees, the Gave de
Pau, the Gave d’Oloron, and the Nive. Of these rivers,
the Adour, Nive, and Nivelle, are navigable for some dis¬
tance above their mouths; but all are employed for float¬
ing down timber and other articles almost from their very
sources. Though the soil is in general not very remarkable
for fertility, the lower valleys are richly productive, and
the loftier slopes and mountains, besides their vast and
valuable forests, afford excellent pasturage. The hillsides
are covered with excellent vineyards, and with plantations
of fruit trees. There are, however, some tracts of barren
or marshy ground, especially in the N.W. and near the
Adour. The climate of the lower regions is temperate
and healthy, though very variable; but in the more ele¬
vated parts the goitre is not unfrequent. The department
is calculated to contain 386,072 acres of arable land,
321,671 acres of wood, 57,266 of vineyards, 163,720 of
meadows, and 841,995 of heaths and waste land. Agri¬
culture is in a very backward state, and the produce of
corn is not at all adequate to supply the wants of the
people. Besides maize, which forms a principal article
of food here, wheat and flax are the chief crops raised ;
while rye, barley, and millet are also grown. The quantity
of wine produced in the department is upwards of 6,500,000
gallons annually. Horses, mules, and cattle are raised here
in considerable numbers, as well as sheep and pigs; the
latter of which supply the much-esteemed hams of Pau
and Bayonne. The mineral riches of the country are
very great, including iron, salt, marble, alabaster, slate,
limestone, and potter’s clay, which are worked to some
extent. Manufactures have made considerable progress in
the country, especially those of linen and woollen stuffs ;
as well as leather, paper, pottery, hardware, chocolate, and
brandy. Ship-building is carried on along the coast, the
timber of the forests being excellent for that purpose. The
commerce is very active ; horses, cattle, hams, hides, wool,
wines, brandy, timber, and other produce of the country
are exported ; while colonial wares, whale and seal oil, &c.,
are imported. A great deal of trade, chiefly contraband,
is carried on with Spain. 1 he department for ms the diocese
of Bayonne ; and besides the places of worship of the esta¬
blished church, contains a Calvanistic church at Oithez,
P Y R 701
and several Jewish synagogues. There is at Pau a court Pyren^t s,
o appeal for the three departments of Landes, Haufces, and Hautes.
Basses-Pyrenees; five tribunals of the first instance,’ and '
two of commerce, being the other courts of justice in the
department. For educational purposes there are a normal
school, a college, a lyceum, six superior communal schools,
and 914 elementary schools. The capital is Pau, and
there are five arrondissements as follows :—
Cantons, Communes. Pop. (1866).
Pau  li 185 127,771
Oloron  8 80 73,675
Orthez   7 135 78,929
Bayonne   8 52 86,996
MaulSon  6 108 69,071
Total  40 560 436,442
Pyrenees, Hautes, a department of France, lying be¬
tween N. Lat. 42. 39. and 43. 34., E. Long. 0. 30. and
W. 0. 20.; bounded on the W. by the department of
Basses-Pyrenees, N. by that of Gers, E. by that of Haute-
Garonne, and S. by Spain: length, from N. to S., 48
miles ; greatest breadth, 45 ; area, 1790 square miles. The
surface is very mountainous, being almost entirely occu¬
pied with the Pyrenees and their branches. In many of
the glens and valleys the scenery is of the most sublime
and beautiful character. The country slopes gradually to¬
wards the north ; and a chain of hills running in the same
direction separates between the valley of the Adour on the
W. and of the Garonne on the E. These rivers receive
all the numerous brooks which flow' down from the moun¬
tains ; the chief affluents of Adour being the Gave de Pau,
which waters the south-west of the department, and the
Arros, which flows northward, and joins it from the E.
The Garonne, rising in the valley of Arau, which belongs
to Spain, receives from this department the Neste in the
south-east, the Gers, and the Baise, which water its north¬
eastern portion. The principal plain in the Hautes-Py¬
renees is that of Bigorre, which lies between two branches
of the Pyrenees, and slopes gradually towards the north.
With the exception of this plain, there is very little good
soil, from the rugged and mountainous character of the
country. The pasture grounds, however, are good, and
the forests valuable. The extent of arable land is esti¬
mated at 235,000 acres ; of meadow land, 123,000 acres ;
of vineyards, 37,000 acres; of wood, 200,000 acres; of
waste land, not less than 395,000 acres. The principal
crops are maize and wheat, but the quantity produced is
insufficient for domestic consumption; of the wine grown,
however, there is a surplus for exportation. The climate
varies with the varying elevation of the country ; but it is
on the whole salubrious. On the plain of Bigorre it is
mild ; but in the higher regions changeable and inclement
weather prevails. Besides agriculture, the peasantry are
actively employed in pastoral pursuits. Large numbers of
horses, which are much valued for cavalry, as well as horned
cattle, mules for export into Spain, sheep and pigs, are
raised here. Much attention is also paid to poultry, espe¬
cially geese, and to bees. The mineral wealth of the de¬
partment is great, including iron, copper, zinc, lead, &c.;
but these are only worked to a small extent. Granite,
marble, chalk, limestone, and slate, aie quanied. Manu-
facturing industry is not very active here. It consists
chiefly in the working of iron, and producing woollen and
cotton fabrics, the stuffs called barege (from the town of
that name), paper, and leather. There is a considerable
trade in timber for ship-building, cattle, salt provisions,
cheese, &c. Hautes-Pyrenees forms the diocese of Tarbes,
and contains three courts of the fiist instance, 4 col-
leo-es, 4 upper schools, and 768 elementary schools. The
capital is Tarbes; and there are three arrondissements as
follows:—
702
F Y R
P Y R
Pyr^nees-
Orientales
Pyrometer.
Cantons. Commnncs. Pop. (1856).
Tarbes  11 195 111,997
Argeles  5 91 41,682
Bagneres  10 195 92,177
Total  26 481 245,856
PtrIiIX^es-Orientales, a department of France, lying
between 42. 20. and 42. 55. N. Lat., 1. 44. and 3. 10. E.
Long., bounded on the W. and N. by the departments of
Ariege and Aude, E. by the Mediterranean, and S. by
Spain: length, from E. to W., 75 miles ; greatest breadth,
35; area, 1585 square miles. Though the greater part of
the surface is occupied by mountains, yet there is a wide
plain stretching along the shore of the Mediterranean. In
the interior there are two nearly parallel chains of hills
which run from E. to W., and divide the country into
three long valleys, watered by the Gly, the Tech, and the
Tet respectively. These rivers, none of which is navi¬
gable, fall into the Mediterranean, and water the greater
part of the country ; while the Aude, which rises in the east
of this department, flows northward through the depart¬
ment to which it gives its name, and it too falls into the
Mediterranean. The natural fertility of the soil is by no
means great, and a large portion of it is unfit for cultiva¬
tion ; but the plain along the sea-shore is so well watered
by a system of irrigation from the rivers that traverse it
as to produce a supply of corn more than enough to meet
all domestic wants. In the western portion of the depart¬
ment, which is very hilly, vines thrive well on the high
ground, while the valleys are little inferior to the eastern
plain ; and even along the southern frontier, rye, oats,
maize, pulse, &c., may be grown, where neither wheat nor
the vine could flourish. The department contains about
346,000 acres of arable land, and 395,000 of heaths and
waste land, the rest being occupied with forests, vineyards,
See. The annual produce of wines is about 8,800,000 gal¬
lons, and more than a third of this quantity is exported.
The wines of Collioure, Port-Vendres, Rivesaltes, See.,
which come from this country, are very highly esteemed.
The extent of the pasture-grounds enable the people to Pyrites
keep large numbers of live stock,—horses, mules, horned ||
cattle, sheep, and goats. Like the other Pyrenean depart- Pyrometer,
ments, this region contains many valuable minerals. There
are numerous iron mines here, as well as smelting-houses
and forges for the metal. Coal, marble, alabaster, granite,
and sulphur are also worked. The manufactures of Py-
renees-Orientales include those of leather, broad cloth,
hosiery, corks, brandy, pottery, and bricks, besides those
connected with the production of wine and iron. The
fisheries of tunny, anchovies, sardines, Sec., along the coast
are very productive; and there is an active coasting trade.
The exports considerably exceed the imports in value ;
and consist of wine, brandy, cattle, salt provisions, linen
and woollen stuffs, iron, and marble. The department
forms the diocese of Perpignan, and contains three courts
of the first instance and one of commerce. For the pur¬
poses of education it has a college, a normal school, a supe¬
rior communal school, and 313 elementary schools. It is
divided into three arrondissements as follows, and the capi¬
tal is Perpignan :—
Cantons. Communes., Pop. (1856).
Perpignan  7 85 90,099
Ceret  4 42 42,181
Prades   6 101 50,776
Total 17 228 183,056
PYRITES. See Chemistry, §§ Iron, and Copper.
PYRITZ, a town of Prussia, in the province of Pome¬
rania and government of Stettin, in a fertile plain 24 miles
S.E. of Stettin. It is surrounded by walls, with five lofty
towers, now the only remains of its ancient fortifications, and
entered by three gates decorated with antique ornaments.
There are here a town-hall, churches, schools, and hospitals,
as well as manufactures of leather and cloth. Not far off
is a fountain where the earliest converts to Christianity in
Pomerania, 7000 in number, were baptized by Otto of
Bamberg in 1124. A monument was erected here in 1824
to commemorate the event. Pop. 5807.
PY HOME TER.
Pyrometer (from 7rvp, fire, and firpov, a measure), an
instrument for estimating high degrees of temperature,
such as the heat of furnaces and the fusing-points of many of
the metals. The scale of a common thermometer is gradu¬
ated on the supposition that equal increments of heat produce
equal amounts of expansion; but this is only true within
moderate ranges of temperature; for as we increase the
heat, most fluids leap forward, as it were, to meet their
boiling points, and cease to be trustworthy as measurers of
temperature. Thus, according to Regnault, the total ex¬
pansion of mercury for three progressive intervals of 180°
Fahr. is as follows:—Between 32° and 212° it is 1 part in
55'08 parts; between 212° and 392° it is 1 in 54-61;
and between 392° and 572° it is 1 in 54*01. Thus, at
various times, instruments have been contrived for measur¬
ing temperatures above the boiling-point of mercury (662°
Fahr.), the term pyrometer having been first used by Mus-
chenbroek about theyear 1730. His instrument consisted of
a metallic bar, about six inches long, one end of which was
fixed, while the other was free to move as the metal in¬
creased in length, from the effect of a number of spirit-
lamps placed beneath it, and charged with a known quan¬
tity of highly-rectified spirits of wine. As the bar increased
in length, it moved a pinion and wheel, and the latter moved
an index over a graduated circle, each degree of which
corresponded to a linear expansion of T^70ths of an inch.
The instrument was improved by Desaguliers, who substi¬
tuted fine cords and friction rollers for the wheel and pinion.
Pyrometers were also contrived by Ellicott, Graham,
Smeaton, Ferguson, and others. These do not differ from
Muschenbroek’s instrument, in which the minute expan¬
sion of a bar of metal is multiplied by means of a succes¬
sion of levers, or a system of wheels and pulleys, a method
which must be very liable to error, in consequence of the
bending of the parts, obliquity of action, and other causes.
Besides this, the substance itself, if liable to be softened by
heat, would undergo compression in moving the machinery,
an objection which, to a certain extent, applies to the more
refined apparatus employed by Lavoisier and Laplace, in
which the expansion of the metal bar deflected a telescope
from the position that it had at the beginning of the expe¬
riment, and the absolute expansion was deduced from the
extent of this deflection, which was read off upon a gra¬
duated scale placed at a considerable distance in front of
the telescope. In 1794 Trough ton contrived an apparatus
somewhat similar; only, instead of a telescope, he used a
spirit-level, the deviations of which from the horizontal de¬
termined the expansion of the metal.
Pouillet’s method may also be referred to for measuring
directly the linear expansion of solids, and it has the advan¬
tage of being applicable to very high temperatures. It
consists of a solid plate of metal, on which is placed a
radius turning on a centre, and traversing a graduated arc,
the divisions of which are read off by a microscope. The
radius carries a telescope of short focus, fixed at right angles
to its direction, while a similar telescope is fixed to the
PYROMETER.
703
l?yroraet<*r. plate itself, allowing the radius to traverse under it. The
' bar which is the subject of experiment is placed in a
copper trough furnished with parallel plates of glass, through
which its ends can be seen. Now, if one extremity of the
bar be kept opposite the fixed telescope, while the move-
able telescope is directed to the other extremity at the
commencement of the observation, any expansion of the
bar caused by raising its temperature may be estimated by
the arc through which the radius must be turned, in order
to bring the moveable telescope to bear on the other ex¬
tremity in its new position, the distance of the radius from
the bar being accurately known. For very high tempera¬
tures, the bar may be placed in a furnace, and when raised
to the required temperature, apertures may be opened in
the furnace walls, so as to give a view of the ends of the
bar, and allow its expansion to be measured as before. By
means of this apparatus an expansion in the bar of x^g-^th
of a millimetre, or about of an inch, can be ap¬
preciated.
In the measurement of the base-line for the great French
survey, Borda used rods consisting of a rule of brass placed
upon a somewhat longer rule of platinum, and attached at
one extremity. The portion of the platinum rule not
covered by the brass one was divided into millionths of the
entire length of the rule, and further subdivided by means
of a vernier and microscope adjusted to the extremity of
the brass rule. The value of each of these divisions was
first ascertained by surrounding the compound rule with
melting ice, and afterwards with boiling water, when it
was only required to observe the indications of the vernier
to apply the requisite correction for reducing the length of
the rod to the standard temperature. Ramsden’s con¬
trivance, used by General Roy in determining the expan¬
sion of the rods employed in measuring the base-line on
Hounslow Heath was as follows:—The rod was immersed
in water, and over each extremity was placed a microscope,
to which a slow motion could be given in the direction of
the length of the bar by means of a micrometer-screw.
The lines of collimation of the microscopes having been
adjusted so as to coincide with two points near the ends of
the rod, the temperature of the water was gradually raised
any required number of degrees, as indicated by a thermo¬
meter, when the elongation of the rod destroyed the coin¬
cidence of its extremities with the lines of collimation of
the microscopes, which was re-established by turning the
micrometer-screws, and noting the number of turns and
fractions of a turn required for the purpose. In this way a
direct measure of the expansion was obtained, free from
the errors of levers, wheels, and pinions.
In the measurement of the base-line of Loch Foyle for
the ordnance survey of Ireland, General Colby employed
a compound bar of iron and brass, so arranged that their
different powers of expansion and contraction should pie-
serve exactly the same distance between two points at the
extremities of the bars, instead of the usual method of
allowing for the change in length according to the tempera¬
ture at which each rod was laid. The two bars, one of
iron, the other of brass, each ten feet long, were placed
parallel to each other, and riveted together at their centres,
and coated with a non-conducting substance, to equalize
the susceptibility of the two metals to change of tempera¬
ture. It was ascertained, by numerous experiments, that
the iron and the brass bars expanded and contracted, in
their transitions from cold to heat and from heat to cold, in
the proportion of 3 to 5. Across each extremity, therefore,
of these combined bars was fixed a tongue of iron, with a
minute dot of platinum, so situated that under every
degree of expansion and contraction of the rods the dots
at each end always remained at the constant distance of
10 feet*
In the Philosophical Transactions for 1782, 1784, and
1786, is a description of Wedgwood’s pyrometer. This Pyrometer,
was based upon the property possessed by clay to contract ^^ v
and harden by exposure to a high temperature, the clay,
under such circumstances, losing a portion of its combined
water, exactly proportioned, as it was thought, to the in¬
tensity of the heat. The clay was punched out into small
cylinders, with one side flattened, and having been exposed
to the temperature which it was desired to measure, the
amount of the contraction was determined by sliding the
cylinders along a metallic groove or gauge, the sides of
which gradually converged until they arrived at a point
beyond which they would not descend. The gauge was
divided into 240 parts or degrees, each of which was cal¬
culated to be equal to 130° Falir., while the zero of the scale,
indicating a red heat, corresponded, according to Wedg¬
wood’s experiments, to 1077°. The difficulty of obtaining
clay of uniform composition is one objection to this method
of measuring high temperatures; different kinds of clay
afford very different results, as does also the same kind of
clay prepared with a little more or less of mechanical force;
but the most fatal objection is, that clay will contract as
much by the long continuance of a comparatively low
heat as by the short continuance of a high one. This
accounts for the enormous exaggeration of Wedgwood’s
degrees, and the disuse into which the instrument has
fallen.
Achard contrived a pyrometer in the form of the common
thermometer, consisting of a bulb and graduated tube of
semi-transparent porcelain highly baked, and containing
a fusible alloy of bismuth, lead, and tin, which liquefied at
about 212°, and by its expansion noted higher tempera¬
tures, the semi-transparent material allowing the rise of
the metal to be seen.
The method contrived by Messrs Dulong and Petit for
measuring the absolute expansions of different substances
deserves notice. By observing the difference in height at
which mercury stood in the two limbs of a U tube, when
of different temperatures, they obtained the absolute ex¬
pansion of the mercury, and by comparing this with the
apparent expansion of mercury in a glass tube, they deduced
the absolute expansion of the glass. When the expansion
of a metal was to be estimated, a cylinder of it was put
into a glass tube, closed at one end, and drawn to a capil¬
lary opening at the other, while the rest of the tube was
filled with mercury. On heating the tube, a portion of
the mercury was expelled, equal to the excess of the ab¬
solute expansions of the mercury and the metal above that
of the glass; and as the expansions of the mercury and of
the glass had already been determined, the weight of the
mercury expelled determined the expansion of the metal.
In 1803 M. Guyton de Morveau submitted to the Na¬
tional Institute a pyrometer, consisting of a bar of platinum,
about 2 inches long, placed in a porcelain groove, one end
resting against the solid end of the groove, while the other,
pressed upon the short arm of a lever, the longer arm^ of
which moved a vernier over a graduated circular arc. The
indications of the vernier at the beginning and end of an
experiment furnished the means for determining an expan¬
sion. This instrument, however, was not applied to the
determining of higher temperatures than that of the melt¬
ing point of antimony, in consequence of the softening which
platinum undergoes at a red heat.
In the Philosophical Transactions for 1830 is a descrip¬
tion of Professor Daniell’s pyrometer, which deserves spe¬
cial notice, as being the first instrument constructed for
determining high temperatures with anything like accuracy.
It consists^f two parts, the register and the scale: the
register is a solid bar of black-lead earthenware highly
baked; in this is drilled a hole, into which a bar of any
metal 6 inches long may be dropped, so as to rest upon
its solid end. A cylindrical piece of porcelain, called the
704
PYEO METER.
Pyrometer, index, is next placed on the top of the bar, and confined
v—^ in its place by a ring or strap of platinum passing round
the top of the register, which is partially cut away at the
top for the reception of a wedge of porcelain. When this
arrangement is exposed to a high temperature, the expan¬
sion of the metallic bar forces the index forwards to the
amount of the excess of its expansion over that of the
black lead, and on cooling, the index will be left at the
point of greatest elongation. It is the function of the scale
to measure the distance which the index has been thrust
forward from its first position. The scale, which is inde¬
pendent of the register, consists of two rules of brass joined
together at a right angle by their edges, and fitting square
upon two sides of the black-lead bar. At one end of this
double rule projects at a right angle a small plate of brass,
which may be brought down upon the shoulder of the
register, which is formed by the notch cut away for the
reception of the index. Attached to this frame is a move-
able arm turning near one end upon a centre, and carrying
at its other end an arc of a circle, the radius of which is 5
inches, and divided into degrees and thirds of a degree.
Upon this arc, at the centre of the circle, turns another
lighter arm, to the further end of which is attached a
vernier moving upon the face of the arc, and subdividing
it into minutes of a degree: the other end passes beyond
the centre, and terminates in a steel point turned inwards
at a right angle.
The various parts of the instrument are represented in
figs. 1 and 2. Fig. 1 represents the register, in which A
is the bar of black lead, ad the cavity for the reception
of the metal bar, cc is the porcelain index, d the platinum
band, with its wedge e. Fig. 2 represents the scale by
which the expansion is measured, ff' is the greater rule
upon which the smaller one g is fixed square. The pro¬
jecting arm h is also fitted square to the ledge under the
platinum band d. D is the arm which carries the gra¬
duated arc attached to the rule ff', moving on the centre i.
C is the lighter bar moving on the centre k; H is the
vernier, m the steel point. The ride g can be adjusted
uPon ff 'i 80 the arm h may be adjusted to the centre
i, in order that at the commencement of an experiment
the vernier may rest at the beginning of the scale.
When an observation is to be made, the metallic bar is
placed in tbe cavity of the register at the ordinary tem¬
perature ; the porcelain index is pressed down upon it, and
firmly fixed in its place by means of the platinum strap
and the porcelain vredge. The scale is then applied by
carefully adjusting the brass rule to the sides of the register,
and fixing it by pressing the cross piece upon the shoulder,
and placing the moveable arm so that the steel point of Pyrometer
the radius may drop into a small cavity made for its recep- J
tion, and coinciding with the axis of the metallic bar. The
minute of the degree which the vernier indicates upon the
arc must be noted; the scale is then removed, and the
register exposed to the temperature which is to be mea¬
sured. After it has been withdrawn and allowed to cool,
the porcelain index retains the position corresponding to
the maximum temperature of the rod ; the scale being now
again applied to the register in exactly the same position
as before, the arc through which the radius must be moved
to bring the point in the arm of the lever to bear against
the index, measures the quantity by which the latter has
been protruded. This quantity is the excess of the expan¬
sion of the metal rod over the black-lead envelope, or
rather that excess diminished by the contraction of the
index in cooling. The scale of this pyrometer is con¬
nected with that of the thermometer by observing the
amount of expansion between two fixed points, such as
the freezing of water and the boiling of mercury. The
amount of expansion for a known number of degrees is
thus determined, and the value of all other expansions may
be considered as proportional. By means of this instru¬
ment, the melting-point of cast-iron has been ascertained
to be 2786°, and the highest temperature of a good wind-
furnace about 3300°, points which were estimated by Wedg¬
wood at 20,577° and 32,277° respectively.1
M. Breguet has a pyrometer consisting of a compound
ribbon of three metals, platinum, gold, and silver, rolled
out into a very thin lamina, and coiled into a cylindrical
spiral, to the lower extremity of which is attached an
index, while the upper end of the spiral is fixed. The
silver expands much more than the platinum, so that the
coil twists and untwists as the temperature rises and falls.
1 he degrees on this instrument are marked upon a hori¬
zontal circle, and their value is found by comparison with
a standard thermometer.
In the Philosophical Transactions for 1828, Mr Prinsep
describes a method of measuring high temperatures based
upon the fixed value of the fusing-points of pure metals.
1 he noble metals alone embrace a range from the low
melting-point of silver to the very high one of platinum,
and although there may be only three fixed points in the
scale thus furnished, intermediate links may be supplied
by alloying the three noble metals together in different
proportions. When such a series has been prepared, the
heat of a furnace may be expressed by the alloy of least
fusibility which it is capable of melting. As the melting-
points of silver and of gold are comparatively near to each
other, ten intermediate gradations were assumed, the low¬
est of which corresponded to the fusing-point of pure
silver, and the others to the fusing-points of silver alloyed
with 10, 20, 30, &c., per cent, of gold. From the melting-
point of gold to that of platinum 100 gradations were
assumed, which were the melting-points of pure gold, and
of gold alloyed with J, 2, 3, &c., per cent, of platinum.
The only apparatus required for this method is a small
cupel, containing in separate cells 8 or 10 pyrometric alloys,
each about as large as a pin’s head, and when the speci¬
mens had been once used, they could be used again by
simply flattening them under a hammer. The notation is
equally simple, since two letters and the decimal of alloy
would express the maximum heat; thus S . 3 G gives the
temperature of the fusing-point of silver when alloyed with
gold in the proportion of 7 to 3, and G . 23 P expresses the
fusing point of gold when alloyed with platinum in the
An able article on pyrometers contained in the Penny Cyclopaedia has a mathematical investigation of the correct formula to be used
with Professor Daniell’s instrument, and shows that the formula employed by him, “ though probably sufficiently correct for all prac¬
tical purposes, gives the expansions one per cent, too great without exception, and in many cases much more. . . . The error thus intro¬
duced is perhaps within the limits of the error to which the instrument itself is liable.”
PYROMETER.
Pyrometer, proportion of 77 to 23. Mr Prinsep endeavoured to con-
nect the fusing-points of his alloys with the thermometric
scale by employing the expansion of air on the principle
of the differential thermometer, assuming that the increase
of temperature is proportional to the expansion of the air,
which, however, is not the case.
A trial of Mr Prinsep’s method was made some years ago
at Sevres for the purpose of determining the temperatures
of the ovens used for baking porcelain. It was found
necessary to expel silver from the short list of available
metals, on account of the peculiar property possessed by
this metal of absorbing oxygen during its fusion, and
spitting it out again during the cooling. The small tubes
or globules of the melted metal, which are forcibly ex¬
pelled by the escaping oxygen, are more fusible than the
principal alloy, and disturb its fusing-point. The presence
of 1 or 2 per cent, of copper might have neutralized this
property if it did not interfere with the other results. The
experiments were therefore limited to the alloys of platinum
and gold in various proportions. It was found, however, to
be very difficult to determine in a close furnace the exact
moment when the alloys fused; moreover, it was found
that similar alloys did not always melt at the same moment,
although apparently placed under precisely the same cir¬
cumstances. It was also found impossible to use the same
bead of alloy more than once, the action of the fire effect¬
ing some molecular change which led to an alteration in
the fusing-point; still, however, M. Laurent (whose results
were subsequently confirmed by M. Salvetat) was able to
determine that the highest temperature attained in the
kiln at Sevres was represented by the alloyq ‘ 100,
when a well-fused button was formed, while, with 54 parts
platinum, there was only a softening perceived. M.
Brongniart remarks on this result,—“ When we succeed in
being able to determine exactly and promptly the moment
when complete fusion takes place in these alloys, we shall
have comparable measures of high temperatures, but not
a method fit to be employed habitually in industrial opera¬
tions, in which it is not required to know the temperature
in one single spot, or at the end of an operation, but
in various places and at various times in order to manage
the fire as equably as possible, and to arrest it at the
proper moment.1
A good pyrometer is still a desideratum in the useful
arts for regulating the heat of furnaces, &c. It should be
easy of application in the hands of common workmen,
prompt in its results, exact in its indications, so as not only
to serve as a guide to the particular process in hand, but to
give information to manufacturers in all places and at all
times of the temperature required for the successful con¬
ducting of a particular process. The unalterable nature of
platinum would seem to point out this metal as a desirable
pyrometer, especially since it is more equable in its ex¬
pansion than any of the other metals, but is not free from
that increasing rate of expansion with increasing tempera¬
tures which belongs to most substances. The small
amount of dilatation of platinum is an objection to its use,
especially when that dilatation has to be communicated to
a distance through rods of various kinds which act upon
the measuring apparatus, all of which are liable to error.
Herr Wurm has endeavoured to employ platinum in the
form of a moderately strong wire stretched across a strong
massive frame of iron, furnished with a handle; the wire
is kept in a state of tension by a spring or otherwise, and
when it becomes relaxed by expansion, an index in the
705
into it, the wire instantly acquires the temperature of the Pyromet
furnace, but the massive frame does so slowly ; relative v-
expansion of the wire, therefore, takes place, and when
this has attained its maximum, the index is read off.
As long since as the year 1805 M. Brongniart con-
structed a pyiometei for measuring the comparatively
moderate heat of the gloss oven or muffle furnace (see
Pottery and Porcelain) by means of the dilatation of a
bar of silver. The advantages of this metal are stated to
be its resistance to the highest temperature of the muffle
furnace, the facility with which it may be obtained pure,
so that the results of two instruments will be comparable;
it resists an incandescent heat, and is more dilatable than
any other metal possessing all these advantages. The only
inconvenience accompanying its use is the impossibility of
applying it to measure higher temperatures. The bar of
silver is two decimetres in length ; it is placed in the
muffle in the midst of the articles which are being fired,
and is inserted through one of the sight-holes used for
watching the progress of the vitrification ; its dilatation
serves to note the rise of temperature and the point at
which the heat ought to be arrested. In order to measure
this dilatation, the bar is placed in a groove of hard porce¬
lain, one end of which is turned up to serve as a fulcrum
to the inserted end of the bar. The near end of the bar
presses against a porcelain rod which gives motion to a
needle over a graduated arc, so graduated as to multiply a
hundred-fold the dilatation of the bar of silver. This arc
is divided into 300 parts; from 27° to 30° of this arc are
about equivalent to 100° of the centigrade thermometer.
The firing of the colours upon porcelain varies from 200°
to 280°C. Silver fuses between 300° and 325° of this
pyrometer, so that the maximum heat for vitrifiable colours
is not far Short of the fusing-point of silver. M. Brong¬
niart modestly remarks that this instrument is imperfect,
since it does not register absolute measures of temperature,
but only the difference between the dilatation of a bar of
silver two decimetres long, and that of a bar of hard
porcelain of the same length. The dilatation of the
porcelain at this temperature is not known, except that it
is very small; we have therefore only the difference
between two quantities, of which one only has been ascer¬
tained.
In the year 1835 Mr Adie of Edinburgh read a paper
before the Royal Society of Edinburgh (Trans, xiii.) on
the expansion of different kinds of stone. His pyrometer
consisted of a vertical metal cylinder about 2 inches in
diameter, and about 27 or 28 inches long, for containing
the stone rod which was to be measured. The cylinder
was surrounded by a steam jacket, through which was
passed a current of steam for the purpose of raising the
temperature of the cylinder and the rod. The case con¬
tained windows of plate glass, through which both ends
of the rc>d could be seen ; the lower end rested on a
support which could be adjusted in height by means
of a screw passing through the bottom of the cylinder, and
steadied against the sides by means of springs and friction-
rollers. Two silver studs were fixed in each rod that was
to be operated on, at the exact distance of 23 inches, at
the ordinary temperature. The cylinder and case were
attached to a vertical oaken beam, to which were fixed two
microscopes, with their axes horizontally directed to the
studs. The lower miscroscope kept the lower stud
stationary in view, while the upper one measured the
expansion of the bar by means ot a micrometer. The
oaken beam was screened from the radiation of the heat of
handle connected with it shifts and marks the amount of the steam jacket, and the current of steam was maintained
extension. When it is required to ascertain the tempe- therein until the rod ceased to increase in length, when its
rature of a furnace or oven, the whole frame is introduced expansion was measured. 1 he rods were generally raised
VOL. XVIII.
1 Traite des Arts Cframiques, i. 235.
4 u
706 P Y R P Y R
Pyrotechny to about 207° or 208° Falir., and about four hours were re-
quired to raise a rod from 50° to this temperature, the
section of the rods varying from a square half-inch to an
inch. From the amount of expansion for the observed
changes of temperature, a table of expansions for 180° Fahr.
was calculated. All the stones operated on contained
moisture, the effect of which, in the case of greenstone
and some marbles, was to increase the amount of expansion ;
in other instances no such effect was observed. In white
Sicilian marble a permanent increase in length was pro¬
duced every time its temperature was raised, the amount of
increase diminishing each time.
In the Great Exhibition of 1851 Mr Ericsson exhibited
in the United States department a pyrometer for measur¬
ing temperatures from the freezing-point of water to the
melting-point of iron, as indicated by the tension of a
permanent volume of air or of nitrogen gas, which is mea¬
sured by the reading of a column of mercury under a
vacuum. The instrument is intended for the regulation of
processes in the useful arts in which great heat is required,
and an evenly-regulated temperature is of importance. In
the formation of the scale, 32° and 212° have been taken
for the points of freezing and of boiling water. The
instrument consists of a chamber containing mercury, with
a flexible bottom composed of a steel spring, or of india-
rubber held between steel plates, and capable of being
raised or lowered by means of a screw. Into this chamber
a glass tube filled with mercury is plunged to within
•j^th of an inch of the base. Into the mercurial cistern is
inserted a short glass tube connected with a platinum bulb Pyrotechny
by a small passage, the base of which is nearly filled by a
silver wire and a stop-cock. A coupling-joint is affixed to
the bulb, so that it may be removed at pleasure. The top
and sides of the mercurial chamber are surrounded by a
cistern for the reception of pounded ice; the whole being
encircled by double plates of iron to be filled with clay or
some other badly-conducting substance, for the purpose of
shielding and supporting the instrument. The screen itself
is supported upon a base-plate. Two scales are graduated
for reading off the height of the mercury in the tube, as
determined by the temperature of the medium in the
platinum bulb. The graduation of the smaller of these
scales extends only to 700°, but that of the larger includes
the melting-point of iron. There is also a spirit-level for
placing the instrument in a vertical position. The gradu¬
ation of the scale is independent of any imperfection in the
bore of the tube, and is not affected by the expansion of
the bore from heat, the volume for measuring which, being
permanent and not expanding, affords greater accuracy in
the readings at high temperatures. The pyrometer comes
into action when the thermometer ceases to be effective;
the air or nitrogen in the bulb of the former allowing it to
remain unchanged under extreme variations of temperature,
whilst the latter explodes on being thrust into an ordinary
flue or vessel of over-heated lead. The Jury Report from
which this description is abstracted, offers no opinion as to
the value of the instrument, nor does it appear that the jury
tested its value by experiment. (c. t.)
PYROTECHNY (from 7n;p, and re^io;, ar-^). The
usual modern meaning of the word is the art of making fire¬
works, and of disposing them to the best advantage when
exhibited on occasions of rejoicing, or in theatres, gardens,
and other places. A moment’s consideration will show how
very comprehensive a term ‘pyrotechny may become if ex¬
tended to all operations in which the skilful management of
fire is required. It was anciently confined chiefly to al¬
chemy, or incipient chemistry.1
Under the term of pyrotechny we may properly enough
include the making of the different sorts of gunpowder, and
the preparation of all those combustible or detonating ma¬
terials and projectiles used in war ; but then it should be
distinguished by the adjunct military. Military pyrotechny
will then serve only to indicate a portion of one of the
most deplorable arts ever invented,—that is, the art of war.
The miserable necessity of this art is, however, a matter
of daily experience in the present state of human nature
and unsocial relations; also the unhappy and slavish con¬
dition of all nations which are not able, by skill in this dia¬
bolical art, to resist effectually the aggressions of their
invaders.2
We do not mean to give an account of the various sub¬
stances, mixtures, and manipulations necessary in the con¬
struction of different fireworks ; but, for the reader’s amuse¬
ment and instruction, we shall mention a few things which
are not generally known, and then conclude with the titles
of a few works upon pyrotechny.
The combinations of the different substances employed
in the pyrotechny connected with fireworks ought to be
guided by a chemical knowledge of these substances. The
want of this knowledge causes most of our fireworkers to
compound ineffective mixtures, and to follow old and ab¬
surd recipes. Great skill in pyrotechny, in its more ge¬
neral sense, was possessed by the Chinese long before the
art was known in Europe. The invention of gunpowder
seems to be due to them, and perhaps also the invention of
fireworks. All those persons we ever conversed with who
had been in China concurred in assuring us that the Chi¬
nese fire-works are at this day quite unrivalled in variety,
splendour, and beauty. In the account of Lord Macart¬
ney’s embassy to China there is an amusing passage de¬
scribing the contempt of the Chinese for the best English
fireworks that were exhibited to them, and the astonish¬
ment of the embassy on witnessing the superb display of
fireworks given by the Chinese in return. The most im¬
posing exhibitions of European fireworks used to be those
that took place annually at Rome, during certain holidays,
on the ramparts of the Castle of St Angelo.
We shall now give a very few notices of practical pyro¬
techny.
Lightning.—Thcnfine seeds of the Lycopodium clavatum,
or common club-moss, are extremely inflammable, and
are used in theatres to imitate a vivid flash of lightning,
by blowing them from a tube, &c., through the flame of a
lamp, &c. These seeds are also used in the composition of
some fire-works.
Red Fire.—The nitrate of strontia is the chief ingre¬
dient in the composition. A beautiful purplish flame is
produced by a composition containing chlorate of strontia.
To aid in reddening the flame of the former composition, a
little lamp-black of the finest quality is generally used ; for
a red jet of fire from a paper case formed like that of a
serpent, or of a Roman candle, &c., fifteen parts of pulver¬
ized gunpowder and four parts of dry nitrate of strontia;
a slow and bright red fire, forty parts of nitrate of strontia,
thirteen of pulverized sulphur, five of chlorate of potash,
and four of sulphuret of antimony. In this last mixture,
to avoid the danger of premature combustion, the chlorate
of potash must not be ground in a mortar with the other
ingredients, but ground separately, and afterwards mixed
with them by shaking and stirring upon a sheet of paper.
1 See Davidson’s Philosophia Fyrotechnica, &c., 1635; and G. Starkey’s Pyrotechny Asserted and Illustrated, &c., 1658.
2 See the articles Gunnery, Gunpowder, War.
P Y R 0 T E C II N Y.
707
Pyrotechny Green iw..—Seventy-seven parts of nitrate of barytes,
' i- . ~ J thirteen ot pulverized sulphur, five of chlorate of potash,
three of charcoal in powder, and two of puie arsenic.
The same precautions to be taken as before with regard
to the chlorate of potash. The effect of this composi¬
tion, when burned on the stage of a theatre, is to give a
cadaverous and unearthly aspect to the actors. It occur¬
red to us many years ago that an extension of some of
the effects of De Loutherbourg’s Eidophusikon might be
easily and effectively adapted to the stage. Where the
foot-lights are, or else above the proscenium or front of the
stage,"an apparatus might be contrived to throw variously-
coloured lights upon the actors and the scenery in the
representation of magical incantations supernatural ap¬
pearances, &c. The disposition and reflection of these
variously-coloured lights might be diversified in such a
manner as to produce the most singular contrasts and un¬
expected effects.
Brilliant and sparkling Jets of Fire.—These are pro¬
duced from compositions rammed into paper cases of
various sizes. One of these compositions may consist of
eighteen parts of pulverized gunpowder, five of bright
steel-filings, and two of saltpetre; another of sixteen parts
of pulverized gunpowder, seven of steel-filings, one of salt¬
petre, and one of sulphur.
Sparks.—The composition for these is mixed with pure
alcohol. Small pellets of cotton are steeped in this mix¬
ture, and dried, after rolling them in pulverized gunpowder.
Stars.—Very brilliant stars, such as we see issue from
sky-rockets, Roman candles, &c., maybe made from a com¬
position of one part of antimony in powder, two of pounded
crystal, two of pulverized gunpowder, fifteen of saltpetre,
six of sulphur, and two of zinc-filings. The composition
for these and other stars is made into a stiff paste with gum-
water or glue, and then cut into small cylindrical or squaie
pieces, which are rolled in pulverized gunpowder and dried
in the shade. , £ r
Brilliant Chinese Fire.—Four parts of charcoal, five ot
pounded cast-iron, eight of pulverized gunpowder, six of
saltpetre, six of sulphur; or three parts ot pounded cast-
iron, eight of pulverized gunpowder, two of saltpetre, and
one of sulphur ; all rammed into paper cases or other cases.
Jasmine Flowers.—beautiful fire is generally seen
in the vertical fire-wheels, &c. When the composition is
well made, the sparks drop down somewhat like burning
flowers of the jasmine. Its excellence depends chiefly
on the use, in the composition, of bright filings or raspings
from the steel-springs of clocks or watches, carefully c e-
prived of all the finer dust that may be amongst them. 1 lie
minute shavings of steel, procured from turners in metal,
may also be used. Compositions for this kind ot tire,
six parts of steel-filings or shavings, sixteen of pulverized
gunpowder, one of saltpetre, one ot sulphur; oi ve pai s
of same filings, &c., sixteen of pulverized gunpowder, one
of saltpetre, one of sulphur ; or four parts ot filings, twenty
of pulverized gunpowder, one of saltpetre, one ot sulphur,
and four of zinc-filings or raspings, or pounded zinc, ren¬
dered pulverized by being heated to about 205 ot the
centigrade scale, the compositions for the Chinese fire
and the jasmine flowers are to be mixed up in the same
manner. The sulphur, the pounded cast-iron, or the steel-
filings, are mixed with the addition of a little pure alcohol,
and then the other ingredients are added. It must be ob¬
served that the size of the particles of pounded cast-iron
or of steel-filings should be proportioned to the size of the
cases that are to be filled with the composition; the small¬
est filings, &c., being used for the smallest cases.
Bengal Lights.—The common ones are made of one
part of antimony, five of saltpetre, and two of sulphur ; the
sparkling ones, of one part of antimony, two of lulminating
composition (of fulminating mercury and gunpowder), four
of saltpetre, and four of sulphur; or one, two, five, two Pyrotechny
parts of the same ingredients in their order; or one, two,
six, one part of the same in their order. Vases are filled
with these compositions, a light gunpowder dust sprinkled
over the top, and the whole closed up by a piece of paper
pierced with some holes from which pieces of quick-match
project. These lights may be made of any size. They
sometimes weigh upwards of 200 pounds.
It is necessary to warn the reader that fulminating mer¬
cury requires great caution in handling it; and, as it is so
apt to explode, it had better be left out of the composition
for these lights, or any other fire-works. Indeed the pyro¬
technist has need to exercise the greatest possible caution
in all his operations. For instance, it may, in ignorance,
be imagined that no harm can happen from pounding gun¬
powder in a mortar along with iron or steel-filings, &c., and
yet the most serious accidents may result from manipula¬
tions of this kind incautiously conducted.
One of the most formidable pyrotechnical inventions is
the Congreve rocket. We have conversed with some offi¬
cers who served in the war against the Burmese, and they
described the effect of these rockets as appalling, not only
to the Burmese, but even to the stout-hearted Britons wdio
fired them off.
Without entering into any very minute description of
the process of making such popular fire-works as the com¬
mon sky-rocket, the Roman candle, &c., we shall content
ourselves with a brief account of the general construction
of these two. The common sky-rocket consists of a strong
paper or thin pasteboard case, the lower end of which,
where the cotton quick-match is inserted, is drawn so
close by means of a cord as to leave only a circular open¬
ing of about one-third of the interior diameter of the case.
This is technically called choking the case. The case,
when dried after pasting, is placed in a hollow cylinder oi
wood, into which it fits. This mould is furnished with a
moveable bottom having a central nipple and a tapering
spike of iron, which last, entering the aperture at the
lower end of the case, rises within it nearly to the top.
The space left round this spike is filled gradually, and by
repeated blows from a mallet upon a hollow rammer, with a.
composition of pulverized gunpowder, saltpetre, and char¬
coal, or of sixteen parts of saltpetre, twelve of elm char¬
coal, and four of purified flour of sulphur. The rammer,
which fits the inner diameter of the case, and to which the
mallet is applied, has in its centre a deep hollow adapted to
the iron spike before mentioned. The composition which
forms the charge of the case must be put m by small
quantities at a time, and driven down compact y by regu¬
lated blows of the mallet upon the rammer. I he filling ot
the case in this manner requires skill and experience, be-
cause if the cl.arge is not uniformly compacted ■" *
the rocket will not rise evenly and regularly, when t e
charge has been driven a little higher than the top of the
snike a round piece of doubled paper is put in ; and upon
this one-half of the inner paper ot the remainder of the
case is folded down and rammed firmly, so as to close the
case This plug is then pierced with a few holes, and
above it are placed, along with some of the composition, or
with some gunpowder, the stars, sparks, &c, that are m-
tended to appear when the rocket has reached Us lughes
ascent. The top of the case is then covered in, and fitted
with a paper cone. In signal-rockets, that are intended to
end withPa report without stars, &c., the round piece °f
double paper before mentioned is pierced with a hole in the
centre, and a little gunpowder is pressed firndy m above ,
unt without crushing the grains. Ihe top ot the case is
then choked close, and the paper cone fitted on. In some
other rockets that contain what are ctdled dut
is Stars, sparks, serpents, crackers, &c.,—these are piaceu
with meal-powder in a wider cylindrical case, which is fit-
708 P Y E
Pyrrhica ted to the top of the case containing the charge. These
|| rockets are also terminated by a conical cap. We may re-
^Pyrrho. ^ mark, that in our common rockets the conical cap is not
"* v ^ sufficiently stiff to maintain its form invariably, and so to
aid in the regular ascent of the rocket. The balance-stick
has next to be fastened to the rocket. The length, thick¬
ness, and weight of this stick, require calculation to suit it to
the dimensions and weight of the case. On the Continent,
rockets have been made to ascend without sticks by means
of a triangle of pasteboard passing round the case, or by
means of three pasteboard wings glued to the case. Each
of these wings forms an isosceles triangle, in height six in¬
terior diameters of the rocket-case, and a little more than
two of these diameters at the base. Each of these wings
must be glued on quite parallel to the axis of the case,
otherwise the flight of the rocket will be irregular. A
short stick with similar wings has also been employed for
rocket-cases. It is stated that all these winged rockets
rose beautifully, even in a violent wind and bad weather;
but some allowance must surely be made for the lateral
action upon them of a strong wind.
The Roman candle consists of a strong case of paper or
of thin pasteboard, which is completely closed at the lower
end. It is generally charged with the same composition as
sky-rocket cases, alternating with gunpowder and stars, as
follows :—First a small quantity of composition is placed at
the bottom of the case, and rammed down compactly by a
rammer and mallet; next a small quantity of gunpowder,
and above that a star without any ramming, but a gentle
push to secure the contact of the star with the gunpowder;
then a quantity of the composition, which is rammed down
as before; next a little more gunpowder and a star, and
then more composition rammed down; and so on till the
case is filled. The case is then closed by a piece of paper-
match pasted round the outside, and twisted to a point at
the top. The charges of Roman candles might be diversi¬
fied by variously-coloured fires and stars, &c.
The reader may consult the works of which the titles are
subjoined :—E&aai sur les Feux d'Artifice pour le Spectacle
et pour la Guerre, Paris, I7o0; Manuel de VArtficier,
Paris, 1757 ; JJArt de faire d peu de frais les Feux d'Ar¬
tifice, Paris, 1828; Manuel de VArtficier, par A. D. Ver-
gnaud, Paris, 1828; and Pyrotechny, by G. W. Mortimer,
London, 1853. (g. f. g.)
PY RRHICA (Uyppl^rj), a celebrated dance among the
Greeks, which, according to Plato {Leg. vii., p. 815), was
the representative of all war-dances. It is usual to assign
its origin to Crete or Sparta, and to the mythical age.
Pyrrichos is said to be the inventor of it; and it is un¬
doubtedly Doric in its origin. It has been also referred to
Pyrrhus or Neoptolemus, the son of Achilles, by many
who were probably misled by the name. This Byron does
when he says—
“ You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet;
Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone?”
It was danced to the sound of the flute or other musical in¬
strument, with very quick and light time, as the Pyrrhic foot
(uu), which is connected with this pastime, still testifies.
Plato, in the passage above quoted, describes it as repre¬
senting, by rapid movements of the body, the way in which
missiles and blows from weapons were avoided, and also the
mode in which the enemy were attacked. In the non-
Doric states it was probably performed only as a mimetic
dance; for we read of its being performed by women to
entertain a company. It was peribrmed at Athens at the
greater and lesser Panathensea; and Julius Caesar introduced
it into the public games at Rome. It was much admired
by the Romans, and was exhibited by Caligula, Nero, and
Fladrian.
P^( RRIIO, the founder of a sceptical school of philoso-
P Y R
phy, was the son of Pleistarchus, a native of Elis, and Pyrrhus,
flourished B.c. 336, in the time of Philip the Great. He i
was originally a painter, but subsequently devoted himself
to the study of philosophy, having been the pupil of Anax-
archus, whom he attended to India. There he became
acquainted with the magi of Persia and the gymnosophists
of India. On his return to Greece he acquired great re¬
nown, and was presented by the Athenians with the free¬
dom of their city. He lived to the age of ninety. Pyrrho
was the chief advocate of the sceptical school of philosophy;
and from him all those who adhered to such doctrines were
called Pyrrhonists. Quite groundless is the statement of
the Abderite Ascanius, that he denied that it could be
proved that there was any thing in itself just or unjust,
honourable or dishonourable. The principle of his phdo-
sophy was, that there existed no motive for belief to which
one cannot oppose a doubt of equal weight. Thus he
affirmed nothing, and denied nothing. Amongst his dis¬
ciples were Timon of Phlius, and Nausiphanes, who taught
Epicurus. The Life of Pyrrho has been written by Sextus
Empiricus, and by Diogenes Laertius.
PYRRHUS, King of Epirus, was the son of iEacides,
and a descendant, according to the ordinary account, from
Pyrrhus, the son of Achilles, and was born about 318 B.c.
The early part of his life was involved in misfortune.
Scarcely was he two years old when his father was deposed
by rebel subjects, and a general massacre took place among
the royal family and their adherents. The infant himself
was snatched from the very hands of the assassins, and
carried away with difficulty to the court of Glaucias, king
of the Taulantians. It is true that the decline of Cassan-
der’s power in Greece opened up a way for him to his
father’s throne; but he had only reigned five years when
the adverse party among his subjects suddenly gained
the ascendancy, and drove him to take refuge with his
brother-in-law Demetrius. So hard, indeed, did misfor¬
tune press upon him, that he was at last glad to go into
Egypt as a hostage for the prince just mentioned. At
this point, however, the tide of events began to turn
in Pyrrhus’ favour. Admiring his great abilities, and
his pleasing and virtuous bearing, Berenice, the wife
of King Ptolemy, took the charge of his fortunes. The
hand of her daughter Antigone was given to him in pre¬
ference to many princely rivals. Money and men were
then placed at his disposal, to enable him to take possession
of his hereditary kingdom. Nor did success fail to accom¬
pany him to Epirus. His subjects received him with
acclamation; he was appointed colleague to Neoptolemus,
the sovereign who then occupied the throne ; and his power
grew so great that, in 295 b.c., he ventured to make away
with his rival, and to wield the sceptre alone.
In 294 b.c. Pyrrhus began his aggressive policy by
acquiring an ascendancy over Alexander of Macedonia.
I he overthrow of that impotent prince soon afterwards
by Demetrius did not long retard his ambitious designs.
His admirable qualities proved too strong for his former
friend and brother-in-law. In a battle fought in Jitolia in
289 b.c. against Pantauchus, the brave general of his
enemy, he won from the Macedonian troops not only vic¬
tory, but generous admiration. They went home lauding
his wonderful achievements in the fight, comparing him to
that favourite monarch, the dead Alexander, and desiring
an opportunity to transfer to him their allegiance and their
services. No sooner, therefore, did they see his lofty
plume and his crest of goat’s horns before the city of
Bercea in 287 B.c., than they went over to him in a body.
It is true that, changing sides once more, they soon de¬
serted him for their old general Lysimachus, and left him
no alternative but to abandon Macedonia. Yet his ex¬
ploits in this campaign had gained for him a reputation
u Inch extended to other countries, and which, in course of
P Y E
P Y T
709
Pvrrhus. time, was the means of opening up before him a new path
, ^  ' to victory and glory.
It was in 281 b.c. that the Tarentines, attracted by the
military renown of Pyrrhus, implored him to assist them
against the aggressive tyranny ot Rome, loo impatient
to wait until the rude winter was past, he embarked early
in 280 B.c., and after being nearly engulphed by the
boisterous waves of the Ionian, he landed on the coast of
Italy, and commenced his measures. He first applied a
rigorous system of reform to the pleasure-seeking city of
Tarenturn." The theatres were closed ; all revels were pro¬
scribed ; and the lounging citizens were subjected to mili¬
tary drill. Then taking the field, he made a vigorous attack
upon a Roman army under the consul Laevinus, as it was
crossing the River Siris. The hardy legionaries, indeed,
like men accustomed to conquer, were loath to yield. Dur-
ino- a whole spring day did they stubbornly grapple with him
for the prize of victory. But he routed them with great
slaughter, and began to take measures to improve his vic¬
tory. By the orator Cineas he offered terms of peace to
the Roman Senate. When these were disdainfully re¬
jected, he advanced by forced marches to within 24 miles
of the enemy’s capital. The intelligence, that the army of
Etruria had" just arrived in Rome, induced him to retreat
to winter quarters in Tarentum ; but did not make him
slacken in his efforts to accomplish the object of his enter¬
prise. He continued to ply the Senate with proposals of
peace until the spring arrived. He then took the field, and
defeated the enemy in a hard-fought battle at Asculum in
Apulia. Nor was it until he discovered how fast his army
was wasting away, and how difficult it was to obtain any
reinforcements from home, that he desisted from the attempt
to bend the Romans either by negotiation or by force.
From this period may be dated the decline of the power
and reputation of Pyrrhus. Invited over to Sicily in 278
B.C. to aid the natives against the Carthaginians, he enteied
upon his first course ot disaster. It is true that, for some
time after his landing, his arms were victorious. I he
enemy was everywhere put to the rout before him, the
strong town of Eryx was taken by a brilliant coup de main;
and the Punic invaders were driven to sue in vain for peace.
But the failure of his attack on Lilybaeum turned the tide
of fortune. So completely did he lose the good-will of
the Sicilians that he was glad, in 276 b.c., to depart inglo-
riously for Italy. Nor was misfortune left on the shore
behind him. As he was crossing the strait, the Cartha¬
ginian fleet, attacking him, destroyed seventy of his ships.
When he landed, the warlike Mamertines, who had hastened
from Sicily to intercept him, harassed his march towar s
Tarentum. The Romans also, two years afterwards, gained
the complete mastery over him. His forces were cut to
pieces at Beneventum by the consul Curius; and there was
no alternative left for him but to return to Epii us, beggare
in resources, and with a mere handful of soldiers. s |01
interval of prosperity intervened in the life of Pyrrhus after
his arrival in his own kingdom. Invading the territories ot
Antigonus, King of Macedonia, and coming to an engage¬
ment with the troops of that prince, he routed the Gauls
which formed the rear of the hostile army, brought the
Macedonian soldiers over to him by holding out his hand
invitingly, and thus gained a kingdom by one magnificent
stroke of combined force and persuasion. But this success
only tempted him to rush into new calamities. Consenting
in 272 B.C. to interfere in the quarrels of Cleonymus, the
ex-king of Lacedaemon, he hazarded a rash attack upon
Sparta? The attack roused the deathless Spartan valour,
and he was soon forced to desist. Still more unfortu¬
nate was the attempt which he then made to co-operate
with Aristeas, the leader of one of the factions in Argos.
Admitted by Aristeas during the night into the distrac ed
city, he was immediately detected. '1 he alarm was raised ,
those of the opposite party seized the strongest positions in Pythagoras
the town; and he and his men were soon hemmed in on —/
all sides. Day dawned, and found him fighting his way
back amid a weltering sea of enemies. He had cut his
passage as far as a narrow street, and was dealing blows of
death upon all around him, when an old woman, looking
down from a roof immediately above, and seeing him in the
act of overpowering her son, seized a large tile with both
her hands, and let it fall upon his head. The blow struck
him senseless from his horse; and one of his antagonists,
dragging him into a porch, despatched him with an Illyrian
blade. (See Plutarch’s Lives.)
PYTHAGORAS, a celebrated ancient philosopher, and,
according to a well-known story related by Cicero (Tusc.
Quccst. v. 3), the first who adopted that title, was a native
of the island of Samos. Of the personal history of this
man, to whom perhaps the most remarkable school of
Greek philosophy owed its origin, and who, himself one of
the earliest speculators in his country, plainly exercised no
small influence over his successors, little can be known
for certain, nor are his philosophical tenets free from much
doubt and obscurity. From a time shortly subsequent
to his own age the most improbable legends seem to have
been connected with the name of Pythagoras, arising pro¬
bably in a great part from the extravagant esteem and
reverence in which he was held by his disciples. Even
the period in which he lived cannot be determined with
anything like accuracy ; the different accounts, all of them
long posterior to the time in question, exhibiting a variation
of about forty years. The testimony of all these accounts,
however, furnishes us with twro historical landmarks by
which we may date the principal event in his life, and thus,
approximately, the time when he flourished. All our
authorities agree in representing him as leaving Samos
during the reign of Polycrates as tyrant there (b.C. 532-22);
and settling in Italy while darquinius Superbus was king
of Rome (b.c. 532-508). Thus, as these events could not
have been far removed in point of time, we may assume
as probable that they took place sometime between 530 and
520 B.C. If we credit the statements of Aristoxenus and
lamblichus, we shall place the birth of Pythagoras about
570 B.C.; but if, on the other hand, we incline to the views
of Eratosthenes and Antilochus, we must carry back the
date nearly to 609 B.C. Perhaps none of the authorities
is worthy of implicit credit, but the former account cer¬
tainly appears in itself to be more probable; for it is un¬
likely, as we must on the other alternative suppose, that
Pythagoras did not begin the great work of his life till he
was considerably above seventy. The date given by Rutter,
on the authority of Clemens Alex. (01.49, b.c. 584-80),
does not materially differ from the former of the two above
mentioned. His father’s name was Mnesarchus (Herod,
iv. 95), and his family is said to have sprung from the
Tyrrhenian Pelasgians, who were largely intermixed with
the Greek settlers in Samos. , . , ,
Of the early life of Pythagoras our knowledge may be
said to be absolutely nothing. The island where he pro¬
bably spent the first years of his life was then in arts and
commerce one of the most flourishing communities in the
world. It lay, too, in the very region where the earliest
of the Greek philosophers were then conducting their mag¬
nificent speculations, with which the young philosopher was
no doubt familiar; and we can form some idea of the in¬
fluences that prompted him, with high hopes and daring
enterprise, to follow their footsteps into the new field, not
then as now, strewed with the ruins of theories and sys¬
tems’ Tradition has ascribed to Pythagoras, as instructors
in philosophy, various of the early sages, and especially
Pherecydes of Syros ; but as far as opinions are concerned,
he does not appear to be indebted to any of them. As
little is there any ground for supposing that the philosophy
no
PYTHAGORAS.
Pythagoras of Pythagoras was of foreign origin, though he seems un-
doubtedly to have been an extensive traveller in foreign
countries. His scientific attainments must have been great
for that age ; and in all probability he soon acquired a great
reputation for wisdom and ability. The mathematical sci¬
ences were those that chiefly attracted his attention, and
he is reputed to be the author of several discoveries in
geometry, music, and astronomy. The travels of the phi¬
losopher are said to have extended to Egypt and the East;
countries which were then regarded by the Greeks as the
repositories of all the highest wisdom. They would natu¬
rally, therefore, attract the attention of a searcher after
truth: while at Samos he would have the utmost facili¬
ties for acquiring geographical knowledge, and penetrating
into the most distant regions. It is vain to conjecture what
effect these travels might have on him, or what were the
peculiar influences with which he was brought in contact.
From the priests in Egypt or the Magi in Persia he may
have acquired a knowledge of their hidden lore ; but it is
equally probable that he was not thus initiated, and it is
not necessary to have recourse to any such sources for his
opinions, so far as we know them.
On his return to Samos after his travels, Pythagoras
seems to have fully formed his great project which he af¬
terwards carried out. This project was more of a religious
and political than of a philosophical nature. It was to esta¬
blish a society on a religious foundation, and with an ethi¬
cal end, for the moral improvement of its members, who
were to be instructed in a peculiar mode of life. (See Plato,
Rep. x. 600 B.) He probably found that such a scheme
was impracticable under the government of Polycrates,
and for that reason, rather than any personal dislike to
him, left his native island and migrated to Crotona. We
do not know what induced him to select this place in par¬
ticular as the scene of his new experiment. It was one of
the colonies which the Greeks had at this time sent out in
such numbers to Southern Italy as to obtain for that part
of the country the name of Magna Graecia. It was not un¬
natural that Pythagoras should look in this direction for a
place to settle in. These colonies were comparatively
young communities, many of them rapidly rising in im¬
portance, opening up to Grecian enterprise new and un¬
explored regions; and he might reasonably hope to find
fewer obstructions to his plans there than among the intri¬
cate political relations of the eastern world.
Crotona itself stood in the country of the Bruttii, one of
the most savage of the native Italian tribes. It was an
Achaean colony, founded in 710 B.C., on a projecting head¬
land nearly half-way between Sybaris on the N. and Locri
on the S., while behind it stretched the primaeval forests
and mountain pastures of Sila. The government of the
colony was at that time aristocratic, but the power of the
nobility, though superior to any other, was not unquestioned;
and the arrival of the philosopher added strength to the
dominant party, whose cause he embraced; for he came
with no small pretensions, and already many marvellous
stories were in circulation about him. He was said to have
received many of his doctrines from Empedoclea, the
priestess of Delphi; to have been initiated into the mys¬
teries of the Idoean cave in Crete; to have shown at
Olympia a golden thigh rivalling the mythical shoulder
of Pelops; to have received from Hermes the gift of
recollecting all the stages of his previous existence ; and to
have given many other proofs of a supernatural intercourse
with the unseen and celestial powers. These honours
were undoubtedly claimed for him, either by himself or by
his followers, and their effect is said to have been such,
that he was reverenced by the Crotoniats as the Hyperbo¬
rean Apollo. The accounts which we have of the wonder¬
ful change effected at Crotona after his arrival may be dis¬
missed as belonging to the same class with those which
narrate his superhuman dignity and exploits. We cannot Pythagora:
doubt, however, that here Pythagoras so far succeeded in
his designs as to form a secret, society, partly religious and
partly political, which exercised a great influence in the
city, and spread the doctrines of its founder over the other
cities of Magna Graecia, where branches of the original
society were probably established.
The sudden and violent catastrophe which soon after
befell these societies was the occasion of a wider dissemi¬
nation throughout Greece of the opinions they maintained.
The constitution of Crotona had become, since the arrival
of Pythagoras, more decidedly aristocratic than ever: the
Pythagoreans are said to have even entertained a project
for abolishing altogether the popular assembly. Meanwhile
the neighbouring city of Sybaris had undergone a revolu¬
tion ; the popular party gained the upper hand there;
and one of their leaders named Telys established himself
as tyrant. Five hundred of the opposite party left the
city and took refuge in Crotona; and when Telys sent to
demand them to be given up, the Crotoniats, at the insti¬
gation of the Pythagoreans, refused to do so. A war be¬
tween the two cities was the result, in which the army of
Crotona, under Milo, a Pythagorean, defeated a much su¬
perior force of Sybarites, and took and destroyed the city.
A dispute then arose among the victors about the distri¬
bution of the spoil and conquered territories. The Senate,
supported by the Pythagoreans, proposed to retain the
whole as public property ; but the people, indignant at
this, rose in a body, and directing their rage mainly against
the Pythagoreans, set fire to the house of Milo, where
they were assembled, put many of them to death, and dis¬
persed the rest. A general persecution of the sect
throughout Magna Grsecia ensued, and the disorder and
bloodshed was only ended by the interference of the
Achaeans in Greece, who established in Crotona and the
other cities, a democratic government. Whether or not
Pythagoras was personally involved in the outbreak at Cro¬
tona, which happened in 504 B.c., is not certain ; he is
generally supposed to have retired to Metapontum, where
he died, and where the exact spot of his death was still
pointed out in the time of Cicero. (De Finibus, v. 2.)
The date of his death, and the age to which he lived, are
as variously reported as that of his birth. The earliest
date given for his death is 510, the latest 472; while,
according to another account, it took place in 500. Ac¬
cording to larnblichus, who takes the latest date for his
death, Pythagoras presided in his school thirty-nine years;
while his whole life is generally said to have been ninety
years, though some make it only eighty, and others as
much as one hundred and four.
Of the philosophy of Pythagoras, as a whole, it is not
difficult to ascertain the general character and principles;
but when we descend to the minute details, the notices
that we possess are so obscure and unconnected, that it
only requires a little ingenuity to find in the Pythagorean
doctrines any preconceived system that the critic may
prefer. This indeed has been attempted more than once
in the interest of different schools. The Neo-Platonic
philosophers saw their own peculiar tenets in the philo¬
sophy of Pythagoras; and some learned Christians have
found there the doctrine of the Trinity, and have identified
the celebrated Tetractys of the Samian with the Tetra-
grammaton, or incommunicable name of the Supreme Being
among the Jews. The truth is, that we have not the ma¬
terials to enable us to re-construct the system of Pythago¬
ras, or to state very minutely any of its particular doctrines.
It is all but certain that the founder of the school com¬
mitted none of his speculations to writing ; and our know¬
ledge of his opinions is derived from the fragments that
remain of the later Pythagoreans, and from the notices of
other philosophers, especially of Aristotle. He indeed is
PYTHAGORAS.
m
Pvtha^orasby far our safest authority on the subject; for we cannot
take the representations of later writers, especially those o
^ the Neo-Platonic school, without making allowance lor
their remoteness in point of time, and for their own peculiar
philosophical opinions. , „ , ,
The peculiar form assumed by the Pythagorean philo¬
sophy seems to have been derived from those mathematical
studies in which its founder was proficient. The prin¬
ciples of mathematics were supposed to be the principles, o
all real existences; and as numbers are the primary con¬
stituents of mathematical quantities, and at the same time
present many analogies to various realities, it was further
inferred that the elements of numbers were the elements
of realities. Now the elements of numbers were considered
to be the odd and the even ; the former of which was re¬
garded as limited, and the latter as unlimited. (Arist. Me-
taph. i. 5.) Unity, again, seems to have been viewed in a
twofold light: on the one hand as identical with the odd
or the limited ; and on the other as partaking of the nature
both of the odd and of the even, and being the source ot
both. Thus all things depend on numbers ; numbers them¬
selves on the two principles odd and even; and these, again,
on the primary unit. The doctrine was further illustrated
bv an arrangement of the principles of things in ten pairs,
not as twenty distinct and separate principles, but as ten
several ways of expressing the two great principles. 1 he
first three of these pairs are the most important, and they
are—the limited and the unlimited,—the odd and the even,
—the one and the many; while the peculiar character ot
the principles are brought out by the names which occur
lower down in the list—light and darkness, good and evil.
The latter member of each antithesis was regarded as in¬
ferior to the former (Arist. Eth. JSic. i. 6), ami as being
in fact somehow a mere negation of it. 1 hus the one, the
odd, the limited, was in reality the only cause ot all; t ic
manv, the even, the unlimited, being a mere nonentity, till
called into existence by union with the other. We see
then, under what to us appears a tanciful and cumbrous
symbolism, a system of pantheism. As numbers are
evolved from unity, so from the primary unit all the uni¬
verse is evolved; or in other words, as we are told by
Cicero (De Nat. Dear. i. 11), Pythagoras held that the
Deity was the soul of the world, diffused throughout all its
parts. The origin of evil was by this system referred
not so much to the primary unit as to the second negative
principle, without which it was impossible for the world
to exist. , _ , -p, . t
Such were the fundamental principles of the Pythagorean
philosophy ; and so far as they are concerned there is little
doubt. But the theory of numbers was carried to a much
greater length, and with much more minuteness of detail,
for besides the unit, a special meaning was attached to
each separate number up to ten. Here it is safest at
once to confess our ignorance, for we leave the region o
well-ascertained facts, and enter one where plausible con¬
jecture is the best that we can put in their place. 1 be
view of Alexander Aphrodisiensis, followed by Ritter, that
the monads being points, and the unlimited, void space,
the duad is the line, composed of two such monads, wit.i
the intervening space; the triad, the surface, of tnee
monads; and the tetrad, the solid, of four such ; was pro¬
bably held by some of the Pythagoreans, though it has
been doubted whether Pythagoras himself taught it. We
must suppose that his theory of the material world re¬
sembled it in this, that it was idealistic in its character,
resolving matter into mere negative or immaterial prin¬
ciples. The pantheism of Pythagoras was certainly more
akin to the idealistic than to the materialistic form of that
theory. The way in which the principle of numbers was
carried out by Pythagoras in natural philosophy is illus¬
trated by his astronomical speculations. He assumed that
the number of the heavenly spheres could be neither more Pythagoras
nor less than the perfect number ten, which played an ^
important part in his symbolism; and in order to make
up this number, supposed the existence of another body,
the counter-earth (dvrix^wv), on the other side of this
earth. Thus the ten spheres revolving round the central
fire, which had the form of a cube, and was called the
watch-tower of Zeus, were those of the counter-earth,
the earth, the moon, the sun, the five planets in order, and
the fixed stars,—the whole universe thus forming a sphere.
The perfection and harmony of the whole was reconciled
with the too obvious evils prevalent in this mundane sphere,
by supposing that the earth was the principal seat ot the
imperfection in the world, being the second in number,
and thus associated with the principle of evil in the Py¬
thagorean system—the even, the many, the unlimited.
Further, as the intervals between the several spheres
and the velocities of their motions were regularly propor¬
tioned according to the musical scale, hence arose the
doctrine of the music ot the spheres (Cic. De Nat. Deor.^
iii. 11), which is inaudible to us, either from the effects of
custom, or from being too powerful for our faculties. . ihe
doctrine of numbers, when thus carried into physical science,
seems to have been regarded by the Pythagoreans rathei as
deriving illustration than scientific proof from the pheno¬
mena, for they considered objects to be an imitation ot the
numbers (pt/x^cns iw dpidpwv. Arist. Metaph. i. 6).
The psychological opinions of Pythagoras were not less
memorable or characteristic than the other parts ot his
system. In accordance with his theory, the soul was termed
a number or a harmony, and was regarded as homogeneous
with the divine soul of the world, from whence it sprung.
An immaterial principle was thus asserted, capable of ex¬
isting apart from the body; and indeed the pre-existence
of the soul, before entering its present body, was with
Pythagoras, as with Plato afterwards, a conspicuous article
of beiref. After its departure from the body at death the
soul may, according to the celebrated doctrine of metem-
psychosis, pass into another body, and that not necessarily
a human body, but often that of one of the lower animals.
Pythagoras himself professed to have once animated the
body of Euphorbus, the son of Panthus; and, as Hoi ace
says,—
“ Clypeo Trojana refixo
Tempora testatus; nihil ultra . .
Kervos atque cutem morti concesserat atrae.' (Va. i. ^o.)
There must indeed always be some sort of fitness or adap¬
tation of the soul to the body it assumes, and it is as a
punishment that it is compelled at all to assume a corpo¬
real nature, in which it is, as it were, buried. Tims, while
the wicked have their final place of abode in Tartarus
/Arist Anal. Post. ii. 11), the good on the other hand are
S to “he highest position. The Pythagorean psy-
chology, according to one account, recognised two, and,
according to another, three parts in the soul. According
to Cicero (Tusc. Qucest. iv. 5) it was divided into a
rational and irrational part; the former peculiar to man,
and the latter common to the brutes; but the account given
by Dioo-enes Laertius, from its peculiar phraseology, is more
hkeTy to represent the views of Pythagoras. 1 ha part of
the soul which is peculiar to man is there called ^eveS,
and located in the brain, the vovs, also placed in that oigan,
and the 6v^ which had its seat in the heart, were pos-
also by the lower animals.
The science of ethics owed much to the Pythagorean
sctaof- for ^cording to Aristotle, they were the firs, who
attempted anything in this field. It is impossible to ascer-
“ n with any certainty or distinctness, what were then- pe-
0X0pinions on this subject. The same pecuhar phra-
seoloo-y was kept up here also, and they attempted to ex-
pressf by means of numbers, such ideas as virtue, justice.
712
P Y T
Py thagoras
marriage, and opportunity. (Arist. Metuph. i . 5 ; xii. 4.)
I he whole doctrines of the sect were probably made in
some degree, like those of Platonism, subservient to ethical
purposes, and the precepts that were inculcated seem to
have been intended for the production in the soul of that
order and harmony which characterize the external world.
1 hey partake very much of an ascetic character, recom¬
mending the controlling of the passions and desires, the
endurance of bodily hardships of all kinds, and the ob¬
servance of the duties of friendship, for which some of the
sect became very celebrated. On political subjects the
opinions of Pythagoras were, as we have already seen, in¬
clined towards aristocratical institutions, in which he would
probably see more of that order and harmony which con¬
stitutes excellence on his view, than in the more popular
forms of government.
It now only remains to state briefly the chief facts known
about the peculiar external observances of the Pythagorean
societies. They possessed much of the character of the
ancient mysteries or secret societies wherein peculiar doc¬
trines were taught that were hidden from the vulgar eye.
Candidates for admission were not initiated until they had
passed through a lengthened course of probation, one part
of which consisted in the injunction of silence for a period.
The members admitted were divided into several classes,
according as they were more or less intimately acquainted
with the peculiarly sacred and mysterious doctrines of the
sect; though, from the diverse statements of ancient authors,
it is impossible to say for certain what was the number or
names of these classes. They lived together, taking their
meals at a common table, and engaged in common in those
exercises, especially of gymnastics and music, which were
held to be conducive to their bodily and mental wellbeing.
Implicit faith in the founder of the system was inculcated ;
so that their formula of asseveration, “ avrog e^a,” became
proverbial. There were, besides, various symbolical obser¬
vances enforced, such as abstinence from animal food, from
fish, and from beans ; but considerable doubt and obscu¬
rity hang over these injunctions, though they are noticed
by several of the classical writers. Perhaps we will acquire
the most correct views of the Pythagorean mysteries or
orgies if we adopt the opinion of Herodotus (ii. 81), who
identifies them with those of Orpheus and Bacchus, a view
which seems to be confirmed by general similarity of the
Pythagorean to what we know of the Orphic doctrines.
Orpheus seems to have taught a system of pantheism ;
and it is remarkable that Virgil, in his description of the
lower world, where he seems partially to adopt Pythagorean
principles vi. 724-752), introduces as an important
personage the long-robed Thracian priest. On this view
we may suppose that much of what Pythagoras embodied
in his system formed part of a previously existing reli¬
gion, and was made by him a vehicle for conveying his
peculiar doctrines with more authority to his disciples.
Thus perhaps the theory of metempsychosis was but a pe¬
culiar form into which the doctrine of immortality and a
future retribution was cast. A very similar theory to that
of the philosopher is certainly adopted by Pindar (01. ii.),
within a time apparently too short for a totally new doc¬
trine to have gained acceptance. All that belongs to the
theory of number must evidently be ascribed to Pythagoras
himself; but it is not improbable that many of his minor
doctrines and peculiar precepts were borrowed from pre¬
viously existing notions and observances. Even the scan¬
tiness of our knowledge of Pythagoras cannot conceal from
P Y T
us the fact that he must have been one of the most remark¬
able men that have ever lived. As to his philosophy,
perhaps the highest praise we can give it is, that it con¬
tributed greatly to give rise to the lofty speculations of
Plato, of whom he was the precursor ; and as to his insti¬
tutions, they long survived to perpetuate the memory and
fame of their founder. (See Ritter’s History of Ancient
Philosophy; Smith’s Dictionary of Greek and Roman
Biography; Archer Butler’s Lectures on the History of
Ancient Philosophy, &c.)
PYTHEAS, an ancient navigator, was a native of Mar¬
seilles, and is supposed to have lived some time about the
age of iHexander the Great, 330 b.c. We have no infor¬
mation respecting the private circumstances of his life, but
we know that he explored the northern seas of Europe,
though the ancient geographers appear to have placed
little dependence on the statements which he made. Both
Polybius and Strabo treat him with great severity, and
ridicule his accounts as absurd and incredible. Modern
writers are inclined to set more value upon the narrative
of Pytheas. It would appear that he sailed through the
English Channel, and, after leaving Britain, a voyage of
six days to the north brought him to an island which he
calls Ihule, where he says that the sun never descends
below the horizon for a certain period at the summer sol¬
stice. This statement would apply to Iceland, but then it
seems unlikely that he could reach that island within six
days. Pie next sailed to the N.E., and entering the
Baltic, reached a river which he calls Tanai's, and is thought
by Ukert to be the Elbe. Plere he found a people who
made use of amber instead of wood ; and as that substance
is still found in large quantities in Prussia, there is little
doubt that he must have visited this part of Europe. He
gave an account of his voyages in two works which he
published. The one was a Description of the Ocean, and
contained his voyage from Gades to Thule; the other
work was entitled Periplus. He appears to have been
the first to determine the latitude of a place from the sun’s
shadow. It is said that Pytheas was the first who sus¬
pected that the tides were influenced by the moon. (See
Eclaircissements sur la Vie et sur les Voyages de Pytheas,
by Bougainville, in the Recueil de VAcademic des Inscrip¬
tions, xix. 46; also the discussions of D’Anville, of Ukert,
of Arvedson, of Ruhr, and of Straszewick.)
PYTHIA. See Delphi, and Okacles.
PYTHIAN GAMES, one of the four great national
festivals of the Greeks, was held near Delphi, anciently
called Pytho, in honour it is said of Apollo, who slew
Python, a monstrous serpent, near that place. The Cris-
ssean plain, where those games were celebrated, contained a
hippodromus, or race-course, a stadium of 1000 feet in
length, and a theatre where were held the musical contests,
the most important part of the Pythia. According to most
legends, these games were instituted by Apollo himself.
Previous to 01. 48 they had been celebrated at the end of
every eighth year ; but afterwards, like the Olympia, they
were held at the end of every fourth year. According to
Bock, they were celebrated in the spring, in the month of
Bucatius, which must have corresponded with the Attic
Munychion. During the first Pythiad the victors received
Xpr/gara as their reward, but in the second the reward was
a laurel chaplet. The Pythian games were most probably
held as long as the Olympic, that is, down to a.d. 394.
(Krause, Die Pythien, Nemeen, und Isthmien.)
PYX, Tkial of the. See Coinage.
Pytheas
p}x.
713
Q.
q the seventeenth letter and thirteenth consonant of
our alphabet, but one not to be found either in the
Quadrantal Greek, old Latin, or Saxon alphabets ; and indeed some
would entirely exclude it, seeing that k fully supplies its
place. The q is never sounded alone, but in conjunction
with u, as in quality, question, quite, quote, and the like,
and never ends any English word. As a numeral, Q stands
for 500; and with a dash over it, thus, Q, for 500,000.
Used as an abbreviation, q signifies quantity or quantum.
Thus, amongst physicians, q. pi. is quantum placet, as much
as you please •, and q. s. is quantum sufficit, as much as is
necessary. Q. E. D. amongst mathematicians, is quod erat
demonstrandum, which was to be demonstrated ; and
Q. E. F. is quod erat faciendum, which was to be done.
Q.D. amongst grammarians is quasi dictum, as if it were
said, or, as who should say. In the notes of the ancients,
Q stands for Quintus or Quintius ; Q. B. V. for quod bene
vertat; Q. S. S. S. for quee supra scripta sunt; Q. M. for
Quintus Mutius, or quomodo ; Quint, for Quintilius ; and
Quaes, for queestor. (See Abbreviations.) For the
changes to which this letter is liable, see C and K.
QUADI, a warlike German tribe, whose territories were
situated between the Danube, the Bohemian mountains,
and the River Mams. They make their first appearance in
history in the first century as formidable foes of the Ro¬
mans. Their bodies were covered with mail, consisting of
plates of horn ; their weapons were long spears ; and each
man had three swift horses for his use in battle. Thus
equipped, they commenced the practice of making rapid
and sweeping raids into Pannonia, Mcesia, and other
neighbouring provinces. Sometimes they routed the im¬
perial forces which tried to check their inroads. At all
times they returned home with their predatory spirit un¬
broken. No reverses, in fact, however frequent, could
daunt those wild border troopers of the Danube. The em¬
perors Marcus Aurelius, Probus, Cams, and \ alentinian I.,
defeated them without subduing or crushing them. The
last glimpse that we get of them in history shows them in
company with other barbaric hordes, in 407, overrunning
Gaul, and revelling in boundless havoc and slaughter.
QUADRANGLE, or quadrilateral, a figure consisting
of four sides and four angles situated in the same plane.
QUADRANT (Quadrans), in geometry, the arch of
a circle containing ninety degrees, or the fourth part of the
entire periphery. The name is also applied to a mathema¬
tical instrument, of great use in astronomy and navigation,
for taking the altitudes of the sun and stars, as also for
taking angles in surveying. This instrument is variously
contrived, and furnished with different apparatus, according
to the various uses for which it is intended; but they all
have this in common, that they consist of a quarter of a circle,
the limb of which is divided into ninety degrees. Some
have a plummet suspended from the centre, and are
furnished with sights to look through. The principal and
most useful quadrants are the common surveying quadrant,
the astronomical quadrant, Adams’s quadrant, Cole’s quad¬
rant, Gunter’s quadrant, Hadley’s quadrant, horodictical
quadrant, Sutton’s or Collins’s quadrant, and the sinical
quadrant. The quadrant is now entirely superseded for
astronomical purposes by the mural circle. (See Mural
Circle, and Sextant.)
QUADRANTAL, the principal Roman measure of
capacity for fluids. All the Roman measures were origi¬
nally founded on weight. It was at first denominated
amphora, and afterwards quadrantal, from its form, which
was square every way, like a die. In capacity, it contained
VOL. XVIII.
eighty hbrcB or pounds of wine, which made forty-eight Quadratic
sextarii, two urnce, or eight congii. Equations
QUADRATIC EQUATIONS. See Algebra. II .
QUADRATURE, in geometry, denotes the reducing ”°y
a figure to a square. Thus, the finding of a square which
shall contain just as much surface or area as a circle, an
ellipsis, or a triangle, is the quadrature of a circle, an ellip¬
sis, or a triangle. The quadrature, especially amongst the
ancient mathematicians, was a great postulatum. The
quadrature of curvilinear spaces is of difficult investigation ;
and in this respect extremely little was done by the an¬
cients, except the finding the quadrature of the parabola
by Archimedes. In the year 1657, Sir Paul Neil, Lord
Brouncker, and Sir Christopher Wren geometrically de¬
monstrated the equality of some curvilinear figures to recti¬
linear spaces ; and soon afterwards the same thing was
proved both at home and abroad of other curves, and which
were brought under an analytical calculus. 1 he first spe¬
cimen of this was given to the public in 1688 by Mercator,
in a demonstration of Lord Brouncker’s quadrature of the
hyperbola by Dr Wallis’s reduction of a fraction into an
infinite series by division. Sir Isaac Newton, however, had
before discovered a method of attaining the quantity of all
quadruple curves analytically by his fluxionary calculus. It
was disputed between Sir Christopher Wren and Mr Huy¬
gens which of them had first discovered the quadrature of
any determinate cycloidal space. Leibnitz afterwards found
that of another space; and in 1669 Bernoulli discovered the
quadrature of an infinity of cycloidal spaces, both segments
and sectors. (For the history of the quadrature of the
circle, see the third supplement to the fourth volume of
Montucla’s Mathematical Recreations.)
Quadrature, in astronomy, that aspect of the moon
when she is ninety degrees distant from the sun ; or when
she is in a middle point of her orbit, between the points of
conjunction and opposition, namely, in the first and third
quarters.
QUADRIGA {quatuor, four, and jugum, a yoke), in
antiquity, a car or chariot drawn by four horses harnessed
all abreast. On the reverses of medals we frequently see
Victory in a quadriga, holding the reins; and hence these
coins are called nummi quadrigati and victoriati.
QUADRIO, Francesco Xaverio, a learned Italian
writer, was born in the province of Valtellina in 1695, and
entered the order of the Jesuits at the age of twenty. His
uneasy disposition drove him about from one pursuit to
another, before it fixed its attention on any particular subject.
He first taught humanity at Padua. Then he studied and
taught theology at Bologna. His next vocation was that
of a preacher at Venice and Modena. At length he was
found once more at Padua engaged in literary labours. It
was there that Quadrio undertook the arduous project of
writing a History of Poetry under all its different forms in
every ao-e and country. At first the execution of the plan
went on prosperously. Pope Benedict XIV., and the emi¬
nent writer Cordara, cheered him on in his toils. He was
indefatigable in rummaging the libraries of Venice, Milan,
and Bologna, and in collecting materials from all quarters,
He stated his facts and opinions with as much fulness and
exactness as could be expected in a work of such a gene¬
ral character. The only part of the subject in which he
glaringly failed was that which related to modern foreign
languages. In course of time, however, his success began
to be seriously impaired. Want of money gave rise to
melancholy, and melancholy deranged both mind and body.
Nothing but change would solace him. He wandered
714 QUA
Quadruple restlessly from one European city to another. He threw
I! off the garb of the Jesuits, and appeared as a plain secular
^ T T' Pr‘es^ book itself was for a time laid aside. Even
" v'"1- after it was resumed, he did not show his former untiring
energy. When the work was at length completed, under
the title of Storia e Ragione d'Ogni Poesia, 7 vols. 4to,
Bologna and Milan, 1741-52, it appeared that some por¬
tions of the later volumes were mere compilations. Quadrio
died at Milan in 1756.
QUADRUPLE, fourfold, or something taken four times,
or midtiplied by four, on which account it is the converse
of quadripartition, or division by four.
QUdESTOR {qutzro, I seek), a name given to two dis¬
tinct classes of Roman officers. Varro defines both as :
Quaestores a quaerendo, qui conquirerent publicas pecunias
et maleficia—“ Quaestors (from their seeking'), who collect
the public monies and investigate crimes.” The one class,
the qucestores classici, therefore, had to collect and keep the
Q U A
public revenues ; the other, called the qucestores parricidii, Quail
w'ere public accusers who convicted those guilty of any ||
capital offence, and carried the sentence into execution. Quakers.
QUAIL. See Ornithology.
QUAINT, Luigi, an Italian painter, u'as born at Bologna
in 1643, and studied his art under Guercino, Carlo Cig-
nani, and his father Francesco. A lively and versatile dis¬
position soon made him a man of accomplishment. He
became an adept in history, architecture, and music. In
painting especially he manifested his easy dexterity. Al¬
though employed for a great part of his life in working on
the same canvas with his brother-in-law Franceschini, he
always succeeded in giving a distinct embodiment to his
happy and graceful conceptions. His beautiful landscapes
and exquisite perspectives were interesting and important
features in the pictures which the two painted at Bologna,
Modena, Piacenza, Genoa, and Rome. Quaini died in
1717.
QUAKERS.
Ideas com- Quakers, a body of Protestant Dissenters, so named by
monly en- the public at large, but styled by themselves, “ The Society
tertamed 0f Frjends.” This society was founded by George Fox
and Qua ^ t^le ^ear 1647* The Friends are remarkable for differ-
kerism. in& from the community in religious doctrines, mode of
worship, and social customs, more than any other body of
Christians; and it may safely be asserted that their cha¬
racter has been less understood, and more seriously misre¬
presented, than that of almost any other religious association
of modern times. Mosheim, Neale, Formey, Voltaire, and
Hume have given us descriptions of the Society of Friends,
of which it would be difficult to say which abounds most
in ignorant mistakes or wilful distortions. Of late years a
fairer estimate of these people has manifested itself in the
public mind. Men of deep thinking and eminent genius
have been led to examine their history and writings, and
have pronounced decisions upon them very different from
those of the authors just mentioned. Coleridge, in his
Biographia Literaria, says, “ One assertion I will venture
to make, as suggested by my own experience, that there exist
folios on the human understanding, and the nature of man,
which would have a far juster claim to their high rank
and celebrity, if in the whole huge volume there could
be found as much fulness of heart and intellect as bursts
forth in many a simple page of George Fox.” Thomas
Carlyle, in his Sartor Resartus, pronounces George Fox
“the greatest of modern reformers;” and Charles Lamb,
in the Essays of Elia, declares, that “ Sew-ei’s History of
the Quakers is worth all other ecclesiastical history put
together.”
We shall now proceed to give such an account of the
rise, progress, and opinions of this society as an intimate
acquaintance with it and the writings of its members en¬
ables us to furnish, and as will be found amply borne out
by a careful reference to the most authentic records, and to
its existing condition.
It has commonly been stated that this society was, at
its commencement, termed the Family of Love, or Seekers.
But this is a mistake The Seekers were a people of prior
origin, and of very different notions. From their peculiar
extravagance, they acquired the name of Ranters, and seem
to have been the very people that Butler had in his eye
when writing his Hudibras. They held that
Saints may do the same things by
The spirit in sincerity
Which other men are tempted to,
And at the devil’s instance do,
And yet the actions be contrary,
Just as the saints and sinners vary.1
The attempt to confound the Quakers with this sect was Origin of
one of the first acts employed by the enemies of Quakerism the term
to stamp it with opprobrium. Fox occasionally fell in with Quaker,
them in his travels, and sharply reproved them for their
errors. The Friends, for some time after they had been
gathered into a distinct body, were known only by the name
of “ the Professors of the Light,” or “ Children of the
Light,” from “ their fundamental principle, which,” to use
the words of William Penn, “ is as the corner-stone of their
fabric; and, indeed, to speak eminently and properly, their
characteristic or main distinguishing point or principle, viz.,
the light of Christ within, as God’s gift for man’s salvation ;
the root of the goodly tree of doctrine that grew and
branched out of it.”2 They were known by no other name
till 1650, three years after the commencement of their so¬
ciety, when George Fox being brought before the magis¬
trates of Derby tor preaching there, and telling them to
“ quake at the name of the Lord,” one of them, Gervase
Bennett, an Independent, caught up the word, and called
him and his friends Quakers. That was the real origin
of the term Quaker; “ a term which,” says Sewel, their
historian, “ so caught the public fancy, and especially that
of the priests, that they sounded it gladly abroad, never
after that time giving any other name to the professors of
the Light, so that it soon ran all over England, and making
no stand there, it quickly reached the neighbouring coun¬
tries ; and that English name sounding very oddly in the
ears of foreigners, hath given occasion to many silly stories.”3
Perhaps to no great reformer has so little justice been Reai cha-
done as to George Fox. Beyond the pale of his own so- racter of
ciety his character has in fact never been understood. By George
some grave and even eminent writers he has been de-J1ox*
nounced as a silly enthusiast; by others as a blasphemer;
and others, again, have denied that he was the founder of
Quakerism at all. No statements can be more at variance
with the truth. For three or four years after his first set¬
ting out he was the sole preacher of the society.4 It was
Penn’s Rise and Progress of the Quakers, 12th edition, p. 12 ; Sewel’s History of the Quakers, 5th edition, i. 10; Gough s History of
the Quakers, i. 53. 2 pgjjjpg Rise and Progress, p. 18. ^ Sewel’s History, 5th edition, i. 43.
4 Sewel’s History, i. 86.
QUAKER S.
Quakers, he, as may be abundantly seen in the histories of the so-
ciety, and the writings of his most celebrated disciples,
who gave its character and constitution to this religious
association. They are his opinions, his feelings, his tone
of mind, which stamped it with its peculiar form and spirit.
That in the fervour of his enthusiasm, and the elation of
brilliant success, he ran into some fanatical extravagances,
and even absurdities, is what is perhaps inseparable from
the career of a sanguine advocate of great moral and social
changes; and we shall soon point to some of these, in trac¬
ing his exertions for the organization of his infant society.
There have indeed been one or two documents, a letter
to Cromwell, and a letter to himself from the wife and
daughters of Judge Fell, raked up out of a vast mass of
manuscripts left behind him, and eagerly and repeatedly
pushed before the public by his enemies, and recently again
by some seceders from the Quakers themselves, in order to
stamp him as a blasphemer, and a man open to the silliest
adulation. It is not by such a mode, however, that the ge¬
nuine character of any man is to be decided, but by a care¬
ful examination and candid judgment of his whole life and
works. Did we apply so one-sided and unphilosophical a test
to that of any great reformer, what should we now think of
Luther, Jerome of Prague, Calvin, Knox, Wesley, or many
others ? If we shut our eyes to the nobler points of their
characters, and opened them only to their defects; if we
estimated Jerome of Prague by his recantation, Luther by
his notions of combats with the devil, Calvin by the burn¬
ing of Servetus, Knox by his zeal in the demolition of
cathedrals, or Wesley by his belief in omens and appari¬
tions, what an absurd verdict should we pass upon these
great men! Such, however, has generally been the mode
of judging of George Fox; whilst his labours, and religious
and moral doctrines recorded by himself and the historians
of the society, mark him as one of the most extraordinary
men of his age. We shall soon have to observe upon how
many important points of morals and manners he called in
question the received opinions of his time; for whatever
his sagacious mind had once embraced as truth, he had
the integrity and boldness to proclaim everywhere. He
advanced into the presence of princes, and proclaimed it
there in the same fulness, and with the same ease and
freedom, as he did amongst his own peers. Yet with this
daring and determined spirit, his contemporary disciples are
unanimous in attesting his gentleness and unassuming mo¬
desty amongst them. The testimony of his eminent friend
William Penn, who had seen much of society in all its gra¬
dations, is that of all those who knew him best. “ He was a
man that God endued with a clear and wonderful depth;
a discerner of others’ spirits, and very much master of Ids
own. . . . He was of an innocent life, no busy-body nor
self-seeker; neither touchy nor critical. ... So meek,
contented, modest, easy, steady, tender, it was a pleasure
to be in his company. He exercised no authority but over
evil, and that everywhere and in all; but with love, compas¬
sion, and long-suffering. A most merciful man, as ready
to forgive as unapt to take or give an offence. Thousands
can truly say he was of an excellent spirit and savour
amongst them, and because thereof the most excellent
spirits loved him with an unfeigned and unfading love.”1
Formation George Fox was born of humble parents at Drayton in
of the So- Leicestershire. In the quaint language of Sewel, “his
Friends lather was Christopher Fox, a weaver by trade, an honest
man, and of such a virtuous life that his neighbours used
to call him righteous Christer. His mother was Mary
Lago, an upright woman, and of the stock of the mar¬
tyrs.”2 George was put apprentice to “ a shoemaker that
dealt also in wool and in cattle;” but he became most at¬
tached to the agricultural part of his master’s business. His
715
humble origin and education have often been adverted to, Quakers,
as implying a stigma upon Quakerism; but it is unques- v—'
tionably to this circumstance that Quakerism owes its most
distinguishing features, and probably the greatest amount
of good that it has done, or may yet do, in the world.
As Fox grew up, pursuing his solitary occupations in the
fields, his strong mind soon began to employ itself on the
subject of the utmost moment to a mortal creature, the
grounds of his hopes of a future existence, and the true un¬
derstanding of the Scriptures. That which, at a first view,
seemed to be a disadvantage to Fox, his want of learning
and his obscurity of station, have, through the native vigour
of his intellect, become eminently advantageous. His mind
was neither trammelled by creeds, nor directed by classical
or other knowledge, nor misled by the glimmerings of school
philosophy. He was thrown, by his absolute want of a higher
education, on his Bible. The whole strength and earnest¬
ness of his understanding were concentrated on the inquiry
into the doctrines it contained; and beseems, with a won¬
derful clearness and singleness of eye, to have at once
comprehended the pure and simple system of the Christian
faith. He embraced it heartily and for ever. No bias of
selfishness, no hopes of honour or of gain, ever appeared to
weigh with him for a moment; it was to Christianity for
itself alone that he attached himself, and he set out to pro¬
claim it in the face of the world, with that boldness which
always distinguished him. At first his travels were prin¬
cipally through the midland counties, where he convinced
great numbers of his principles. For four years he appears,
as already stated, to have been the only preacher of those
principles; and, what is singular, the second preacher of
Quakerism was a woman named Elizabeth Horton. In
the fifth year of Quakerism there were, however, according
to Sewel, no less than twenty-five preachers, and in the
seventh year upwards of sixty. These, traversing the king¬
dom in all directions, excited an extraordinary commotion.
But in order fully to understand the uproar which the
preaching of Quakerism created, it is necessary to call to
mind the features of that age, and to see what the doctrines
of Fox really were.
George Fox made his appearance just as the struggle The age of
between the crown and the people was drawing to a close. George
Charles I. was already in the hands of the Parliament. 1 he Fox.
monarchy had been destroyed, and the public mind was full
of new schemes of liberty and legislation. Then came the
struggle between the Parliament and the military power.
Not only the monarchy and the Parliament, but the church
establishment itself, fell. Men soon began to grow weary
of alternate tyranny and lawlessness both in ecclesiastical
and in political matters. They were disgusted, too, with the
greediness of priests of different denominations, struggling
shamelessly for power and wealth. The diffusion of the
Scriptures during the respective reigns of Henry VIII.,
Edward VI., and Elizabeth had now made them pretty
common in the hands of the people. Thousands and tens
of thousands were scattered throughout the country, who
were become dissatisfied with the old institutions, and
anxious to ally themselves with some body, the doctrines
and practice of which were more consonant to their newly-
awakened ideas. But they were not merely on the watch ;
they were in a state of high excitement. The novelty
and animating nature of the doctrines of the gospel, and
perhaps still more the splendour of eastern metaphor ex¬
hibited in the prophetical writings, had thrown them every¬
where into a sort of spiritual intoxication. When, there¬
fore, George Fox made his progress through the country,
his voice was like a trumpet to collect around him hosts of
inquirers. Priests, notwithstanding the opposition of then
order, left their pulpits ; officers in the army, judges, gentle-
1 Penn’s Rise and Progress, pp. 53-56.
2 Sewel’s History, i. 11.
QUAKERS.
716
Quakers, men, mechanics, and husbandmen; all classes, indeed,
's—flocked round him, and found in his system of a free
gospel, and renouncement of the vanities of the times, that
which they had hitherto sought for in vain.
Doctrines The doctrines which Fox taught, and which have been
Friends rece>ved and are still held as the true faith by the Society
of Friends, are principally the following:—
Is A The great foundation and corner-stone of Quaker¬
ism, as William Penn justly terms it, is the doctrine of the
Inward Light, founded on various passages of Scripture,
but especially on the words of the gospel according to St.
John, that “ Christ is the true Light which lighteth every
man that cometh into the world.” They believe in the
words of a document, issued by themselves, that “ every
man coming into the world is endued with a measure of
this light, grace, and spirit of Christ, by which, as it is at¬
tended to, he is enabled to distinguish good from evil, and
to correct the disorderly passions and corrupt propensities
of his nature ; and that without the spirit inwardly revealed,
man can do nothing to the glory of God, or to effect his
own salvation.”
2d. The spirituality of Christianity is a doctrine which
flows directly from this root, and hence they believe in the
non-essentiality of religious ceremonies. “ We think,” say
they, “ this influence (the influence of the Spirit of Christ)
especially necessary to the performance of the highest act
of which the human soul is capable, even the worship of the
Father of lights and spirits, in spirit and in truth ; there¬
fore we consider as obstructions to pure worship all forms
which divert the attention of the mind from the secret in¬
fluence of this unction from the Holy One. (1 John ii.
20-27.) They cannot, therefore, admit of any fixed liturgy,
any stated forms of prayer, or any regular preaching. “ Yet,
although true worship is not confined to time and place, we
think it incumbent on Christians to meet often together
(Heb. x. 2-5), in testimony of their dependence on the hea¬
venly Father, and for a renewal of their spiritual strength ;
nevertheless, in the performance of worship, we dare not
depend for our acceptance with him on a formal repetition
of the words and experiences of others ; but we believe it
to be our duty to cease from the activity of the imagination,
and to wait in silence to have a true sight of our condition
bestowed upon us.” On this ground the sole outward act
of worship amongst the Friends consists in meeting to¬
gether and sitting down in silence, without any singing, or
stated prayers or sermon.
Zd. From the same great fundamental tenet of the society
it directly flows, that as this influence is absolutely neces¬
sary to the performance of individual worship, it is more
especially so in the exercise of the ministry. There can be
no preaching unless the preacher immediately feel himself
moved to speak; therefore there can be no electing of par¬
ticular individuals by the church, or education of them for
the office of the ministry. It implies a ministry entirely of
divine ordination, and without the participation of any hu¬
man authority. According to this faith, there is and can
be no paid priesthood. The gospel is a free gift to be freely
exercised.
^th. The Friends do not hold the doctrine of the Trinity
according to the common acceptation of the word. They
think it safest on this mysterious subject to confine them¬
selves to the terms of Scripture ; and these are the words
of their confession on this subject:—“ We agree with other
professors of the Christian name in the belief in One Eter¬
nal God, the Creator and Preserver of the universe; and
in Jesus Christ his Son, the Messiah and Mediator of the
New Covenant (Heb. xii. 24).”
oth. The belief in the entire spirituality of the gospel
system has led the Friends to consider some rites received
and practised by other bodies of Christians as non-essen- Quakers,
tial. “ There are two ceremonies in use amongst most \ .
professors of the Christian name,—water baptism, and what
is termed the Lord’s Supper. The first of these is gene¬
rally considered as the essential means of initiation into the
church of Christ, and the latter of maintaining communion
with him. But as we have been convinced that nothing
short of his redeeming power, inwardly revealed, can set
the soul free from the thraldom of sin, by this power alone
we believe salvation to be effected. We hold, that as there
is one Lord and one faith (Eph. iv. 5), so his baptism is one
in nature and operation ; that nothing short of it can make
us living members of his mystical body; and that the bap¬
tism of water, administered by his forerunner John, be¬
longed, as the latter confessed, to an inferior and decreas¬
ing dispensation (John iii. 30). With respect to the other
rite, we believe that communion between Christ and his
church is not maintained by that nor by any other external
performance, but only by a real participation in his divine
nature (2 Pet. i. 4) through faith ; that is the supper al¬
luded to in the Revelations (Rev. iii. 20), ‘ Behold I stand
at the door and knock ; if any man hear my voice, and
open the door, I will come in to him, and sup with him, and
he with me and that where the substance is attained, it is
unnecessary to attend to the shadow, which doth not con¬
fer grace, and concerning which opinions so different, and
animosities so violent, have arisen.”
6M. Their great doctrine of the inward light necessarily
implies the doctrine of repentance and a new life; in the
words of Penn, “ Repentance from dead works to serve the
living God, which comprehends three operations :—First,
a sight of sin ; secondly, a sense and godly sorrow for sin ;
thirdly, an amendment for the time to come. This was
the repentance they (the first Quakers) preached and
pressed, and a natural result of the principle they turned all
people unto.”1
*lth. “From hence sprung another doctrine which they
were led to declare. Perfection from sin, according to
the Scriptures of truth, which testify it to be the end of
Christ’s coming, and the nature of his kingdom, and for
which his Spirit was and is given,—viz., to be perfect as
our heavenly Father is perfect, and holy because God is
holy But they never held a perfection of wisdom and
glory in this life, or from natural infirmities, or death, as
some have, with a weak and ill mind imagined and in¬
sinuated against them.”2
Such are the great and strictly religious doctrines of the
Society of Friends. There are others which they hold in
common with other Christians, and which need not be enu¬
merated here; but there are others, again, constituting a
great system of philosophy, of morals, and manners, which
distinguished the faith of George Fox from that of his pre¬
decessors and contemporaries, and which, if permitted to
operate freely throughout society, would unquestionably
produce the most amazing and beneficent changes. In the
gospel declarations, that “ God made of one blood all the
nations of the earth,” and that “ he is no respecter of per¬
sons,” he perceived nothing less than a charter of the most
perfect freedom and equality of right to the whole human
race. He carried out this idea so liberally, that he ex¬
tended it to the female part of the community. He de¬
clared the equality of the sexes; that there is no sex in
souls, but all are one in Christ Jesus; and on this ground
he gave the female Friends a participation in the civil eco¬
nomy of the society. He extended this doctrine to all
nations and colours ; one right and one law for all men,
whether white or black. In the declaration of Christ the
heathen lorded it over one another, but it should not be so
amongst his disciples, where he saw the law of brother-
1 Penn’s Rise and Progress, p. 19.
2 Ibid., p. 19.
QUAKERS. 717
Quakers, hood, and not of subjection. This law once recognised, he
could no longer recognise the contrary law of bloodshed
and revenge ; he was bound to pronounce the anti-Chris¬
tianity of war. He pronounced the anti-Christianity of all
oaths, on the clear and unequivocal command of Christ,
“ Swear not at all.”
Peculiar He regarded Christianity as a heavenly dispensation,
customs sent down to draw us from the follies and vanities of the
and prac- world, and the very essence of which consisted in a renewed
tices. vitality of mind. This led him to resist, despise, and expose
those assumptions of absurd titles, those demands ol servile
obeisance and empty flatteries by mere wealth and facti¬
tious rank, which degrade both givers and receivers, and
fill the world with so much misery and heart-burnings, so
much meanness and pride. On this principle, he adopted
the utmost simplicity of dress and manners. He resumed
the original use of thee and thou to a single person, the
more so as you was then used to a rich person, and thou
to a poor one. He abandoned the practice of what he
called “ hat-homage,” taking off the hat, and bowing, as
marks of obeisance to superiors. He refused to address
persons of rank by the titles of your Majesty, your Ex¬
cellency, your Grace, &c., looking upon it as the basest
flattery, where there happened to be neither majesty, ex¬
cellency, nor grace. Believing in the authenticity of no
ministry but such as depended alone upon the teaching of
the Holy Ghost, he denied the right to tithes, church-
rates, or any compulsory payments to the support of a
priesthood. As he regarded the ceremony of marriage as
requiring for its celebration no interference of a minister
of the gospel, he refused the mode adopted at the altars of
the Established Church, and introduced a simple form of
marriage in the meetings of his own society. He rejected
the common customs of mourning and burial, as not being
in accordance with the simplicity of the gospel. Regard¬
ing the names of the months and days of the week as
originating in mythological idolatry, he substituted a mere
numerical nomenclature. Various practices and social in¬
dulgences, as singing, dancing, music, the frequenting of
theatres and other places of public amusement, playing
at games of chance for money, drinking of healths, horse¬
racing, and field-sports, were renounced and discouraged
by him, as incurring waste of time, or as inconsistent with
the serious hopes and duties of Christians. These innova¬
tions were all adopted by the Society of Friends, and be¬
came fixed rules of practice.
The first It is obvious that a system like this could not be pro¬
preachers mulgated without setting in array against it an innumer-
among the able host of enemies. There was scarcely a custom of
Friends. society, or a profession in it, at which it did not aim a severe
blow. The church, the army, the law, each felt that it was
menaced with decay or change. Royalty saw that if this
doctrine succeeded, it would lop off the right arm of arbi¬
trary power, for it could not flatter the divine right of
kings. The clergy saw that it did not object to this or
that dogma, this or that ceremony, like the Puritans, but
it assailed, root and branch, state religion itself. If Quaker¬
ism succeeded, where would be the soldier and the marine;
where the gainful trade of litigation ? It was a system
which aimed a death-blow at the flatteries of the world, and
the self-gratulation and self-indulgent spirit of human
nature; and it was accordingly speedily saluted with one
general and furious tempest of hatred and vengeance.
But, before turning to the persecutions of the Quakers, we
must first notice the singular zeal, and as singular enter¬
prises, of their first ministers. It has been stated that in
the seventh year of Quakerism these ministers amounted
1 Sewel’s History, i. 79. ... 1 • on
3 George Fox’s Journal, 6th edition, i. 106; Sewel, i. -9.
6 Ibid., i. 219.
to upwards of sixty. These numbers continued for some Quakers,
years to increase rapidly; and they were animated with a
surprising spirit of proselytism. Of these, Francis How-
gill, John Audland, Samuel Fisher, had been clergymen ;
George Bishop, Richard Hubberthorn, William Ames,
officers in the army; Anthony Pearson, John Crook, jus¬
tices of peace. Of the rest, Edward Burrough, Robert
Farnsworth, James Nayler, William Dewsbury, John
Camm, Thomas Lowe, William Caton, and James Parnel,
were amongst the most eminent. William Penn and Ro¬
bert Barclay, two of their most celebrated members, did
not join the society till about twenty years after its for¬
mation. There was also a considerable number of women-
preachers, who displayed a spirit as bold and zealous as
the men.
Firmly persuaded that they were actuated by the imme¬
diate influence and revelation of the Divine Spirit, and or¬
dained to restore the primitive form and simplicity of the
Christian faith, the Quaker preachers traversed every
quarter of the United Kingdom, entering the churches of
the establishment, denouncing their ceremonies and doc¬
trines, telling the people that they were come to call them
off from such things, from “ the beggarly elements” of out¬
ward observances and outward teachers, to the great In¬
ward Teacher ; that the ground on which these churches
stood was no more holy than any other ground and that
sprinkling with water, putting on of surplices, and repeat¬
ing ready-made prayers, were but relics of Popery. As
these clergy and churches were maintained by the nation,
they conceived that they had the clearest right to call upon
the nation to look into them. They did not stop here ;
they believed it their duty to address solemn warnings to
magistrates, to Parliament, to the protector or the king as
it might be, and what they regarded as their duty to the
public. George Fox, Edward Burrough, Samuel Fisher,
George Whitehead, and others of the Friends, had re¬
peated interviews with Cromwell, Charles II., and other
monarchs; and William Penn was a regular visitor at
court during the short reign of James II.2 Many of the
preachers extended their travels to France, Germany, Hol¬
land, and America. George Fox himself visited Holland,
America, and the West Indies. Penn and Barclay visited
Holland and Germany, and were received with the most
cordial sympathy by Elizabeth, the princess of the palati¬
nate, who entered into a religious correspondence with
them.
Their success, and perhaps the very heat and opposi- Their zeal
tion of the times, so stimulated their zeal and confirmed and singu-
their opinions, that they now declared that they moved in lar actlons*
the same spirit and power as the apostles. George Fox
declared them little better than imposters who did not
possess and act in that power and spirit. He believed
that by the Inward Light, not only the Scriptures, but
both the intellectual and physical world, were opened to
him. “He knew not only a renewing of the heart, and a
restoration of the mind, but the virtues of the creatures
were also opened to him ; so that he began to deliberate
whether he should practise physic for the good of mankind.
The three great professions in the world, physic,
divinity and law, were opened to him,” &c.3 He worked
miracles, according to his own testimony and that of his
friends. He cured a woman of a distracted mind, by
merely telling her, in the name of the Lord, to be quiet.4
He commanded a man at Arn-side to stretch out his
withered arm, and it was restored.5 But he believed him¬
self not only endowed with the apostolic, but with the pio-
phetic power. He foretold to Judge Fell, a fortnight
2 Ibid., i. 273, 315-316; ii. 548, 559, 594, 613, 617.
^ Ibid., i. 120 ; Ibid., i. 37.
QUAKERS.
718 '
Quakers, before anybody else dreamed of such a thing, the dissolu-
tion of the Parliament by force.1 He had a vision of an
angel with a fiery sword, prophetic of the great fire in
London.2 Meeting Cromwell riding in Hampton Court
Park, as he drew near, “ he perceived a waft of death go
forth irom him.” Cromwell invited him to come to the pa¬
lace, but on going the next day he found him already on his
death-bed.3 He exercised the same gift on many other
occasions, foretelling judgments on his persecutors. His
coadjutors laid claim to the same revelations. They were
zealous to the last to address warnings to magistrates and
to governments ; as Francis Howgill to Cromwell ;4 Samuel
Fisher to the Parliament ;5 Edward Burrough to Cromwell
and his council, &c.G They foretold events. Thomas
Aldam foretold the fall of Cromwell ;7 George Bishop, the
great plague in London ;8 Thomas Ibbitt, Humphry Smith,
George Fox the younger, and Thomas Briggs, the great
fire of London ;9 Edward Burrough, the death of Crom¬
well, his own death, and various other events.10 They ex¬
hibited signs, like the ancient prophets. A woman went
into the Parliament in 1658, with a pitcher in her hand, and
breaking it, told them, so should they be broken to pieces.11
Thomas Aldam took off his cap before the Protector, and
tearing it to pieces, said, “ so shall the government be
rent from thee and thy house.”12 In 1660 Robert Hunt¬
ingdon went into the church at Brough, near Carlisle, wrap¬
ped in a white sheet, and with a halter about his neck, to
show the Independents and Presbyterians that the surplice
would be introduced again, and that some of them would
be hanged.13 A woman appeared in a Protestant church at
Dieppe, in sackcloth and ashes.14 Thomas Ibbitt, two days
before the fire of London, dismounted from his horse with
his clothes hanging loosely about him, as though he had
come in great haste, and went about the city denouncing
judgment.15 Solomon Eccles went into a Catholic chapel
at Galway in Ireland, and when the people were on their
knees, appeared naked above his waist, with a chafing-dish
of coals and burning brimstone on his head, and, crying
“ Woe to these idolatrous worshippers,” declared that God
had sent him to show them their portion, unless they re¬
pented. The same man went into a church in Alderman-
bury in 1659, and seating himself on the pulpit-cushion,
in the face of the audience, began to sew.16 In 1662 Da¬
niel Baker, being in a ship becalmed opposite to Gibraltar,
went ashore on Maunday Thursday, proceeded to the mass-
house, and amid the people at high mass he rent his clothes,
discovering sackcloth on his body ; then taking his hat from
his head, he threw it on the ground and stamped on it, and
calling on them to repent, so passed away.17
Zeal of But the zeal of the first Quakers could not expend itself
the first even in these extraordinary demonstrations ; many of them
Quakers. set out to t]ie very encjs 0f (.j)e eartb5 wjth what they be¬
lieved to be commissions from on high. One young woman,
Mary Fisher, proceeded to Adrianople (although once stop¬
ped at Venice, and sent back by the British consul) to con¬
vert the Grand Turk, who received her in the most cour¬
teous manner.18 Two others, Catharine Evans and Sarah
Cheevers, went to Malta to reclaim the Catholic inhabi¬
tants, but did not meet with so handsome a reception as
their sister had done from the Sultan. They were clapped
into the prison of the Inquisition, and only liberated after a
four years’ imprisonment, through the interference of Lord Quakers.
D’Aubigny.19 John Love, John Perrot, Samuel Fisher, and
John Stubbs went to Rome, to testify, in the presence of the
Pope and cardinals, against their superstitions. Love died
in the Inquisition, but the others escaped.20 George Ro¬
binson travelled to Jerusalem to denounce the trade which
the friars made of the holy sepulchre, and to convert the
Mohammedans, and also returned safe.21 Others crossed to
New England, where we shall have occasion to speak of
them immediately.22
The persecutions which the Friends suffered forms an- Persecu-
other remarkable chapter in their history, and one in which tions suf-
they appear to great advantage. We have seen what were f®re^, 'V
their doctrines, and that their promulgation was sure tothe nends
plunge them into a sea of suffering. This was soon veri¬
fied. Wherever they appeared, the clergy, who justly look¬
ed upon them as the most daring and determined enemies
that ever appeared against them (for they everywhere de¬
clared to the people that their system was anti-Christian,
and rotten to the very core), on all hands roused the civil
and military powers against them. Wherever they preach¬
ed they were hauled before the magistrates, fined or impri¬
soned ; but though the persecution waxed hotter and fiercer
every day, they never for a moment flinched, or remitted
their activity in travelling and preaching all over the coun¬
try. No persecution in modern times fell more heavily or
savagely upon any people; and it must be said, to the ho¬
nour of the society, that no people ever stood up more firm¬
ly for the rights of conscience and the liberty of the sub¬
ject. The trials of the Friends, and especially that of John
Crook in 1662,23 and that of William Penn and William
Mead in 1670,24 at the Old Bailey, will for ever remain as
noble monuments of their resistance to the arbitrary pro¬
ceedings of the courts of judicature at that time, and their
violent infringement of the privilege of jury. In the lat¬
ter case there happened to be a noble jury, who, insensible
to the most atrocious attempts made by the court to force
a verdict, were shut up without “ meat, drink, fire, or to¬
bacco,” for two nights and a day, and, still remaining im¬
moveable, were conveyed with the prisoners to Newgate.
The enemies of the Quakers were furnished with abun¬
dant means of oppression, in the various acts which had
been passed since the days of Henry VIII. till then, against
the Popish recusants, and otherwise, to compel conformity
to the Established Church. There was the 27th of Henry
VIII.; the 1st of Elizabeth, for twelvepence a day; the
5th of Eliz. De Excommunicato capiendo; the 35th of
Elizabeth, for abjuring the realm, on pain of death ; the 3d of
James I. for praemunire, imprisonment for life, and confisca¬
tion of estate ; the 13th and 14th of Charles II. for transport¬
ing Quakers; the 17th of Charles II. against Nonconformists;
the 22d of Charles II. against seditious conventicles. They
were so surrounded with snares that there existed not a
chance of escape if there were the slightest desire to punish
them. If all charges against them failed on any occasion,
there was the oath of allegiance and supremacy always ready
to present to them ; and the Quakers could not take any oath
whatever. But by the last act against conventicles, passed
in 1670, they were completely given up as a prey to the
informers. Any five persons convicted of being present in
one house, over and above the ordinary family, were to be
1 Sewel’s History, i. 112, 113.
* Ibid., i. 139.
7 Ibid., i. 325.
10 Ibid., i. 315; ii. 50.
13 Ibid., i. 436.
16 Ibid., ii. 241; State Trials, vi. 998.
19 Ibid., i. 493.
2 Sewel’s History, ii.
6 Ibid., i. 226.
8 Ibid., i. 260.
ii Ibid., i. 312.
14 Ibid., i. 191.
17 Ibid., i. 541.
20 Ibid., i. 433.
0 Sewers History, 1. «3lo,
6 Ibid., i. 210, 276.
9 Ibid., ii. 175, 199, 388.
i2 Ibid., i. 313.
15 Jbid., ii. 199.
is Ibid., i. 433.
21 Ibid., i. 292,
" ioia., 1. 493. 20 jtid., i. 433. 2i Ibid., i. 292.
„ Nothing is here said of the actions of James Nayler, because they were condemned by the Friends at the time, and, after his pun-
Jshment, thoroughly condemned by himself.
Sewel, ii. 23; Gough, i. 518; Howell's State Trials, vi. 201. 2* State Trials, vi. 951; Sewel, ii. 259 ; Gough, ii. 328.
QUAKERS.
719
fined five shillings for the first offence, ten for a second,
twenty pounds for preaching, forty for a second offence,
and twenty pounds for the building in which the meeting
was held, the whole to be levied by distress; and if any
one person could not pay his fine, it was to be levied on
any one or more who could, the informer receiving one-
third of the amount. Under such temptations to low cu¬
pidity, loss of their property and imprisonment of then-
persons spread throughout the whole country. Cromwell
and diaries II. both professed a desire to stay this persecu¬
tion, but they took few measures to effect this object; on the
contrary, during the whole reign of Charles persecution i aged
more and more vehemently. Their sufferings lasted thirty
years, and the simple matter-of-fact relation of them fills two
laro-e folio volumes of more than one thousand four hundred
closely-printed pages. The prisons were full of them, and
these prisons were pestilential dungeons, of which we can
now hardly credit the description. In them there were at
one time 4200 Quakers. The prisons of London had suf¬
focating crowds in them, and the celebrated hole in New¬
gate was the death of numbers. Ellwood, the friend of
Milton, and who had the honour to suggest the composition
of Paradise Regained, was in Newgate amongst these num¬
bers, and has left us, in his Life, some curious sketches of
those scenes. The majority of the first preachers of Qua¬
kerism died in prison. In 1662 twenty Friends died in the
London jails ; in 1664 twenty-five more ; in 1665 fifty-two
others, besides seven wdio died after liberation, in conse¬
quence of their treatment during confinement. According
to Besse, the historian of their sufferings, the total number
of Friends who perished in prison during this period was
369. In Bristol at one time every adult was in prison. In
London in 1670 Charles issued an order, signed by the
Archbishop of Canterbury and thirteen others, commanding
Mr Christopher Wren to pull down their meeting-houses
at Ratcliffe and Horsleydown, which was done, and the
materials sold. Peel meeting-house was ransacked, and
stripped of doors and windows. Their other meeting-houses
were nailed up; and the Friends, who met on the luins, or
in the street, were driven away by soldiers, meicilessly
beaten with the butt-ends of their muskets, and some of
them killed. Throughout the severe winter of 1683, these
steadfast people collected in the streets to worship, in spite
of all pains and penalties, and suffered incredible hardships
and insults. The dead were disinterred from their graves ;
women and children were dragged by the hair along the
streets; some were pricked with needles and bodkins, and
others were sold to the sugar plantations. Meantime theii
property was at the mercy of constables and infoimers, who
wrenched open their doors with sledge-hammers and sciews,
and carried off everything, to the very children s food, often
leaving not a tool to work with, or a horse to plough the
land. In many instances these fellows, where the men
were in prison, carried the keys of their houses in their
pockets, went in and out as they pleased, declaring that
they would “ eat of the best and drink of the sweetest, and
these rogues of Quakers should pay for all.” 1 here was
levied at one time on the Friends at Bristol, for fines,
L.16,400; and, from a careful examination of the records
of the society, it clearly appears that property was taken or
destroyed at" that period to the amount of upwards of one
million sterling. _ ,, , r ..
This sketch of their persecutions would not be perfect it
we omitted their treatment in New England. There, the
colony of Independents, whose history is so well known from
the circumstance of their having fled from persecution at
home, and immediately become persecutors themselves,
and whose cruelties to the Indians and to one another form
so gloomy a passage in history, no sooner heard that two
Quaker women were arrived in the harbour, than they seized
on them before they could land, put them in prison, stripped
them naked, and barbarously treated them. They ordered Quakers,
three other Quaker women to be stripped to the waist, and
flogged through eleven towns, a distance of eighty miles,,
in all the severity of frost and snow. They then hanged
three men and one woman, before a mandate from the king
could arrest their bloody course.
The extent of persecution was much diminished by Wil¬
liam Penn opening an asylum for his friends in his new
state of Pennsylvania, whither great numbers emigrated;
and a final stop was put to them by James II. He per¬
mitted the Friends to substitute an affirmation instead of
an oath; then came the Toleration Act of William II.,
recognising more fully the rights of conscience ; and sub¬
sequent acts legalized their marriages, and placed them at
ease amongst their fellow-citizens. They still continued
their conscientious refusal to pay tithes and church-rates,
and these are taken by distraint, to the average annual
amount of about L.l 1,000.
It would give an unfair view of the Society of Friends,
if, after exhibiting the vehemence of their early zeal, we
did not remind the reader of the peculiar spirit and cir¬
cumstances of that age. Then all the elements of political
and religious unrest Vvere in a state of chaotic turbulence,
and the whole style of language and of action amongst all
denominations was such as would now be pronounced violent
and fanatical. The Quakers, in this respect, only partook
of the spirit of the age ; and to understand them more truly,
we must see them in their patient steadfastness under their
dreadful misusage, in which they gave the highest evidence
of the influence and support of the Divine Spirit. It is to
their everlasting honour that they never showed the least
symptom of retaliation. Though often urged, when cir¬
cumstances were in their favour, to denounce their enemies,
they had on all such occasions but one answer, ‘ We leave
them to the Lord.” rlhey not only went on steadily,
preaching and convincing thousands, but they set about
and organized a system ol discipline or church-government,
distinguished in a remarkable degree for its order and de¬
corum. In the first place, they established a standing
committee in London, called “ The Meeting for Sufferings,”
for receiving the earliest accounts of the persecutions of
their friends from all parts of the kingdom, and for taking
the promptest measures for their mitigation. It was in this
committee that George Fox was to be constantly found to
the latest day of his life, whenever in London, anxiously
en<Ta°-ed in endeavouring to alleviate the sufferings of the
society. The system of discipline then organized, and
which continues, in the main, as it was left by the fiist
Quakers, we have now to describe.
Wherever the Friends have a meeting-house, they hold, Discipline
once a month, after the meeting for worship is over, a meet- of the so-
ino- for discipline; or, in other words, for all the civil andciety.
ecclesiastical affairs of the body. Though they do not pay
their ministers, they deem it right to defray their expenses
when they travel in the ministry. They hold it a Christian
duty to support their own poor, and to educate their chil¬
dren For these purposes they raise the necessary funds
by voluntary contribution at these meetings, which are called
Preparative Meetings ; that is, meetings preparatory to the
monthly meetings, which include several preparative meet¬
ings. Each preparative meeting appoints representatives
to attend the monthly meeting. .
The monthly meeting receives the funds for the poor,
and appropriates to each meeting what is necessary. It
also receives the funds for the public schools and for what
is called “ the National Stock that is, a fund placed at the
disposal of the society at large for general charges; and
hands them in by its representatives to the quarterly meet-
ino- In these monthly meetings is chiefly vested the real
property of the society, as its meeting-houses, lands, &c.
They judge of the fitness of persons applying for member-.
"SO QUA
Quakers, ship, excite to due attention to religious and moral duties;
Vs—and deal with disorderly members. They grant certificates
of membership and conduct to those removing into other
monthly meetings, without which they could not be re¬
ceived as members. They appoint two or more persons in
each particular meeting, called overseers, to watch over
the general conduct of the members, maintain the decorum
of the meeting, and see the discipline enforced. They ap¬
point also two or more persons, of high religious standing,
as elders, to watch over the ministry, to judge of the fitness
of such as offer themselves as preachers, and to sympathize
with those already acknowledged. It is contrary to the
rules of the society for any of its members to go to law with
each other ; all differences are to be settled by arbitration ;
and it is the duty of the monthly meetings to deal with such
as violate this rule. Parties wishing to marry appear at
these meetings and declare their intention ; persons are ap¬
pointed to inquire whether the parties are free from other
engagements, and vvhether they have the consent of parents
or guardians. These inquiries being answered in the affir¬
mative, and the parties signifying to the following monthly
meeting their continuance in the same mind, are permitted
by it to proceed.
Several of these monthly meetings compose a quarterly
meeting. A quarterly meeting, indeed, generally embraces
one or two counties. At the quarterly meetings are pro¬
duced, from the monthly meetings, written answers to cer¬
tain standing queries respecting the conduct of the mem¬
bers, and the meetings’ care over them. These accounts
are digested into one, and sent on by representatives to the
yearly meeting. The money contributions for the national
stock, &c~, are not forwarded by the representatives from the
quarterly meetings to the yearly meeting directly, but by
appointed correspondents in each quarterly meeting to the
Meeting for Sufferings, which is the fiscal and executive
organ of the yearly meeting. Ministers wishing to travel
in the ministry in Great Britain must obtain a certificate
from their own monthly meeting; and if they extend their
views to Ireland, they must take one from the quarterly
meeting. The quarterly meetings assist their monthly
meetings in difficult cases, and hear any appeals from their
judgment.
From the quarterly meetings in spring, representatives
are sent to the yearly meeting in London; thus the affairs
of the society coming into operation in every meeting in
the kingdom, gradually concentrating themselves into one
focus, concerns of a local nature being dropped in their own
proper sphere, and the monthly or quarterly meetings, and
those of a more general interest being carried on to the
great annual assembly. To understand, however, the me¬
chanism of the society, it must be explained that these
meetings of discipline, monthly, quarterly, and yearly, are
not restricted to the representatives only. All members
may, and great numbers do, attend them; for not only
has every member a right to give an opinion on all public
questions, but these meetings offer points of pleasant re¬
union and acquaintanceship. It must, too, be understood
that the women, simultaneously with the men, but in a
separate apartment, hold their own monthly, quarterly, and
yearly meetings of discipline, in which they watch over
the interests, the moral conduct, and the religious con¬
sistency of the female portion of the community. There
is also, previous to any meeting of discipline, a meeting of
ministers and elders, to strengthen each others’ hands.
To their meeting in London, more commonly called “ the
Morning Meeting,” is intrusted the revision of manuscripts
which concern the principles of the society, and the grant¬
ing of certificates to ministers wishing to travel abroad
v E R S.
during the intervals of the yearly meeting. These ministers Qa&ken.
and elders afterwards take their places in the general meet- ^ ^ I
ings of discipline. The ministers are also members of the
Meeting for Sufferings, which, as already stated, is the
standing committee of the society.
These subordinate and preliminary meetings, then, having
been held, the yearly meeting comes on in London in the
month of May. There is but one yearly meeting for these
united kingdoms, to which come representatives from Scot¬
land and Ireland. But in America, where the great body
of the Quakers is now to be found, there are eight yearly
meetings, which correspond with the English yearly ’meet¬
ing, and with one another; besides five yearly*meetings of
what are called Liberal or Hicksite Quakers, with whom
neither the English nor the other American Quakers hold
any communication. The discipline in all is pretty much
the same, and therefore the description of that in London
may represent the rest It elects a clerk, who officiates at
once as chairman and secretary, and an assistant-clerk, to
relieve him by reading long documents, &c. The meet¬
ing is held by adjournment from day to day, and generally
continues about ten days. It receives epistles from Friends
in Ireland, and the orthodox yearly meetings in America,
and appoints committees to draw up answers. It receives
and considers the answers to the standing queries on the
moral and religious condition of the society, from all the
quarterly meetings. Accounts are laid before it by the
Meeting for Sufferings of all the seizures for tithes, church-
rates, &c. It has committees sitting on the state of the
public schools, on the subject of slavery, and on other
questions, in which the Friends take great interest, and on
which they frequently feel bound to address the crown,
petition Parliament, or call upon the public for its attention.
It has a committee to receive all appeals against the deci¬
sion of the quarterly meetings. It alone has power to alter
any of the established rules of the society., or to make new
ones. It sometimes appoints committees to visit such
quarterly meetings as appear in need of help ; and it always
addresses a general epistle to the society, which is read in
every meeting in the kingdom; the women Friends issuing
an epistle from their meeting, addressed to the female
community exclusively.1
In their mode of worship the Friends differ from all other Peculiar
Christians. Believing all worship to depend upon the im-mode of
mediate operation of the Holy Spirit, and having therefore
no paid ministers, no stated prayers, no singing even, they
walk into their meeting-house, the men with their hats on,
and sit down in silence. They keep on their hats because
they do not believe that place to be holier than any other,
or that worship is more acceptable at one time than another,
but that it is enjoined on us and is good for us, to assemble
ourselves together before God. They have no separate
pews, but all the men sit together on one row of benches,
and all the women on another. They have no pulpit, be¬
cause they have no fixed preacher; but as they may have
several voluntary ones, they have a long raised gallery in
front of the congregation, where the ministers sit, the men
facing the men, and the women facing the women of the
audience. The elders sit with them or with the overseers,
in a lower gallery, still facing the meeting. As the minis¬
try is independent of human appointment, so is it of human
choice in its distribution. There may be, and often are,
half a dozen ministers or more resident, as in large towns,
and there may be a succession of sermons and prayers,
whilst in great numbers of other meetings there is no
minister, nor a word spoken for years together, except
it be by travelling ministers, who occasionally visit, not
only their meetings, but each family belonging to them.
1 i- or all that relates to the civil and religious economy of the society, see its statute-book, The Book of the Buies of Discipline, fcc.
QUAKERS. 721
Quakers. Such were the early Quakers, and such are the forms of
.r polity and worship which they have left behind them.
Great Those who now see the Friends as they are would scarcely
change in believe them to be descended from so fiery and innovating
thecharac* a race. The old Quakers were vehement in the promul-
tcr of the gatjon of their principles, and aggressive in their attacks on
*ociety’ the principles of others. The present Friends neither
assail the religious doctrines of others, nor seem anxious to
diffuse their own. The virtue of the first Quakers was
active, that of the present is passive to a miracle. They
cling tenaciously to the outward forms of their system, and
to their peculiarities of dress, speech, and renunciation of
popular amusements; but the ancient fire which once lit
up their body seems to have gone out. They profess to
hold their great principles as sacred as their ancestors did,
but they show little anxiety to make them known. Much
of this remarkable change is plainly attributable to natural
causes. The violence of a religious paroxysm determines
the length of its duration. When persecution ceased, the
Friends found themselves thrown, by their abandonment of
the ordinary amusements and tastes of the world, on trade
for occupation, and led home for relaxation. They became
busy, domestic, and of consequence wealthy. These causes
will explain much, but there is another cause which will ex¬
plain more of the present circumstances of the society ; their
great tenet, and corner-stone of their faith, the Inward
Light. Carrying this doctrine to the extent which they
do, that it is the all-sufficient guide; that its guidance is
to be sought and waited for ; that we must put down before
it our own imaginations and reason, and without its im¬
pulse we must make no religious movement, it has had this
effect; it has acted as a blight upon the ministry. Those
who might feel disposed to address their meetings from a
simple feeling of love, and desire for the salvation of their
fellows, and from a belief that every good motive must
come from the source of all good, and would be blessed by
Him; these, perhaps the most able members of the body,
have yet shrunk from the task, because they felt that they
should be restrained by the elders, as persons running in
their own strength, and in their own natural reason. Those
who have not been so sensitive, and have been adopted as
ministers, have entered upon a process of putting down
every motion and faculty of their own minds, and of wait¬
ing for a direct and palpable revelation from heaven. The
consequence need not be stated. It is a fact, that since
the first days of Quakerism they have had few preachers
of extraordinary eloquence or originality of mind. The
ministry is now confessedly low, and the sermons heard
in their meetings are most frequently commonplace and
rambling. The experiment of an unpaid ministry in their
hands has been by no means a splendid one. No spread
or prevalence of their doctrines has followed, at all answer-
able to the ground of inspiration assumed. With the ex¬
ception of two preachers who have lately paid a visit to
Australia and the South Sea Islands, they have sent out no
missionaries, nor contributed to the funds of those societies
which did, because they were not moved to it; as if the
evidence of success were not sufficient warrant. In their
meetings of discipline the same principle has produced the
same effects. Though all profess to live under the influence
of the spiritual guide, some are supposed to live under it
more habitually. These have acquired the name of Weighty
Friends, that is. Friends of weight of character and conse¬
quent influence. Instead, therefore, of deciding all ques¬
tions in these meetings by the ordinary mode of voting, or
by a show of hands, a mode, one would have imagined,
particularly consonant to their views ot natural right, they
have adopted the singular one of deciding by weight; that
is, by the dicta of the Weighty Friends, who for the most
part are men of weighty purses too. These Friends have
only to say, I am of this or that opinion,” without assign-
VOL. XVIII.
ing any reason, and this is taken as the sense of the meet- Quakers,
ing, and decides the question. Thus is the government of
the society thrown into the hands of an oligarchy of the
most dangerous kind; for none can be more dangerous
than that of an assumed sanctity ; and thus are the ad¬
vantages of their otherwise popular system curiously neu¬
tralized.
The same principle has operated still further. It has
damped religious inquiry and discussion. In the common
affairs of life and trade, where the Friends have used their
understandings, they have shown themselves shrewd and
successful; in matters of religion they thought it right to
renounce their natural faculties, and wait. When tbe young
have expressed to ministers, or any of their elder Friends,
their doubts or uneasiness on any religious point, they have
replied, “ they did not feel free to discuss such matters
they advised them to “ centre down into their own minds,
to turn inward to the infallible guide.” The consequence
became apparent in a dearth of religious intelligence. There
was not the same inquiry into and clear recognition of reli¬
gious doctrines amongst them as amongst other commu¬
nities of Christians; and when the spirit of research burst
upon them from without they w’ere startled. Many felt
themselves like mere children in theology, and were scat¬
tered different ways.
These divisions first showed themselves in America in Modern
1827. They originated in objections to the doctrines of a^QSn™Sthe
very popular and aged minister, Elias Hicks; but at thep“?nda.
yearly meeting in Philadelphia that year, it was found that
great numbers were of his opinions, and the parties came to
an open rupture. The schism soon spread to New York,
and the feud raged for some years with great violence, end¬
ing eventually in the total disruption of the society in Ame¬
rica. It is difficult to state the numbers of the society,
because there has always been a reluctance to take a regu¬
lar census of the body. In the year 1659, from the number
of females who signed petitions to Parliament, it was calcu¬
lated that the number altogether in England was about
30,000. At present, from calculations made by private
individuals, there does not appear to be quite 20,000; but
in America they have been variously estimated at from
100,000 to 160,000, and may be very safely rated at more
than 100,000. The section of the American Quakers
calling themselves orthodox state the numbers who avowed
the opinions of Elias Hicks at 30,000 ; the Hicksites them¬
selves claim 60,000. It may therefore be fairly taken for
granted that the body there is pretty equally rent in two.
The English Quakers renounced the Hicksite Quakers,
though these people protested that they held, and had
always held, the doctrines of the first Friends in their in¬
tegrity. Scarcely was this schism effected when the Quakers
in'England found themselves assailed on the opposite side
by a party which had been most urgent with them to dis¬
own the Hicksites. This attack appeared in the shape of
a publication called A Beacon to the Society of Friends,
warning them against the errors of Hicks, and advocating
water-baptism, the taking of the Lord’s Supper, and other
opinions which the Quakers from the first had .abandoned.
The heats and contentions incident to religious disputes
have, on this ground, distracted the society here; some few
have withdrawn from the body, and several individuals have
been dismissed for adopting ceremonies which Quakerism
rejects ; but the body itself has hitherto remained entire.
It is not necessary here to enter into the points in dis¬
pute. It may suffice to say, that the Hicksites are charged
with setting the Inward Light above the Scriptures, and
the Beaconites with setting the Scriptures above the In¬
ward Li<dit; the Hicksites with running too far into mys¬
ticism, and the Beaconites into the “ beggarly elements”
of outward form. Both parties appeal to Scripture against
each other, and the English Friends appeal to it against
4 Y
722
QUAKERS.
ter,
Quakers, them both. The circumstance to be regretted is, that this
society, which has boasted that it “ has no creed,” and which
says, “ \\ e require no formal subscription to any articles,
either as to the condition of membership, or to qualify for
the services of the church ; we prefer judging of men by
their Iruits;” should thus rend itself to pieces about “articles
of faith,” and the very stuff of which “creeds” are made.
Their high If, however, the Society of Friends, having an “infallible
philanthro- guide,” lias not avoided wandering different ways; if, being
piccharac- “a Society of Friends,” they have not avoided bickerings
and divisions; they have the honour of being amongst the
noblest and most unwearied philanthropists which the world
has ever seen. In this character they have proudly main¬
tained their testimonies. If George Fox was not untouched
with the extravagances of his age, he outstripped that age
two hundred years in his clear perception of the highest
requirements of Christianity. He was amongst the first,
if not the first, to call public attention to the dreadful
state of our prisons, to the injustice of capital punishments
for mere stealing, and to the atrocious system of confining
fresh prisoners with the most thoroughly debased.1 He de¬
clared the anti-christianity of war, oaths, and slavery. In
the maintenance of all these great truths, to the recognition
of which the world is now but tardily coming, his followers
have nobly emulated him. William Penn, by his just
treatment of the Indians, and the full liberty of conscience
granted in his new state of Pennsylvania, showed the noble
lessons he had learned in this school. It was amongst the
Friends that the great crusade against Negro slavery com¬
menced in the person of John Woolman, an American
minister.2 From that time to the present the Quakers
have never ceased their efforts in that cause. They were
the first in England to form an association for the abolition
of the slave-trade. Thomas Clarkson, on setting out on
his career, found them everywhere ready to co-operate
with him, and to the last day of the struggle their purses
and personal exertions were never spared. They have not
been less zealous in spreading their opinions of the crime
and impolicy of war; and in prison discipline Elizabeth
Pryor, a name not enough known or honoured, and her
more known but not more deserving coadjutor Elizabeth
Fry, have merited largely of the public. It is in this point
of view, in thus early and steadily, theoretically and prac¬
tically, exhibiting Christianity in its highest and most
beneficent form, “ peace on earth and good-will towards
men,” that the Friends have conferred on society the
greatest good of which men can be made the instruments,
and deserve from it the most grateful esteem.
Since the first publication of this article, a great change
has been going on in the Society of Friends in regard to
some of the things to which George Fox and the early
Friends objected, and also as regarded certain “testi¬
monies,” as they were called, which had originated with
the first Friends, or had gradually developed themselves in
supposed accordance with the principles of the society.
There are certain arts and practices which have nothing
evil in themselves, but, on the contrary, are highly esteemed
by mankind in general, as having a refining and elevating
tendency, which George Fox discouraged the practice of,
on the plea that they led to gross abuses, to undesirable
associations, or were consumptive of time which might be
better employed. Under the host of things to be avoided
on such grounds were the fine arts, painting, sculpture,
music, singing, and dancing. The fine arts were objected
to both because they were, in Fox’s time, too frequently
employed on meretricious subjects, and to flatter the worst
tastes and habits of society. They were made to flatter
grossly the mere worldly great, and to perpetuate Quakers,
characters which were better buried in oblivion. Fox
thought the only mode of protecting his followers against
the pernicious influence of arts so employed was to forbid
them altogether. Friends were neither allowed to practise
these abused and degraded arts, nor to embellish their
houses with specimens even of their better kind, as leading
only to a love of the merely ornamental, and to a costly
display which fostered ostentation. To adorn their houses
with paintings and sculpture was inconsistent with that sim¬
plicity of life, and that religious tone of mind, which the
Friends were called upon to cultivate in opposition to the
spirit of the world.
The objection to painting and sculpture, on account of
their abuse, applied still more strongly to music, singing,
and dancing. These at that time were too redolent of the
sensuous, the frivolous, the false, and the dissipated, to be
admitted into the houses of Friends. They led, moreover,
directly to worldly acquaintanceships, worldly pleasures,
and a worldly tone ; to assemblies, theatres, operas, concerts,
and parties where mere amusement, at the cost of serious¬
ness and propriety, was the prevalent feature. The Friends
regarded, moreover, the years of youth which are requisite
to acquire proficiency in painting, music, and the merely
elegant accomplishments, as a serious absorption of a period
when more solid acquirements demanded almost the whole
attention ; besides, it was not a singing and piping age to
the Friends, but an age of contempt, persecutions, prisons,
and tribulations.
Such, then, were the principles and circumstances which
shaped and coloured the life of Quakerism, and left their
results fixed till a recent period ; but during this recent
period the members of the society have gradually emerged
more familiarly into the intercourse of life at large. They
were become wealthy, well-educated, and esteemed for
their high moral character. They were come in contact
with, in the prosecution of great aims, Bible societies,
anti-slavery societies, societies for promoting education
and other similar objects; and when, by the acceptance of
their affirmation instead of on oath, they were admissible to
the magistracy and to Parliament, their intercourse with
the best society became more extended.
Under these influences, and under the influence of a
very marked and progressive improvement in the public
taste as it regarded the fine arts, and consequently from
the high moral qualities required as works of art, Friends
began to see that the rejection of a good thing on account
of its popular abuse was by no means a sound practice ;
that it became good, intelligent, and independent people
to support the moral and religious progress of the arts by
adding their own moral momentum, the purifying force of
the countenance of the virtuous, to the patronage of what
was eminently good in itself. They came, therefore, more
and more to recognise what was ameliorating and beneficial
to human life in the fine arts ; and of late years every one
must have remarked the numbers of Friends, especially at
the time of the yearly meetings, who have crowded our
galleries of painting and sculpture. A considerable num¬
ber of them became purchasers of good pictures having a
high moral purpose. You find such works beginning to
embellish their walls, and their children have been carefully
educated in drawing, and a taste for it. Though w’e are
not aware of any distinguished painter who is a member of
the society, they have distinguished engravers and photo¬
graphers ; and their admiration of fine wrorks of art is now
become general. Music is cultivated in a great number of
Friends’ families: they have an amateur singing society,
and it is by no means an uncommon sight to see in the
1 Sewel, i. 67 ; Fox’s Journal, i. 143.
2 Journal of John Woolman ; also Woolman’s Considerations on the Keeping of Negroes, Philadelphia, 1754; Dublin, 1776.
QUAKERS. 723
Quakers, houses of grave Friends young people engaged in the
^ dance.
Coincident with these social phenomena have appeared,
from the same cause, the growth of more liberal ideas in
the society, amalgamating with the more moral sentiment
of the age in general, other relaxations ot the ancient
rigour of Quakerism. This rigour had been especially
maintained in regard to marriage. I hey regarded the
marriage of one of their members to a person belonging
to the world at large, or to another religious body, as lead¬
ing to many and serious evils,—those ot a divided house¬
hold, divided on the most momentous question, that of
religious faith. This unequal yoking they beheld with
peculiar repugnance, from its necessary effect on the minds
of the children of such marriages, who must grow up
under the distracting effects of a diversity of faith in the
parents, and in being pulled two ways in attendance on
different forms of worship. To discourage such marriages,
they did not allow any one to be married at their meetings
to one of their members who was not himself or herself a
member, although this person might attend their meetings
and hold their religious opinions ; nor could such a couple
be married by a priest, because the Friends had a decided
testimony against a “ hireling ministry and for a Friend
to be married by such a minister would constitute a breach
of the fundamental principles of the society. All such
offenders, unless they took the precaution previously to
resign their membersliip, were disowned,—that is, expelled
from membership,—by the society. By this rigour the
Friends actually branded a law of nature as an unchristian
offence; nor did they relax this rigour when the parties,
instead of going to a “ hireling minister,” could go to a
magistrate.
But the quarterly meeting of Yorkshire, taking the start
in a more rational view of things, brought a proposition to
the yearly meeting in May 1856, suggesting that these
rules respecting marriage should be abolished, and marriages
allowed betwixt a member of the society, and one not in
the society, but professing with it; or even betwixt two
persons neither of whom should be a member, but both of
whom should attend the meetings of the society and pro¬
fess its principles ; and that these marriages should be
solemnized in the manner and in the meetings of Friends.
This bold proposition naturally took the more advanced
in age and orthodoxy by surprise. The proposition was
warmly debated at that and the succeeding yearly meetings
of 1857 and 1858, and by the last was referred for de¬
cision to a conference of three hundred members, which
met in London on the 2d of November 1858, and by
which the proposition was fully acceded to.
But before this conference was brought another question,
also marking a great change in the opinion of the society,
not in any religious tenet, but in its view of certain social
practices. Though neither George Fox nor the early
Friends established any particular costume, as is commonly
imagined they did, but merely adhered to the fashion of their
own day, discarding all sorts of finery from it, the practice
of the society in adhering to the fashion of their day, in
spite of the perpetual changes of fashion, had, in fact,
established a costume of Quakerism in marked contrast to
the costume of the present age. The world had gone on
changing; the Quakers had endeavoured to stand still. They
had not, indeed, been able to stand perfectly still. Spite of
themselves, changes and modifications of dress, both in
men and women, had gradually stolen in; so that the cos¬
tume of modern Friends was neither that of the age of
Fox and Penn nor of any other age. In the main, it was
singularly formal, stiff, bald, and ungraceful.
But in other particulars the first Friends had introduced
remarkable changes into their language and customs, in
direct opposition to the spirit and practice of the world.
As it was the invidious practice of their time to address Quakers,
rich men as “ you,” and poor men as “ thou,” they con-
demned the custom as unchristian and corrupt, and deter¬
mined to address every one alike in the singular number, as
most consonant with the rules of grammar. As the days
of the week and the months were for the most part named
in honour of heathen gods and heroes, they discarded these
names, and designated them only by numerals, as First Day,
Second Day ; First Month, Second Month, &e. All these
reforms, which appear to us now trivial and far-fetched,
were, however, founded in the practice of the early Quakers
in that noble resistance to everything corrupt, adulatory,
invidious, and unjust, which ran through their whole spirit
and system.
But the Friends of late saw that the odious practice of say¬
ing “ thou” to a poor man, and “you” to a rich, had ceased ;
that the practice of saying “Mr,” “Mrs,” “Sir,” or “Madam”
in address was no longer a piece of flattery, but of simple
courtesy, and of much greater truth than calling any one
friend wdio really was no friend at all. To this conference
meeting in November 1858 was referred the question,
whether there ought not to be a modification of the fourth
of a set of queries which had to be answered once a quarter
from every district of the society, the latter part of which
query demanded whether Friends were faithful in main¬
taining “plainness of speech, behaviour, and apparel.” It
was contended that these words had, through time, acquired
a false value; that they must bind Friends to a particular
costume which the first Friends never intended, and to a
language which only testified against an obsolete custom ;
that the words in the minds of the first Friends applied only
to the practice of simplicity in dress, address, and language,
but that they had now obtained another meaning, and went
to perpetuate forms which were only sectarian, were not
necessarily Christian, and had therefore better be omitted;
and the conference also adopted this conclusion. 1 he fiat
of the conference has yet to receive the sanction of the
yearly meeting; but as it is not likely to stultify its own
reference, Friends feel themselves practically released fiom
everything sectarian in regard to speech, behaviour, and
apparel; to abandon all that in the world’s eye stood as
the visible form of Quakerism, and to adopt every one for
himself what he deems consonant with the great principles
of simplicity and Christian propriety.
Many of the public journals have professed to see in
this great change the dissolution of the principles of
Quakerism itself; but this arises from an ignorance of what
Quakerism really is. Quakerism consists of a body of
great Christian principles, which are already detailed in this
article. The outward forms, as they became sectarian,
only disguised and hid from public view these great
principles. Quakerism does not depend, has never de¬
pended in the slightest degree, on the forms of caps or
coats, or on any forms of speech, but on the high and
independent assertion of the great doctrines of Christianity.
As is the nature of all artificial props, “ the peculiarities”
of Quakerism have only tended to cause the Friends to
lean on them instead of on their great and real principles,
and to deceive the world by an idea of Quakerism as
a religion of forms and oddities, whereas it is one of
the noblest truths and the most solemn protests against
whatever is unjust, oppressive, hollow, degrading, or de¬
moralizing in the principles and practices of the world ;
and we may feel assured that all these false props being
thrown down, and Quakerism left to depend for distinction
only on its genuine and undisguised principles, will make
those principles more prominent than ever.
For a full account of the schism amongst the American
Friends, we must refer to The Friend, av\& The Herald of
journals published by the opposite parties; The
Beacon, and Christian Enquirer; all published in America.
V
724 QUA
Quang-Si In The Christian Reformer, a London journal, a narrative
II may also be found, vols. xiii. xiv. xv. xvii. and xviii., old
^aar es.^ serjes> English discussion has occasioned a host of
* v ^ pamphlets, but the chief facts regarding it are contained in
The Beacon, by Isaac Crewdson; Truth Vindicated; The
Crisis of the Quaker Controversy ; Quakerism Examined,
by John Wilkinson ; An Examination of the Principles
and Practices of the Quakers, by Elisha Bates ; Luke
Howard’s Yorkshireman; Reports of the proceedings in
the Yearly Meetings of 1835 and 1836, in the Christian
QUA
Advocate and Patriot newspapers ; and defensive pamph- Quarles,
lets by S. Tuke, Dr Hancocke, and others.
The history and doctrines of the early Friends will be
found in George Fox’s Journal; Barclay’s Apology for
the True Christian Divinity; The Histories of the So¬
ciety, by Sewel and Gough ; The History of the Sufferings
of the Quakers, by Besse; The History of the Friends in
Ireland, by Rutty ; Ellwood’s Life, written by himself;
and the works of William Penn, Richard Claridge, and
others. (w. H—t.)
QUANG-SI, or Kuang-si, an inland province of China,
lying between N. Lat. 22. and 26., E. Long. 105. and
112. 30.; bounded on the W. by the province of Yunnan,
N. by those of Kwi-choo and Hoonan, E. by that of Quan-
tong, and S. by Quan-tong and the country of Tonquin ;
area, 78,377 square miles. A great part of the surface is
mountainous and densely wooded ; cultivation is carried on
only along the banks of the Choo-kiang, which traverses
the province from W. to E. Wheat, rice, wild cinnamon,
&c., grow here ; and among the minerals of the province
are gold, silver, lead, and cinnabar. The capital is Kwe-
lin-foo, a fortified town on the Hei-kiang, but Wu-chau-foo
is the principal commercial town in the province. Pop.
(1812) 7,313,895 ; (1843) 7,500,000.
QUANG-TONG, or Kuang-tung, a province of
China, lying between N. Lat. 20. and 25. 30., E. Long.
108. and 117., bounded on the N.W., N., and N.E. by the
provinces of Quang-si, Hoonan, Kiang-si, and Fokien;
S.E. and 8. by the China Sea and Gulf of Tonquin ; area
70,018 square miles. The surface is of various characters
in different parts, being mountainous towards the N. of the
province ; and the soil is in general fertile. The Choo-
kiang, or Canton River, and other streams of smaller size,
water the country. Gold, quicksilver, and marble are
among the mineral productions. Rice, sugar, indigo,
tobacco, cotton, and silk, are also raised; and the forests
produce oak, rosewood, and other kinds of timber. Many
manufactures are carried on here, and the trade is exten¬
sive. The capital of the province is Canton. Pop. (1812)
19,174,030; (1843) 20,000,000.
QUANTITY, in prosody, is the distribution of long,
short, and doubtful syllables, and constitutes what is called
number.
QUARANTINE (It. quaranto, forty), is a trial which
ships must undergo when suspected of pestilential infection.
It may be ordered by her Majesty, with advice of the
Privy Council, at such times and under such regulations as
she judges proper. Ships ordered on quarantine must repair
to the place appointed, and continue there during the time
prescribed ; and they must carry a yellow flag at the main,
and have no intercourse with the shore except for neces¬
sary provisions, which are conveyed with every possible pre¬
caution. When the time is expired, and the goods have
been opened and exposed to the air as directed, if there be
no appearance of infection, they are admitted to port.
This check to infection was first used by the Venetians.
(See Plague ; also M‘Culloch’s Comm. Dictionary^)
QUARLES, Francis, a poet and miscellaneous writer
of some note, was born in the spring of 1592 at Stewards,
in Romford Town Ward, in the county of Essex. He re¬
ceived his early education at a country school, where he is
said to have surpassed all his equals.” He subsequently
entered Christ’s College, Cambridge, and was a resident
member of that university in 1608. Passing from the
university, he entered Lincoln’s Inn, where he spent some
time in the study of law, and was afterwards promoted to
the office of cup-bearer to the Queen of Bohemia. In the
spring of 1621 he seems to have left her majestvA Jervice,
for we find him in Dublin at that period, from which place
he dates his History of Argalus and Parthenia. This was
not his first effort, however. He had before written The
Feast of Worms, or the History of Jonah, a somewhat
singular poem, in which strength, coarseness, and breadth
of colouring are all equally visible. On visiting Ireland,
he became secretary to the learned Usher, recently elevated
to the see of Meath. Quarles wrote, about this period, his
Quintessence of Meditation and his History of Queen
Esther. His next work consisted of a paraphrase upon
Job, interspersed with original meditations. In 1625
Quarles lost one of his most esteemed friends by the
plague, in Dr Aylmer, archdeacon of London, and son of
Bishop Aylmer. The poet wrote an Alphabet of Elegies
in honour of his memory, in which there are some of the
most precious tributes of sincere affection to be found in
our language. He printed during the same year Zion’s
Elegies, a paraphrase upon the songs of mourning “ wept
by Jeremie the prophet.” In 1631 was published his His¬
tory of Sampson, and in 1635 the first issue of his Emblems,
suggested by the Pia Desideria of Herman Hugo. He
occasionally strikes out in these Emblems, as indeed in all
his poetry, images of very great sublimity. In one of these
he represents the sword of justice swinging through the
universe with ever-increasing power. His next eccentri¬
city was his Hieroglyphics, “ an Egyptian dish, drest in the
English fashion.” Prefixed to one of these he represents
a lighted taper, with the winds of eternity fanning the flame.
On Quarles’ return to England, which must have been
before February 4, 1639, he was appointed “ Chronologer”
to the city of London, with a salary of L.33, 6s. 8d. The
Enchiridion, a collection of brief essays and aphorisms, ap¬
peared in 1641; a piece, according to Mr Headly, which
had it “ been written at Athens or Rome, its author would
have been classed with the wise men of his country.” But
the vigour, eloquence, and piety of the sentiments do not
atone for the frequent use of antithesis, often of the most
perverse and self-willed description. They possess a
novelty at first, which leads the reader forward, but he will
infallibly break down long before reaching the end. The
calamities which befell his “king and country” involved
Quarles, whose love to both, says his widow, caused him
many “ prayers and tears.” His Thoughts upon Peace and
War, full of mild wisdom as they were, did not prevent
him from being plundered of his “ books and some rare
manuscripts.” A petition “ full of unjust aspersions,” says
his widow, was preferred against him, from which he did
not recover. He died on the 8th of September 1644.
After his death were published Solomon’s Recantation;
A Paraphrase on Ecclesiastes; the Virgin Widow, a
comedy, “an innocent production;” and the Shepherd’s
Oracles. Quarles’s School of the Heart and Hieroglyphics
were published in London in 1858, and his Emblems in
1859, with illustrations. A copy of the Enchiridion of
Francis Quarles has recently been published by Russell
Smith in the “ Library of Old Authors.” The most com¬
plete biography of the poet is that by Robert Aris Willmott,
in his Lives of Sacred Poets, London, 1835.
QUA
Q U E
725
Quarry
II
Quartetto.
Of Quarles’ very numerous family, John is alone re¬
membered, whose compositions seem to have been very
numerous. He was by some “ esteemed a good poet,
though falling considerably short ot his father, both in
power and originality. He was carried off by the plague
in 1665.
QUARRY, an excavation, from which are extracted
marble, freestone, slate, limestone, or other building mate-
Quarry, amongst hunters, is sometimes used for a part
of the entrails of the beast taken, which is given by way of
reward to the hounds.
Quarry, in falconry, is the game which the hawk is in
pursuit of, or has killed.
QUART, a measure of capacity, being the fourth part
of some other measure. The English quart is the fourth
part of the gallon, and contains two pints.
QUARTATION, in metallurgy, is an operation by
which the quantity of one metal is made equal to a fourth
part of the quantity of another. Thus when gold alloyed
with silver is to be parted, we are obliged to facilitate the
action of the aquafortis by reducing the quantity of the
former of these metals to one-fourth part of the whole
mass, which is done by increasing the quantity of the silver
as far as necessary.
QUARTER, the fourth part of anything, the fractional
expression for which is
Quarter is generally used to signify the fourth part of
an hundredweight avoirdupois, or twenty-eight pounds.
Quarter, used as the name of a dry measure, is the fourth
part of a ton in weight, or eight bushels.
Quarters of a horse is employed in various senses.
Thus the shoulders and fore-legs are called i\\e fore-quar¬
ters, and the hips and hinder-legs the hind-quarters. 1 he
quarters of a horse’s foot are the sides of the coffin, com¬
prehended between the toe and the heel; the inner quar¬
ters are those opposite to one another, facing from one foot
to the other, and these are always weaker than the outside
quarters, which lie on the external sides of the coffin.
False-quarters are a cleft in the horn of a horse s hoof, ex¬
tending from the coronet to the shoe. A horse is said to
be a quarter-cast when, for any disorder in the coffin, we
are obliged to cut one of the quarters ot the hoof. ^
Quarter, in astronomy, the fourth part of the moon s
period. Thus from the new moon to the quadrature is the
first quarter ; from this to full moon, the second quaitei ,
and so on.
Quarter. See Heraldry.
Quarter of a Ship, that part of a ship s side which lies
towards the stern, or which is comprehended between the
aftmost end of the main chains and the sides of the stein,
where it is terminated by the quarter-pieces.
Quarter-Master, an officer whose principal business it
is to look after the quarters of the soldiers, their clothing,
bread, ammunition, firing, and the like.
Quarter-Master-General is an important officer in the
army, whose duty it is to mark out to the quarter-masters
the marches and encampments of the soldiers. (See Army.)
QUARTERING. See Heraldry.
QUARTETTO, Quartet, in music, a composition for
four voices, or four instruments, in which the parts are all
obbligati; that is, in which no one of the parts can be
omitted without injuring the proper effect of the composi¬
tion. To understand the structure of instrumental quar¬
tettes of this kind, those of Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven,
Spohr, Onslow, and a very few others, must be examined.
Vocal’quartettes are generally accompanied by instruments,
to sustain the voices. A mere interchange of melody be¬
tween one part and another, where the parts alternately be¬
come principal and subordinate, without any interweaving
of them by means of imitations, double counterpoint, &c.,
Quatre-
Bras
does not constitute a regular quartetto. Neither is a regu¬
lar quartetto found in a composition that consists of one
principal part, accompanied from beginning to end by three Quebec
other parts, which are merely harmonic supports to the <,
principal part. (See Music, and Principal.) (q.f. g.)
QUATRE-BRAS, a village of Belgium, in the province
of South Brabant, 26 miles S.S.E. of Brussels. It is only
notable on account of the indecisive battle that was fought
here, June 16, 1815, two days before that of Waterloo.
The British troops then occupied this position, while the
Prussians under Blucher were at the village of St Arnaud
and Ligny. Napoleon attacked the latter in person ; and
after meeting with a desperate resistance, forced them to
retire to Wavre. Meanwhile Ney, with 40,000 men, ad¬
vanced against the British, but they stood firm, and thus
foiled the attempt of Ney to turn Blucher’s right, and
place himself between the Prussians and the British. The
loss of the British at Quatre-Bras was 350 killed and 2380
wounded ; that of the French above 4000.
QUATREMilRE-DE-QUINCY, Antoine Chrysos-
tome, a distinguished French archaeologist, was born at
Paris in 1758. He was just beginning to be known as a
writer on art, when he became involved in the political
broils of the French revolution. Entering the Legislative
Assembly in 1791, he took his stand for constitutional
monarchy. His unswerving adherence to that cause brought
him into trouble and danger at several of the momentous
stages of the struggle. During the Reign of Terror he
lay for thirteen months in prison. After the insurrection
of the 13th Vendemiaire he was sentenced to death, and
was obliged to skulk in concealment for nearly a year. In
1797 also, the year in which he sat in the council of the
Five Hundred, he would have been banished to Cayenne,
had he not consulted his safety by a temporary absence
from the capital. The rest ot Quatremere-de-Quincy s
long life was spent in peaceful activity. There were
several offices in connection with learning to which he was
called at different times. In 1814 Louis XVIII. made
him censor-royal, and intendant of arts and public monu¬
ments. In 1815 he was named member of the Council ot
Public Instruction. In the following year the Institute
elected him a member, and the Academy of the Fine Arts
appointed him their perpetual honorary secretary. Nor
were his literary faculties meanwhile unemployed. He
wrote numerous works on the history and theory of art.
He composed funeral orations on many ot his fellow-acade¬
micians. It was not until a few years before his death, in
1849, that his pen was laid aside. The following are some
of Quatremere-de-Quincy’s principal works
Le Jupiter Olympien, 1814; Lettres Addressees & M. Canova sur
les Marl,res d'Elgin, 8vo, Rome. 1818 ; De ^tote de
Movens de VImitation dans les Beaux Arts, 8*0, 1823, Histoire de
la Vie et des Ouvrages de Raphael, 1824; Monumens et Ouvrages
A.%~. rJU 4to, Paris, 1826-1829; and
I'ldtal, 1837.
GUATUORVIR, formerly written IIII. Vir, a Roman
magistrate, who had three colleagues joined with him in the
same administration, and had the care of conducting and
settling the colonies sent into the provinces. There were
also quatuorviri appointed to inspect and take care of re-
^^QU AVER, in music, a measure of time equal to half a
crotchet or an eighth part of a semibreve.
QUEBEC a town of East Canada, the chief seaport and
strongest military position in British North America, on a
rocky promontory at the confluence of the rivers St Law-
rence aPnd St Charles, 170 miles below Montreal, and 556
N bv E. of New York. The country in which it stands
is*much admired for the boldness and sublimity of its
scenery ; the left bank of the St Lawrence is lined for
some distance above the town with an elevated strip ot
726
Quebec.
Q U E
, ^.an(]’ on t^ie extremity of which the town is built.
I he citadel, which occupies the highest point, has an ele¬
vation of 350 feet above the river,— the declivity being steep
on the S.E. side, but more gradual towards the N. and W
where the ground slopes towards the St Charles. It is on
the latter side that Quebec is built,—the upper town on an
elevated slope, about 100 feet below the citadel, and ter¬
minating in steep cliffs 200 feet high ; while the lower town
occupies the narrow strip of land'between these cliffs and
the river. To the west there are two large suburbs,—that
of St Roche occupying the lower plain, which here ex¬
pands to a greater width ; and that of St John, on the same
level as the upper town. To the S.W. of the latter are the
plains of Abraham. The citadel, which covers an area of
40 aci es, is consideied almost impregnable, being defended
for the most of its circuit by steep precipices; and in other
places by strong and skilfully-constructed fortifications, con¬
sisting of a moat, covered way, and glacis. There are in
the citadel bailacks, magazines, and a large armoury. The
uppei town is encircled by a wall, which is mounted with
heavy ordnance, and entered by five gates. The approach
to the upper from the lower town is commanded by well-
placed cannons in the citadel. On the plains of Abraham,
outside of the suburb of St John, there are four Martello
towers, extending across the ridge, which defend the city
from attack in this direction. I he houses in Quebec are
in geneial two or three storeys in height, built of stone or
brick, and roofed with shingles or tin plates, so as to pre¬
sent a singular and antique appearance. The lower town,
owing to the confined and uneven ground on which it is built’
is very irregular, with short, narrow, and crooked streets;
but in the upper town, and especially in the suburbs, there
is moie regularity, the streets are broad, straight, well
paved, and clean. There are many public buildings, some
of which are large and handsome. The Parliament build-
ings, fbimeily the episcopal palace, is a large edifice in the
Ionic style, surmounted by a dome. The Roman Catholic
cathedi al of Notre Dame is an irregular building of great
size, with a tower and spire, and it contains many fine old
paintings. I here is also a Protestant cathedral, a plain
edifice in the Roman style. The Roman Catholic Church
has six other places of worship ; the Church of England,
five; the Established and the Free Church of Scotland,
the French Protestants, the Congregationalists, Wesleyans,
and Baptists, one each. I he public buildings in general
aie moie remaikable for their substantial character than for
any great elegance. Among the ornaments of the town,
the most interesting are those which commemorate the
celebiated victory by which Quebec came into the pos¬
session of the British. A monument to General Wolfe,
('A°ins^'n§ a column 40 feet high, stands on the plains of
Abiaham; a smaller pillar marks the place where he fell;
and inside the town there is an obelisk, 65 feet in height, in
honour of Wolfe and his adversary Montcalm, who both
led in the battle, and lie buried on the field. Laval uni¬
versity derives its name from the first Roman Catholic
bishop of Canada, who founded in 1663 an institution, called
V6 8Ue.beC Se.minary> f°r the education of priests. When
t e British gained possession of Canada this was made a
general college; and having risen considerably in import¬
ance, was in 1852 erected by royal charter into a univer-
sity. The buildings are only partially finished, and none
ut t e faculties of law and medicine are yet in operation,
r bas ^ professors, 36 students, and a library
o 00 volumes, d he collegiate department comprises
ie institution as it was before being made a university,
an me udes the grand seminary for the study of theology,
and the minor seminary for literature and philosophy. Que-
,as a so a normal school, and several literary and scien-
IIotpinSn-Utl°nS* ^be benevolent institutions include the
*eu, a nunnery and hospital; a lunatic asylum;
Q U E
military, marine, general, and orphan hospitals, &c. Though Quedah
not vei y lemarkable as a manufacturing town, various \  _ *
branches of industry are carried on at Quebec: soap, candles
tobacco, beer, and brandy are made here; but ship-build¬
ing is the employment that occupies the greater number of
opeiatives in the town. The number of vessels annually
built and equipped is from 30 to 40, and the tonnage 1000
or 2000. The harbour of Quebec is very good. It is pro¬
tected towards the N.E. by the island of Orleans, on either
side of which there is an approach. Vessels of the largest
size can lie in the middle of the stream, where there is ex¬
cellent anchoiage; and smaller ones come alongside the
wharves which line the water’s edge. The water here is
fresh, but yet the tide has 18 feet at springs. The chief
article of export from Quebec is timber, which is floated
down the river from the basin of the Ottawa and the north
s ime of Lake Ontario, and is laid up in coves extending
along the river for 6 miles above the town. From these
coves the timber is floated out to the ships in the harbour.
Quebec is the principal emporium of the export trade be¬
tween Canada and Great Britain ; while the imports, on the
other hand, are generally conveyed directly up to Mon¬
ti eal, which in that respect is much superior. The num¬
ber, tonnage, and crews of the vessels entered and cleared
at Quebec for several years is as follows
The quantity of timber conveyed to the town and ex¬
ported in 1854, was as follows :—
Supply. Export.
Feet. Feet.
0ak  2,176,071 1,335,920
Elm  1,927,865 1,463,600
•A®11   221,446 106,160
Birch  45,052 51,160
Temarac  2,649,759 78,560
White pine  19,648,006 19,612|320
Red Pine  3,756,848 2,699^080
Total  30,425,047 25,346,800
The total value of exports in 1856 w^as L.2,048,299, of
imports L.071,598, and of import duty received L.92,477.
Quebec has been several times devastated by terrible fires,
the last of which occurred in 1845; but it is now guarded
against this danger by a copious supply of water from Lake
St Chailes, which can be thrown by its owm pressure over
the highest edifices. Ihe city is governed by a mayor and
twenty-four councillors, and returns three members to the
legislative assembly. It was founded by the French in
1608, and fortified in 1690. It remained in their hands
till 1 759, when, in consequence of the victory of Wolfe, it
was surrendered to the British, and finally confirmed to
them by the treaty of Paris in 1763. It was attacked by the
American republicans in 1775, but the siege was raised in
the following year. Since then its capture has not been
again attempted. Pop. (1851) of the city, 42,052; of the
county, 61,566; (1857) of the city, about 60,000, chiefly
of French origin.
QUEDAH, or Kedah, a native state in the Malay
peninsula, dependent on the empire of Siam, lying between
N. Lat. 5. and 7., E. Long, (of the capital) 100. 30,
bounded on the N. by Siam proper; E. by the dependent
states of Patani, Kalantan, and Tringanu ; S. by the inde¬
pendent state of Perak; and W. by the British province
Q U E
Quedlin- Wellesley and the ocean. It is about 140 miles in length
burg by 50 in average breadth. The coast is skirted with many
II small islands, and is difficult of access on account of the
Queen. shal|0wnesS of the water. The country consists for the
“v " J most part of a plain, but slightly elevated above the level
of" the sea, and traversed by a chain of hills from N. to S.
about 20 miles inland. The soil is fertile, though little
cultivated, and covered in many places with vast forests.
Rice, cocoa-nuts, plantains, and betel-nuts, are among the
vegetable productions of Quedah ; and gold, iron, and tin
are its chief mineral riches. I he subjection of Quedah to
Siam is little more than nominal. The rajah of Quedah
receives a pension from the British government in tetuin for
the cession of Prince of Wales Island and Province Wel¬
lesley. The capital of the state is Quedah, at the mouth of
the river of the same name ; and an active trade is carried on
with Prince of Wales Island in the produce of the country,
especially in tin. Pop. of the state, 65,000; of the town, 8000.
QUEDLINBURG, a town of Prussia, in the province
of Saxony and circle of Magdeburg, on the Bode, 35 miles
S.W. of Magdeburg. It is well built, and encircled by
walls flanked with towers, and entered by ten gates. Its
most conspicuous edifice is the castle, which rises on a
sandstone rock above the rest of the town. It was the resi¬
dence of the abbesses of Quedlinburg, who, as princesses
of the empire, had a vote in the Diet, and a Seat in the
bench of bishops. The church, which was partly built in
the eleventh, and partly in the fourteenth century, contains
the graves of the Emperor Henry I. and his wife Matilda;
of Aurora Maria, Countess of Konigsmark, and mother of
Marshal Saxe; and of several abbesses of Quedlinburg.
The castle is now used as a seminary for young ladies of
rank. The town-hall of Quedlinburg contains numerous
specimens of ancient armour, plate, and portraits, as well
as a manuscript of the ancient code of law called the Such-
senspiegel. Here is also shown a large and strong chest
in which Albert Count of Reinstein was confined for 20
months by the citizens of Quedlinburg. The town con¬
tains a gymnasium and several hospitals, including one for
orphans and another for the deaf-and-dumb. Woollen cloth,
beet-root sugar, and brandy are manufactured here; and
a trade in corn is carried on. I he poet Klopstock was born
here in 1724. Pop. (1852) 14,258.
QUEEN (Saxon ewaeri), was employed to denote/e/we-
na, mulier, conjux, as well as the most noted of women and
wives, to whom now it is only appropriated. Ihe use of
queen as a sovereign princess who reigns in her own right,
and possesses all the powers which are the prerogative of a
male who is endowed with kingly authority, is an applica¬
tion of the word which was not originally contemplated.
The king's consort has been regarded in all countries as a
person of eminent dignity, and who has possessed privileges
granted to no other woman, whether married or single. A
queen-consort, in England, is regarded in all legal pro¬
ceedings as a single and not as a married woman. She is
competent to purchase and convey lands, to grant leases,
and to do other acts of ownership, without the king’s inter¬
vention. She may have a separate property in goods, and
may dispose of them by will. She pays no toll, and is free
from amercement by any court. She is, however, to all
intents the king’s subject, and is generally upon the same
footing with other subjects. Her majesty has separate
courts” and officers distinct from the king’s, not only in
matters of ceremony, but by ancient usage of law ; and hex-
attorney and solicitor-general are entitled to a place within
the bar in the king’s courts. Her personal expenses are
defrayed from the king’s privy purse. A queen-dowager
enjoys most of the privileges which belonged to her as
Queen-Consort.
A queen regnant differs in no respect fiom a king as
to the political rights vested in the dignity.
Q U E 727
The Hungarians have an aversion to the name of queen, Queen
and when a female ascends the throne, she reigns with the Anne’8
title of king. (See Mauia Theresa.) ° Bounty
QUEEN ANNE’S BOUNTY, the name applied to a Queen’s
perpetual fund of first-fruits and tenths which was granted County,
and confirmed by Queen Anne (statute 2 and 3 Anne, i ^ v -■ y
c. 11) in 1704 for the augmentation of the livings of the
poorer clergy. These first-fruits and tenths formed origi¬
nally part of the papal exactions from the clergy. The
former consist of the first whole year’s profit of all spiritual
preferments, and the latter of one-tenth of their annual
profits. The poorer livings are now exempted from the
tax. On the abolition of the papal authority, the income
thus derived was annexed to the revenues of the crown
(26 Henry VIII.), and so continued till the reign of Queen
Anne. The governors consist of the archbishops and
bishops, some of the principal officers of the government,
and the chief legal authorities. They hold four courts
yearly. About 4700 livings are charged with the payment
of first-fruits, and about 5000 charged with the payment of
yearly tenths. The average income from these sources is
L.14,000 yearly. To the end of the year 1852, the capital
appropriated to small livings, including L.1,000,000 from
parliamentary grants, and L. 1,530,400 from benefactions,
was L.5,027,200. The governors have received from Par¬
liament, to whom they present an annual account, between
1809 and 1820, the sum of L.l, 100,000, being the product
of eleven sums distributed during that time for augmenting
the incomes of the clergy. By 1 and 2 Viet., c. 20, the
offices are consolidated in the treasurer of the Queen
Anne’s Bounty. The treasurer and secretary, offices now
held jointly with a salary of L.l000 a year, are appointed
by the Queen during her pleasure by patent under the
great seal. (See The Official Handbook.)
QUEEN CHARLOTTE ISLANDS,a group of islands
in Australasia, lying between S. Lat. 10. and 12., E. Long.
165. and 168., consisting of five or six islands of consider¬
able size, and a great number of smaller ones. The largest
is Santa Cruz, or, in the native language, Nitandi, about
20 miles in length by half a mile in breadth. They are all
of volcanic origin; and in one, called Volcano, this agency
is not yet extinct. The larger islands, and some of the
others, are lofty; and they are all well wooded, producing
the cocoa-nut tree, the bread-fruit tree, and other vege¬
tables similar to those of the Friendly Islands. The inha¬
bitants ai-e numerous in proportion to the area, and they
belong to the race of Australian Negroes. Queen Char¬
lotte Islands wex-e discovered by Mandana in 1595, and it
is at Mallicollo, or Recherche, one of this group, that the
unfortunate La Perouse is believed to have been lost with
his crew.
QUEEN’S COLLEGES. (See Universities.)
QUEEN’S COUNTY, an inland county in the province
of Leinster, in Ireland, bounded on the north by the King’s
County, east by Kildare and Carlow, soxxth by Carlow and
Kilkenny, and west by Tipperary and the King’s County.
It extends over a surface of 664 square miles, or 424,854
acres, of which 342,422 are arable, 69.289 uncultivatod,
11,630 in plantations, 1117 in towns, and 396 under vyater.
Of the uncultivated ground about 18,000 acres, consisting
partly of pasture land on the eastern declivity of the Slieve-
Bloom Mountains, but chiefly of bog and boggy pasture,
are capable of being drained and cultivated advantageously;
26,000 acres may be improved by draining for pasture ; and
the remaining 25,000 acres are unimproveable.
No notice of the inhabitants of this part of Ireland is to
be found in Ptolemy’s account of the island : but Whitaker
supposes it to have been peopled, together with all the
other interior parts, by the Scots. It was afterwards known
by the names of Ossory and Leix; the former consisting
of the north-western districts, the latter of the remainder
728
QUEEN’S COUNTY.
Queen’s of the county, and the Barrow constituting the boundary
County, between them. Ossory, of which the Macgillypatricks or
Fitzpatricks were the toparchs, ranked as a subordinate
kingdom at the landing of the English, and for some time
afterwards. Leix was made a county palatine, which fell
into the possession of Roger Mortimer through the female
line, and afterwards was seized on by the O’Mores, who
retained possession of it, and proved persevering and trouble¬
some enemies to the English government, until the reign
of Philip and Mary, when the territory was made shire-
ground, under the name of the Queen’s County, in honour
of the sovereign ; and the place chosen for the county
town was named Maryborough, for the same reason. This
county, when brought under British law, was gradually
peopled by English settlers. During the subsequent reigns
several of these families became extinct in the male line;
many were expelled or extinguished by the confiscations
arising out of the civil wars in 1641 and 1689; whilst the
descendants of others, the principal of whom are the Veseys,
Cootes, Parnells, Dawsons, and Burrowes, still retain the
whole or some portion of their ancestral possessions. The
Queen’s County is now divided into the baronies of Bally-
adarns, Clandonagh, Clarmallagh, Cullinagh, Maryborough
East, Maryborough West, Partnahinch, Slievemarigue,
Stradbally, Tinnehinch, and Upperwoods. These are sub¬
divided into thirty-eight parishes, and six parts of parishes,
the remaining parts of which are in the adjoining counties.
According to the ecclesiastical arrangements of the country,
the county contains fifty-three parishes, of which thirty-five
are in the dioceses of Leighlin and Kildare, and fifteen in
Ossary, the remainder forming part of the dioceses of Kil-
laloe and Dublin.
The general face of the country is level, but it rises
into heights of considerable elevation in the Slieve-Bloom
Mountains, which, taking a direction nearly north and south
along the western verge of the county, rise to a consider¬
able height, their most elevated point being 1689 feet above
the level of the sea, and with an acclivity so abrupt that
the only practicable road across them is through the pass
of Glandine. In the southern extremity the Slievemarigue
Hills, of considerably inferior elevation, separate the county
from that of Kilkenny. The monotony of a generally level
surface is somewhat relieved by a range of low hills, which
traverse it in a direction from north to south, the most
remarkable of which are the Rock of Dunamaise and the
Dun of Clopoke; as also by eskars, a singular species of
low hills, or rather slight elevations of the surface, formed
of rounded pebbles, apparently forced together by the ope¬
ration of contending currents of water. The most remark¬
able of these is the Ridge of Maryborough, which, enter¬
ing from the King’s County, proceeds for a considerable
distance by Maryborough, and, after having been deranged
and broken, resumes again the form of a continuous ridge,
branching out in the southern part of the county in two
divisions. The Slieve-Bloom Mountains give rise to some
of the great rivers of Ireland. The Barrow rises at their
northern extremity, and, after passing through the north of
the county, forms its north-eastern boundary; then, turn¬
ing southwards, it forms its boundary to the east, separating
it from Kildare and Carlow, and falls into the Suir some
miles below New Ross, forming with that river the estuary
called Waterford Harbour. The source of the Nore is
southward of that of the Barrow, in the same mountains.
It passes through the south-western part of the county by
Abbeyleix and Ballynakill, enters the county of Kilkenny
near Ballyragget, and, after flowing by the city of Kilkenny,
joins the Barrow about two miles above New Ross. The
portion of the Barrow between its junction with the Nore
and Suir is generally called the Ross River. The Suir,
which also rises in the Slieve-Bloom Mountains at their
southern exUemity, does not belong to this county. These
three rivers, the Barrow, Nore, and Suir, are, next to the Queen’s
Shannon, the chief means of transmitting the waters of the County,
great central limestone district of Ireland to the sea. The
smaller rivers are the Ownas, Trihogue, and Blackwater,
tributaries of the Barrow; and the Tonnet, Dolore, Old
Forge River, Cloncoose, Cromoge, Corbally, Trumry, Colt,
and Erkin, tributaries of the Nore. Under the name of
the Barrow Navigation, the River Barrow is navigable for
barges from Athy, where it joins the Grand Canal to the
Scars below St Mullins, a distance of 43 miles ; from thence
there is an open navigation for large craft, passing by New
Ross and Waterford to the sea. The Nore is not navigable
until after it has quitted the county. There is no lake
except Lough Annagh on its northern boundary, which
partly belongs to the King’s County, and does not exceed
one mile in length.
The population of this county in 1812 was 113,857;
1821, 134,275; 1831, 145,851 ; 1841, 153,930; 1851,
111,623. The return of 1841 gives an average of 232 in¬
habitants to each square mile, that of 1851 exhibits only
168, being a reduction of 64 ; the decrease in the popula¬
tion of all Ireland for the same period having been 49 per¬
sons to each square mile.
The county returned eight members to the Irish Parlia¬
ment ; two for the county at large, and two each for the
boroughs of Portarlington, Maryborough, and Ballynakill.
This number was reduced to three by the Act of Union, by
which the boroughs were disfranchised, with the exception
of the first-named. The number of registered electors for
the county, according to the latest return, was 2993; that
of the borough of Portarlington, 96. The local govern¬
ment consists of a lieutenant, eighteen deputy-lieutenants,—
all appointed by the crown during pleasure; and county
magistrates, appointed by the lord chancellor. The con¬
stabulary force consists of a county inspector, eight sub¬
inspectors, eight head constables, fifty-one constables, and
one hundred and eighty-five sub-constables; in all, 253.
The state of education, according to the parliamentary
returns in 1821 and 1824-26, was as follows:—
Boys. Girls. Total.
1821 4825 1998 ... 6,823
1824-6 6624 4908 231 11,763
Of the numbers stated in the latter of these returns, 2074
were Episcopalian Protestants, 104 Protestant dissenters,
and 9426 Roman Catholics ; the religious persuasion of the
remaining 305 not having been ascertained. The number
of schools, and of pupils attending them during the week
ended 12th April 1851, was ascertained to be as follows:—
Description of Schools.
No. of
Schools.
No. of Children.
Males. Females.
Total.
National 
Church Education
Endowed 
Boarding 
Private 
Parochial 
Free 
Mission 
Workhouse 
Gaol 
Total.
58
24
2
11
35
17
7
1
3
1
159
1658
461
33
218
356
314
243
22
795
155
4255
1746
376
20
151
265
268
123
436
61
3446
3404
837
53
369
621
582
366
22
1231
216
7701
At the same period it was found that 37 per cent, of the.
population could neither read nor write; a proportion of
ignorance below all the counties of Connaught and Munster,
and several in the other provinces.
The level part of the county forms the southern portion
of the great limestone field which traverses Ireland across
Queen’s
County.
QUEEN’S
its centre. The peculiar flatness of the interior appears to
have caused those accumulations of alluvial matter, com¬
posed of clay and limestone gravel, which, in the form of
low but steep ridges of hills, occur so frequently through¬
out the midland districts, and are known by the name of
eskars. Some very striking specimens of this formation in
the county have already been noticed. That the surface of
the country was exposed to the action of rapid currents of
water, is evidenced by the deep parallel indentations or
furrows frequently observable on the surface of rocks from
which the alluvial soil has been removed. It is also pro¬
bable that the gravel hills were rapidly deposited from water
in violent action ; an inference which is confirmed by the
fact, that they mostly consist of large masses of rock par¬
tially rounded, intermixed with small gravel, and even with
clay and sand. The old red sandstone shows itself in the
Slieve-Bloom Mountains, which are almost wholly of that
formation. The south-eastern extremity forms a small
part of the Leinster coal-field, the mineral in it being, like
that of Kilkenny, which adjoins it, of the carbonaceous or
stone-coal formation, the slaty glantz-coal of Werner, burn¬
ing dully with little flame, emitting an offensive and un¬
wholesome vapour, and therefore disagreeable for domestic
use, but excellent for malting or for the forge. Iron was
raised here, and two hundred years ago was an article of
export, through the port of Waterford, to London. The
works were carried on as long as the forests afforded mate¬
rials for fuel. Potters’ earth is also raised, and applied, in
the neighbourhood of Mountmellick, to the manufacture of
the coarser kinds of earthenwares.
The soil varies greatly in different parts, but is in general
fertile. Where it rests on the limestone substratum, it
consists mostly of a stiff clay loam, well adapted for the
growth of wheat; in other parts it is light and sandy, and
produces good crops of oats and barley. The mountain
district is wet and boggy, even in the higher parts, the
clayey subsoil not admitting free passage for the water,
which therefore accumulates on thasurface: it is also much
encumbered with rock. The low hills that traverse the
middle of the county from north to south are capable of
culture to their summits, and, where not deemed suitable
for the plough, afford rich pasturage for sheep. The tracts
on the sides of the rivers, being annually flooded by the
overflowings of the stream during winter, form rich meadow-
land. Bogs are frequent in most parts, supplying ample
fuel for domestic purposes. The county was once so thickly
wooded as to be almost impenetrable for the passage of
large bodies of men ; and thence, as well as from the bogs,
which, from a different cause, were also difficult to be
crossed by those not well acquainted with their peculiari¬
ties, the natives were enabled to hold out long against the
attempts of the English settlers. But the old woods have
long since been cleared away, the only proof of their for¬
mer existence being discoverable in the numerous remains
of timber-trees lying in the bottom of Lough Annagh. A
new growth, however, the offspring not of the unaided
efforts of nature, but of the hand of modern improvement,
has in a great measure restored one of its most beautiful
and useful features. Large plantations, chiefly around the
demesnes of the gentry, vary the prospect, and tend much
to relieve the monotony of the level surface. Most parts
present the mansions and seats of resident proprietors;
comfortable farm-houses are numerous, and much attention
has been paid by many landlords to excite amongst their
tenantry a laudable emulation in the neatness of their cot¬
tages, and in the judicious cultivation of their little farms.
The coal-district, and some few other localities, must, how¬
ever, form exceptions to this general description,—the ap¬
pearance of the peasantry, both in their persons and dwell¬
ings, exhibiting too frequent instances of the destitution
consequent on extreme poverty or confirmed habits of
VOL. xvm.
COUNTY. 729
improvidence. With the exception of the lands held by Queen’s
wealthy proprietors in their own hands, and those in the County,
mountainous parts, where grazing is the chief object, the ^
flu ms are not large, seldom more than from ten to fifteen
acres. Wheat is extensively grown, its culture being at¬
tended to even on those soils which, during the more 'con¬
fined state of agricultural knowledge, were thought to be
unfit for it. The lighter soils answer well for barley and
oats. Potatoes are everywhere raised, both for family use
and for feeding cattle,—forming also an essential part of
the improved rotation system, which is generally practised.
Green crops, particularly turnips, are not unusual; and
the value of every kind of clover seems to be duly appre¬
ciated. The description of crops, and the extent of land
under cultivation of late years, have been as follows :—
1853.
Wheat 18,873
Oats 35,397
Barley, here, rye, beans 1 .. Q
and pease j A. y
Potatoes... 19,617
Turnips 14,606
Other green crops  2,260
Flax   14
Meadow and clover  49,665
1855.
21,500
32,587
9,683
20,875
14,231
1,958
7
51,931
1858.
22,218
27,575
10,405
23,758
14,225
2,605
29
55,734
Total... 151,651 152,772 156,549
Much attention is given to the introduction of implements
and machines of the best description,—the clumsy and in¬
artificial vehicles, ploughs, and harrows formerly in use be¬
ing scarcely to be met with except in districts little capable
of being brought into profitable agricultural production.
The breed of every kind of cattle has been improved dur¬
ing the last forty or fifty years, to a degree that scarcely
could have been anticipated at the commencement of the
period. Dairies are numerous and highly productive. Butter
is the produce chiefly attended to, and large quantities are
prepared for export. In 1858 the stock of the country in¬
cluded 14,197 horses, 69,370 cattle, 80,012 sheep, and 32,921
pigs; and the total value of live stock was L.689,000.
From the preceding statement it may easily be inferred
that the character of the population is almost exclusively
agricultural. The only place in which manufactures have
been introduced is Mountmellick. Several branches of the
woollen, linen, and cotton trade have been undertaken there,
but without much success; coarse woollens and cotton for
the supply of the surrounding districts being the only kinds
fabricated. Tanning is carried on to some extent; flour¬
mills are large and numerous; and there are some extensive
distilleries and breweries. In 1852 an extensive establish¬
ment was formed here for the manufacture of sugar from
beet-root, but subsequently the experiment proved unpro¬
fitable, and is not likely to be repeated, it being evident
that the article cannot be successfully manufactured in
competition with colonial and foreign sugar. The Grand
Canal, a branch of which runs from Monasterevan to Mount¬
mellick, conveys much of the produce of the county to
Dublin, either for sale there or for export. The Barrow
serves the same purpose with respect to Waterford. The
Great Southern and Western Railway crosses the county
from N.E. to S.W., having stations at Portarlington, Mary¬
borough, Mountrath, &c., and connecting it with Dublin,
Limerick, and Cork.
There are many remains of ancient edifices, both eccle¬
siastical and military. Amongst the most remarkable of the
former are the extensive ruins of the abbey of Aghaboe,
once the seat of the bishopric of Ossory; the ruins of
Aghmacart, and of several others of lesser note. The site
of the abbey of Timahoe can be ascertained only by the
pillar-tower there, which is supposed to have stood in its
immediate vicinity. Of the military antiquities, the most,
ancient is a fortress placed on the summit of a hill in the
4 z
730 Q U E
Queens- south-west of the county, and called Bawnachra; it con-
ferry sists of a circular inclosure surrounded by a rampart and
II fosse. The ancient fortress of Dunamase, situated about
^town8* f°ur miles soutll-east Maryborough, on the summit of a
v 0 -■ precipitous hill rising abruptly from the middle of a large
v ^ plain, and once the chief residence of the O’Mores, pre¬
sents a very picturesque appearance. Lea Castle, the fine
ruins of which stand on the right bank of the Barrow, about
2 miles below Portarlington, was formerly a place of con¬
siderable strength, erected by the Fitzgeralds in. 1260,
burnt by Edward Bruce in 1315, afterwards rebuilt, and
finally reduced to ruins by Cromwell’s army in 1650.
Borris-in-Ossory on the Nore, and Castlecuffe in Tinne-
hinch, built by the celebrated republican leader Sir Charles
Coote, were also places of considerable strength. Amongst
the modern mansions are those of the Earl of Poitailing-
ton at Emo, and of Sir Charles Coote, at Ballyfin, near
Mountrath, two of the finest modern structures in the Italian
style to be found in the kingdom.
"Maryborough, the county town, situated nearly in the
centre of the county, presents few features to arrest atten¬
tion. It was a borough entitled to send representatives to
Parliament; but this, the only important privilege to a small
town, was abolished at the Union, the other corporate func¬
tions decayed, and were extinguished by the Municipal
Corporations Act. The town is now under the superin¬
tendence of town commissioners. The chief buildings are
the county court-house, the jail, the infirmary, and the
district lunatic asylum. The population in 1851 was 2635.
That of the other towns having upwards of 1000 inha¬
bitants each was in the same year respectively as follows:
Mountellick, 3657; Portarlington, originally a settlement
of French refugees, and formerly of some note as a place
of elementary education, 2728 ; Mountrath, 2101 ; Graigue,
which is, strictly speaking, a suburb of Carlow, though in a
different county, 1527; Ballynakill, 1109; fetradbally, near
which is the Dun of Clopoke, an isolated rock perforated by
subterraneous cavities, 1326; and Abbeyleix, which, though
amongst the smallest, is the neatest in external appearance,
134L
QUEENSFERRY, South, a parliamentary and royal
burgh of Scotland, in the county of Linlithgow, on the
right bank of the Forth, 9 miles N.VV. of Edinburgh. It
is an irregularly-built place, containing a curious ancient
chapel, a new church, and a meanly-built town-hall. The
town has very much declined in importance, having been
dependent chiefly on the ferry, which was once the prin¬
cipal means of communication between Edinburgh and the
north, but which has been in a great measure superseded
by that from Granton to Burntisland. Queensferry is said
to derive its name from Margaret, Queen of Malcolm III.,
who used to embark here. Pop. (1851) of the parish, 1165 ;
of the parliamentary burgh, 720.
QUEENSTOWN, or, as it was formerly called Cove of
Cork, a seaport and market town of Ireland, in the county
of Cork, on the south side of Great Island, in Cork har¬
bour, 14 miles E.S.E. of Cork, and 167 S.W. by S. of
Dublin. Built upon the steep side of a hill rising from the
water, it has a very fine appearance, its streets running pa¬
rallel to the shore, and rising one above another. Most of
the houses are well built, and some, as a defence against
storms, are faced with slates. Besides the parish chinch,
a fine edifice erected in 1812, there are Roman Catholic
and Wesleyan places of worship, a market-house, jail, na¬
tional schools, public library, reading-rooms, hospital, dis¬
pensary, &c. In the harbour, opposite to Queenstown,
stands Spike Island, which contains artillery barracks and
a convict establishment; and there are also smaller islands,
with powder magazines, and an ordnance depot. 1 he pier
of Queenstown, which was built in 1805, is used as a public
walk, and commands a fine view of the harbour. I here
Q U E
are no manufactures or commerce here ; and the town has Quelpaert
risen to its present size since the last French war, when it ||
was an admiral’s station. Before that time it was nothing
but a small fishing village. It is now much resorted to as
a bathing-place, especially by invalids. The name of
Queenstown was given to it in 1849, in honour of the visit
of Queen Victoria. Communication is kept up by steam
between Queenstowm and Cork. Pop. (1841) ol42 ; (18ol)
11,428.
QUELPAERT, an island in the Pacific, about 60
miles oft' the south coast of Corea, N. Lat. (of Beaufort
Island) 33. 9. 7., E. Long. 126. 56. 5.: length, 45 miles;
oreatest breadth, 12, The surface is mountainous; and
there is a peak in the centre as high as 6544 feet above the
sea. Volcanic in its origin, the island is covered with dense
forests in the higher regions; but the soil is in general
light, and produces corn but scantily. The houses of the
inhabitants resemble those of the Loo-Choo islanders ; and
there is a town called Moggan on the N. coast. Quelpaert
is supposed to be used as a penal settlement of Corea.
QUENTIN, St, a town of France, capital of an arron-
dissement in the department of Aisne, on the Somme, 87
miles N.E. of Paris. It is built on the sides and top of a
hill, and surrounded by public walks, which occupy the
place of the ancient fortifications. In a spacious square
near the centre stands the town-hall, a handsome and
richly-ornamented edifice. 1 he cathedral, a large struc¬
ture, 416 feet long in the interior, and 212 feet high, is a
fine specimen of pure Gothic architecture, and has some fine
painted glass in several of the windows. The town con¬
tains also a court-house, theatre, public library of 14,000
volumes, infirmary, and several hospitals. St Quentin is
the centre of the manufacture of linen cloth, which is
carried on extensively in the surrounding country. Cotton
fabrics are also made ; and there are many bleach-fields in
the vicinity. The trade of St Quentin, besides the manu¬
factures of the place, includes corn, fruits, liquorice, flax,
and colonial produce. It is much facilitated by the canal
of St Quentin, which unites the waters ol the Oise, Somme,
and Scheldt. A battle was fought under the walls o( the
town in 1557, between the French and the Spaniards,
in which the latter gained a complete victory. Pop. (1856)
26,887.
QUERETARO. See Mexico.
QUERINI, or Quirini, Angelo Maria, a learned
cardinal, was born at Venice in 1680, and was educated at
the college of the Jesuits in Brescia. Ihe early part of
his career was devoted to the enthusiastic study of letters.
Settling down in Florence at the age of seventeen, as a
Benedictine monk, he availed himselt of every means to
satisfy his craving for knowledge. His quiet hours within
the walls of the abbey were engrossed with the cultivation
of the liberal sciences. His intervals ol recreation in the
city were passed in the society of some of the most learned
men of the day. The progress of time only increased his
literary ardour. Bent upon seeing the world, and upon
holding personal converse with the great spirits of the age,
he set out in 1710 on a tour through Europe. He passed
through Germany, the Netherlands, England, and France,
visiting the chief literary men of each country ; and returned
home in 1714, greatly advanced both in acquirements and
in reputation. With a mind so thoroughly cultivated,
Querini could scarcely fail to attract the interest of the
Holy See. Accordingly, in no longtime there was opened
up before him a way of promotion to some of the highest
offices in the church. In 1723 he was appointed arch¬
bishop of Corfu. In 1728 he was translated to the see ot
Brescia, and created a cardinal. Not long afterwards the
office of librarian of the Vatican was conferred upon him.
He would also have been promoted to the lucrative bishopric
of Padua, had he not preferred to spend his remaining days
Q U E
among his attached Brescian diocesans. Cardinal Quei ini,
in his high position, now proved himself a beneficent pation
Quesnay. 0f learning. He founded and endowed a public library at
Brescia. He presented one large collection ot books, and
another of medals, to the library of the Vatican. Nor was
his liberality at all influenced by party feelings. Authors
of every class found him ready to supply them with boo n.s,
manuscripts, and notes, for the composition of their works.
In fact he had come to be recognised throughout Europe
as a benefactor in the world of letters, when he was sud¬
denly cut off by apoplexy in 1 <o5.
The following is a list of Querini’s most important works :
—Primordia Corcijrae, 4to, Brescia, 1738; Specimen Lit-
teraturcB Brixiance, 4to, Brescia, 1739 ; Pauli II. vita,
4to, Rome, 1740 ; and a selection of his own letters, in ten
books, 4to. Brescia, 1742-49.
QUESADA, a town of Spain, Andalucia, in the pro¬
vince, and 38 miles E. of Jaen. It is an ill-built place, with
a church, hospital, school, court-house, and the remains of
an old fort, now used as a prison. Flour, oil, and soap are
manufactured here ; and there is some trade in corn, fruit,
&c. Pop. 4503. _
QUESALTENANGO, a town of Guatemala, capital ot
a department of the same name, on the small liver Samala,
88 miles W.N.W. of Guatemala. It is large and well
built, being second only to the capital in point of size.
In the centre is a large market-place, with a fountain in
the middle. The streets are straight, and the houses
large and handsome. Among the churches in the town,
there is one of large size and imposing appearance ; and
there is also a good town-hall. Some trade is carried on in
wheat, sugar, woollen and cotton fabrics, &c. Pop. 20,000,
many of whom are Indians.
QUESNAY, Fkanjois, a physician of considerable
eminence, but who is chiefly known as an ingenious in¬
quirer into the constitution of society, and as the founder
of the sect of political philosophers known by the name
of Economists.
The accounts of the life of this distinguished person,
which, unlike that of most literary men, abounded in
incident and adventure, are exceedingly meagre and con¬
tradictory. Neither the place of his birth nor the con¬
dition of his parents has been well ascertained ; but the
accounts apparently most entitled to credit state that he
was born at the village of Ecquivilly in the Isle de France
in 1694; and that his father was either a common labourer,
or a small proprietor who cultivated his own little pro¬
perty.1 His humble origin is indeed evident from the fact
mentioned by all his biographers, of his early education
having been almost entirely neglected, and of his being
constantly occupied, until his fourteenth or sixteenth yeai,
in the sports or labours of the fields, without being eithei
sent to school or taught to read. But although placed in
such unfavourable circumstances, young Quesnay was im¬
bued with an ardent love of knowledge, and with a strong
desire to emerge from the obscure station in which he had
been brought up. The Maison Rustique of Liebaut was the
first book that came into his hands; and he is said to have
learned to read it by the assistance of lessons given him by
a gardener of the village. I he perusal of this book, which
seems to have had a material influence over his future
studies, awakened his latent powers, and stimulated him to
make further efforts to extend his information. Having
acquired a competent knowledge of his vernacular tongue
Q U E
by the eager reading of such French books as came into
his hands, he next applied himself to the study of the
dead languages ; and speedily attained, partly by the slender
assistance of a self-dubbed surgeon of the village, but chiefly
by his own industry, to a tolerable proficiency in Latin and
Greek.
Quesnay now resolved, in opposition to the wishes of his
parents, and especially of his mother, to devote himself to
the profession of surgery, and received the rudiments of his
instruction in that art from the village doctor who had as¬
sisted him in his philological studies. But the pupil very
soon surpassed the master ; and when the latter applied to
be admitted into the Mailrise, or Corporation of Surgeons,
he presented, as testimonials of his skill in his profession,
and of his capacity to practise it with advantage, some
Essays written by Quesnay, and which were received with
much applause. Quesnay was not aware of this trick;
but soon after its occurrence he left his paternal village, and
set out to prosecute his studies at Paris. W e are not in¬
formed by what means he supported himself in that city,
nor how long he remained there; but his indefatigable
industry and zeal enabled him to make great progress in
his studies, whilst his merit and modesty procured him
several friends. Besides attending prelections on the va¬
rious branches of surgery, and the different hospitals, he
found leisure to devote some portion of his time to me¬
taphysical researches, and the study of philosophy, for which
the perusal of the Recherche de la Verite ot Malebranche
had given him a taste. Nay, such was the activity and
vigour of his mind, that having accidentally met, dur¬
ing his stay in Paris, with the celebrated M. Cochin, of
the Royal Academy of Painting, he put himself under his
tuition ; and we are told that he profited so well by the
few lessons he received, as to be able not only to take
remarkably good likenesses, but to design and engiave,
with his own hand, the various bones of the human skele¬
ton, in a manner which would not have disgraced the most
skilful artists.
On finishing his studies at Paris, Quesnay formed the de¬
sign of establishing himself as a surgeon in Mantes, a con¬
siderable town of his native province, and presented himself
to the surgeons of its Maitrise for examination. But they
refused, from jealousy, as is alleged, of his talents, to admit
him to trial. He was thus laid under the necessity of re¬
turning to Paris, where he passed his examinations with
eclat;nand in 1718received letters ordering him to be ad¬
mitted into the Corporation of Mantes.
Having established himself at Mantes, his reputation soon
extended itself. He was employed by some of the first
families of the neighbourhood, and, amongst others, by that
of the Marshal de Noailles, Due de Yilleroi, who persuaded
him to leave his residence in the country, and to accompany
him to Paris as his surgeon, as nearly as we can collect in
1729 or 1730. An incident not long afterwards occurred
which had the most material influence over his future pro¬
spects and life. Having accompanied the Due de Villeroi
to the house of the Comtesse d’Estrades, Quesnay remained
behind in the carriage whilst the duke went in to visit that
lady who during the interview, was suddenly seized with
an epileptic fit. Quesnay being called in, and perceiving
the nature of the attack, with singular presence ot mind
ordered the duke and the other attendants out of the room,
and managed so well as to succeed in concealing the nature
of the malady. The comtesse was so much pleased with
. ^ .S'ct'ences for 1774, that he was the son of an ad-
l It is stated in the “ Eloge Historique’ of Quesnay, in the Mtmoires e ^ tQ ose) had his father been in such a station, that
vocat en Parlement at Montfort, and that he was boin a . erey. u . notice of Quesnay given by Mr Crawford in a note
to^he'joiurnai of'ft^dame dhi Hausset^femmeMle-charabre i^e
— °f ^ ^ ^ WaS ^
son of a peasant-proprietor.
732 Q U E S
Quesnay. this dexterity and address, that she lost no time in recom-
mending Quesnay to her all-powerful friend, Madame d’Eti-
oles, afterwards Marchioness de Pompadour. The latter
made him her physician; and, besides obtaining for him
apartments at Versailles, procured him, in 1737, the place
of surgeon in ordinary to the king.1
Quesnay was shortly afterwards appointed secretary to
the Royal Academy of Surgery, established in 1731 ; and,
besides several articles on particular branches of surgery, he
contributed the Preface to the first volume of its Memoires,
which has always been reckoned peculiarly valuable for its
profound and discriminating observations on the respective
uses of theory and observation in the physical sciences, and
on the assistance they reciprocally lend to each other.
Having from an early period been much subject to the
gout, and becoming in consequence less able to discharge
his duties as surgeon, Quesnay took the degree of Doctor
of Medicine in 1744; and was soon afterwards appointed,
through the influence of his powerful patroness, to the im¬
portant place of consulting physician to the king. In this
capacity he attended Louis XV. in the campaigns of 1744
and 1745, and, amid the distractions of a camp, collected and
prepared the greater part of the materials for his Traite de
Fievres, published in 1753.
His appointment as physician to the king was preceded
by the grant of letters of nobility, issued on the recovery
of the Dauphin from an attack of small-pox. Louis, who
was much struck with the justice and solidity of Quesnay’s
remarks, familiarly called him son penseur, and gave him,
in allusion to this title, three pansey flowers (in French
pensees) for his arms, with the motto “ Propter cogitationem
mentis”
The leisure Quesnay now enjoyed enabled him to pro¬
secute his studies with greater assiduity. In 1747 he re¬
published an enlarged edition, in 3 tomes 12mo, of his
Essai Physique sur VEconomic Animate, originally pub¬
lished in 1736 ; in 1748 he published an Examen Impar-
tiel des Contestations des Medecins et des Chirurgiens de
Paris ; in 1749 he published a Memoir sur la Sagesse de
VAncienne Legislation de la Chirurgie en France, and two
separate treatises in 12mo, the one on Suppuration, and the
other De la Gangrene; in 1750 he republished his Traite
des Effets et de V Usage de la Saigne, written during his
residence at Mantes, and originally published in 1730; and
in 1753 he published his Traite des Fievres Continues, 2
tomes 12mo.
These works have all been held in high estimation ;
and an excellent judge has given it as his opinion that
“ The Traite de la Gangrene is by far the most valuable
publication which we yet possess upon this subject.” Every
page of this work, he adds, “ is distinguished by the same
talent for accurate observation and perspicuous arrange¬
ment which are so remarkable in all the other writings of
this celebrated author.” ' (Thomson’s Lectures on Inflam¬
mation, p. 502.)
The Traite des Fievres was the last of Quesnay’s pro¬
fessional works. He appears to have thenceforth com¬
paratively abandoned his medical studies. At no period,
indeed, had he allowed them to occupy exclusively his at¬
tention ; and he now devoted himself in preference to other,
and, if possible, still more interesting inquiries. He had
always entertained a strong predilection for agricultural
pursuits, the effect, perhaps, of his situation in early life;
N A Y.
and this, combined with the speculative and metaphysical Quesnay.
cast of his mind, seems to have led him to those peculiar
notions respecting the paramount importance of agricul¬
ture as a source of wealth, and the constitution of so¬
ciety, which have rendered his name so celebrated in the
history of economical science. The articles “Fermier”
and “Grains” in the Encyclopedie, published in 1756 and
1757, contain the earliest development of his views on this
subject. They are both written with great ability, and dis¬
play an intimate acquaintance with the subject, consider¬
able reading, and great powers of analysis. In the article
“Grains” the distinction between the gross and nett produce
(produit total and the produit net,)—between the produc¬
tiveness of agriculture and the supposed unproductiveness
of other employments, with the doctrine of the unrestricted
freedom of commerce, and most of the other leading prin¬
ciples in the theory of the Economists, are distinctly stated,
and illustrated with much ingenuity. The Tableau Econo-
rnique and the Maximes Generates du Gouvernement Econo-
mique, annexed to it under the title of Extraits des Econo¬
mies Boyales de M. de Sully, were printed by command of
the king at Versailles, in the year 1758, with the following
very remarkable epigraph for a work brought forth under
such auspices,—“Pauvres paysans, pauvre royaume; pauvre
royaume, pauvre souverain.” The Maxims, which contain a
short but comprehensive abstract of Quesnay’s system, were
reprinted, together with an analysis of the Table, and a selec¬
tion from various articles contributed by Quesnay, in ex¬
planation and defence of his peculiar doctrines, to the Jour¬
nal d'Agriculture, and the Ephernerides du Citoyen,2 in the
collection of Quesnay’s economical works, entitled Physio-
cratie, ou Constitution Naturelle du Gouvernement le plus
Avantageux au Genre Humain, edited by his friend and
scholar Dupont in 1767.
We have elsewhere entered at considerable length into
an examination of the speculations of Quesnay and his fol¬
lowers, with respect to the constitution of political societies
and the sources of public wealth. (See Economists, and
Political Economy.) That there is a good deal of error
in them must be allowed; but this is far more than coun¬
tervailed by the many just, discriminating, and original
views and important discoveries which they contain. Per¬
haps, however, the principal merit of Quesnay and his fol¬
lowers does not consist so much in the discoveries they
made, as in their having been the first philosophers who
distinctly perceived that the institutions of society should
always harmonize with the natural principles on which it
is founded, or, as they termed it, with the ordre naturel et
essentiel des societes politiques. According to them, eco¬
nomical science is “ Letude et la demonstration des loix
de la nature relatives d la subsistence et la multiplication
du genre humain. L’observation universelle de ces loix
est 1’interet commun et general de tous les hommes. La
connaissance universelle de ces loix est done le preliminaire
indispensable et le moyen necessaire du bonheur de tous.”
{Ephernerides du Citoyen, 1769, No. ii., p. 13.) It is to
be regretted that, in investigating these laws, they pro¬
ceeded too much upon abstract and speculative principles,
without sufficiently attending to the effects of particular
institutions, and to the various phenomena manifested in
the progress of society. But notwithstanding the defec¬
tive mode in which they conducted their researches, they
succeeded in establishing and elucidating many important
1 This incident is related by Crawford, Melanges, p. 276, and is referred to by Marmontel. * it
^ The Eph£m£rides du Citoyen, begun in 1767, was for a few months conducted by the Abbe Baudeau, and then by uP®n ' .aP
peared monthly, and two numbers make a considerable 12mo volume. The authors were disciples of Quesnay, and zea ous conomists.
Their discussions embraced the moral and political sciences, many branches of which they have treated with much ability an a®u en(2ss.
There is a valuable Eloge of Quesnay in one of the numbers for 1775, written by Count d’Albon. The following extract ro™ e
approbation given by the Censeur to the third number for 1770 is curious :—“ J’exhorte de nouveau les auteurs de ce ourna, a resis er
a la tentation de critiquer. Le bonheur du citoyen tient a sa confiance. On peut et 1’on doit quelquefois avertir en secre ceux qui
sunt proposes a I’administration. Mais on ne doit precher aux particuliers que leur propre reforme, et non celle de 1 etat.
Q U E S N A Y.
733
principles; and there is certainly much more reason to
wonder at the general correctness of their conclusions, than
to feel surprised at the errors into which they fell. Ques-
nay and his disciples established, that society either is or
should be formed to secure the greatest possible advantage
to its members; that the security of property and the fiee-
dom of industry are its essential bases; and that, instead
of interfering to regulate the pursuits of individuals, the
proper business of the politician is to protect the equal lights^
and liberties of all, and to secure the utmost freedom of
competition in every department of industry. And though
it be undoubtedly true that most of these piinciples had
been pointed out by previous writers, Quesnay and his school
have the merit of being the first who showed their depend¬
ence on each other, and who, by presenting them in a sys¬
tematic and consecutive form, were enabled to give a
scientific demonstration of the injustice and impolicy of
such institutions as ignorance or mistaken views of national
interest had established in opposition to them.
In the article Political Economy an attempt has been
made to show the fallacy of'Quesnay’s opinion with respect
to agriculture being the only source of wealth; and the
experience of all ages sufficiently proves that the despotisms
legal, in the hands of an hereditary monarch, without
contreforces of any kind, which he strangely supposed
was the best of all possible governments, is about the very
worst.1
Notwithstanding his great age, and the sufferings he
experienced from almost incessant attacks of the gout, the
activity of Quesnay’s mind continued unimpaired. “// a,”
said one of his friends, “ une tete de trente ans sur un corps
de quatre-vingtsr He contributed, subsequently to the
publication of the Physiocratie, many acute and able
articles to the Ephemerides du Citoyen, and continued
wholly occupied with these studies, and with mathematics,
to which he latterly began to pay considerable attention,
until his death, which took place at Versailles in December
1774, in the eightieth year of his age.
Quesnay possessed inflexible integrity, a nice sense of
honour, and great prudence and discretion. 1 hough highly
esteemed by the king, and long resident at court, he never
intermixed in the intrigues of which it was the constant
theatre. No one ever scrupled to express himself freely
in his presence; nor was this confidence ever betrayed.
“ II recevoit chez lui des personnes de tons les partis, mais
en petit nombre, et qui toutes avoient une grande confiance
en lui. On y parloit tres hardiment de tout; et ce qui
fait leur eloge et le sien, jamais on n’a rien repete.”2 To
the utmost frankness and sincerity he added the easy ad¬
dress and polish of a courtier and the intelligence of a phi¬
losopher. No man could be less solicitous of distinguish¬
ing himself, or more careful not to offend the self-esteem of
others. Elis conversation was animated, without the least
effort at brilliancy. So much, indeed, was he averse from
every appearance of pretension, that he was in the habit of
veiling the most profound remarks and observations under
the form of apologues, which generally referred to some
subject connected with rural affairs, to which he was always
particularly attached. He was most indulgent to the faults
and errors of others, provided they were unalloyed by any
taint of artifice or baseness, for which he never hesitated,
whatever might be the rank of the party, to express the
utmost contempt. Quesnay was truly a patriot and a phi¬
losopher ; and it would be difficult to produce another in¬
stance of one who, having lived long in a profligate and
luxurious court, unsullied by its vices and aloof from its Quesnay.
contentions, preserved to an extreme old age all those
generous and kindly feelings, wdth that unobtrusive but
ardent zeal in the cause of humanity, and that love of
speculation and profound inquiry, which distinguished his
earlier years.
“ Quesnay,” says Madame du Hausset, “ etoit un grand
genie, suivant Topinion de tous ceux qui 1’avoit connu, et
de plus un homme fort gai. II aimoit causer avec moi de
la campagne; j’y avois ete elevee, et il me faisoit parler
des herbages de Normandie et du Poitou, de la richesse
des fermiers, et de la maniere de cultiver. C’etoit le meil-
leur homme du monde, et la plus eloigne de la plus petit
intrigue. II etoit bien plus occupe a la cour de la meil-
leure maniere de cultiver la terre que de tout ce que s’y
passoit.” {Melanges, p. 343.)
“ Tandis,” says Marmontel, “ que les orages se for-
moient et se dissipoient au-dessus de Fentresol de Quesnay,
il griffoimoit ses axiomes et ses calculs d’economie rustique,
aussi tranquille, aussi indifferent k ces mouvemens de la cour,
que s’il en eut ete a cent lieues de distance. Lit bas, on
deliberait de la paix, de la guerre, du choix des generaux,
du renvoi des ministres; et nous, dans 1’entresol, nous rai-
sonnions d’agriculture ; nous calculions le produit net, ou
quelquefois nous dinions gaiement avec Diderot, d’Alembert,
Duclos, Helvetius, Turgot, Buffon; et Madame de Pom¬
padour, ne pouvant pas engager cette troupe de philosophes
a descendre dans son salon, venoit elle-meme les voir a
table, et causer avec eux.” {Memoirs d’un Pere., i. 286.)
Dr Smith was well acquainted with Quesnay. He^fre-
quently met him during his residence at Paris in 1766;
and whilst he bears the most honourable testimony to the
“ modesty and simplicity” of his character, he has pro¬
nounced his system to be, “ with all its imperfections, the
nearest approximation to the truth that has yet been pub¬
lished on the subject of political economy.” {Wealth of
Nations, p. 307.) So highly, indeed, was Smith impressed
with a sense of his merits as a man and a philosopher, that
it wras his intention, had he not been prevented by Ques¬
nay’s death, to have inscribed to him the Wealth of Na¬
tions. (Dugald Stewart’s Account of the Life and Writings
of Dr Smith.) .
Quesnay had a son by his wife, to whom he was united
wdien at Mantes. He gave him an excellent education ;
and exhibited a striking proof of his disinterestedness by
constantly refusing to solicit for him any place or situation
under government. This son ultimately settled in the
country, on an estate near Beauvoir. Turgot gave one of
Quesnay’s grandsons a place in the administration ; and
another entered the army, and acted as captain of infantry
at the battle of Jemappes. .
Few men have been more esteemed by their friends than
Quesnay, or more ready to do all in their power to advance
their interests. Mercier de la Riviere, the author of the
work Sur VOrdre Naturel et Essentiel des Societes Poli-
tiques, seems to have occupied the chief place in his esteem,
and was looked upon by him as the only person in France
qualified to conduct the administration of the finances.
He was also much attached to the Marquis de Mirabeau,
Turgot, Dupont, the Abbe Baudeau, St Peravy, and other
leading Economists, who willingly acknowledged him for
their master, and enthusiastically exerted themselves to
defend and to propagate his docrines. “ The Economists
were in reality, and not merely in appearance, a sect of
philosophers:
1 We are at a loss to conjecture the grounds on which Chalmers has affirmed {Biographical Dictionary, vol. xxv art. “ Quesnay ’)
that Ae “ Economists abusedJ their influence by circulating democratical principles. ’ It would be quite as correct to say ti
parties in Quesnay is given in the second volume of Marmontel s Memoirs.
734
Q U E
Q U E
Quesne Secta fait, servare modum, finemque tenere
Naturamque sequi, patria;que impendere vitam,
Quevedo y Nec sibi, sed toti genitum se credere mundo.
, They acted from an honest zeal for the truth, and not from
fashion, eccentric tastes, or the love of singularity; their
sole object was to enlighten and improve mankind; and to
them, amongst political inquirers, belongs the rare praise of
having first pointed out the natural order of things, or the
observed course of nature in the conduct of the world, as
the example and guide of human policy.” (j. R. m.)
QUESNE, Abraham, Marquis de, admiral of the naval
forces of France, and one of the greatest men of the seven¬
teenth century, was born in Normandy in the year 1610.
He contributed to the defeat of the naval power of Spain
at Gattari; he was dangerously wounded before Barcelona
in 1642 ; and having entered into the service of the
Swedes, he became vice-admiral, and entirely defeated
the Danes, killing their admiral, and taking his ship.
Fie was recalled to France in 1647, and commanded
the squadron sent to Naples. The naval affairs of France
being much decayed, he fitted out divers ships for the re¬
lief of the royal army that blockaded Bordeaux, which was
the principal cause of the surrender of the town. He was
very fortunate in the wars of Sicily, where he defeated the
Dutch thrice, and killed their admiral De Ruyter. He
also obliged the Algerines to sue in a very humble manner
for peace from France. In short, Asia, Africa, and Europe
felt the effects of his valour. He was a Protestant; yet
the king bestowed on him the land of Bouchet, and, to im¬
mortalize his memory, gave it the name of that great man.
He died in 1688.
QUEUE. See Heraldry.
QUEVEDO Y VILLEGAS, Francisco Gomez de, a
Spanish writer of considerable celebrity, was the contem¬
porary of Lope de Vega and Cervantes, and was born at
Madrid in 1580. His father, though descended from a
family in that mountainous region to the north-west of
Spain, occupied at the time of his birth some office of dignity
at the court of Philip II. At the age of fifteen young
Quevedo graduated in theology at the university of Alcala,
where he laid a foundation broad enough for universal
scholarship. He must have been possessed of extraordi¬
nary natural endowments, as well as of extreme industry.
On his return to Madrid he mixed with the distinguished
scholars and fashionable cavaliers of his time. In “ an
affair of honour” in which he had the ill-luck to be en¬
gaged, he killed a person of rank, fled to Sicily, was invited
to the splendid court of the Duke of Ossuna, viceroy to
Philip III., and was subsequently employed in important
affairs of state, which demanded on numerous occasions
personal courage and involved personal risk. On the con¬
clusion of his master’s administration in Sicily, Quevedo
was despatched to Madrid in 1615 as a sort of plenipo¬
tentiary, where he was very graciously received. He re¬
turned to the duke, who was now in Sicily, with a pension of
400 ducats, and was raised to the dignity of minister of
finance. He discharged this duty with eminent skill and
honesty; and in 1617 he was made a knight of the Order
of Santiago. In 1620 the duke fell from power, and Quevedo
endured a detention of three years and a half in his patri¬
monial estate of Torre de Juan Abad. He refused various
offices of state, and was content with the merely titular
rank of Secretary to the King. He had long had a desire
to betake himself to letters, and he did so for the rest of
his life. In 1634 he married; but was soon left alone by
the death of his wife. In 1689, in consequence of some sati¬
rical verses which were placed under the king’s napkin at
dinner, and which were hastily attributed to Quevedo, he
wras seized with great suddenness and secrecy, and was
rigorously confined for upwards of four years in the
royal convent of San Marcos de Leon. Here, in a damp
and unwholesome cell, his health was wasted beyond all Quevedo y
recovery: his personal property likewise melted away, until Villegas,
he was obliged to depend on charity for his support. In
a haughty yet heart-rending letter written to Olivarez, he
tells him despairingly, “ No clemency can add many years
to my life ; no rigour can take many away.” The hour of
the favourite’s disgrace came at last, and Quevedo was free.
It was already admitted that another had written the verses ;
but it w'as too late. Quevedo failed in his endeavour to
recover his lost property; and, unable to subsist in the
capital, he retired to the mountains from which his race
was sprung, where, worn out by suffering and exhausted
by trial, he died in 1645.
The works of Quevedo which have come down to us
show him to have been a fruitful and an industrious writer.
He tried his hand in all manner of departments, from theo¬
logy and metaphysics down to stories of vulgar life and
wild gypsy ballads. Many of his writings are still in manu¬
script, in the national library of Madrid and in other
collections, public and private. He seems to have pub¬
lished nothing with his name except his meagre translations
of Epictetus and Phocylides. His first appearance as an
author was probably in The Flowers of Illustrious Poets
of his friend Pedro de Espinosa. After his death, Gonzalez
de Salas published, in 1648, the first part of such of his poetry
as could conveniently be reached ; and his nephew, Pedro
Alderete, ’issued the rest in 1670, in a very careless man¬
ner, under the conceited title of The Spanish Parnassus,
divided into its Two Summits, with the Nine Castilian
Muses. Sonnets and ballads are the most numerous, but
there are likewise abundance of odes, satires, and idyls.
Many of his lighter ballads, such as those of the Gypsies,
have attained an unbounded popularity among the peasants,
and are still to be heard sung, to the guitars thoroughout
the whole of Spain. His burlesque sonnets, in imitation of
the Italian, are considered the best in the language. But
besides the indecency of much of his poetry, he made use of
words and phrases that are low and essentially unpoetical.
In 1631 he published a small volume entitled Poems by
the Bachiller Francisco de la Torre, which are now gene¬
rally ascribed to his own pen. The works, however, on
which Quevedo’s fame mainly rests, both at home and
abroad, are in prose. Passing by those on theology and
metaphysics, we come to The History and Life of the Great
Sharper, Paul of Segovia, first printed in 1627. It is written
in the picaresco style of Mendoza’s ZazarzY/o de Tornies, and
is overrun with conceits, puns, and a reckless, fierce humour.
It teems with wit, and most cruel sarcasm against all orders
of society. As a satire it is perhaps too hard and unre¬
lenting to be considered at all amusing. This, indeed, is
the charactar of most of his other prose satires, and espe¬
cially his Visions, published in 1635, As an instance of
that mixture of the solemn and ludicrous in which he so
much delighted, the reader will obtain as good a specimen
as can be given in his Dream of Skulls or Dream of Judg¬
ment. Everywhere he exhibits a bold, original, and in¬
dependent spirit; and his personal sufferings may have had
much to do with his satirical bitterness and the severity of
his sarcasm.
A somewhat diffuse Life of Quevedo was printed at
Madrid in 1663 by Don Pablo Antonio de Tarsia, a Nea¬
politan, and is inserted in the tenth volume of the best
edition of Quevedo’s works, that of Sancha, Madrid, J1 vols.
8vo, 1791-94. A much more satisfactory Life is to be
found in Baena’s Hijos de Madrid, tom. ii., pp. 137-154.
Quevedo’s Visions were freely rendered into English in
1668 by Sir Roger 1’Estrange ; a number of his tales were
translated into English by Stevens in 1707, and by Pineda
in 1734. The latter is the basis of the Edinburgh trans¬
lation of the Visions, &c., 3 vols., 1798. (See Ticknor’s
History of Spanish Literature, vol. ii., c. xix.)
Q U I
Q U I
735
Quid pro
Quo
QUID PRO QUO, in law, denotes the giving one
thing of value for another; or the mutual consideration and
performance of both parties to a contract.
Quid pro Quo, Qui pro Quo, is also used in physic to
express a mistake in the physician’s bill, where quid is
written for quo, that is one thing for another ; or ot the
apothecary, in reading quid for quo, and giving the patient
the wrong medicine. Hence the term is in general ex¬
tended to all blunders or mistakes committed in medicine,
either in the prescription, the preparation, or the applica¬
tion of remedies.
QUIE'f ISM. See Mysticism.
QUILIMANE. See Mozambique.
QUILLET, Claude, an eminent Latin poet, was born
at Chinon in Touraine in 1602, and practised physic there
with reputation ; but having declared against the pretended
possession of the nuns of Loudun, in a manuscript treatise,
the original of which was deposited in the library of the
Sorbonne, he was obliged to retire into Italy, where he
became secretary to the Marshal d’Estrees, the French am¬
bassador at Rome. In 1655, Quillet having published in
Holland a Latin poem entitled Callipcedia, under the
name of “ Calvidius Laetus,” he there inserted some verses
against Cardinal Mazarin and his family; but that churchman
making him some gentle reproaches, he retrenched what
related to the cardinal in another edition, and dedicated it
to him, Mazarin having, before it was printed,'given him
an abbey. He died in 1661, aged fifty-nine, after having
given Menage all his writings, and 500 crowns to pay the
expense of printing them ; but the Abbe took the money
and papers, and published none of them. A third edition
of his poems, with a number of other pieces, was published
in London in 1708, 8vo. The Callipczdia was translated
into English verse by Nicolas Rowe, London, 1710.
QUILLOTA, a town of Chile in the province of Acon¬
cagua, in a fertile valley 23 miles N.E. of Valparaiso. It
is chiefly important on account of the copper mines in the
vicinity, which are considered the richest in the country.
The town suffered much from an earthquake in 1823; and
also on other occasions. Pop. 8000.
QUILOA, or Keelwa, a seaport-town of Zanguebar,
on the E. coast of Africa, on an island about 10 miles long
and 6 broad, 225 miles N. of Mozambique; S. Lat. 8. 57.,
E. Long. 39. 47. From the middle of a grove of palms
rise the whitewashed flat-roofed houses of the town, and
the domes and minarets of its mosques. The streets are
narrow, and the buildings generally substantial. Some re¬
mains of former fortifications are still in pretty good pre¬
servation ; and there is a fort capable of containing a strong
garrison, though mounted with no guns. The harbour is
large and deep, accessible to vessels of any size. Quiloa
was once a place of much importance ; and its monarchs
held sway over the country as far south as Sofala. It was
taken and burned by the Portuguese in 1505, but abandoned
by them soon after, on account of its unhealthiness. It was
subsequently rebuilt, and has recovered some degree of its
former prosperity, being subject now to the Imam of Mus¬
cat. Pop. from 6000 to 8000.
QUI LON, a seaport-town of India, in the native state
of Travancore, presidency of Madras, 385 miles S.W. of
Madras, and 740 S.E. of Bombay. There is here a British
cantonment, containing a barrack and an hospital. 4 he
town has also a jaiFunder the native authorities; and an
Episcopal church has been erected some years ago. Com¬
munication is carried on with Trivandrum, the capital of
Travancore, by means of canals running parallel to the
shore; and similar means of transit extend in the opposite
direction northwards. The chief productions of Quilon
are timber, cocoa-nuts, pepper, ginger, and coffee. There
is good anchorage in a bight about 3 miles from the foit.
Pop. estimated at 20,000.
QUIMPER, a town of France, capital of the depart- Quimper
ment of Finistere, on the slope of a hill at the confluence II
of the Eir and the Odet, 134 miles N.W. of Nantes, and ^uin'
330 W. of Paris. It has an antique appearance ; and there
are still some remains of its ancient walls and towers. The
older part of the town is ill built; but the more modern
quarter contains many fine houses, especially along the
quay which lines the right bank of the Odet. The cathe¬
dral is a large and stately edifice, with a finely-sculptured
portal and two massive towers. There are more than one
other church, a large college, a military hospital, public baths,
and a prefect’s house, behind which there is a fine pro¬
menade leading to the top of a wooded hill. Quimper con¬
tains potteries, tanneries, breweries, &c. Fishing and ship¬
building are also carried on ; and there is a considerable
trade in corn, wine, brandy, fish, cattle, wool, hemp, flax,
&c. Pop. (1856) 9896.
QUIMPERLE, a town of France, in the department
of Finistere, at the confluence of the Isole and Elle, 57
miles S.E. of Brest. It has a picturesque situation among
high hills ; and contains a curious old round church, a large
Benedictine convent (now the residence of the mayor),
Capuchin and Ursuline convents, a college, and a court of
justice. Leather, paper, and wooden shoes are made here ;
and there is some trade in these articles, corn, and cattle.
Vessels of considerable size can come up to the town, and
discharge their cargoes at a spacious quay lined with good
warehouses and other buildings. Pop. (1856) 5902.
QUIN, James, a celebrated performer on the English
stage, was born in King Street, Covent Garden, London,
on the 24th of February 1693. He was intended for the
bar; but preferring Shakspeare to the statutes at large, he,
on the death of his father, when it became necessary for
him to do something for himself, appeared on the stage at
Drury Lane. For this profession he had many important
qualifications. He had an expressive countenance, a ma¬
jestic figure, a piercing eye, and a clear, full, melodious
voice. In 1720 he first displayed his comic powers in the
character of Falstaff, and soon afterwards appeared to as
crreat advantage in Sir John Brute ; but it was upon Booth s
quitting the stage that Quin showed to most advantage, in
the part of Cato. He was the first man on the boards
till Garrick made his appearance, of whom Quin at first
spoke rather contemptuously. He continued a favourite
performer until the year 1748, when, on some dispute be¬
tween him and Rich the manager, he retired to Bath, and
only came up annually to act for the benefit ot his friend
Ryan, until the loss of two front teeth spoiled his utterance
for the stage. Whilst Quin continued upon the stage, he
constantly kept company with the greatest geniuses °1 tll£j
age. He was well known to Pope and Swift; and the Earl
of Chesterfield frequently invited him to hip table; but
there was none for whom he entertained a higher esteem
than for the poet Thomson, the author of the Seasons, to
whom he made himself known by an act of generosity that
does the greatest honour to his character. Quin’s splendid
elocution recommended him to Frederick, Prince of Wales,
who appointed him to instruct his children in speaking
and reading with a graceful propriety; and Quin being
informed of the elegant manner in which his majesty de¬
livered his first speech from the throne, he cried out in a
kind of ecstasy, “ Ay, I taught the boy to speak. Nor
did his majesty forget his old tutor; for, soon after ms
accession to the throne, he gave orders, without any appli¬
cation being made to him, that a pension should be paid to
Mr Quin during his life. Quin, indeed, was not in absolute
need of this royal benefaction; for, as he was never mar¬
ried, and had none but distant relations, he sunk L.2000,
which was half his fortune, in an annuity, for which he
obtained L.200 a year, and, with about L.2000 more in the
funds, lived in a decent manner during the latter part of
1
736 Q U I
Quinarius his life at Bath, whence he carried on a regular correspond-
Jl ence with Garrick, and generally paid a visit to his friends
Quinine. jn t]ie metropolis once a year, when he constantly passed a
week or two at the great actor’s villa at Hampton. He
died of a fever in 1766.
QUINARIUS was a small Roman coin, equal to half
the denarius, and consequently worth about threepence
three farthings of our money. It was called quinarius,
because equal in value to five asses, just as the denarius
was named from its containing ten.
QUINAULT, Philippe, a French lyric poet of some
note, was born at Paris in 1635. He pursued the study of
law for some time, but preferring the poetry of the stage,
he afterwards renounced his legal profession in favour of
the drama. His tragedies and comedies, written for the
Theatre Fran pais, are now forgotten. In 1673 he com¬
menced writing for the Grand Opera, and his lyrical talent
gained for him entire success. He is regarded as the best
operatic writer which France has yet produced; and A.
W. Schlegel even prefers his light, animated, fantastic
style to that of the great Italian Metastasio. Armide is
considered his masterpiece. He received the order of St
Michael at the hands of Louis XIV., with a pension of
2000 livres (L.100); and was a member of the French
Academy, and of the Academy of Inscriptions and Belles-
Lettres. Quinault ceased to write when Lulli, who set his
pieces to music, died. The poet outlived the musician
only a year; and leaving his daughters a considerable for¬
tune, he died in 1688. His dramas have been collected
and published, under the title of Ze Thedtre de M. Quin¬
ault, contenant ses Tragedies, Comedies, et Opera, Edi¬
tion augmentee de sa Vie, et d’une dissertation sur ses
Outrages et sur VOrigine de VOpera, 5 vols. 12mo, Paris,
1715. ’
QUINCUNX, in gardening, is a plantation of trees,
disposed originally in a square consisting of five trees, one
at each corner, and a fifth in the middle; or it is applied
to trees planted in oblique lines of three and two.
QUINCY, a town of Massachusetts, in the United States
of North America, near the shore of a bay of the same
name in Boston harbour, 8 miles S. by E. of Boston. It
is well built on level ground, and has a stone church, a
handsome granite town-house, a newspaper office, and two
banks. It is chiefly remarkable for its granite quarries, in
which about 1000 workmen are employed, and from which
granite is sent to various parts of the country. Pop.
(1850) 5017.
Quincy, a town of the United States of North America,
capital of Adams county, in the state of Illinois, stands on a
limestone cliff on the left bank of the Mississippi, in the
midst of a rich undulating prairie-land, 170 miles above St
Louis, and 104 W. of Springfield. It has a large public
square, numerous churches, a handsome court-house, several
newspaper offices, and three banks. There are numerous
manufactories, including distilleries, machine shops, foun¬
dries, flour and saw mills worked by steam, See. An active
trade is carried on by steamers on the Mississippi. Pop.
(1850) 6901 ; (1853) 11,000.
QUINDECAGON, a plain figure with fifteen sides
and fifteen angles.
QUINDECIMVIRI. See Decemviri.
QUININE, or Quinia, a vegetable alkaloid discovered
by modern chemistry in the yellow Peruvian bark {Cin¬
chona cordifolia). It is a white powdery substance, spar¬
ingly soluble in water, but dissolved by warm alcohol, from
which it is not deposited in crystals. Quinine unites with
acids, and forms salts, the most important of which is the
sulphate. It is soluble in water, and crystallizes. In the
dose ot one grain twice or thrice a day it is the most
valuable of all the vegetable tonics, and in larger doses it
is the best of all the antiperiodics. Quinine should not
Q U I
be administered where there is a tendency of blood to the Quinqua-
head. trus
QUINQUATRUS, or Quinquatria, was a festival ||
celebrated at Rome in honour of Minerva, and which was Quintana-
celebrated on the 19th of March, and lasted five days. On
the first day they offered sacrifices and oblations without
the effusion of blood, and was considered the festival proper;
the second, third, and fourth were spent in shows of gla¬
diators ; and on the fifth day they went in procession
through the city. Scholars had a vacation during the
solemnity, and at this time presented their masters with a
gift or fee, called Minerval. Boys and girls used to pray
to the goddess Minerva for wisdom and learning, of which
she had the patronage. Plays vvere acted and disputations
held at this feast on subjects of polite literature. The
quinquatrus wTas so called because, according to Varro, it
was held the fifth day after the Ides.
QUINQUEREMIS, in the naval architecture of the
ancients, is a name given to a galley which had five benches
of oars. The invention of them is ascribed to the reign of
Dionysius. They in general divided their vessels into
monocrota and polycrota. The former had only one tier
of rowers; the latter had several tiers of them, from two or
three up to twenty, thirty, or even forty; for in the time
of Philopater we have an account of such a vessel, w'hich
required no less than four thousand men to row it.
QUINQUIVIRI, in Roman antiquity, were five extra¬
ordinary magistrates frequently appointed to carry any
measure into execution.
QUINTANA, Manuel Josef, an eminent Spanish poet
and patriot, frequently called “ the Spanish Tyrtaeus,” was born
at Madrid in 1772. He was educated at Salamanca, and
adopted the profession of the law under the patronage of
Jovellanos. But he secretly indulged a preference for
letters; and in 1801 he wrote his tragedy of The Duke of
Viseo, and in 1805 he produced his Pelayo. The former
had but little success; but the latter, which had been de¬
signed to rouse his countrymen to a resistance of foreign
oppression, struck a chord in their hearts which it took a
number of years to allay. Meanwhile, in 1802, he had
published a thin volume of poems almost entirely lyrical,
which rang through the hearts of the half of Spain. He
wrote in the same spirit, in 1807, a volume containing the
lives of five distinguished Spaniards who had successfully
fought the enemies of their country. He at the same time
prepared three volumes of selections from the best Spanish
poets, accompanying them with critical notices, which were
not without occasional Gallicisms, but yet were thoroughly
national in spirit, and were unquestionably superior to any¬
thing of the kind in the Spanish language. Many years
afterwards Quintana added both to the lives and selec¬
tions. At the outbreak of the revolution of 1808 Quin¬
tana devoted all his talents and all his fortune to the service
of his country. He wrote Odes to Emancipated Spain;
he harangued his countrymen through the journals ; he
penned the proclamations, manifestoes, and addresses which
so honourably distinguish his career as secretary to the
Cortes and to the regency; and he had his reward. Fer¬
dinand VII. no sooner gained his freedom from France
than, in 1816, on his return to Madrid, a persecution was
instituted against the very men who had contributed to his
liberation. Quintana was imprisoned in the fortress of
Pamplona for six miserable years, without even the use of
writing materials. But a change came at last. In 1820
he was raised to greater distinction than he had known be¬
fore, which he was allowed to enjoy for three years, when
another political revolution took from him both place and
power. He retired to Estremadura till the king’s death,
when he was again restored to his old public offices, was
created a peer of the realm, and received a crown of laurel
from the hands of the present Queen of Spain, whose edu-
anus.
Q U I
Qnintanar cation he had superintended. He died at Madrid on the
delaOrden 11 th March 1857, aged eighty-four. His funeral was at-
II tended by the leading nobility and all the noted men of
QuintUi- letters
in the Spanish capital.
Quintana’s complete works will be found occupying a
volume of the Bibliotecn de Autores Espanoles of Riva-
deneyra, by Ferrer del Rio, published in 1852. His Lives
of Celebrated Spaniards has been translated into English
by Preston.
QUINTANAR DE LA ORDEN, a town of Spain, in
the province of 1 oledo, 63 miles S.E. of Madrid. It has
tw’o large squares, a good town-hall, church, piison, schools,
hermitages, &c. Oil, flour, chocolate, soap, biicks, tiles,
blankets’, ropes, and other articles, are made here; and
large markets are held. Pop. 5656.
QUINTETTO (English, Quintet), in music, a compo¬
sition for five voices, or tor five instruments, each of which
is obligato. The remarks that have been made upon the
construction of the quartetto apply generally to that of the
quintette. Amongst the finest instrumental quintettes
are those of Boccherini, Mozart, Beethoven, and Onslow.
The best that have been composed for wind instruments
only are A. Reicha’s, for flute, oboe, clarinet, horn, and
bassoon. (G-G*)
QUINTILIANUS, M. Fabius, a celebrated Roman
rhetorician, chiefly eminent for his treatise on oratory. 1 he
main facts of his life, as far as they are known to us, are
derived from his own allusions in this celebrated work.
His father seems to have been a man of some note (ix. 3,
§ 73), and from a passage in Seneca, it has been inferred
that he was a declaimer. If so, Seneca speaks of him very
slightingly (Controv. v., pref., p. 318), as a man whose ora¬
torical reputation had not survived him. Others suppose
that the Quintilian noticed by Seneca was the grandfather
of M. Fabius; but the name was so common that any as¬
sumption about it is highly precarious.
Quintilian is said to have been born at Calagurris in
Spain (Auson. Profess, i. 7; Euseb. Chron. ad. 01. ccxi.),
and we hear of other Quintilians in that country at a much
later period (Prudent. Hymn. vii. 152). Doubt has been
thrown on this fact from the silence of Martial, who being
himself a Spaniard, would naturally have been glad to have
included a man whom he so profoundly admired {Ep. ii.
90) in the list of his distinguished fellow-countrymen.
Some weight must undoubtedly be attached to this argu¬
ment, and his birthplace be regarded as uncertain. He
was certainly educated at Rome, and repeatedly alludes to
the instruction he received from Domitius Afer, whose
waning powers were the more conspicuous from his un¬
willingness to abandon an arena in which he had excelled
all his contemporaries, although they were men of such
high reputation as Julianus Africanus and Servilius Noni-
anus (v. 7, 7 ; x. 1, 24, 118, &c.) Quintilian was then a
mere youth {adolescentulus) during the old age of this dis¬
tinguished orator; and he must therefore have been born
a.d. 40—42, for Domitius Afer died in the reign of Nero,
A.D. 60. When his education was completed, and after
the death of his friend and instructor, he went to Spain
with Galba, and stayed with him during his eight years’
administration of Hispania Tarraconensis. At the end of
this period he returned to Rome with his patron, and began
to practise at the bar with such distinction that his name
became with his contemporaries a proverbial term for a
consummate orator., (Juv. vii. 280.) He won still greater
distinction in the office of a teacher {moderator summe
juventa. Mart. ii. 90), and had the good fortune to num¬
ber Pliny among his pupils. (Plin. Ep. ii. 14, § 9; vi’ 6, §§
3, 32.) "We cannot wonder at his brilliant success, if his
practice in any way came up to the noble requiiements of
his theory. His general remarks on education, distin¬
guished as they are by the calmest good sense, may still be
vou xvm.
Q U I
read with advantage ; and the arguments by which he main¬
tains the superiority of a public to a private education, give
an irresistible answer to the objections which eighteen cen¬
turies have not sufficed to clear away. Probably few men
came nearer to his marvellous ideal of a tutor than he did
himself, as we may conjecture from the affectionate respect
which he received from his pupils, and from the use of his
name by Juvenal as a general expression for a pure and
honourable man. {Sat. vi. 75.) When we add to this the
certainty that he fully gained during his lifetime the repu¬
tation which he had justly earned, his biography presents
a picture of rare good fortune. Two emperors singled him
out for their most conspicuous marks of approbation. Do-
mitian entrusted to him the education of his sister’s grand¬
sons {Inst. Oral. iv. preaem.); and Clemens, the father of
these youths, obtained for him, in gratitude for his instruc¬
tion, the honours and empty title of consul (Anson. Grat.
Act. ante med.) Although this office had long been shorn
of all its political power, it may well have seemed a guerdon
sufficiently splendid to excite the envy of contemporaries
as a freak of fortune. (Juv. vii. 194.) From Vespasian he
received the still more substantial recognition of a regular
salary of 100,000 sesterces (between L.800 and L.900)
a year out of the privy purse, with the additional honour of
being the first recipient of a bounty which was afterwards
continued in imitation of this excellent precedent. (Suet.
Vesp. 18.) These distinctions were showered upon him at
the close of his public duties, when, after twenty years of
professional labour, he was employing his retirement in the
composition of his great work, the Institutiones Oratories.
But in spite of his brilliant success, the life of Quintilian
was embittered by the severest domestic misfortunes. He
had married, probably late in life, a very young girl, who,
after bearing him two sons, died before her twentieth year.
He speaks of her with almost parental tenderness, and
says that his sons were his only consolation. Of these,
the younger, a child of the utmost promise, died a few
months after his mother, while the father was diverting his
thoughts with the composition of his treatise De Causis
Corruptee Eloquentiee. All his hopes were then centred in
the young Quintilianus, whose unusual abilities formed a
strong stimulus to his father’s diligence, and heightened his
desire to complete, before his own death, his larger and
more celebrated work. But these hopes were destined to
be blighted;, the boy died, after eight months’ illness, in
the tenth year of his age, and Quintilian bitterly complains
that the fruit of his labours was destined to be reaped by
any one rather than those for whose sake he had so fondly
written. Besides showing him in a very amiable domestic
character, the autobiographical digression, in which he in¬
forms us about these circumstances, is valuable, as illustrat¬
ing Quintilian’s high position ; for the son whose loss he so
pathetically laments had been adopted by a man of con¬
sular dignity, and already betrothed to the daughter of a
praetor. {Inst. Or. vi. Proaem.)
Pliny w<rote one of his extant letters to a Quintilian,
whom he addresses in affectionate terms, and to whom he
sends a present of 50,000 sesterces (between L.400 and
L.500), as a present for his daughter on her marriage to
Nonius Celer, a Roman knight. He apologises for so trifling
a present {munusculum) by saying that he would not have
succeeded in persuading him to accept a larger sum, and adds
that his friend’s means were disproportionate to the wealth
of his intellect. {Ep. vi. 32.) If the Quintilian here ad¬
dressed be the author of the Instituliones (as appears most
probable), he must have married the daughter of Tutilius
when he was at least fifty, and have lived to a considerable
ao-e. We see no improbability in this, since the death of
Ins children, and the very short duration of his previous
married life, would naturally induce him to a second mar¬
riage. The date of his death is entirely uncertain.
5 A
738 Q U I
Quintili- Doubt has been thrown on the identity of the great
anus. Quintilian with the one mentioned by Pliny, because in
this epistle he is said to have been ‘‘modicum facultatibus,”
whereas we have seen that he enjoyed a handsome pension ;
and Juvenal quotes him as an instance of a literary man
who possessed the amplest means. We may add to this
that lie himself alludes to his circumstances (“facilitates
patrimonii nostri”) in terms which show that he had a con¬
siderable competence. There is, however, no real difficulty
here. The general tone of Pliny’s letter shows that he was
addressing a rich man, though one poorer than himself;
and there is an obviously sarcastic exaggeration in the
jealous language of Juvenal, who, although he felt for
Quintilian a sincere respect, probably disliked him as a
court favourite under a detestable tyrant. It has been
well remarked that Quintilian was “a rich man among the
poor, and a poor man among the rich.”
He lived in times which were perilous to the honesty of
prominent and able men. Comparatively few of his con¬
temporaries escaped without a stain from the all but uni¬
versal corruption of that dark period, when, as Niebuhr
expresses it, “ the world was effete with the drunkenness of
crime.” Many of the eminent men with whom Quintilian
lived on terms of intimacy, and among them Domitius Afer,
were “prosperiore eloquentiae quam morum fama.” (Tacit.
Ann. iv. 5.) It is even strange that in close proximity to
men so distinguished for genius, yet so degraded by moral
weakness, Quintilian should still have maintained his cele¬
brated theory, that a splendid eloquence is incompatible
with an immoral life. (Inst. Or. i. 2.) And yet there is
not a single reproach against Quintilian’s own character,
unless it be the adulation with which he addresses the
Emperor Domitian on being requested to undertake the
education of his grand-nephews. Considering the high
compliment which was involved in his selection for this
office, and the general prevalence of flattery far grosser and
more extravagant (Veil. Paterc. ii. 94, 104 ; Stat. SyJv.
i. 1, 62; Mart. v. 81), we cannot but consider this a venial
offence. Quintilian was no politician, and even if he had
been, such insane compliment is too preposterous to do any
harm. We might call it a vice rather of the period than
of the individual, did we not know historically how seductive
are the blandishments of royalty. Even Lord Chatham,
a far greater man than Quintilian, burst into tears on re¬
ceiving from George III. a few words of ordinary civility.
Quintilian’s chief claim to the respect of posterity rests on
his famous work, Institutiones Oratorice, written mainly with
a view to the education of his owrn son and the son of the
courtly orator Marcellus Victorius, to whom he dedicated it.
The publication of it w as hastened by the generally expressed
wish, that he would embody in writing the results of his long
experience, and by the fact, that no less than two unautho¬
rized editions of his rhetorical notes, full of imperfections,
had already been brought before the world by the ill-
judged zeal and admiration of his youthful auditors. He
tells us that he composed the present work in rather more
than two years, amid the interruption of numerous other
engagements ; but it gives the result of many years’ study
of the subject, and contains all that he considered most
valuable in numerous earlier treatises, both Greek and
Latin. It forms a complete compendium of every topic
likely to be technically useful in the education of a young
aspirant to the honours of eloquence. It is the clearest and
most practical of rhetorical manuals; and though inferior
to Cicero’s Zte Oratore in a literary point of view, is much
more adapted to be practically useful. Quintilian’s style is
graceful, lucid, and flowing; and although he was not so
pedantic as to avoid every expression which wanted the
classic stamp of the Augustan period, yet he may be re¬
garded as the restorer of good taste, and “ can in no way
be classed among the writers of the Arqentea celas?
QUO
(Niebuhr.) The first MS. of Quintilian was discovered Quintin
bv the Florentine Poggio in the tower of the monastery 3my»u«u»
of St Gall, when he was attending the council of Con-
stance. The first printed edition was that of Campanus (4.^oru™-j
at Rome in 1470. The best commentary is that of
Spalding (completed by Zumpt and Bonnelli), who gives
in his Preface an imperfect and desultory sketch of Quin¬
tilian’s life.
It is now generally agreed that the work De Causis Cor-
rvptcB E/oquentice is lost. It was long identified with the
Dialogus de Oratoribus, which is more rightly assigned to
Tacitus, and usually printed by modern editors among his
works. The arguments about the authorship are well and
briefly given by Spalding in his note on Institutiones Ora¬
torice, vi. presem., and need not be recapitulated here. The
one hundred and sixty-four declamations which long passed
under the name of Quintilian, are universally acknow¬
ledged not to be his. They are the feeble and tasteless
productions of those rhetorical schools which, by encourag¬
ing empty rant on subjects which had the least possible
affinity with real human interests, tended radically to vitiate
the taste of young orators. Tacitus and Petronius Arbiter
alike condemn the futile and fantastic manner of these dis¬
cussions, which degraded eloquence into affectation, and
made it the orator’s sole object to surprise by unexpected
and unusual expressions, and emasculate his sentences by
a nauseous superfetation of quips and flourishes. 1 he
ridiculous and intolerable style of the later Roman
writers, with the archaisms and euphuisms with which
they elaborately endeavour to conceal their barrenness of
thought, was the natural development of so mistaken a
practice. (f. w. f.)
QUINTUS SMYRN^US, called Quintus Calaber,
a Greek poet, who appears to have lived about the end of the
fourth century a.d., and w ho wrote a supplement to Homer’s
Iliad, in fourteen books. The poem was discovered by Car¬
dinal Bessarion, and was first published by Aldus in 1504 or
1505. The best edition is thatof Tychsen, Strasburg, 1807.
QUIRITES. See Rome.
QUITO, the capital of the republic and of the department
of Ecuador, stands in a ravine on the E. side of the volcano
Pichincha, 9534 feet above the sea, 150 miles N.N.E. of
Guayaquil; S. Lat. 0. 13., W. Long. 78. 50. A small part
of the town is built on level ground, but the most of it
occupies the slope of a hill, which is in some places exceed¬
ingly steep. The level part is chiefly occupied by a large
square, containing the cathedral, episcopal palace, govern¬
ment palace, and town-hall, and having a fountain in the
centre. From the corners of this square extend four broad,
straight, but short streets, which are the best in the town;
the others being narrow, crooked, and uneven, and many
of them unpaved. The cathedral is a plain building, and
is excelled in beauty by some of the other churches. J he
former Jesuits’ college, a large and handsome building, with
a Corinthian front, is now occupied by the university.
There are also two ecclesiastical colleges, and several con¬
vents and hospitals. The houses are seldom more than
one storey in height, and are generally built of sun-dried
bricks, flat-roofed, and thatched with magueg leaves. Cot¬
ton, coarse woollen fabrics, hosiery, silk, lace, leather, and
confectionary, are among the manufactures of the town.
The markets are well supplied with provisions; grain and
other rural produce are exported to central America, and
hardware, cloth, &c., imported from Europe. Quito was
founded by Sebastian Benalcasar in 1534. It has fre¬
quently suffered from earthquakes. Pop. 70,000.
QUORUM, so called from the words of the commission,
quorum A. B. unum esse volumus (“of whom "e will that
A. B. be one”); thus rendering it necessary that certain
individuals (said to be of the quorum) should be present at
the transaction of business.
739
R
II
Rabatt.
Ea liquid consonant, being the eighteenth letter of the
5 English alphabet Its sound is formed by a guttural
extrusion of breath vibrated through the mouth, with a sort
of quivering motion of the tongue drawn back from the
teeth, and advanced with the tip a little elevated towards
the palate. It is convertible with the letters l, n, m, and s.
It is apt to place itself at one time before, at another time
after a vowel, and is liable to disappear from the neighbour¬
hood of several consonants.
In the notes of the ancients, R. or RO. signifies Foma.
R. C. Rom ana civitas ; R. G. C. rei gerendee causa; R. F.
E. D. recte factum et dictum; R. G. F. regis filius; R. P.
res publica, or Romani principes, and R. R. R. F. F. F. res
Romana met ferro, fame, fiarnma. (See Abbreviations.)
Used as a numeral, R anciently stood for 80; and with a
dash over it, thus R, for 80,000; but the Greek R, p, with
a small mark over it, signified 100; with the same mark
under it, it denoted 1000 x 10 ; thus p( signifies 100,000.
In the Hebrew numeration denoted 200 ; and with two
horizontal points over it, thus-}, 1000x200; =200,000.
In the prescriptions of physicians, R or R stands for recipe,
that is, “ take.”
RAAB (Magyar Gyor), a town of Hungary,, capital of
a county of the same name, in the midst ot a wide marshy
plain at the confluence of the Raab, with the Little or
Wieselbnrg Danube, 34 miles S.E. of Pressburg, and 6/
W.N.W. of Buda. Besides the town properly so called,
which is defended by a castle,, and surrounded by fortifica¬
tions and a glacis, there are extensive suburbs. It is well
built, chiefly of stone, and some of the streets are straight
and regular. Among the chief buildings are the old and
splendid cathedral; several other Roman Catholic, a Protest¬
ant, and a Greek church; Benedictine and Ursuline con¬
vents. The educational establishments include an archi-
gvmnasium, a, roval academy with legal and philosophical
faculties and a library, an Episcopal seminary, and other
schools. There are also an orphan hospital, theatre, bar¬
racks, and arsenal. Large horse markets are held here;
and there is a considerable trade in corn. '1 he only manu¬
facture of any importance vs that of tobacco, which is carried
on by the government. Raab is connected by railway with
Vienna and with Buda; and steamers ply between it and
Gonyo, on the Danube. A battle was fought under the
walls in 1809, in which Napoleon totally defeated the dis¬
orderly force of the Hungarian nobles. Pop. (exclusive of
the military) 16,000.
RAAT,. a town of British India, presidency of Bengal,
capital of a. pergunnah of the same name in the district of
Humeerpore, 46 miles S. of Calpee. It is a populous and
thriving town, having a bazaar, and being well supplied
with provisions and water. It is, however, very unhealthy,
on account of the swamps and rank vegetation of the ad¬
jacent country. Pop. 8616.
RABAT I', a seaport of Morocco, on the S.W. side of
the Bu-Regreb, at its mouth in the Atlantic, in the pro¬
vince and 100 miles W. of Fez. From the bank of the
broad, full river rise groups of palms and minarets, mosques
and mausoleums, the time-worn walls of the town, the battle¬
ments of the citadel, and the lofty tower of Sma Hasann,
on a cliff to the S.E., forming a conspicuous sea-mark for
many miles off. There are pretty good fortifications to¬
wards the sea, consisting of a wall flanked by round bat¬
teries; and the entrance of the river is commanded by
another battery with 24 guns. The citadel is also mounted
with artillery. Many of the houses are large, but the
streets are narrow and dirty. The mouth of the river is
obstructed by a bar of shifting sand; and in winter the RaJeiais
surf is frequently so violent as to make the entrance very . <
dangerous. Vessels entering can moor close to the town,
where there is room for about twelve; but they are sometimes
compelled by stress of weather to go farther up the river.
The manufactures of Rabatt are considerable, including
carpets, mats, rugs, serge, woollen and cotton cloth, ropes,
hemp, heather, saddles, bridles, muskets, &c. Salt is made
both here and at Sallee, on the opposite side of the river,
with which communication is kept up by boats. The
trade of the town is considerable: calico, cotton, linen,
muslin, hardware,, cutlery, tinplate, sugar, tea, &c., being
imported; and wool, wax, oil, hides, bark, pease, beans,
gum, and other articles exported. The quantity of ex¬
ports and imports would in all likelihood be much greater
than it is, were it not for the high duties and government
monopolies. Pop. about 35,000, of whom 28,000 are
Mohammedans and 7000 Jews.
RABBI (FafSpi), a title of honour given to the teachers
of the law in the time of Christ, and for which there is no
exact equivalent in our language, though perhaps in pur¬
port and usage it. comes near to “ doctor” or “ master :” a
word combining both these significations would fairly re¬
present it. The actual signification of {rah), in Hebrew
is “ a great one,”—i.e., a chief, a master; and would as a
title be probably represented by the “ Excellenzi” of
Southern Europe, which is perhaps as common as Rabbi
was among the Jews. It was there employed as a title in
the Jewish schools in,a threefold form, indicating as many
degrees, which might without much impropriety be com¬
pared, in the stricter sense, to the progressive academical
deorees of Bachelor, Master, and Doctor. The lowest of
these degrees of honour was {rah). This, with the rela¬
tive suffix, became Q“), 'FafipLRabbi, “ my master,” which
was of higher dignity ; and beyond that was TQT (Rabun),
“ great master;” or with the suffix {Rabboui), “ my
great master,” which w'as the highest of all. It is. not cer¬
tain, however, that this graduation of terms existed in the
time of Christ. The teachers and professors of the law
were distinguished by the title of Rabbi both, by the people
and by their own disciples.
RABBIT. See Mammalia.
RABELAIS, Dr Francois,, immortalized by his. ro¬
mance of Gargantua and Pantagruel, was born at Chinon,
a little town of Touraine, in 1483. His father, i homas
Rabelais, is generally understood to have been an apothe¬
cary of that town, and proprietor of the farm of La Devi-
niere in the neighbourhood, celebrated for an excellent
Burgundy which was groyvn upon it, and where, it is said,
a great part of the romance was written. According to
some biographers, however, he was a vintner in Chinon,
and kept a cabaret there at the sign of the Lamprey. The
probability is, that, in a certain sense, he combined both
occupations, dealing in drugs and spices, ‘ and other things
of creat price;” and also, like many other gentlemen of
good position, disposing of the wine produced upon his own
property, a traffic very different in its nature from that sug¬
gested by the modern ideas of an apothecary and, keeper
of a cabaret. He was unquestionably a man of substance,
and able to procure for his son an education of as high a
character as was then to be obtained. He sent him to be
educated by the monks of Seully, an abbey not far from
Chinon; but the bpy’s progress under their care was so
unpromising as to occasion his removal to the university
of Angers, according to some biographers, or according to
¥
■
740 R A B E
Rabelais, others, to the convent of La Baumette, near that town.
V—Here he studied for some time, but apparently with no more .
satisfactory results than before. It was at this establish¬
ment that he made the acquaintance of the brothers Du
Bellay, one of them afterwards the celebrated cardinal.
The friendship then formed lasted through life, and ulti¬
mately proved of the greatest service to Rabelais. It may
be assumed that it was rather from submission to his father’s
wish than from natural inclination that he is found to have
soon afterwards adopted a monastic life. In 1511, alter
passing through the usual preparatory studies, he was ad¬
mitted into the order of Cordeliers at the convent of Fon-
tenay-le-Compte in Poitou, where he assumed the religious
habit. Here he prosecuted his studies with such zeal as
to retrieve any loss of time which indifference or injudicious
tutors might previously have occasioned. Striking out of
the usual routine of scholastic study, which then held un¬
divided sway in the monastic houses, he applied himself
with unusual industry and research to the cultivation of
the sciences. It was his aim, says Niceron, to become
a grammarian, poet, philosopher, physician, jurist, and as¬
tronomer; and the encyclopaedic knowledge displayed in
his works bears ample testimony to his success. He pos¬
sessed a peculiar aptitude for the acquisition of the lan¬
guages ; an aptitude which afterwards showed itself in his
command of Italian, Spanish, German, English, Hebrew,
and Arabic. At this period, in fact, he was a perfect
master of the Latin and Greek tongues, the latter of which
had for some time been engaging the attention of the most
enlightened spirits of the age. Within the walls of Fon-
tenay-le-Compte, however, a Greek book was looked upon
as no better than a work of magic, and the man who com¬
manded the key to its secrets passed for a trafficker in
“ the arts inhibitedand Rabelais’ attachment to the
Greek writers drew upon him and his friend Pierre Ami,
a brother of the same order, the hatred and persecution of
his fellow-monks. His independence of spirit and generous
ardour in the pursuit of learning, which could not but be
felt as a reproach to their own resolute ignorance, pedantry,
and sloth, were continually furnishing fresh incentives to
their rancour, and they omitted no opportunity of subject¬
ing his friend and himself to annoyance. Among other
persecutions to which they were subjected, their cells were
ransacked, and their precious Greek volumes confiscated.
Worn out by repeated aggressions, Rabelais followed the
advice of his friends, and resolved to quit a society where he
found so little that was congenial to his own disposition. It
has been alleged that the true cause of this step was his own
profligacy ; but this is only the first cf the many groundless
charges against him, engendered either by the malice of his
enemies, or originating in a misapprehension of his character
from the nature of his famous romance, as that of a man
whose whole life was a noisy jest, a soulless round of sensual
indulgences. Had such really been his character, as has
been pertinently remarked by Pere Niceron, “ these were
not the days when, for such a cause, he needed to have left
his monastery; he might have given free rein to his pro¬
pensities there, and yet have made no deviation from the
ordinary course.” The authority of a churchman on such a
point is conclusive. But there is direct evidence, in the
letters of Budaeus, that Rabelais was persecuted because of
his much-dreaded knowledge of the noblest language of
antiquity. “ Multa et atrocia passus gratia amoris Grae-
carum literarum,” are the words of Budaeus.
Rabelais had by this time made influential friends, who,
seeing how uncongenial to his nature were all the habits of
the severe order of Mendicant friars to which he belonged,
exerted themselves to secure for him the advantages of a
milder order. Accordingly, about the year 1524 a brief
was obtained from Pope Clement VIL, allowing him to
pass from the order of St Francis into that of St Benedict;
LAIS.
and leaving this “ pack of capuchins, monks, who forbade Rabelais,
the use of beans, that is, Pantagrueline books,” to borrow
a phrase from the prologue to the fifth book of his romance,
he entered the monastery of Maillezais in Poitou. There
he remained during several years; but he appears to have
found himself little better off in his new quarters than in
those which he had left. They did not present him, it is
said, with such resources as he desired for extending the
limits of his knowledge, more especially in medical science.
He accordingly quitted the monastery abruptly. His mo¬
tives for this step were doubtless of a mingled nature, of
which it is but reasonable to suppose the chief was a dis¬
gust at the torpor and profitless seclusion of a monastic
life, by escaping from which he could alone hope to find
opportunities for exercising his stirring and strongly prac¬
tical intellect in a field of action, observation, and ex¬
perience, sufficiently ample for its desires. However this
may be, he laid down the regular habit for that of a secular
priest, and quitted Maillezais without the sanction of his
superior, a breach of ecclesiastical discipline which ex¬
posed him to its severest censures. After rambling about
for some time in the diligent pursuit of medical know¬
ledge (as he says himself in his petition to Pope Paul III.
for absolution from the penalties incurred by his unau¬
thorized retirement from Maillezais), he settled at Mont¬
pelier in 1530, and, after taking his physician’s degree at
its university, practised the medical profession there with
credit and success. It appears by the dedication to Gode-
froy d’Estissac, then bishop of Maillezais, who had studied
along with him at La Baumette, of an edition of Hippo¬
crates’ Aphorisms and the Ars Parva of Galen, published
by Rabelais in 1532 at Lyons, and highly esteemed by the
medical and literary men of the time, that his lectures on
physic at the university of that place had attracted consi¬
derable attention. Such, indeed, was the distinction he
attained, that he was selected by the university as their
deputy to procure a restitution of the privileges of which
one of its colleges had been denuded by the chancellor Du
Prat. The means employed by Rabelais for obtaining
access to the chancellor have formed the subject of a story
to be found in all his biographies ; but it is too obviously a
fabrication from an incident in his own romance (the intro¬
duction of Panurge to Pantagruel, book ii., c. ix.) to de¬
serve a place here. He succeeded in the object of his
mission, and his services to the university were perpetuated
in a custom, still, according to the Biographic Unirerselle,
in existence, by which every candidate is required to put
on Rabelais’ gown upon receiving his physician’s degree.
In 1532 we find him established at Lyons, where he was
hospital physician, and taught and practised for several
years. During his residence in Lyons, Rabelais published
several works. Besides those above mentioned, he pub¬
lished in 1532 the Epistolce Medicinales Manardi, and
edited numerous publications on medicine, archaeology, and
jurisprudence. He edited a series of almanacs from 1533
to 1550, which are chiefly interesting for their disclaimers
of that power of divination to which the professors of astro¬
logical science have always pretended. “ Ce sont les secrets
du conseil etroit du Roi eternal,” he says, in the almanac
for 1533, speaking of future events, “ que tout ce qui est et
ce qui fait modere a son franc arbitre et bon plaisir, lesquels
vault mieux taire et adorer en silence.” It is probable that
he acted as corrector of the press for one of the great
printing establishments, from which at this period emanated
many of the most celebrated editions of both the Italian
and French authors. At the commencement of the year
1534 his old schoolfellow and friend, Jean du Bellay, then
bishop of Paris, having occasion to pass through Lyons on
his way to the papal court, regarding the divorce of Henry
VIII. of England, took Rabelais along with him in the
capacity of his physician ; thus enabling him to realize
K A B E
Rabelais, what had long been his passionate wish, a personal acquaint-
ance with Italy and the Eternal City. For, to use the
words of his dedication to Du Bellay ot an edition of Mar-
liani’s Typographia Antiquce Koma;, published, under Ra¬
belais’ superintendence, by Gryphius at Lyons in 1534,
“ from the first moment that I was able to appreciate the
worth of polite learning, it was amongst the foiemost of my
desires to travel throughout Italy, and to view the capital of
the Roman world.” The opportunity for gratifying the
popular conceptions of his character afforded by this visit
of the great satirist of the abuses of the Romish Chinch to
the court of its supreme head, has not been overlooked by the
anecdote-mongers; and several absurd stoiies of his con¬
duct have accordingly been handed down from biographer
to biographer, till they seem almost to have acquired the
authority of undoubted truths. One specimen of these will
be sufficient. When the Cardinal du Bellay was presented
to the Pope, he, as ambassador of Francis I., went through
the usual ceremony of kissing his holiness’s slipper. His
suite followed his example, all except Rabelais, who re¬
mained leaning against a pillar, and exclaimed, loud
enough to be heard, “ that if his master, who was a great
lord in France, were unworthy to kiss the Pope’s feet, his
holiness might untruss, and possibly, after reasonable ab¬
stersion, a part might be found where an humble follower
like himself might presume to apply his lips.” I he impro¬
bability that Rabelais should have expressed himself in
these terms, filling the situation which he did, and when,
too, he was on the eve of supplicating a release from this
very Pope from the ecclesiastical penalties he had incurred
by his unauthorized desertion ot the monastery of Maille-
zais, speaks sufficiently for the worthlessness of this stoiy.
But its real source is obvious enough, and may be found
in book iv., c. xlviii., of his romance. It needed but a poor
invention to construct such a tale out of the extravagant
devotion of the worthies who greeted Pantagruel and his
band on their arrival at the island ot Papimany. 1 hat, how¬
ever, which, as told by Rabelais himself, is a stroke of the
most caustic satire, makes but a sorry jest in the hands of
those who first invented a theory of his character, and then
fabricated anecdotes to support and illustrate it. Rabelais
judgment, it is certain, was quite as powerful as his wit;
and he knew too well when to discharge his bolt with
effect ever to let it fly where detriment to the archer
himself could alone be the result. I he veil of extrava¬
gance which he has thrown over his great satirical work,
is the best possible proof how unlikely he was to be guilty
of any such piece of superfluous imprudence.
Rabelais seems to have gone back to Lyons for a time,
as his Epistle Dedicatory to Du Bellay of his edition of
Marliani’s Antiquitates Romce Antique is dated from that
city on the 31st of August 1534. He returned shortly
afterwards to Rome, and rejoined Du Bellay, who had
been created cardinal on the 21st of May 1535. His
letters to Godefroy d’Estissac, whose favour he had won
during his residence at his abbey ot Maillezais, and con¬
tinued ever afterwards to retain, are dated from Rome
during the two following years. Availing himself of the
opportunity which his presence on the spot afforded, he
petitioned Pope Paul III. to be absolved from the penalties
incurred by the abandonment of his order. Rabelais’
merits had secured him the esteem of Cardinals de Genutiis
and Simonetta, and they combined with Du Bellay and
the Bishop of Mascon in forwarding his petition. By their
exertions a bull in his favour was obtained gratis, contrary
to the usual practice. It was granted on the 17th of
January 1536, in terms of his request, allowing him to
return into any house of the Benedictine order which would
receive him, and to practise physic, upon condition of his
doing so without hope of fee or reward. Ihis release from
the ecclesiastical disabilities consequent upon his tiansgres-
L A I S. 741
sion of the church’s rules, enabled the Cardinal du Bellay Rabelais,
to assign him a place in his abbey of St Maur des Fossez,
near Paris. Here he remained until the year 1542, when
he was appointed by the same friend to the cure of Meu-
don ; and he continued in the zealous discharge of the
duties of this station down to the close of 1551. “Ever
mindful,” says Niceron, “ to instruct his people, he made
it part of his care to give their children a knowledge of
church music, of which he was himself a thorough master.
His house was always open to the poor and wretched, whom
he assisted to the utmost of his means; and he was in the
habit of drawing men of learning and science about him,
to discourse with them upon their several pursuits. Against
women, however, his gates were barred, and his reputation
on this score is wholly without blemish. This,” he adds,
“ is the uniform testimony of contemporary biographers;
and Antony Le Roi, who wrote a Life of him in 1649, avers
that such was then the prevailing tradition at Meudon. His
knowledge of medicine rendered him doubly useful to his
parishioners, who invariably found him ready to minister to
their wants both corporeal and spiritual.” He died in Paris
in 1533, in the Rue des Jardins, parish of St Paul, and was
buried in the cemetery of that church.
His death-bed has not escaped profanation by the caterers
for the jest-books; and there are few stories more common
than his calling for his domino when he felt his end ap¬
proaching, with the words, “ Beati qui in Domino mori-
untur.” Another anecdote, even more detrimental to his
character, is in every-day circulation, by which he is reported
to have replied to a page sent by Du Bellay to inquire
after his health, “ Tell your master the state you find me
in ; I am going in quest of a Great Perhaps. He is up in
the jay’s nest. " Bid him keep where he is ; and for you, you
will never be anything but a fool. Draw the curtain ; the
farce is ended.” Those who have read Rabelais’ spirit
aright need no confutation of this slanderous fabrication of
monkish malice, the miserable patchwork from some half-
dozen threadbare facetiae. The simple fact recorded by
Du Verdier is worth a thousand such tales; and it deter¬
mines, if indeed such evidence were necessary, Rabelais’
opinion as to the momentous doctrine which he is here re¬
presented to have viewed as no more than “ a great perhaps.”
In a copy of Galen, annotated throughout in the handwrit¬
ing of Rabelais, which had come into the Bishop of Evreux’s
possession, opposite a passage in which Galen argues for
the mortality of the soul, Rabelais had written, “ Hie vero
Galenus se plumbeum ostendit.” Du Verdier also states,
whilst at the same time he retracts what he had formerly
been led, in accordance with the popular voice, to say
against Rabelais in his Bibliolheque FranQaise, that “ the
manner of his death compels us to form a judgment of him
totally at variance with that which is currently received.”
The particular circumstances of this event are not now
known, but they were doubtless such as became a pious
and eminently thoughtful man.
One cannot help regretting, with Coleridge, “ that no
friend of Rabelais, and surely friend he must have had, has
left an account of him.” Had any such account existed, it
would unquestionably have conveyed an impression of his
personal character very different from that which the cur¬
rent anecdotes of him are calculated to produce. It is the
peculiar misfortune of distinguished humourists to have the
paternity of such jests as are tossing unclaimed about the
world laid to their charge. They become a sort of found¬
ling hospital for wit; and Rabelais has had more than his
share of this abandoned progeny thrust upon him. His
reputation as a man has suffered accordingly, and this for an
obvious reason; for just in the degree that a great man’s
mind is marked by features which puzzle the finest saga¬
city to discriminate and reconcile, are people disposed to
pronounce an authoritative judgment regarding him. In
i
742 R A B E
Rabelais, all such cases a lively anecdote or sparkling witticism is
too cheap and pleasant a method of settling a doubtful
character not to be generally adopted. They commonly
fall in with the conclusion which lies nearest to the surface,
and being thus most easily come at, they are eagerly
caught up and borne along from mouth to mouth till their
mere repetition sanctifies the delusion out of which they
sprung. One common character runs throughout all the
anecdotes of which Rabelais is the hero. They show a
mind without gravity or depth, giving the rein to its most
wayward sallies, destitute of self-respect, and reckless either
of present circumstances or of future results. Such is just
the character which a superficial observer is likely to form
of him from his own romance. The rhodomantade, the
coarseness, the downright nonsense, the reckless exuber¬
ance of humour, are easily noted ; whilst the vein of deep
and earnest thought which ever and anon shows itself amid
the surrounding extravagance, the infinite good sense, the
high-toned and enlightened philanthropy, and the great
moral purpose which the author had in view, escape the
careless and unpenetrating eve. The vices which he has
laid bare with such masterly tact have been set down as
his own, and he is charged with having been a profligate, a
debauchee, and a buffoon, devoid at once of self-respect and
of reverence for whatsoever is sacred or noble. But every¬
thing which is authentically known of his life, not less than
what may be inferred from a careful study of his works,
goes to discountenance such a conclusion. He was be¬
loved and respected by many of the most illustrious and
virtuous prelates of his time, admitted into their most
private councils, and charged with the most important
trusts. All his works, except his romance, which, being a
reflection of the time, must needs carry its grossness and
licentiousness upon its front, are conceived in a uniformly
grave and learned spirit; and in his letters, where certainly
a light or ribald mind was most likely to have shown itself,
there is nothing to be found unworthy of the scholar, the
gentleman, anil the churchman. These facts are utterly
inconsistent with the charges of buffoonery, immorality,
and irreligion which are usually coupled with his name;
and assuredly, if his life had given any warrant for such
charges, there were jealous enemies enough to have placed
the fact beyond all doubt.
In common with the other great assailants of religious
abuses, Rabelais was branded with the names of heretic and
atheist, and the dedication of the fourth book of his ro¬
mance makes an indignant allusion to the circumstance.
Epithets like these, however, he could well afford to share
with such men as Erasmus, Luther, and Melancthon.
Had he escaped them, indeed, there would have been some
cause for wonder; for assuredly the severest blow ever
levelled against the abuses of the Roman Catholic Church
was the publication of the Chronicle of the Wondrous
Deeds of Gargantua and Pantagruel. The popularity of
its form secured it attention, where a formal censure would
have been disregarded; and it was read on every hand
with unexampled avidity. Calvin spoke of part of it with
asperity, but others of the Reformers, penetrating its real
spirit, gave it their warmest approval, and Beza’s well-
known epigram has long graced every edition of the book.
Qixi sic nvgatur, tractantem ut seria vincat.
Cum seria faciei die, rogo, quantus erit?
If he, who in his frolic mood
Outdoes the lore of toilsome sages,
Should don grave Wisdom’s reverend hood,
What might be looked for from his pages ?
“ Beyond a doubt,” says Coleridge, “ he was among the
deepest as well as boldest thinkers of his age. His buf¬
foonery was not merely Brutus’ rough stick, which contained
a rod of gold; it was necessary as an amulet against the
monks and bigots. Never was there a more olausible, and
LAIS.
seldom, I am persuaded, a less appropriate line, than the Rabelais,
thousand-times-quoted
‘ Rabelais laughing in his easy chair ’
of Mr Pope. The caricature of his filth and zanyism
proves how fully he both knew and felt the danger in which
lie stood. I could write a treatise in praise of the moral
elevation of Rabelais' work which would make the church
stare and the conventicle groan, and yet would be the
truth, and nothing but the truth. I class Rabelais with the
great creative minds of the world [Homer]', Shakspeare,
Dante, Cervantes, &c.” The prevalent coarseness, though
this even is not always without its meaning, of Rabelais’
great work, makes it repulsive to the mass of readers; and
this it is, probably, which has enabled modern writers to
appropriate its thoughts and witticisms with impunity. But
the richness of invention, the dramatic force of the charac¬
ters, the originality and vigour of thought, the wit, the
learning, the satire, poignant yet without cynicism, the
wise philosophy, and the atmosphere of triumphant joyous¬
ness which invests the whole, justify the praises of Coleridge,
and will secure its fame as long as vice remains to be
lashed and folly to be ridiculed.
It is impossible not to admire the robust and healthy
nature of the mind of Rabelais, which, at a time when
earnestness was constantly running into extravagant ex¬
cesses in the persons of the other great reformers of the
period, maintained its equipoise, without losing any of its
intensity in seizing and grappling with the predominant
abuses. Nor is its moral culture less conspicuous, which,
in an age when the face of society presented so much to
impress a conviction of the farce and hollowmess of the
world, preserved him, in despite of his acute sense of the
absurd, the false, and the contemptible, as well as of his
strong satirical bias, from becoming a morbid and misan¬
thropical reviler of mankind. “ I ask not,” says Coleridge,
“the genius of a Machiavel, a Tacitus, or a Swift; it
needs only a worldly experience and an observing mind to
convince a man of forty that there is no medium between
the creed of misanthropy and that of the gospel.” Which
of these, then, was the creed of Rabelais? Most certainly
the latter. He hates cant in all its shapes, hypocrisy under
all its disguises; tyranny, intolerance, villany, selfishness,
and all its brood of tyrant vices, are his abhorrence; mere
folly he mikes his sport, and he dallies with absurdity with
a very wantonness. But he never forgets that he, the
satirist, is himself come of the stock of Adam, nr libels the
Creator by flying in the face of that nature which, good
or bad, is still his gift. Rabelais takes life as it is; he
would fain see it better, and lends a helping-hand to make
it so. Like his great countryman Beranger,
“ De 1’unlvers observant la machine,
II y voit da mal, et n’aime qae le blend*
He detests the evil with which the world is overrun, but
he never abandons his faith in the good. His satire is not
the angry yelping of a currish nature, the overflow of sour
secretions and accumulated bile. Where it is grave, it is
the commanding voice of honest indignation ; where jovial,
its kindliness of tone makes you like the man, whilst you
admire his genius. He is essentially kindly even in his
severest moods; and this is apparent in the very form of
his satire. Its most caustic strokes are given with a merry
voice and laughing eye ; and yet, whilst apparently revel¬
ling in the most unrestrained ebullitions ot mere animal
spirits and licentious fancy, he is covertly stripping sen¬
sualism of its enticements, and enforcing the strongest
lessons of humility. He possessed, in short, the wisdom of
love, which is “ the creed of the gospel,” and this his great
romance testifies in a hundred places. At the same time,
its defects are great and manifold, and these cannot be
better summed up than in the words of La Bruyere : “ Ra-
R A B
Rabener belais is inexcusable in having scattered mere filth through-
I) out bis writings. His book is a chimera. It is the face of
Rachel. a beautiful woman with the tail of a serpent, or of some
^ other still more unsightly monster. It is a monstrous
jumble of a fine and delicately-wrought moral, and of the
most offensive grossness. W here it is bail, it is as bad as
can be,—the very scum of the world might batten on it;
where it is good, nothing can be more choice or excellent;
it con furnish most dainty fare.’
For bibliographical details as to the works of Rabelais, see
Biogra/ hie BniceTselle, tome xxxvi. The standard edition
is that by E. Johanneau and Esmangart, Paris, 1823, 9
vols., which contains the Songes Drolatiques, a curious
series of one hundred and twenty caricatures by Rabelais
himself, illustrative of the characters of his romance. It
also contains his letters and the Scinmachia, a work which
had become extremely scarce. The two latter have been
included in most of the editions, now very numerous, since
published. Of these, that by MM. Burgand des Marats
and Rathery is the best (Paris, 2 vols., Didot, 1858). A
careful memoir of Rabelais will be found there, and also
in Niceron’s Memoires des Homines 1/lustres, and Chauffe-
pie’s Supplement to Bayle. Rabelais lias been naturalized
amongst ourselves, more successfully, perhaps, than any
other foreign writer, by Sir T. Urquhart and Motteux’s
admirable version of his romance. (t. m.)
RABENER, Gottlieb Wilhelm, a German satirist,
born in 1714 near Leipsic, and studied law at the univer¬
sity of that city. While holding a civil office at Dresden
he* commenced to write satires upon men and manners.
An observant eve and a humorous and benevolent dis¬
position qualified him in an especial manner to be the
censor of social follies and vanities. His descriptions were
faithful, vigorous, and good-natured ; and his style was cor¬
rect, pointed, and flowing. Accordingly he attained a
a high reputation as a satirist. During his lifetime his
works passed through several editions, and were translated
into French and Dutch. After his death in 1771 they
appeared in an eleventh edition, in 6 vols. 8vo, Leipsic,
1777. They have now a historical value as a record of
habits and modes of life which have passed away.
RACCONIGI, a town of the kingdom of Sardinia, pro¬
vince and 11 miles N.E. of Saluzzo, in a rich and beauti¬
ful plain, near the right bank of the Maira, 21 miles S. of
Turin. A Mailed town, with broad regular streets, and
substantial good houses, it is chiefly remarkable for the
noble palace and extensive park belonging to the family of
Carignan, now the royal family of Sardinia. I here are
also several churches and convents, a college, military and
other schools, hospitals, &c. Silk is extensively manufac¬
tured here, and forms the staple of a considerable trade.
Pop. 10.500.
RACE-HOUSE. See Horse.'
RACES OF MAN. See Ethnologt.
RACHEL, the name by which a celebrated French tra¬
gedienne is ordinarily known, was the daughter of Abraham
Felix and Esther Hava, both of Jew ish race, and was born
in a wretched little inn in Mnnf, in the canton of Aran in
Switzerland, on the 24th of March 1821. Her father was
a poor pedlar, who pursued his craft by the highways till he
succeeded in housing his numerous progeny in Lyons, where
her mother opened a paltry little second-hand clothes shop.
Sarah, the eldest child, sang from cafe to cafe, and Rachel
collected the coppers. Towards 1830 the family removed
to Paris, and continued the life they had led in Lyons.
Shortly afterw ards, Rachel seems to have found interest to re¬
commend her to St Aulnire, manager of an institution where
pupils were taught declamation gratuitously; and in 1837
this meagre, dark, poverty-stricken little girl, with hei haish
gruff voice, found an engagement with M. Poirson at 3000
francs for three vears. On the 12th of June 1838 she made
RAC 743
he first appearance on the classic boards of the Theatre Racine.
Francois, where she w-as destined to earn her greatest -v
fame. From this date her progress was upwards and
onwards. The grand old formal drama of Corneille and
Racine, so long believed to be dead, revived again at
the splendid declamation and singular attitudinizing of
this new' tragic muse. She was the organ of the great
classic pcets ; and, accustomed to the pomp and grandeur
of the sounding Alexandrine, her clear, distinct enunciation
brought out every beauty in bold relief; but unfortunately
it did the same with every fault. She had not the power
of concealing under the warmth of delivery the meagreness
of the author’s style, and M. Samson could not teach her
that. Her best characters were probably “ Phedre,”
“ Roxane,” “ Camille,” “ Lyciska,” and “ Lady Tartufte.”
When the old drama began to pall at the Theatre Francois,
modern characters were created for her, in which, however,
she very rarely succeeded. The managers gave her an enor¬
mous salary, yet this did not content her 4 she was almost
constant in her quarrels with them. She dictated her own
terms, and kept the authors whom she lured to write for her
in a perfect fever. In her acting she was terrible rather than
touching, and she was often far from being true. Her tears
had the bitterness of Marah in them, and very rarely excited
tears in her audience. She never melted or awakened
sympathy; but she always inspired the spectator with won¬
der and fear. The love of gold w'as born with her, and
swam in her Jewish blood. Her graspingness had one re¬
deeming feature, and that was, that she permitted her family
to share in her gains. She had few real friends, and those
she had were new. She was a woman of real genius, but
that genius, though of a very high order, was very limited
in its range. During her conges she visited professionally
London, St Petersburg, Amsterdam, Germany, Rome, and
the French provinces, anil finally made a tour to America,
which so aggravated the disease under which she was
labouring that on her return she sought the shores of the
Mediterranean, and died at Cannet on January 4, 1858.
Pier disease was consumption. Rachel was never married,
yet she left behind her two sons, who were old enough
to know their loss. {Memoirs of Rachel, by Madame de
B , 2 vols., were published in London in 1858.)
RACINE, a town of the United States of North Ame¬
rica, capital of a county of the same name in the state of
Wisconsin, on level ground, about 40 feet above Lake
Michigan, on the west shore of which it stands, 23 miles
S.E. of Milwaukie, and 62 N. of Chicago. It is regularly
built, with broad straight streets, and contains many good
public buildings. In a grove of trees, somewhat to the
south of the town, stands the Episcopal college, a fine
Gothic structure of pale brick. Besides several Protestant
and Roman Catholic churches, Racine contains a high
school, conspicuous in the centre of the town, and three
other public schools. 1 he harbour is one of the best on
the lake, and admits vessels drawing 12 feet. The chief
manufactories of the town are ship-yards, f urnaces, machine-
shops, and flour-mills. The total value of the principal
articles manufactured in 1855 was L.230,133. 1 he trade
is great and rapidly increasing, especially in timber from
the5west; the exports and imports in 1851 amounted to¬
gether to’l.o22,438. Pop. (1850)5111;(1853)about7500;
(-1857) about 11,000.
RACINE, Jean, an illustrious French poet, was born
at Ferte-Milon on the 21st of December 1630. He
was the son of Jean Racine, controller of the salt maga¬
zine of that city, and of Joan Sconin, daughter of the king’s
warden of the woods and waters of Villers-Caterets. De¬
prived ol his father and mother at the early age of three,
he passed under the guardianship of his paternal grand¬
father, also named Jean Racine, who, not long afterwards,
bequeathed the trust to his widow. He studied first at
744' RAC
Racine. Beauvais ; next at Paris, in the college of Fearcount; and
lastly at Port-Royal-des-Champs, whither a number of emi¬
nent persons had retired to devote themselves to piety and
the instruction of youth, amongst whom were the advocate
Lematire, Dr Hamon, Nicole, A. Arnauld, Lacy, and
Launcelot, authors of the Logic, the General Grammar,
and other works, known under the title of Methodes de
Port-Royal. Launcelot, in particular, undertook to teach
Greek to the youthful Racine. But besides the taste for
sound literature and serious studies, these immortal soli¬
taries inspired their pupil with those religious principles
which never abandoned him, and which were common to
all the great writers and great men of that age. I he do¬
cility of Racine towards his masters equalled his ardour for
study. On one occasion, however, he showed himself re¬
fractory. Having accidentally met with the Greek romance
of Theagenes and Chariclea, he commenced the perusal of
this work of fiction, when his master, surprising him while
thus engaged, took from him the book and consigned it to
the flames. The youth procured another copy, and learned
it by heart, after which he placed it in the hands of Laun¬
celot, saying, “ You may burn this also.” An act of dis¬
obedience of a kind so novel, was the more readily excused
because it was not likely to have many imitators.
The first poetical essay of Racine was La Nymphe de la
Seine, an ode which he composed for the marriage of Louis
XIV., and which having made him known to Chaplain, the
temporary arbiter of literary reputations and court favours,
produced him 100 louis, which Colbert sent him on the
part of the king; and not long afterwards he received a
pension of 600 livres. Four years later, towards the close
of 1663, another ode, La Renommee aux Muses, composed
on the occasion of the establishment of the three acade¬
mies, procured for him a second royal gratuity, the order
for which was couched in terms peculiarly flattering to the
youthful poet. This ode, though inferior to the preceding,
was nevertheless more fortunate. Recompensed like the
other by the king, it had the good fortune to be criticised
by Boileau. The poet took an early opportunity to thank
the critic, and this proved the origin of that connection so
intimate, so honourable, so useful to Racine, and which was
not one of the least advantages which fortune gave him
over Corneille. A little before this period Racine had
made the acquaintance of Moliere, and had communicated
to him a tragedy entitled Theagene et Chariclee, taken
from the romance which had afforded him such delight at
Port-Royal. Moliere, disapproving of this production, gave
him the plan of the Theba'ide, ou les Freres Ennemis,—a
subject on which it is alleged that he had himself been en¬
gaged. Racine executed the design, and the piece had
some success. Alexandre, which was performed the fol¬
lowing year (1665), met with a still more favourable recep¬
tion, and showed great progress in the versification of the
author, who was then only twenty-five years of age; but,
excepting the verses, neither of these works gave any indi¬
cation of what Racine afterwards proved. They were but
feeble imitations of Corneille, of whom, by a ^misfortune
common to all imitators, Racine had only adopted the de¬
fects,—that is, the cold gallantry mixed with heroism, the
idle maxims, the metaphysical reasonings, and the elaborate
declamation. Corneille, to whom Racine read his Alex¬
andre, counselled- him, it is said, to write no more tra¬
gedies. At a subsequent period the same advice was given
to Voltaire by Fontenelle after the reading oi' Brutus. But
it is fortunate for letters that such counsels are never fol¬
lowed. Voltaire replied to Fontenelle by the production
of Zaire, and Racine responded to Corneille by that of his
Andromaque. Finding himself pursuing a wrong direc¬
tion, he suddenly changed his route and took a different
one, unknown perhaps even to Corneille himself. The
latter had astonished and surprised his audience ; his young
I N E.
rival sought to move and to soften them. Pity appeared
to him a tragic resource more active, more extensive, and
of an eftect more penetrating and less transitory than ad¬
miration. He studied the human heart, its passions, its
weaknesses, and its most secret recesses, and there he dis¬
covered a species of tragedy altogether new, of which he
gave the first and probably most inimitable model in his
Andromaque,—that one of all his tragedies which, without
being the most perfect, produces the greatest effect on the
sta^e bv the vigorous and just expression of the sentiments
ant? characters, and by tbe alternations of hope and fear, of
terror and pity, with which the poet agitates the soul.
The representation of the Andromaque in 1667 was fol¬
lowed almost every year by a new masterpiece. But at first
Racine surprised the public by an excursion into the do¬
main of Moliere. The Plaideurs, imitated from the Wasps
of Aristophanes, is a comedy the plot of which is some¬
what feeble and inartificial ; but in nature, truth, facility,
and gaiety, it is admirable, and its verses became so fixed
in the general mind that they passed into proverbs. The
piece was first represented at Paris in 1668, when it was
indifferently received ; but it succeeded pretty well at Ver¬
sailles, and the players, elated with the success, came to
awaken Racine in the middle of the night, to communicate
the good news. The noise of vehicles at such an hour in
the Rue des Marais, convinced first the neighbours, and
next day all Paris, that justice had avenged itself on the
author of the Plaideurs, by causing him to be seized and
sent to the Bastille. This pleasant mistake, and the know¬
ledge which soon became general, that the comedy had ob¬
tained the suffrage of the monarch, conciliated the favour
of the loyal Parisians; and from that time the piece has
continued in possession of the stage, privileged to extort a
smile, perchance a laugh, even from the iron visage of Jus¬
tice herself. It is not true, as has sometimes been said,
that the Plaideurs is the work of several hands. Racine
Racine.
may have received from his friends hints or suggestions for
some scenes, and borrowed from certain homines de palais,
or gentlemen of the robe, some formulas and expressions
foreign to his habitual studies ; but the unity of the style
and the general coherence of the whole are too perfect to
be the work of any but one and the same hand.
The success of Andromaque, which was only equalled
by that of the Cid, had excited envy ; perhaps, also, it had
rendered the public fastidious. In 1669 Bntanmcus was
coldly received, and with difficulty reached the eighth re¬
presentation. At first no one felt the truth, the depth, and
the force displayed in the magnificent historical picture of
Nero and his court. Boileau alone was struck with its
merit, and hurrying to embrace Racine, he exclaimed,
“ Voila ce que vous avez fait de mieux.” I his great critic
was not only useful to Racine in praising his performance;
his severity was of full more service in inducing him to sup¬
press two scenes which deformed his work,—one between
Burrhus and Narcissa, at the commencement of the third
act, and another in the fifth, in which Junia is brought
back into the presence of Nero. Bntannicus was followed
by Berenice, which, in some respects, is one of the most
remarkable of Racine’s works. At the solicitation of the
celebrated Henrietta of England, Racine and Corneille
both treated this subject, which is so little fitted for repre¬
sentation, neither being aware that the other was engaged
upon it. Besides the pleasure of seeing two illustrious
rivals unconsciously contending for the palm, this princess
secretly pronnsed herself another, in the treatment of the
heroic separation of the two august lovers ; but a piemature
death deprived her of the pleasure she had anticipated, in
witnessing this singular competition. 1 hree words of Sue¬
tonius represent the subject of the piece: Invitus invitam
dimisit; too slight a foundation upon which to woik, and in
the case of Corneille, who was now old, an ungrateful
RACINE.
Racine. tas^> ^*ar more dangerous to him than even to Racine. The
^ two rival plays were represented towards the close of
1670; that of Corneille at the Palais-Royal, by the com¬
pany of Moliere, and that of Racine at the Hotel de
Bourgogne. Corneille’s totally failed ; that ol Racine had
thirty consecutive representations, during which it drew
tears alike from the court and the city. 1 he great Conde
replied to some criticisms which were made in his hearing
in the following verses oi the piece itself:
Depuis cinq ans entiers chaque jour je la voia.
Et crois toujours la voir pour la premiere fois.
It has been said, and even zealous admirers of Racine have
confessed, that Berenice was not a veritable tragedy. But,
tragedy or drama, what signifies the title which may be
given to it, provided we be agreed that it is a miracle of
art, and that never, in any piece, were greater difficulties
more meritoriously overcome. The style possesses ex¬
quisite beauties in detail, and an inexpressible charm per¬
vades the diction throughout.
Bajazet appeared in 1672, and obtained immediate
success, partly, no doubt, from the novelty of the manners
and costumes, but in a greater degree from admiration ot
the force and truth with which the poet had delineated the
characters of Roxana and A comat; two real creations,
which in spite of all its faults, will make Bajazet immortal.
At the same time, there is not a little truth in the remark
of Corneille, that though the costumes be Turkish, the
characters are French. Mithi'idate. which was represented
for the first time in January 1678, is, according to Laharpe,
the work where Racine appears to have come nearest to
Corneille in bringing on the stage the great personages ot
antiquity as they are delineated in history. Few charac¬
ters, indeed, have, upon the whole, been more vigorously
traced than that of Mithridates; and were it not that Ra¬
cine, sacrificing to the taste of the time, has made the hero
amorous and jealous, Corneille would not have enjoyed
unquestioned supremacy in reviving and re-animating his¬
tory. Voltaire regards Iphigenie, first represented in
1674, as the masterpiece of the stage. Do we desire
grandeur? We find it in Achilles. Do we wish for true
policy ? It is exemplified in the part of Ulysses ; a policy
founded solely on the love of the public good, and equally
adroit, dignified, and resolute. Clytemnestra is the model
of the lofty pathetic; Iphigenia, that of noble and touch¬
ing simplicity. Agamemnon is as he should be ; and, then
as to the style, Voltaire has declared it to be the true sub¬
lime. Three years elapsed between the appearance of
Iphigenie and that of Phedre, which was first represented
in 1677. The former had been the object of sundry ill-
natured and depreciatory criticisms ; but all these were only
a feeble essay, or rather a mere foretaste, of the attacks
which were now directed against the latter, chiefly at the
instigation of the Duke de Nevers and the Duchess de
Bouillon, nephew and niece of Cardinal Mazarin, the de¬
clared enemies of Racine, though for what reason does not
appear. Every engine was put in action to ensure the
condemnation of Racine’s Phedre, and extol to the skies
that of Pradon, a person of no genius, and whose name is
not worth remembering, except that he was employed by
the chiefs of his odious cabal to have a drama on the same
subject ready for representation against the time when Ra¬
cine’s was to appear. Pradon lent himself to the ven¬
geance of these intriguers; his Phedre was represented
four days after that of Racine ; and, for the moment, the
cabal were successful. But, in about a year, each piece
found its natural level, and Pradon and his Phedre were
alike forgotten or despised.
This tardy reparation, however, could not console Ra¬
cine ; and, besides, it was poisoned by new indignities,
which were heaped upon him by his indefatigable enemy.
VOL. XVIII.
745
Disgusted with the theatre, where he had met with such Racine,
injustice, he now determined to renounce it for ever ; though
not more than thirty-eight years of age, and still in all the
vigour and maturity of his genius. Besides, in his infancy,
he had imbibed a deep sense of religion, which, suppressed
for a while by his connection with the theatre, now re¬
turned in full force. He conceived that his past life had
been full of errors, nay, even tainted by vices and under
this impression he not only resolved to write no more plays,
but had even thoughts of devoting himself to penitence
and prayer in monastic solitude. His spiritual guide, how¬
ever, justly distrusting a zeal springing out of wounded
feelings, advised him to marry and settle in the world;
and this judicious advice Racine had the good sense to
comply with. In the year 1677 he married the daughter
of the treasurer of Amiens, a fortunate choice, which greatly
contributed to his future happiness. Fie next effected a
reconciliation with the solitaries of Port-Royal, whose cen¬
sures of dramatic composition, which had formerly offended
him, he now acknowledged. He first made his peace with
Nicole, who received him with open arms; and Boileau in¬
troduced him to Arnauld, who also embraced him tenderly,
at the same time freely forgiving him all his satire. About
the same time Louis XIV. appointed Racine and Boileau
historiographers of France, upon the understanding, of
course, that they were to write the history of his reign
and the public expected great things from two writers ot
such distinguished 1'eputation. But both the king and his
subjects were equally disappointed. Boileau and Racine,
after having for some time laboured at the work, perceived
that it was entirely opposite to the genius of each; and
they also judged, with reason, that the history of such a
king could not, and indeed ought not, to be written until
long after his death, unless it were to be made up of ex¬
tracts of gazettes and such like materials.
During a period of twelve years Racine had steadily ad¬
hered to his resolution not to write any more poetry, espe¬
cially for the stage; but the entreaties of Madame de Main-
tenon so far prevailed as to induce him to resume his dra¬
matic character, and in consequence he composed his
Esther, which was to be represented, not on the French
stage, but in the house of Saint-Cyr. On the 20th of Janu¬
ary 1689 it was performed for the first time, and had pro¬
digious success. “ It appears to be very remarkable,” says
Voltaire, “ that this tragedy should then have had univer¬
sal success, and that two years afterwards Athalie, though
performed by the same persons, had none. It happened
quite otherwise when these pieces were acted at Paris long
after the death of the author, and when prejudice and par¬
tiality had ceased. Athalie, represented in 1717, was re¬
ceived, as it deserved to be, with transport; whilst Esther,
in 1721, inspired nothing but coldness, and never appeared
again. But at that time there were no courtiers who com-
pfacently acknowledged Esther in Madame de Maintenon,
and with equal malignity saw Vashti in Madame de Mon-
tespan, Haman in M. de Louvois, and, above all, the perse¬
cution of the Huguenots by this minister, in the proscription
of the Hebrews.” The same writer, who had no taste for
scriptural subjects, thinks the story of Esther uninteresting
and even improbable; “ but, notwithstanding the badness of
the subject,” he adds, “ thirty verses of Esther are of more
value than many tragedies which have had great success.”
Athalie, composed, like Esther, for Saint-Cyr, had, as al¬
ready intimated, a very different fate. Envy masked under
a false zeal prevented the representation. It was only per¬
formed twice at Versailles, in a chamber without scenes
and costumes, by the ladies of Saint-Cyr. Racine having
originally intended it for publication, now sent it to the
press; but, to the eternal disgrace of the age and nation,
this masterpiece of sublime genius, unsurpassed either in
ancient or in modern times, found no readers; and, in some
6 e
746
RAC
RAC
Racine.
societies of pretended wits the perusal of it was ironically
prescribed as penance. It is in truth lamentable to think
that Racine should have descended to the grave suffering
under this injustice, and with the bitter feeling of seeing
his age dissatisfied with his immortal work. In vain did
Arnauld, from the depth of his solitude, try to sustain, by
his suffrage, the sinking spirits of his old pupil; in vain did
Boileau repeat, “ C’est notre meilleur ouvrage, le public y
reviendra.” Racine almost believed that he had survived
his genius, and the authority of Boileau, so potential with
posterity, was disregarded during the lifetime of his friend.
This second injustice of the public towards Racine re¬
opened the wound inflicted by the first, completed his dis¬
gust, and decided him to abandon definitely writing for the
theatre, which, in fact, his religious impressions had for
some time led him to regard as incompatible with the
Christian life. He accordingly withdrew from all connec¬
tion with the stage, and employed the remainder of his
days in the grateful and almost filial task of composing a
history of Port-Royal, the place of his education, which is
drawn up with equal taste and elegance, but was not pub¬
lished till 1767, when it appeared in two volumes 12mo.
Racine, although he had conversed much with the court,
had not learned to disguise his sentiments, the usual, per¬
haps the necessary, accomplishment of a courtier. In 1697,
during one of those interviews which Madame de Mainte-
non frequently granted him, the conversation having turned
upon the misery of the people exhausted by long wars, and
the best means of affording them relief, this celebrated
woman entreated the poet to throw his ideas on the subject
into the form of a memoir, promising that the writing should
not pass out of her hands. Racine consented, not from the
mere complacence of a courtier, and still less from any am¬
bitious view, which the whole tenor of his life contradicts,
but solely with the design of being useful. The king sur¬
prised this memoir in the hands of his mistress, and the name
of the author was disclosed. Perhaps the lesson was a little
too direct, since the monarch, who had all along favoured the
poet, immediately took offence. “ Because he makes good
verses,” said Louis, “ does he think he knows everything ?
and because he is a great poet, does he pretend to be a
statesman ?” Racine was greatly hurt by this observation,
not from any selfish consideration, but from the idea of
having unnecessarily offended his royal benefactor. But to
say as some have done, that it shortened his days, is mani¬
festly absurd. His constitution had for several years been
sinking under the wasting influence of excitement, and, in
consequence, the term of his earthly career was now fast
approaching. During his last illness, however, the king
evinced the greatest interest in the expiring poet, about
whom he daily sent to make the most anxious inquiries;
and his benefits followed him even beyond the tomb. Ra¬
cine died on the 22d of April 1699, after much suffering,
borne with truly Christian fortitude, and was interred, ac¬
cording to his wish, at Port-Royal, at the feet of Dr Hamon,
that he might not be separated even in death, from the
master whom he so loved and respected in life. After the
destruction of this monastery, his remains were transported
to Paris, and deposited in the church of Saint-Etienne-du-
Mont, where they were placed beside those of Pascal.
Racine was naturally melancholy when alone, though gentle
and pleasing when in company. His nature was tender
and affectionate, inclined to indulge sorrowful or religious
emotions rather than those which spring out of mirth or joy.
He was generous, and knew how to preserve the means of
being so by much order and economy. He afforded assist¬
ance to a number of distant relations, and had a regard
almost filial for his nurse, whom he did not forget in his
will. There was no better husband, no more affectionate
father. The Christian education of his children formed his
chief concern. He had family prayers daily, at the same
time reading and explaining a portion of the gospel to his
wife, his children, and his domestics. During the last ten
years of his life all his pleasures and all his happiness were
concentrated in his domestic circle. He no longer went
to court except when called thither by the duties of his
charge and the interests of his family; and yet who else
could boast of the same means of pleasing and making him¬
self beloved ; his fine and noble figure, his gracious man¬
ners, all the charms of wit, all the splendour of renown,
united with the happy art of causing them to be forgotten ?
He was indeed what the ladies of Saint-Cyr described him,
a man of great genius and great simplicity ; and he had in
fact enchanted the world more by the amenity and grace of
his instructions than by his talent for declamation, which,
however, he possessed in the very highest degree. No
man of his time read and recited better than Racine. One
day, at Boileau’s, in his house at Anteuil, reading and trans¬
lating off-hand the (Edipus of Sophocles, he drew tears from
all present. He also taught Baron and La Champmale a
system of declamation more conformable to nature and
good taste than that which they had previously practised;
in short, he taught them to speak and not to declaim.
As to his works, his countrymen have reason to be proud
of them. He is the poet of the heart and the affections,
and yields to none in the truth, the beauty, and the force
of his delineations. If Corneille surpassed him in heroic
sentiments, and the grand character of his personages, he
was inferior to Racine in moving the passions, and in purity
and harmony of diction. Such is the perfection of Racine
in this last respect, that in all his pieces there is not perhaps,
we do not say a scene, but even a single verse, which could
be replaced by another. All is just and true ; all is full of
that poetry of images and sentiments, and that continued
elegance which, since the time of the Greeks, Virgil and
Racine have almost alone possessed. But above all, it is in
Esther and in Athalie, particularly in the choruses of these
two tragedies, that, sustained by the most sublime models,
he is himself almost always sublime. It is there that Racine
has all the elevation of a Hebrew prophet who had come
to announce divine truths in strains almost divine. But
that which chiefly characterizes Racine is the complete
union, perhaps unique, of two qualities which appear to be
incompatible ; of imagination the most brilliant and reason
the most perfect, of sensibility the most exquisite with good
sense the most invariable. Reason, in fact, as much, and
even more perhaps, than imagination, predominates in the
conception of his most touching productions, in the execu¬
tion of his most dramatic scenes, in the choice of his richest
expressions, and in his boldest combinations, as well as
most elliptical turns. Boileau, who has been surnamed the
“ poet of reason,” is not even in this view, superior to Racine;
and, besides, the quality here mentioned is the less astonish¬
ing in him, because it is accompanied with an imagination
much less lively. Racine has often been pronounced the
greatest of the French poets. He should also be set down
as the most rational; or rather, it is precisely because he
really is the most rational, in the widest sense, that he is
likewise the greatest.
There are some smaller pieces of Racine which have not
been mentioned in the course of this article, particularly
Idylle sur la Paix, 1685 ; Eiscours prononce d VAcademic
Franqaise, en 1685; Cantiques Spirituelles, 1689; and
Epigrammes Diverses. The most complete edition of the
works of Racine is that published by Aime Martin at Paris,
in 6 vols. 8vo, in 1820, reprinted by Lefevre in 1822.
RACING. See Horse.
RACK, an engine of torture, furnished with pulleys,
cords, and other means, for extorting confession from cri¬
minals. It was known from an early period in the south of
Europe, where it was applied to the early Christians, and was
in later times an instrument of the Inquisition. Ihe trial
RAC
Racz-Keve by rack is unknown to the law of England; though, in
|| 1423, when the dukes of Exeter and Suffolk, and other
Radcliffe. ministers of Henry VI., had formed a design to introduce
v*—^ the civil law into the kingdom as the rule of government,
they erected a rack for torture, which was called in derision
the “ Duke of Exeter’s Daughter,” and still remains in the
Tower of London, where it was occasionally used as an
engine of state, not of law, in the reign of Queen Elizabeth.
But when, upon the assassination of Villiers, Duke of Buck¬
ingham, by Felton, in 1628, it was proposed in the Privy
Council to put the assassin to the rack in order to discover
his accomplices, the judges, being consulted, declared
unanimously that no such proceeding was allowable by the
laws of England. The most fearful piece of torture on
record is that of Ravailliac, the murderer of Henri IV. of
France. (See Ravailliac.) The Marquis of Beccaria, in
an exquisite piece of raillery, has proposed this problem :—
“ The force of the muscles and the sensibility of the nerves
of an innocent person being given, it is required to find the
degree of pain necessary to make him confess himself guilty
of a given crime.”
RACZ-KEVE, a market-town of Hungary, on an island
in the Danube 28 miles long and 1 or 2 broad, in the
county and 22 miles S.S.W. of Pesth. It has a fine palace,
built by Prince Eugene of Savoy. Pop. 4650.
RADCLIFFE, Ann Ward, author of the Romance of
the Forest and the Mysteries of Udolpho, was born in
London on the 9th of July 1764. At the age of twenty-
three, she acquired the name which she subsequently ren¬
dered famous, by marrying William Radcliffe, a graduate
of Oxford, and then a student of law. This gentleman
renounced the prosecution of his legal studies, and after¬
wards became proprietor and editor of the English Chronicle.
Mrs Radcliffe having thus a strong inducement to cultivate
her literary powers, first came before the public as a novelist
in 1789, in the Castles of Athlin and Dunbayne. Her
genius, however, was more advantageously displayed in the
Sicilian Romance, which appeared in 1790, and attracted
a considerable share of public attention. I he Romance of
. the Forest appeared in 1791, and at once raised the
authoress to that pre-eminence in her own style of com¬
position which her works have ever since maintained. In
1798 Mrs Radcliffe visited the scenery on the Rhine, and
it is supposed that the Mysteries of Udolpho were written,
or at least corrected, after the period of this journey; the
mouldering castles of the robber-chivalry of Germany, situ¬
ated on the romantic banks of that celebrated stream, having,
it is thought, given a bolder flight to her imagination, and a
more glowing character to her colouring. Her remarks
upon the countries through which she travelled were given
to the public in 1793, under the title of a Journey through
Holland, &c. This, however, was merely a sort of inter¬
calary production. The next production by which Mrs
Radcliffe attracted the attention of the public was destined
to be her last. The Ralian, which appeared in 1797, was
purchased by the booksellers for L.800, and favourably
received by the public. The tenor of her domestic life
was peculiarly calm and sequestered. She appears to have
declined the notoriety which in London society usually
attaches to persons of literary distinction. During the last
twelve years of her life Mrs Radcliffe suffered from a spas¬
modic asthma, which considerably affected both her health
and spirits. This chronic disorder, however, at length
took a more fatal turn on the 9th of January, and on the
7th of February 1836 it terminated her life. (For an esti¬
mate of her works, see Romance.)
Radcliffe, Dr John, an English physician of great
eminence in his time, was born at Wakefield in Yorkshire
in 1650. He was educated at Oxford, and enrolled him¬
self as a student of physic; but it was remarked that he
recommended himself much more by his ready wit and
RAD 747
vivacity than by any extraordinary acquisitions in learning. Radetzky
He began to practise at Oxford in 1675, but never paid II
any regard to established rules, which he censured when- Kadhun‘
ever he thought fit with great freedom and acrimony ; and
as this drew all the old practitioners upon him, he lived in a
state of continual hostility. He died in 1714; and if he
never attempted to write anything himself, he has perpe¬
tuated his memory by founding a fine library at Oxford,
named after its founder the “ Radcliffe Library,” and which
cost the sum of L.40,000. (See Libraries.)
RADETZKY DE RADETZ, Count Joseph, an
eminent Austrian field-marshal, was born in Bohemia in
1766, and entered the Austrian army in 1784. The out¬
break of the great continental war against the French soon
gave him an opportunity of achieving distinction. His
soldier-like qualities then came into notice. Courage and
coolness appeared as inherent parts of his nature, which he
could not lose. In victory or defeat he was always the
same—ever steady and ever valiant. He distinguished
himself in the successful battle of the Trebbia in 1799. He
was one of the foremost of the victors at Novi in the same
year. Even in the disastrous rout of Marengo, in 1800, he
did not forego his self-possession. Nor did his ability fail
to rise to the high offices of command which were at length
assigned him. In 1813 he was the main instrument in
gaining the victory of Kulm; in the same year he drew up the
plan of the decisive battle of Leipsic j and in 1814 he rode
into Paris side by side with the Emperor Alexander. But
the greatest achievement of Marshal Radetzky was the part
which he took as commander-in-chief in Lombardy, in sup¬
pressing the Italian insurrection of 1848. It is true that
at first the suddenness of the rebellion threw him off his
guard. After three days of barricade fighting, the Milanese
forced him to retire from their city ; the Sardinians, under
King Charles Albert, followed up the advantage ; and he
was'obliged to fall back upon Verona. Yet all this while,
like a wary veteran, he was assiduously concentrating his
strength for the recovery of the ground he had lost. A
sudden and successful recoil was the result. Ihe Italian
forces were driven back and dispersed ; one post after an¬
other was re-captured; on the 6th of August Milan was
entered; and on the 24th of March 1849 the insurrection
received its death-blow at the battle of Novara. Ihe ve¬
teran Radetzky was now handsomely rewarded for these
valuable services. Twenty-six cities presented him with
their freedom; every continental potentate showered ho¬
nours upon him; and his own sovereign continued to
cherish him with grateful affection till his death, in 1858.
(See Eine Biographische Skizze nach den eigenen Dicta-
turen und der Correspondenz des Feldmarshalls von einem
CEsterreichischen Veteranen, von J. G. Cotta scher Verlag,
Stuttgart and Augsburg, 1858.)
RADHUNPOOR, a native state of India, under British
protection, lying in the N.W. of the province of Gujerat,
between N. Lat. 23. 26. and 23. 58., E. Long. 71. 28. and
72. 3.; length, about 40 miles; breadth, 20; area, about 800
square miles. It is watered by the River Bunnos and other
streams, and enjoys a soil generally fertile, and a climate
which, though excessively hot during the summer months,
and again after the rains of August and September, is for
the rest of the year mild and agreeable. Salt is obtained
here ; and the principal products of the soil are cotton,
wheat, and other kinds of corn. The state came under the
British protection in 1819, when the Nawab applied for aid
against the marauders who infested the country. Lhis
was granted, and, in return, an annual tribute exacted
which was remitted in 1825, on account of the inability of
the state. No tribute is now paid; but the external rela¬
tions of the country are controlled by the British agent at
Pahlunpoor, leaving its domestic affairs entirely free. Pop.
45,000, chiefly Hindus.
748 RAD
Radius The capital, a fortified town of the same name, 85 miles
Radnor Ahmedabad, and 270 S.E. of Hyderabad, is a place
shire " sorne manufactures and commerce, though its inhabitants
• ‘l i are for the most part engaged in farming. Coarse cotton
cloth is made; and, along with corn, hides, butter, &c.,
exported. Pop. 15,000.
RADIUS (a ray, or the spoke of a ivheel), the semidia¬
meter of a circle, or a right line drawn from the centre to
the circumference.
RADNORSHIRE, an inland county of Wales, lying
nearly midway between the southern and northern extremi¬
ties of the principality on the English border. It is bounded
on the north by the counties of Montgomery and Salop, on
the east by Hereford, on the south by Brecknock, and on the
west by Brecknock and Cardigan. Its outline is an irregular
oval, with a rounded protuberance on the north-west. Its
greatest length from south to north is about 30 miles, and
from east to west, measuring across the protuberance on the
north-west, about 33 miles. It possesses an area of 425
square miles, or 272,128 acres, and is thus tenth in order of
size of the W elsh counties. The W elsh name is Sir Faesyfed.
The greater portion of this county rests upon the Silurian
group of rocks, but there are some tracts of old red sand¬
stone on the east, and throughout the county there are con¬
siderable patches of feldspathic ash and greenstone, and on
the eastern part, near the town of Old Radnor, there is a
large patch of Silurian limestone, which is much used for
dressing the land in the neighbourhood.
This district of country continued under the jurisdiction
of the Lords Marchers until it obtained the privileges of a
county by act of Henry VIII., and was divided into the
hundreds of Radnor, Knighton, Painscastle, Rhayader,
Coluyn, and Cefn Elys. By the same act it was also em¬
powered to return two members to Parliament, one for the
county, and one for the contributory boroughs of Radnor,
Rhayader, Knighton, Knuclas, and Cefn Llys. The county
is further divided into parishes and townships. The former
are fifty-two in number, and all are in the diocese of St
David’s, except five, which are included in the English
diocese of Hereford. New Radnor, said to have been at
one period the principal town, is now a very poor village;
it was an ancient borough by prescription, and has also had
charters granted by Queen Elizabeth, and by George II.
Two-thirds of the whole area of the county are supposed
to be uninclosed and uncultivated. An extensive moun¬
tainous tract, nearly in the centre, is usually called the
Forest. A part of this range still belongs to the crown,
although the forests of Radnor and Blathvagh have both
been alienated, and are now held by Sir George Cornewall
Lewis and Lieut.-Col. Price as foresters. No part of the
range attains any great elevation. Its highest summit was
ascertained by Colonel Mudge to be 2163 feet above the
level of the sea. Within its limits is a torrent, called by a
name which, when translated, is “ Water-break-its-neck,”
that falls abruptly from a height of about 150 feet. The
higher ranges produce only heath ; but the sides and lower
parts of the hills, which are less exposed to the wands, are
entirely devoted to the pasturage of sheep and small horses.
The north-western angle of the county is mountainous and
uninclosed, and it was into the recesses of these wilds that
the British monarch Vortigern retreated from the Saxons.
In the eastern and southern districts the valleys are wider
and more fertile, and abound with small rivulets ; while the
hills are less elevated, and are partially clothed with wood.
The soil of the county is chiefly an open shaly clay,
which in sheltered situations yields, under good cultivation,
excellent crops of turnips, oats, and Welsh barley. In the
east there is an admixture of the red sandstone soils, which
are^ of great fertility and of a loamy character.
1 he climate is wet and stormy, and the spring months
are particularly cold and ungenial. It is nevertheless
RAD
healthy ; there are no peculiar or prevalent diseases, and Radnor-
the inhabitants are robust and long-lived. shire.
The principal river is the Wye, which enters the county v^-
at Savan-y-Coed, and, flowing in a south-easterly direction,
divides this county from Brecknock. Its tributaries are the '
Elau, the Ithon, the Edw, and the Marteg. The River
Teme forms the county boundary on the north-east, and
continues its course by Ludlow to the Severn. The Lug and
the Arrow, in the more central parts, form considerable
streams before they enter the county of Hereford. There
are some small lakes or pools requiring notice only as con¬
tributing to the beauty of the scenery. These are,—Llyn-
Llanbychllyn, Hendwell Pool, and Llyn-Gwyn. A cata¬
ract at Rhayader was formerly an object much visited by
travellers ; but the construction of a bridge has widened the
channel, and deprived it of much of its remarkable character.
The agriculture of the county is gradually improving.
Irrigation has long been practised to a considerable extent,
and its effects on absorbent soils are found to be highly
beneficial; but the process is not conducted in the most
scientific manner. The ploughing was formerly usually
performed by two oxen and two horses ; but oxen are now
seldom used, and the plough with two horses is in gradual
adoption. Most of the fai-rps consist of an equal portion of
arable and of grass land. The latter is generally appro¬
priated to the dairy, and the young cattle are reared on the
more hilly and barren spots. About one-fifth of the county
is under the plough, and one-tenth meadow ; the remainder
is chiefly occupied as sheep-walks. Large numbers of
cattle, chiefly of the well-known Hereford breed, are an¬
nually reared ; and these, with Welsh sheep, ponies, and
butter, form the staple of the agricultural exports.
There is little commerce carried on in this county, as
might be anticipated, from its remoteness and difficulty of
access. There are some woollen manufactures carried on,
chiefly of coarse cloth and flannel.
The county is not known to contain any valuable mine¬
rals. A lead mine has been opened and abandoned, and
in some places an uncertain belief has prevailed of the
existence of copper. Various mineral springs are known ;
and Llandrindod is a place of great resort on account of
the medicinal qualities of its saline, sulphurous, and chaly¬
beate wells. In several other parts there are similar
springs, the properties of which have not been accurately
ascertained.
In Radnorshire there are many vestiges of antiquity.
The abbey of Cwm Hir stood formerly in a singularly re¬
tired and romantic situation on the banks of a rivulet which
runs into the Wye. A small vestige remains of a castle at
New Radnor, which was assailed and destroyed “by the
irregular and wild Glendower,” previously to the battle
noticed by Shakspeare, in the first part of Henry IV., when
Mortimer was taken prisoner. It was fought at Pilleth in
this county. A Roman road, which reached from Chester
to Caermarthen, traversed this county, entering its confines
on the northern extremity, in the direction of Newtown,
following the valley of the River Ithon, and crossing the
Wye into Brecknockshire near the town of Builth. At
Cwm, near Llandrindod, the remains of a Roman station
on this road are still discernible.
This county returns one member to Parliament, and has
done so since 1536. The district boroughs of Radnor,
Cefn-Llys, Knighton, Knucklas, Rhayader, and Presteign
returns another. The political influence is in the hands of
Sir George Cornewall Lewis, Colonel Price of Norton
Court, and the De Wintons of Maeslough. The famous
Harlev, Earl of Oxford, represented the Radnor boroughs
from 1690 till 1711.
The population, by the census of 1851, was 24,716, of
which number 12,693 were males, and 12,023 females.
This gives 58 persons to a square mile, or 11 acres to each
RAD
R A E
749
Radom person ; thus proving it to be the most thinly-peopled part
of Wales, or indeed of England and Wales. Ihe number
Raeburn. Gf inhabited houses in 1857 was 4614; uninhabited, 217 ;
*building, 28; giving 11 houses to a square mile, and 5'4
persons to a house. The population had decreased in the
ten years previous to 1857 by nearly <00 persons. The
amount of real property assessed for the income-tax in 1857
was L. 146,072 ; the amount of property assessed for relief
of the poor was L.l 11,007. It is calculated that upwards
of 18 per cent, of the population live by agriculture ; nearly
• 8 per cent, by trade, manufactures, &c.; 50 per cent, ol the
whole are in the condition of labourers and servants ; only
100 persons follow professions, and about 800 possess in¬
dependent means.
In 1847 there were in this county 43 day-schools for the
working-classes, attended by 1381 scholars, and 53 Sunday-
schools, attended by 2309 scholars ; of these 1146 were at
Church of England Sunday-schools, and 1163 at dissenters’
schools, chiefly Methodist. In 1847 it was ascertained that
there were only from 2500 to 3000 persons in this county
who could not speak the English language, out of a popula¬
tion of 25,000, while in the adjoining county of Cardigan
only 3000 could speak English, out of a population of
70,000. 0-
RADOM, a town of Poland, capital of a government of
the same name, 56 miles S. of Warsaw. It is walled and
defended by a castle. There are here a court of law,
public offices, two churches, two convents, a piarist college,
a gymnasium, &c. Pop. (1854) 10,231.
RAEBURN, Sir Henry, the Reynolds of Scotland,
was the son of a manufacturer, and was born at Stockbridge,
Edinburgh, on the 4th of March 1756. The circumstances
of his early life were far from being propitious. He was
only six years old when he was left an orphan. The elder
brother, who undertook the charge of him, could not afford
to keep him long at school. He was accordingly appren¬
ticed, at the age of fifteen, to a goldsmith in a dingy alley
of the old town of Edinburgh. Yet in spite of these dis¬
advantages, the genius of the boy began, by its own innate
strength, to assert itself. In the workshop of his master he
took insensibly to sketching. Whenever the tools were
laid down, the pencil was in his hand drawing caricatures of
his companions. The growing habit soon ensured success,
and success incited him to higher efforts. In course of
time he was painting miniatures, which attracted the in¬
terest of some of his fellow-townsmen. David Martin, a
popular portrait-painter, gave him encouragement, and lent
him pictures to copy. People began to sit to him for their
likenesses in miniature. His own master, recognising a
great artist in what he formerly thought a mere idle shop-
boy, absolved him from his apprenticeship, and allowed
him to devote himself entirely to painting. Encouraged
by these favours, the young enthusiast continued assidu¬
ously to study the principles of his art. He had mastered
the difficulties of colouring; he had abandoned miniatures
for portraits in oil; and he was earning a comfortable liveli¬
hood with his brush, when an incident occurred which was
the means of accelerating his rise towards excellence and
fame.
One day when Raeburn was out in the fields quietly
sketching, a young lady sauntered into the landscape which
be was drawing. Her appearance pleased him, and he put
her down upon the paper as an enlivening accessory to the
scene. Not long afterwards, much to his delight and sur¬
prise, the same young lady appeared at his studio to sit
for her portrait. A mutual impression was the conse¬
quence; and before many months had elapsed she gave
him her hand and a handsome dowry along with it.
Thus furnished, by a happy incident, with competent
means, Raeburn now resolved to devote himself to a more
thorough study of his art. Accordingly, he set out along
with his wife to make himself acquainted with the paintings Raeburn,
of other countries. The object of his journey was success-
fully pursued. On arriving at London he had the good
fortune to gain the approbation and friendship of Sir Joshua
Reynolds. The kind-hearted president sent him to Rome
with letters of introduction to the most eminent artists in
that city, and with the advice to study Michael Angelo in
the Sistine chapel. Full advantage was taken of both the
counsel and the introductions ; and at the end of two years
he returned to his native city greatly improved, and set up
his easel in George Street.
Raeburn now entered upon a career of portrait-painting
surpassing everything of the kind that had hitherto been
known in the Scottish capital. The great principle of his
art was to endeavour, if possible, to represent the intelli¬
gence as well as the mere flesh of the human countenance.
To achieve this object, he found it necessary to bring into
play all the resources of his generous and highly-gifted na¬
ture. These, therefore, lie employed in a very able and
successful manner. No sooner were sitters admitted than,
with his gentlemanly demeanour and frank address, he put
them completely at their ease. I hey sat down on his plat¬
form too much fascinated with his conversation to be ca¬
pable of looking affected and unnatural. I he talk continued
as he commenced to paint. He led them on from one sub¬
ject to another until he had brought them to their favourite
topic, and detected the highest expression of which their
features were capable. Then he put that expression down
upon the canvas, and finished the rest of the picture ac¬
cordingly. The portraits painted in this manner went
forth among the public to establish the fame of the artist.
Their boldness of posture, vivacity of mien, and breadth of
effect, put to shame the works of all his competitors. In
no long time he was the acknowledged prince of Scottish
portrait-painters, and had the finest heads and faces of the
land for the subjects of his brush. The rank and intellect
of the nation became his sitters. He had the honour of
painting the severe shrewdness of the grandees of the south,
and the martial air of the plaided chieftains of the noith.
He had the still higher honour of delineating the noble
foreheads and thoughtful eyes of the chiefs of literatuie and
science. In fact, there was scarcely an eminent Scotsman
of the age of Blair and Hume whose portrait did not go
forth to the world on his canvas, immortalizing the names
of both the subject and the artist. Nor, at the be¬
ginning of tbe nineteenth century, when that generation
had passed away, did Raeburn cease to be the painter of
genius. In his new studio in York Place he depicted an¬
other race of great men, not inferior to their illustiious pre¬
decessors. There he executed those portraits of Henry
Mackenzie, Sir Walter Scott, Francis Horner Lord Jef¬
frey, and Lord Cockburn, in which their originals still seem
to think and speak. .
The life of Raeburn drew to a close amid circumstances
of great prosperity. The fame of his genius had spread to
foreign countries. His name was in the list of the Royal
Academicians. His supremacy among Scottish artists was
acknowledged by a knighthood from George IV. in 1822.
At the same time, the vigour and healthy enthusiasm of his
fine nature remained unimpaired. There was not an hour
of the day which was not devoted to one or other of his
favourite pursuits. He made experiments in mechanics
and ship-architecture. He worked in the garden of his
villa of St Bernard’s. He superintended the building of
that suburb at Stockbridge which was afterwards called Rae¬
burn Place. He likewise laboured at his easel with all
the ardour of his first love, painting portraits which sur¬
passed the masterpieces of his prime. Thus was his green
old a^e spent, until a short and painless sickness brought .t
gently to a close on the 8th July 1823. (See Chambers Btog.
Diet., and Cunningham’s Lives of British Painters, Sfc.)
750 R A F
iiaffueile. RAFFAELLE, Raffaello, Rafael, or Raphael,
v'—“V**"'' Sanzio, was born at Urbino, in the Papal States, on the
6th of April 1483. The family patronymic had been
originally De Santi or Sancti, but custom had gradually
worn it into Sanzio. His father, Giovanni Sanzio, like
others of his kindred at Urbino, was a painter of moderate
ability, and what was still better, was possessed of a noble
modesty which enabled him to foresee and acknowledge the
future glory of his immortal son. Raffaelle was a painter
from his cradle. He played with the implements of his
father’s art, and in no long time he exhibited a talent for
drawing of such extraordinary precocity that his father
chose for his master the most renowned painter of the day,
Pietro Vanucci, called “ II Perugino.” From the first he
displayed a wonderful facility, and while engaged on the
same canvas with his master the entire piece seemed the
product of one hand. At the end of three years, business
called Perugino to Florence, and RafFaelle, with the blessing
of his generous master, set out at the age of seventeen to
try his fortune with his pencil. The paintings executed
by him at this early period, though very much in the
manner of Perugino, display a subtle grace and delicacy
altogether peculiar to himself. He visited Florence in
1504, where Leonardo’s “Battle of the Standard” and
Michel Angelo’s celebrated “ Cartoon” gave him much to
study, and taught him how much he had still to learn.
Raffaelle is commonly reported to have lost his parents
before he was twelve years old; but this supposition is
shown to be entirely groundless by the letter of introduc¬
tion which he received from the Duchess of Urbino, dated
October 1, 1504, and addressed to the gonfaloniere
Soderini of Florence. In that document her ladyship
alludes to his father as still living: “and as I know his
father,” she says, “ who is dear to me, to be a virtuous man,”
&c. Raffaelle was at that period in his twenty-first year ;
but how long afterwards that “ virtuous man” was per¬
mitted to watch the rising star of his son’s fame we have
no means of knowing. How very much he seems to have
profited by what he saw and heard at Florence is abundantly
evinced by his exquisitely beautiful pictures of that period,
some of them very elaborate, as “ The Entombment of
Christ.” They display a grace and a power of expression
which was quite remarkable, and almost entirely new to
Italian art. Pope Julius II. invited him to Rome towards the
end of the year 1508, where he remained till his death.
He commenced work on the Camera della Segnatura, and
executed his figures of Theology, Poetry, Philosophy, and
Justice on its ceiling, before undertaking the larger paint¬
ings which were to adorn its walls. In simplicity and
beauty, in severity and dignity, in energy of execution and
in beauty of individual character, the “ Disputa del Sacra¬
mento” has never yet been surpassed. This is the
character of nearly all his subsequent productions : they
stand unrivalled in composition, and in grandeur of con¬
ception they have never been equalled. As a painter,
sculptor, and architect,—in short, as a perfect master of
design,—Michel Angelo knows of no equal ; while
Raftaelle, who was solely a painter, lavished all the
treasures and various excellence of an uncommonly gifted
nature on his art; in grandeur and in grace, in delicacy
and in softness, in the strength of man and in the elegance
of woman, he displayed every quality that can by any
possibility distinguish a great painter. He died at the
early age of thirty-seven, on the 7th of April 1520. His
pictures number in all about 128, besides a large number
of drawings which are scattered throughout various parts
of Europe. An estimate of his works will be found in the
articles Arts, Fine, and Painting. Besides the works of
Lanzi and Vasari, the reader may consult The Life and
Works of Raffaello, by Quatremere de Quincy, translated
into English by William Hazlitt, jun., London, 1846.
RAF
RAFFLES, Sir Thomas Stamford, the son of a Raffles,
captain in the West India trade, was born at sea off the
coast of Jamaica on the 5th of July 1781. Returning
with his mother to England, he was placed in a boarding-
school at Hammersmith, where he remained till the age of
fourteen, when he entered the East India House as an extra
clerk. While employed there, he occupied his leisure hours
in various kinds of acquirements, and. particularly in study¬
ing languages, for which he gave proofs of possessing great
facility. In 1805 the directors of the India House having
resolved to found a new settlement at Penang, or Prince
of Wales’ Island, on the coast of Malacca, for the purposes
of trade, Raffles had risen so steadily in their good opinion
that he was appointed assistant-secretary to that establish¬
ment. On his voyage out he acquired the Malay language,
which stood him in good stead a short time afterwards,
when, owing to the illness of the chief secretary. Raffles
had to undertake the entire labour of arranging the forms
of the new government, and of compiling all public docu¬
ments connected with it. Such an accumulation of work
proved too severe for his constitution, and in 1808 he had
to visit Malacca to recruit his shattered strength. Here
he enjoyed large opportunity of mingling with a very varied
population congregated from all quarters of the Eastern
Archipelago and the distant Asiatic continent. He like¬
wise made the acquaintance of Marsden and the lamented
Leyden, and in company with these two orientalists he
began his elaborate researches into the history, the laws,
and the literature of the Hindu and Malay races., In
zoology he took a special interest, and ultimately became
founder, on his return to England, of the Zoological Society,
of which he was the first president. While on a visit to
Calcutta in 1809, Raffles suggested to Lord Minto, then
governop-general of India, the desirableness of wresting
Java from the French, and rendering it a British posses¬
sion. The governor-general grasped the idea with vigour;
and ere many months had passed away a fleet of 90 ships
dropped anchor before Batavia in August 1811. A short
time effected the conquest of the island, and annexed Java
to our East Indian dominions. Stamford Raffles was made
lieutenant-general of the new territory, and resolved, at
whatever cost, to give to the island, which had been sub¬
jected so long to the selfishness of a horde of Dutch
robbers, a pure and upright administration. There were
three sources of abuse which he resolved to eradicate.
These were—the revenue system, the system of police and
public justice, and the abolition of the slave trade. In a
period of only five years Raffles had almost effected his
design ; he was adored by the native Javanese ; all classes
of society mentioned his name only with praise; and the
revenue was eight times larger than it had been under the
Dutch. However, the policy of some of his, measures was
considered doubtful by the home authorities, and he was
in consequence recalled. Raffles reached London on the
16th of July 1816, and on his laying his case before the
Court of Directors of the East India Company, they saw
it expedient to express their conviction that the measures
which he had adopted had “ sprung from motives per¬
fectly correct and laudable.” To meet the growing de¬
mand for information about Java, he published a History
of Java, in 2 vols. 4to, 1817.
Having received the honour of knighthood from the prince
regent, Sir Stamford Raffles set out for the island of Sumatra
as lieutenant-governor of Bencoolen or Fort Marlborough,
a small district in the south-west of the island that belonged
to Great Britain. He arrived at his new destination on the
22d of March 1818, and immediately set to work to abolish
slavery, and gradually to liberate the convicts who had been
transported thither. Anxious for some new settlement
where some accredited British authority might be stationed
to afford protection to British shipping, Sir Stamford
R A E
Raeganj Raffles proceeded to Calcutta to consult the Marquis of
Hastings, then governor-general of India. The marquis
Raglan. approvecl 0f his p]an . an[j §jr Stamford proceeded down
the Straits of Malacca, and on the 29th of February
1819 the British flag was waving over Sincapore. Re¬
turning to Bencoolen, he found that society was improving,
and the foundations of good order were fairly laid. Sir
Stamford and Lady Raffles began now to look forward to
a return to England. They had sacrificed three children
to the climate, and they were anxious for the safety of their
• remaining daughter. Before taking leave, however, of the
Eastern Archipelago, he resolved to visit Sincapore, his
‘ political child,” and see what progress it was making to¬
wards prosperity. He arrived there on the 10th of October
1822, and occupied himself for nearly a year in laying out
the new city, and in establishing institutions and laws for
its future constitution. It was expressly provided, among
a multitudinous array of details, that Sincapore should now
and for ever be a free port to all nations ; that all races,
religions, and colours should be equal in the eye of the
law; and that slavery should have no existence. Java had
been given up to the Dutch shortly after Sir Stamford left
it, and now Bencoolen was granted to them in exchange
for Malacca. A short time before the latter arrangement
had been completed, Sir Stamford Raffles and his lady had
landed in Plymouth. A most disastrous event occurred on
setting sail from Sumatra on the 2d February 1824. The
ship Fame, when about 50 miles from land, suddenly
took fire. The crew and passengers were with difficulty
saved. The loss to Sir Stamford was beyond all repair.
The whole of his drawings, all his collections in botany
and zoology, all his papers and manuscripts, of which there
were many volumes, fell a prey to the flames. His
pecuniary loss amounted to more than L.20,000. During
one of his excursions into the interior of Sumatra, in com¬
pany with the lamented Dr Arnold, he came upon the
largest and most magnificent flower in the world, the
Rafflesia Arnoldi. In 1820 he sent home a large col¬
lection of preserved animals, now in the museum of the
London Zoological Society, and a paper containing a
description of them was read before the Linnaean Society,
and published in their Transactions. He died on the 5th
of July 1826, in the forty-fifth year of his age.
RAEGANJ, a town of British India, in the presidency
of Bengal and district of Dinajepoor, on the left bank of
the Kooluk, 32 miles W. of Dinajepoor, and 292 N.W. of
Calcutta. Its narrow, crooked, and dirty streets are gene¬
rally crowded and bustling ; for the town is a place of con¬
siderable trade, and forms the chief emporium for the fertile
region around it. Pop. estimated at 5000.
RAGLAN, James Henry Fitzroy Somerset, Baron,
the eighth son of the fifth Duke of Beaufort, was born in
1788, and entered the army in 1804. His military train¬
ing was received under the Duke of Wellington. Becom¬
ing one of the aides-de-camp of that general in 1808, he
continued during the rest of the French war to serve him
with great efficiency and acceptance. On all occasions he
was one of his great chief’s most trusted advisers. In times
of action, too, his cool courage and daring valour were
notable. He was among the foremost combatants at every
battle, and experienced a full share of the honours and
perils of the war. At the storming of Badajoz he was one
of the first to mount the breach ; at Busaco he was slightly
wounded ; and at Waterloo he lost his right arm. Fitzroy
Somerset next appeared in an administrative character. He
was secretary to the embassy at Paris from 1816 to 1819.
Then the Duke of Wellington, holding at that time the
office of master-general of the ordnance, made him his
secretary; and when appointed commander-in-chief in
1827, still retained him in the same capacity. No sooner
had the term of that office expired in September 1852,
R A l 75i
than other appointments began to flow in upon him. He Ragman’s
was promoted to the post of master-general of the ordnance, Roll
and was elevated to the House of Peers with the title of J1
Baton Raglan. He was also acting as a privy councillor
when the outbreak of the Russian war in 1854 summoned
him to a higher sphere of duty. Lord Raglan now en¬
tered upon bis office as commander of the British forces in
the Crimea. His conduct in that tedious and disastrous
campaign (of which a detailed account is given under
Russia) was worthy of one who had been trained under
Wellington. There was not in the entire expedition a
single critical occasion during which his calm courage did
not appear to advantage. At the battle of the Alma his
French colleague St Arnaud declared that “his bravery
rivalled that of antiquity.” During the fight of Balaklava
he was seen coolly reconnoitring in front of his own lines,
and within range of the enemy’s guns. In the great battle
of Inkermann it was his promptness in bringing a few
guns into play which contributed in a great measure to
check and rout the overwhelming masses of the enemy.
Even the disasters of the ensuing winter, although they
brought discredit upon his capacity as a general, did not
impair his fortitude and firmness of purpose. He continued
to act with magnanimity and energy, in spite of the dread¬
ful misfortunes on the field and the clamorous discontent
at home. It was not till after the severe repulse of the
allies on the 18th June 1855 that his mental anxiety be¬
came too great for his brave spirit, and brought his life to
a close on the 29th of the same month.
RAGMAN’S ROLL (ragman, an indenture or legal
deed), the name given to the collection of those instru¬
ments by which the nobility and gentry of Scotland were
compelled to subscribe allegiance to Edward I. of England
in 1296. This document, which consists of four large rolls
of parchment formed by stitching together 35 smaller
pieces, is kept in the Tower of London, and was published in
Prynne’s Records (pp. 648-665), and more recently under
the auspices of the Bannatyne Club in 1834.
RAGUSA, a town of Austria, formerly the capital of an
independent republic which now forms part of the king¬
dom of Dalmatia, stands on a peninsula on the E. shore of
the Adriatic, 40 miles N.W. of Cattaro. It is built partly
at the foot and partly on the steep slope of two hills ; and
is defended by walls and bastions, and by several forts.
The streets, generally narrow, are well paved, and lined
with large and substantially-built houses. The finest
buildings are the cathedral, the former Jesuits’ church, and
the beautiful Gothic episcopal palace. The manufactures
consist chiefly of silk and woollen cloth, wines, tobacco, and
soap. The trade and navigation of the port are consider¬
able ; and ship-building is carried on. Ragusa was originally
founded by fugitives from the neighbouring Epidaurus, when
that city was destroyed by the Slavonians. The constitution
was republican, the executive being in the hands of a senate
elected by a general council, and presided over by a supreme
officer, called at first Count, but subsequently Rector. Until
the tenth century Ragusa was under the protection of the
princes of Narenta ; afterwards, however, it became an in¬
dependent and powerful maritime state. For more than a
hundred years it was governed by Venetian rectors ; but in
1368 it was made independent of that state by the King of
Hungary, under whose protection it continued to flourish
At a subsequent period Ragusa became tributary to Tur¬
key. It was taken possession of by Napoleon in 1806, and
on" his fall in 1814 it came to Austria. Pop. 8800.
Ragusa, a town of Sicily, on the right bank of a river of
the same name, in the province and 29 miles W.S.W. of
Syracuse. Manufactures of cloth and silk are actively
carried on ; and there is much trade in the corn, oil, wine,
and cheese produced in the vicinity. Pop. 16,800.
RAIKES, Robert, the founder of Sabbath schools in
752 R A I
Railways. England, was born at Gloucester in 1735, and succeeded
his father as proprietor and conductor of the Gloucester
Journal. The swarms of profane and vicious children let
loose upon the streets of Gloucester on a Sunday long
engaged his serious attention; and he resolved that some
scheme should be tried for putting an end to this evil.
R A I
Persons were employed to open a Sunday school in the
locality. Every effort was made to induce the children to
attend. The school in a short time was crowded; and
before his death in 1811, he had the satisfaction of seeing
several similar institutions established in most of the large
English towns.
RAILWAYS.
Railways for the most part belong to the order of con¬
trivances. The first man who, noticing the facility with
which the bole of a tree rolled down a slope, conveited it
into a roller for the movement of heavy bodies, would veiy
soon discover that, to gain the greatest facility of move¬
ment, it is essential to have a path free from all inequalities
and prominences; and he would discover also that it was
essential for his roller to be a true cylinder if he wanted it
to move straight and easily. The difficulty of maintaining
a soft surface as a straight surface would soon present itself,
and he would lay down the boles of straight trees in the
line of his path. Here, then, we have the earliest railway,
still used by timber-cutters in wild countries. Light sticks
of round timber are laid down for the rails. Other sticks
are formed into rollers as a crude kind of wheels to run on
them, and on the rollers are placed the trunks of massive
trees which are required to be moved from the forest. A
modern contriver has gravely proposed a modification of
this as a means of transport for army stores and guns on
an expedition.
But the boles of trees have soft and hard sides, arising
from atmospheric influence while growing. Therefore they
cannot long maintain their cylindrical form. Moreover, it
would soon be discovered that a cylinder can only move
forward in a straight line, and that the taper bole of a tree
can only move forward in a circular line. Neither condi¬
tion would fulfil the requirements of a crooked road with
constant change of direction ; and the next contrivance
would be to divide the roller into two separate cylinders,
capable of rolling independently of each other. This would
be the germ of modern wheels. Another contriver would
discover the advantage of connecting them together by a
central bar around which they could revolve; but the load
would still be borne on the peripheries of the rollers, on
account of the difficulty of making an axle sufficiently strong
and sufficiently free from friction to bear a heavy load. For
this latter reason, in Spain, Portugal, Italy, and other rude
districts, cars are still found in which two wheels are made
fast on one shaft, which revolves with the wheels, without
any power of independent movement on the wheels, and
with a consequent enormous increase of resistance arising
from differing diameters, eccentricity, polygonality, and
other circumstances. Upon hard stony roads the resistance
is almost destructive of utility, and it may be doubted whe¬
ther a sledge would not be more useful. In Madeira a
sledge kept moist by water is found to be actually preferable.
Our modern railways have not yet attained to the condition
of using perfect wheels. Rollers, in fact, not wheels in the
correct sense of the word, are used thereon, similar in prin¬
ciple to the rude carts of rude countries: the wheels are
keyed solidly on the axles, making one piece; and they
are practically sledges wherever the path is uneven.
In the mineral districts of England, when coal and iron
were dug, and had to be transported seaward, rollers, of
necessity, soon gave place to wheels, after the cost of pack-
horses had rendered this mode of conveyance impracticable.
M heels formed of wood could not last long, by reason of
the wear of their peripheries, and, as a matter of necessity,
gave rise to another contrivance in the form of strips of iron,
or tyres, fastened to them. The meaning of the word “ tyre”
is something fastened round,—as attire round the body,
tiara round the head, a tier of guns round a ship or fort.
A pair of wheels to a two-wheeled cart running on a bad
road require to be of considerable diameter, and consequently
weight. The difficulty of keeping a road in repair when in
constant use from coal or iron mines would lead to many
devices, and amongst others, doubtless, to laying planks or
timbers at the bottom of the ruts, as a better contrivance
than filling in stones. The inconvenience of the ruts,
again, led to placing planks or timbers on the level surface ;
thus making a way or moveable road between the mine and
the seaport, by leave or permission of the intermediate pro¬
prietors ; and hence they are called “ way-leaves.” On
these way-leaves, carts with two wheels were not conve¬
nient, and the way’n, wain, wagon, or waggon, with four
wheels, was substituted. The planks forming the path for
the wheels were, as a matter of course, connected by cross
timbers, and thus a space was inclosed, from which appa¬
rently comes the term rail,—a cognate probably of apparel,
which applies to dress and also to the tackle of a ship ; also
raiment and night-rail, expressing clothing which incloses
the person. Probably the semblance of the timbers in form
to the rails of a post-and-rail inclosure may have supplied
the nomenclature.
The coarse make of the wheels would soon begin to
abrade the timber, and we learn that it became a common
practice to nail down strips of iron on the surface of the
ascents, where the draught was increased by the use of the
timber. Then a practice obtained of fixing down double
rails,—a supporting rail below and a wearing rail above
it,—to be taken up and replaced when too much worn.
(See fig. 1.)
The rapid wear of timber led to the structure of cast-
iron rails to replace the wooden ones, and being limited
in width, they were formed with a continuous flange or
ledge on their inner edge, to keep the wheels on the track.
(See fig. 2.) The roads were then called tram-roads, hav¬
ing been first laid down, it was said, by Outram, from whose
RAILWAYS.
753
name, omitting the first syllable, the word is said to have
been derived. The derivation would apply equally well
Fig. 2.
The Tram-Road, 1776 1800.
to the word trammel—the rail-flanges being in reality tram¬
mels to guage the road and confine the wheels.
The leading objection to this system, the once famous
tram-road, was, that the rail was liable to be covered with
dust or gravel. Jessop, in 1789, to obviate these disadvan¬
tages, laid down at Loughborough cast-iron “edge-rails,”
from which the grinding ledges were removed, and applied
round the edges of the wheels, forming flanges, the rails
being elevated sufficiently to allow the descending flange
to clear the ground. (See fig. 3.) This appears to have
Fig. 3.
The Edge Rail, 1789.
been the first system of rails laid on cast-iron chairs and
on sleepers. The rails were pinned or bolted into the
chairs.
The substitution of rolled wrought-iron rails for cast
rails was patented by Birkenshaw in 1820, as the “ fish-
belly” rail, similar in form and mode of support to Jessop’s
rail, but rolled in continuous lengths, embracing a number
of spans, with stiffening ledges or flanges on the under side.
This form of rails grew into favour, and was adopted in the
construction of the Liverpool and Manchester Railway, which
was opened in 1829. The rail weighed 33 lb. per yard,
and was laid in cast-iron chairs, spiked down to square stone
blocks at three-feet bearings. (See fig. 4.) It was for¬
tunate for the country that this, the first important line of
railway, had been entrusted to the consummate practical
skill and experience of George Stephenson. The Liver¬
pool and Manchester Railway, which descends to succeed¬
ing ages as a monument to his memory, happily served as
a model railway for those which more immediately suc¬
ceeded it. His son Robert Stephenson, and his pupils,
VOL. XVIII.
were entrusted with the execution of several of the most Permanent
important lines ; and the same successful results which had Way.
Fig. 4.
The Fish-Belly Rail, 1820.
attended the first railway were secured for those which
came into operation afterwards.
The edge-rail and the flanged wheel are happily matched;
they constitute essentially the mechanical idea of a rail¬
way,—the basis of the whole system.
PERMANENT WAY.
Guage.—The guage or measure of a railway is taken at
the distance apart of the upper surfaces or treads of the two
rails forming a line of rails, or a way. In England there are
two guages, known as the “ narrow guage,’’ 4 feet 8-J inches,
and the “ broad guage,” 7 feet between the rails. The
narrow is the national guage of Great Britain, having been
employed by the elder Stephenson for the Liverpool and
Manchester Railway, and thereupon adopted for other lines,
with a few exceptions, the most important of which is the
broad guage, 7 feet, introduced by the younger Brunei on
the Great Western Railway. The other exceptional guages
have been reduced to a uniformity with the narrow guage.
The Irish guage is uniformly 5 feet 3 inches, 6^- inches
wuder than the English guage, giving extra room for the
construction of rolling stock. The European guage is for
the most part the same as the English; but the Spanish is
wider, 5 feet 6 inches, constituting a break of guage with
France ; commercially inconvenient, but supposed to be
politically expedient. The Indian guage also is 5 feet 6
inches. The American guage is various, from 4 feet Sc¬
inches to 6 feet; some of the guages differ about an inch,
and they interchange rolling stock, which of course runs
tight and loose, but they blunder through it. The English
national, or Stephenson guage, is practically of sufficient
width.
As in all roads, the first consideration is the use to which
a railway is to be applied, and the weight and damaging
power of the wheels that are to run over it. A very com¬
mon mistake is to make the road too weak for its work—
to save materials and labour at the cost of destruction. This
has been largely the case with American roads ; their earliest
system on the Baltimore and Ohio was a series of trans¬
verse timbers, on which were laid longitudinal timbers,
trenailed down to them, to which was spiked a flat bar half-
an-inch thick by 2% inches wide, with counter-sunk spike
heads. In the process of running the trains the iron was
5 C
754
RAILWAYS.
Permanent curved, the spikes loosened, and the ends of the bars turned
Way. \ip, and were known by the technical name ot “snake’s
heads.” Occasionally they pierced the bottoms of the car¬
riages and injured passengers; and it was no uncommon
thing to hear passengers speculate as to which line they
-i—1J — by, as showing fewest “ snakes’ heads.” (See
should go
fig. 5.)
m
Fig. 5.
American Tramway: Early Practice.
The question being determined as to what is to be the
weight of engines and trains, and their distinctive forms, the
whole structure must be calculated on that as a datum-line.
The most damaging part of the train being the driving
wheels of the engine, that is the chief point to look to.
It is desirable, if possible, not to exceed five tons on each
driving wheel; if, therefore, heavy loads are required, four
wheels must be coupled together ; but in that case, though
the load is distributed so as to avoid so much deflection of
the road, the grind of the tyre and rail surfaces is increased,
and speed is impeded by friction. An engine with two
drivers will find less impediment than one with four.
With a single driver the impediment would be at the
minimum, supposing one of the wheels on the driving axle
were loose. When two wheels are coupled, and a fortiori
four, the diameters should be exact, and the rails also; if
not, they will grind, and act as breaks. The workers of
steam-coaches on common roads never used more than one
fast wheel; if they did they broke their axles. The boys5
toys called velocipedes, which work by cranked axles, have
likewise only one fast wheel. The reason why the axles
do not break more frequently is, that the rails afford facility
for slipping.
The next consideration is, that the whole road be
thoroughly well drained, that all rain-water falling on the
line may have facility to run off the surface without soaking
in, and that all running water crossing the line may be pro¬
vided with culverts to pass below it. The sleepers or sub¬
structure should be bedded on at least 12 inches in depth
of porous stone or gravel, constituting the ballast, without
any clay or other material in it that may make a non-con¬
ducting bed. In many places natural ballast is not to be
had, and where clay exists the process of burning it is re¬
sorted to. In districts where neither ballast nor clay oc¬
curs, as in the prairies of the United States, it is advis¬
able to make such a bearing surface of timber, and such
a strength of rail, so to distribute the load, that no sinking
or pumping up and down could take place.
The level and the ballast being provided, the next
consideration is that of the permanent way, the rails and
their supports. Whether made in one form or another, the
permanent way should, in the first place, have such an
amount of bearing area on the ballast or ground as to pre¬
vent all sinking. Secondly, There should be such an
amount of bearing area of the rail on the sleepers as to
prevent all crushing. Thirdly, The rail should be so ver¬
tically stiff as to distribute the load over a great length
without deflecting. Fourthly, The lateral stiffness should Permanent
be ample to prevent all lateral deflection. Fifthly, The Way-
joints of the rails should be such as to produce a practically
continuous bar through the whole length of the line without.
impeding the expansion or contraction incidental to varia¬
tions of temperature. Sixthly, The material of the rails
should be so homogeneous as not to laminate, so hard as
not to crush, and so tough as not to crumble beneath the
drivingor the train wheels. Seventhly, The rails shoidd be so
adjusted on curves as not to form polygonal lines. Eighthly,
All fitting parts should be so adjusted together as to permit of
no loose movement. Ninthly, The width or tread of the
rail should be in proportion to the weight of the engines
running over it. Tenthly, The rail-top should have a mini¬
mum height above the bearing surface in the ballast.
Rails.—Rails may be divided into two classes :—First,
Those which are single-headed and flat-footed, forming
their own support on the sleepers or ballast; secondly,
Rails which are double-headed, and need chairs or other
means of support on the sleepers. They may again be
subdivided into :—Rails on cross sleepers of timber ; rails on
longitudinal sleepers of timber; rails on cast-iron sleepers
without timber; rails on wrought-iron sleepers without
timber.
The Flat-bottomed Rail.—This rail, with holes through the
lower web to hold the spikes, was used to some extent both
on cross and longitudinal timbers. The disadvantage was
want of vertical stiffness in its ordinary form, and if made
deeper it was apt to rock on the sleeper by reason of its small
base, and also to work loose on the spikes. The holes through
the rails were found disadvantageous, and subsequently the
practice obtained of fixing the spikes outside the rail. (See
fig. 6.) The simplicity, the fewness of parts, and the ad-
fig. 7.
Bridge-Rail,first used on
Great Western Railway.
„ Fig. 6.
The Flat-bottomed Rail.
vantage of lateral stiffness, have caused this rail to be used
largely on the Continent with cross sleepers, and in Ame¬
rica for cross and longitudinal sleepers. Of late, attempts
have been made to revive it in England.
The Bridge Rail.—This rail was first used on the Great
W estern Rail way, of a shallow section, but wide, and possessed
of lateral stiffness. (See fig. 7.) The first line was a series of
beech piles, 12 inches square, driven
into the ground, to which were bolted
at the surface level cross balks of timber,
one on each side the pile-head on
which they were shouldered. Longi¬
tudinal balks, 15 feet long, were laid on
the cross balks. The longitudinals were covered with oak or
elm planking screwed down to the surface. When the bal¬
last was packed under the longitudinal balks, the surface of
the oak planks was planed level, and the bridge rails screwed
down on them, with felt between. It was supposed that
there would be no yield whatever; but a very short time
demonstrated that the piles formed a series of solid resist¬
ances, while the balks sprung between, and it was found
necessary to cut away the piles. 1 ransoms were then
framed into the longitudinals, and secured by strap-bolts ;
and the whole resembled a long ladder laid on the ground.
Eight different sections of rails were tried in succession;
one section measured l^inch in height by 7 inches in width,
weighing 44 lb. per yard ; and the last section 2f- inches
high by 6 inches wide, and weighing 62 lb. per yard. The
screws which held down the rails were counter-sunk be-
RAILWAYS.
Permanent neath the wheel flanges, and nut-headed on the other side.
Way. (See fig. 8.)
In consequence of the want of depth in the rails, they bent
755
under the wheels, and crushed the timber in detail, though Permanent
the total area of bearing was 5 inches in width, or 180 su- Way.
perficial inches per yard run. Had the rails been vertically ^/
Fig. 8.
Recent Permanent Way of the Great-Western Railway (Bridge-Rail, 62 lb. per yard).
stiff enough, the crushing would not have taken place. In
fact the rails bent longitudinally, and the horizonal flanges
curled up at the sides, and the holes through them bent into
angles. One remedy tried was to cross-board the longitu¬
dinal timbers on the surface, and thus the fibre was less
yielding.
Another example of the bridge rail was applied by Sir
John M‘Neillon the Great Southern and Western Railway
of Ireland, weighing 92 lb. per yard. It is laid on cross
sleepers, into which it is notched by machine, the whole
breadth of its bearing; and thus the guage is accurate. The
cross sleepers are about 2 feet 6 inches apart, and the total
bearing does not exceed 60 square inches per yard run, or
one-third that of the Great Western system. Yet the rail
does not crush the timber, partly because it does not deflect,
and partly because it crosses the fibres of the timber. (See
%• 9-)
i
Fig. 9.
Permanent Way witb Bridge-Rail on the Great Southern and Western
Railway of Ireland (rail 92 lb. per yard).
On the Great Western the joints of the rails are sup¬
ported by a piece of boiler-plate about 9 inches square,
which was at first let flush into the timber; but being
found to yield, it was subsequently laid on the surface, and
pressed in by the running of the trains. It was secured by
four bolts, two to each rail-end, the heads in the timber and
the nuts on the rail flanges: they were quickly found to
pull in and get loose. The bolts were then reversed, and
long triangular fang-nuts were placed under the timbers:
these also pulled in, and cast-iron nuts, measuring 4 inches
by inches, were applied ; the threads of these stripped,
and they were replaced by wrought-iron of the same size.
Thus the timber was as a packing between the upper joint-
plate and the four nuts, comprising the same area. The
rail-ends, however, still work loose, and the timber suffers.
The joint first applied by Sir John M‘Neill was a dove¬
tail fitting the hollow of the rail rivetted to a plate through
which passed four bolts holding down the rail-ends. This
worked loose, and the cross joint sleeper was continually
splitting. This was, in fact, the defective part of the line.
(See fig. 9.) An effective joint was subsequently applied,
consisting of three castings, the centre one supporting the
rail in the hollow, and two side clips holding the rail down
by the angle of the flanges; the whole being connected by
one or two side bolts fixing the three parts together in a
wedge form, which makes a perfectly safe joint. (See
fig. 10.) The bolted joint has also been adopted from the
Great Southern on the Bel¬
fast and Ballymena Railway.
Its horizontal area being
considerable, it is sufficient
to pack up the joint on the
ballast, without using a
cross sleeper under it.
The total height of this rail above the ballast is only 9
inches: it is very stiff vertically and laterally, and has little
tendency to rock ; but it is heavy, weighing 92 lb. per yard.
The Double-headed Rail.—We now come to the national
rail of England, the double-headed rail, origi¬
nated by Mr Joseph Locke, and first applied on
the Grand Junction Railway, weighing 62 lb.
per yard. (See fig. 11.) The top and bottom
heads or tables of this rail are equal; it is more
easy to roll than any other; and, if properly
used, it is capable of being reversed, being Double headed
in fact two rails in one. Formerly no means Rail,
of fastening the rail to sleepers were employed except by
Fig. 10.
New Joint for Bridge-Rail.
Fig. 11.
756
RAILWAYS.
Permanent the agency of cast-iron chairs, and this has considerably
Way. damaged it, in fact and in repute; so that many engineers
have been in the habit of late of making the lower table
of smaller size, merely as a support, and not as a reversible
surface for the wheel. (See fig. 12.) The
rail, as now made, is usually 5 inches in
depth, and 2^ in width across the table, the
central web being aboi<t three-quarters of
an inch in thickness, weighing 75 lb. per
yard. This rail, like the bridge and the
flat-bottomed rail, is used as a prop sup¬
ported on its base; it rests in the cast-
iron chair, into which it is deposited from
above, and a wooden key, driven between Fig. 12.
the chair and the side channel of the rail, Double-headed Rail
holds it in its place; and it is supported so (62 lb'per yard)'
firmly when newly inserted that it cannot get loose. (See Permanent
fig. 13). Now, if it does not get loose, the chair and the rail Way.
will be as one piece, and no damage will occur. But practi-
cally the blows of the wheel-flanges laterally crush the key,
which is outside, and then the rails begin to jump up and
down, and the noise, so unpleasant to passengers, is an indi¬
cation that destruction of both tables, one by the wheel below,
and the other by blows on the chair, is going on, while crystal¬
lization of the iron takes place. This goes on to a greater
extent in the joint-chairs than in the intermediates. Many
of the accidents which have happened on the narrow-guage
lines by engines getting off the rails have no doubt been
mainly attributable to this cause. The chairs and com¬
pressed oak wedges and trenails, on Ransomes and May’s
patterns, with the method of guaging and boring the trenail-
holes in the sleepers, are shown in figs. 13 to 19 inclusive.
Ordinary Fastenings of the Double-headed Rail.
Fig. u.
Intermediate Chair (Elevation).
Fig. 15.
Intermediate Chair (Plan).
Fig. 16.
Joint-Chair (Elevation).
Fig. 17.
Joint,-Chair (Plan).
Fig 18.
Method of Boring Trenail-holes in Sleepers.
This rail has double the
vertical strength of the
Great Western rail, but
laterally it is much weaker,
and the mode of using it,
supported at intervals of
3 feet, is not favourable.
It yields plastically to the
running of the trains, and
is capable of being altered
in form laterally by the
packing of the ballast. It
has also a disadvantage in
its elevation above the
bearing surface on the
ballast. The rail is 5
inches, the chair 2 inches,
and the sleeper 5 inches,
—total, 12 inches eleva¬
tion; and as the sleeper is only 9 to 10 inches
this induces a considerable rocking tendency in
direction. I here is yet another consideration.
Sleepers have taken
their name from the
builders, who put timbers
under walls, where they
are supposed to sleep,
being never disturbed.
But in railway practice the
timbers under the rails do
anything but sleep ; they
are in a state of constant
movement; they spring
up and down across the
road, disturb the ballast,
set dust flying, and let
in water. When the train
passes by, they spring
down with a blow, and
spring up again when the
train has passed. If the
in width, ballast be not porous and the weather be wet, a pond
a forward is formed beneath the sleeper which goes on increas¬
ing with every train; whilst the road cannot be meddled
Fig. 19.
Method of Guaging Rails.
757
R A I L W A Y S.
Permanent with, as to open up the surface-ballast under such condi-
Way- tions is to make a quagmire for the reception of rain, io
prevent the springing of the sleepers, it is required that
they should be of greater size and strength, say 10 inches
by 10 inches in width and depth; but this involves an¬
other difficulty. At present 12 inches depth of ballast
must be dug out to get access to pack the sleepers below;
and a really strong sleeper would make the depth nearly 18
inches, or the depth of the old stone-block. But accord¬
ing to former experience, the stone-block failed partly by
rigidity, and partly because the height of the rail was so
great compared with the base of the block. It was impos¬
sible to keep water from percolating below, and causing the
block to subside unequally.
Joint Chairs.—It is obviously a great defect for a rail
to lie loosely in an iron chair, but this defect is aggravated
where the two rail ends meet in a chair, especially under
the increased weight of modern engines. The most im¬
portant consideration therefore is, so to secure the rail-ends
together so as to convert them as nearly as possible into
a continuous beam. One method was to widen the joint-
chair to a double width, but as the rails were only fastened
by a wooden wedge, this did not last long ; and, when loose,
the tilting action became worse with a wide chair than with
a narrow one, and the joint-sleepers, though made wider,
would not remedy the evil, and the rail-ends were in pro¬
cess of destruction under the heavy engines.
In the year 1847 Mr W. Bridges Adams applied a re¬
medy, by moving the joint-chair away from the joint 3 inches
on one side, and placing a second chair at an equal distance
on the other side. The joint was thus suspended between
the two chairs, and keys of iron called fishes, fitting the
side channels of the rails, being driven in on each side be¬
tween the chairs and rails, it was designed to convert the rails
into a continuous beam, without any loose movement at
the joints. (See fig. 20.) In subsequent modifications,
the fishes were, and continue to be, bolted to and through
the rails, the sleepers being placed considerably apart, and
the joint suspended between them, constituting the famous
“fish-joint.” (See figs. 21, 22, and 23.) There is a diffi¬
culty in keeping the bolts tight on this plan.
A more perfect joint has recently been introduced, called
the bracket-joint. The rails are supported direct on the
wooden sleeper, and a pair of brackets of angle iron are
bolted to and through the rails, and also bolted or spiked
down to the sleeper. In this mode there is no loose move¬
ment, and an economical as well as efficient arrangement
is effected, the lower table of the rail being saved from all
damage ; the base is widened, and the rail is lowered.
The same plan is applicable to intermediate chairs. (See
fig. 24.)
Sleepers.—About the year 1848 general attention was
called to the destruction and rotting of wooden sleepers.
The contract system and improper inspection had resulted
in many lines being laid with woody fibre, scarcely deserv-
L ing the name of timber. Many such sleepers were like a
mere pith before they were laid down, and they rapidly
rotted. But there are abundant instances where good
timber has been on the ground as sleepers from twelve to
fifteen years without rotting. The creosoting system has Permanent
also the effect of making inferior wood chemically durable. Way.
Fig. 22.
The Modern Fish-Joint (Elevation).
But the destruction of the sleeper is chiefly mechanical,—
it is crushed and split by the detail bending of rails laid
on longitudinals, and on the chair system by the driving of
the chairs below the surface of the
wood by blows. For this reason,
chairs have grown in weight from
15 lb. to 42 lb. apiece, in order to
increase the surface bearing on the
timber.
On considering the question
commercially, the materials of a
railway should be governed by the
locality. Where timber and la¬
bour can be had very cheap, it
might be worth while to replace
the sleepers every year. Where Fig. 23.
timber and labour are dear, iron Section of the Fish-Joint,
is preferable. Cast-iron has been frequently used for
sleepers, but the process has been in result little more
than applying the usual cast chairs with extended bases
of various kinds, and removing the wooden sleepers. Mr
Greaves employs a bowl of cast-iron, with the chair cast
upon it. (Fig. 25.) The South-Eastern went largely into
it, on the plan of Mr P. W. Barlow, holding the rails be¬
tween separate chair-heads like a vice. But, to keep down
price, the rails were lightened, and the sleepers were cast
758 RAILWAYS.
Permanent thin and brittle like biscuit: they did not answer expecta-
Way. tions, as the rails broke for want of continuous bearing.
Fig. 25.
Greaves’Cast-Iron Sleepers.
On lines of small traffic and light loads the plan does an¬
swer, as on the Londonderry and Enniskillen Railway.
(See fig. 26.)
Fig. 26.
P. W. Barlow’s Cast-Iron Sleepers.
Every form of cast-iron sleeper involving the chair con¬
struction is defective on account of irregular shape. The
chair itself is much of a block shape, and not liable to
warp; but when extended into a broad sleeper, it is very
awkward to deal with.
In hot climates the question has yet to be decided be- •
tween iron and timber on another account than mechanical
durability. Insects of various kinds eat wood, but do not
eat iron ; they will not, it appears, eat creosoted wood. But
wood is never creosoted all through; in fact, creosote is
chiefly useful for soft pine and inferior woods containing no
resin. Resinous pine is as durable as creosoted pine. But
leaving out the insects, there are heat and moisture to
deal with. A monsoon rain soaks the timber; a hot sun
follows; and it splits like green timber similarly exposed.
Barlows Rail.—At the time of the advent of cast-iron
for sleepers, an attempt was made to use wrought iron, both
in the form of sleepers, as a substitute for wood, and also in
a form of rail bearing direct on the ballast without any sleep¬
ers, known as the saddle-back or Barlow rail. A bridge
rail (fig. 8) consists of two vertical sides connected at the
top, and the bottom spread into horizontal flanges. In the
saddle-back these vertical and horizontal lines are connected
into curved diagonal sweeps. (See fig. 27.) When a load 's
placed on this rail,
the tendency is
to spread out the
base, and make it
vertically weaker;
it consequently
crushes out the
ballast in detail,
as the bridge rail Fig. 27.
crushes into the The Saddle-Back, or Barlow Rail,
timber. The mode of connecting the rail-ends together is
by a saddle inserted in the hollow, through the lower edges
of which rivets are passed. The strength of the joint, there¬
fore, is little else than that of a piece of boiler-plate, and
there is no provision for expansion and contraction under
change of temperature. This rail fails in the essential con¬
ditions of a oermanent way, and has not answered unless on
lines of slow speed, and infrequent and light traffic. Curi Permanent
ously enough, as is not uncommon in inventions, it is largely Way-
applied for a very different purpose, to the wales of iron
colliers as a fender against wharves.
W. B. Adams' Suspended Girder Rail.—In all the sys¬
tems of permanent way hitherto described, the rails have
been insistent, or supported on their base. They have con¬
sequently been limited in depth to insure stability against
the lateral action of passing loads ; and their capacity for
resisting deflection has been correspondingly limited. The
proper course to obtain a non-deflecting surface is to in¬
crease the depth of the rail, making it also a practically
continuous beam, as strong at the joints as at the inter¬
mediate portions. Thoroughly to combine the conditions
of stability and stiffness, hitherto but imperfectly accom¬
plished, Mr Adams increases the rail to the necessary
depth, and suspends it by the upper table, instead of sup¬
porting it on the base. The weight of the rail does not in¬
crease in the same proportion as the depth, if properly ap¬
plied ; whereas the stiffness increases in a high ratio. If,
for example, with the same weight of material, having the
same form and area of section, the depth be doubled, the
stiffness would be increased four times; and if also the
weight be doubled, the stiffness would be increased eight
times. In the ordinary mode of supporting a rail on its
base, the vertical web is from three-fourths to seven-eighths
of an inch in thickness, to prevent it from bending under
the weight of trains; and the deeper the rail, the thicker
should be the web. But if suspended by the head, little
more thickness is required than to prevent the top and
bottom from separating. Thus an ordinary 75 lb. rail, 5
inches in depth, may be increased to 7 inches deep, and the
vertical stiffness to resist deflection doubled, without an in¬
crease of metal. (See fig. 28.)
Fig. 28.
W. B. Adams’ Suspended Girder-Rail, with Angle-iroh
Brackets.
By the suspension of the rail by the head, the bearing
surface on the ballast is approximated to the bearing sur¬
face on the rail, and stability is insured independently of the
depth of the rail; indeed the general stability is increased
by extra depth of rail, as the rail descends into the bal¬
last as a keel, and fixes itself there. The rail is 7 inches
deep, and it is suspended by two continuous angle-brackets
bolted in the side channels, affording a bearing surface
within 2^ inches of the tread of the wheels. The bolts are
applied at intervals of from 2 to 3 feet; all the joints inter¬
sect each other ; so that wherever a joint occurs, either in
the rail or the angle-bracket, two solids are in connec¬
tion with it. Thus there is great stiffness laterally, as well
as vertically, in the system. The total width may vary
from 9 inches to 14, representing the largest amounts of
bearing surface of the Great Western, and the smallest
on the cross-sleeper system. The perfect distribution ol
the load over a large space by the vertical stiffness of the
rail, will of course, with the continuous bearing, render a
given surface more available than the same amount of sur¬
face on the discontinuous system. The guage ol way is
adjusted by tie-bars. The system is simple, consisting of
only four types or parts,—the rail, the angle-iron, the tie-
RAILWAYS.
759
Permanent bar, and the bolt; and the lower table of the rail is not
Way. exposed to the injury incurred by bearing on metal chairs,
v>—which wear into the lower sides of rails supported by them,
and unfit them for reversal when the upper table is worn.
This system, in wrought-iron, has been satisfactorily
tested on two metropolitan railways; and is being used for
railways in India, being portable, easily put together, and
durable in a timber-destroying climate.
The principle of suspension by the upper table is appli¬
cable also with timber bearers, bolted in the side channels of
the rail, the joints being made with angle-brackets 18
inches long, bolted to a cross sleeper at each joint. The
timber may be 5 inches by 4 inches in scantling, keyed
to the rails with flat bar-iron at intervals of 3 feet, making
up a total width of 10£ inches. (See fig. 29.) When the
upper table is worn, re
versal is simply per
formed, the joint-bolt
being taken out, and the
rail and timbers together
turned end for end, or
upside down, to present
a new surface for wear,
without disuniting the
timbers from the rail.
The entire horizontal area is available for bearing surface
on the ballast; in the cross-sleeper system only three-fourths
is available. The horizontal bearing of the rail on the tim¬
bers is equivalent to 2 inches continuous width, or 504
square inches for a 21-feet rail. The timber suspension
has been applied to the ordinary rails on the hardest-worked
metropolitan railway with but an inch of bearing of the
rail on the side timbers (see fig. 30); and after fifteen
months’ work, it was found
that there had been abso¬
lutely no movement
Fig. 29.
Adams’ Suspended Rail, with Timber
Bearers.
no movement nor
abrasion between the rail
and the timbers ; they had
become, in fact, cemented
together, contrasting forcibly
with the bearing of a rail in
s[
Fig. 32.
Ashcroft’s Chair.
Fig. 30.
Ordinary Rail, with Timber Bearers.
an ordinary chair, and illustrating the essential difference be¬
tween firm contact and loose contact of parts subjected to
blows. It appears by this that the suspended system is up¬
wards of 25 per cent, per single mile cheaper than the
ordinary system.
In applying cast-iron for the bearing surface of the
suspended rail, the disadvantage is, that on account of its
inherent brittleness, it cannot, without great surplus weight,
be used in long and continuous lengths; but with a stiff
rail, using the iron in short lengths, so applied that it can¬
not get loose, but merely serving as a bearing, a good
line may be made. (See fig. 31.) The cast brackets are
bolted to the rail by
flat iron key-bolts
passing through from
side to side. The
brackets are each 2
feet in length, and
when bolted to the rail Fig. 31.
make up a width of Suspended Rail, with Cast-iron Brackets.
12 inches. If pitched at 3 feet apart, leaving spaces of 1
foot between them, they would give a bearing equivalent
to 9 inches continuous width through the whole length
on the ballast. The rail is shown 6 inches deep, and 65
lb. per yard. Should the bolts slacken at all, the pressure
would still be exerted against the head of the rail, and
w’ould prevent loose movements. If the brackets be laid
continuously, they give a 12-inch continuous bearing.
The following are the relative costs of the ordinary
cross-sleeper system, with 70 lb. rails, in 21-feet lengths,
fished at the joints, and sleepers at 3 feet intervals, com¬
pared vvith the three varieties of the suspended system,
with 65 lb. rails, and with continuous bearin°r:—
Ordinary cross-sleeper system, per single mile run L.1618
Suspended system, with wrought-iron bearers  1758
, Do. do. on timber bearers  1200
Do. do. on cast-iron bearers   1431
It is assumed in this comparison that a 65 lb. rail on
the suspended system is as efficient as a 70 lb. rail on
cross sleepers.
There is an additional element of saving in the re¬
duced depth of ballast required for carrying the sus¬
pended rail, compared with other systems, which is not
reckoned in the comparison.
Ashcrofts Chair.—This chair may be accepted as the
most recent exhibition of the combined use of timber and
cast-iron for the immediate support of the rail. Chairs are
cast in the form shown (see fig. 32), the jaws inclining out¬
ward and upward. Wood
packings are pressed
into the chair, of which
the jaws are serrated to
seize the wood; the
wood cushions and sus¬
pends the rail in the
chair. The chairs are
of course heavier than
ordinary chairs; and
with a piece of oak on
each side, they give a
total bearing area to the
rail of 18 inches in each
chair. This on a 21-feet
length rail will be equivalent to 126 inches, which might
serve with a non-deflecting rail. But inasmuch as a chair
of 48 inches area is found to drive into the sleeper, it seems
scarcely possible that 18 inches inside the chair should re¬
sist the weight. If the rail springs, the whole must work
loose in the same mode as the ordinary wood keys.
The chief defect in our permanent vvay, indicated by the
noise familiar to travellers, is the number of blows or knocks
arising from want of fit in the parts. With our present ex¬
perience there is neither difficulty nor excessive cost in
making a fit with either ; and where wood can be applied
as sleepers, it is commonly the cheapest. The principle of
suspension in its application supplies a complete and general
solution of the problem of areally “ permanent” way ; and
though it is of comparatively recent origin, the method of
laying rails by suspension must, in one form or another,
supersede all the ordinary modes of supporting them by
props. Stable equilibrium is undeniably preferable to un¬
stable equilibrium.
EARTHWORKS—CUTTINGS AND EMBANKMENTS.
Engineers endeavour so to plan the works of a railway
that the earth to be excavated shall be equal to the em¬
bankment, effecting a re-distribution of material rather
than its removal, and arriving at the desired result by
the simplest means and in the most economical manner.
A straight and horizontal line is the standard of perfection;
and the proper business of the engineer in laying out a
railway is to harmonize the engineering and the financial
conditions of the problem so as to yield the greatest re¬
turn for the money expended; and that whilst the railway
may be neither quite straight nor quite level, it should
not be excessively costly in construction, in order to be
free from severe curves and gradients, nor excessively
cheap, making a heavy line, and incurring heavy working
expenses.
Earth¬
works.
760
Permanent
Way.
RAIL
The earthwork is the foundation and support of the
whole superstructure, and, as such, must be uniformly firm,
and carefully considered with respect to material, prepara¬
tion, form, and drainage:—of liberal width, easy slopes,
ample ballast, thorough drainage. (See fig. 33.) I he figure
Fig- 33.
Section of a Cutting, with Ballast and Rails.
shows in section the ordinary formation of a cutting in
earth ; the formation-level aa, 33 feet wide, is bounded
by the side-drains bb, beyond which the slopes ascend to
the natural surface at the‘rate of 1 foot rise to 2 feet level,
or shortly 2 to 1. Upon the formation-level the ballast,
cc, is deposited, 2 feet in depth, and about 23 feet wide at
the top, being so wide, in fact, as to extend 4 feet on each
side beyond the outer rails. The sleepers and chairs are
buried in the ballast, and the rails partially also; the latter
standing 2 to 3 inches above the ballast. 1 he total width
of cutting at the base dd is 42 feet; at the top it varies
of course with the depth of the cutting. Embankments
are usually the same in their ruling dimensions as cut¬
tings (see fig. 34); the formation-level being, as in the
W AYS.
base ; in solid rock the slopes are nearly vertical. Cuttings
are as deep as from 50 to 100 feet below the surface, and
embankments similarly as high above. The London and
Birmingham Railway had upwards of 12 millions cubic yards
of excavation, and 10J millions of excavation in the ori¬
ginal estimates, or above 200,000 cubic yards of earthwork
per mile. The heaviest cutting on the line is at Tring,
2^ miles long, averaging 40 feet deep, the greatest depth
being 60 feet. The New Cross cutting of the South-
Eastern Railway is 2 miles long, and is for some distance
75 to 80 feet deep. The Winchburgh cutting on the
Edinburgh and Glasgow Railway, is 4 miles long, and from
25 to 60 feet deep, through solid rock ; it is succeeded
by an embankment 1^ miles long and 60 feet high, followed
in immediate succession by a stone viaduct half a mile
long and 80 feet high. The Olive Mount cutting of the
Liverpool and Manchester Railway is 2 miles long, and,
at some places, 100 feet deep. In the formation of the
famous roadway over Chat Moss, on the same line, 670,000
yards of peat were consumed in forming 277,000 yards of
embankment. Large quantities of embankment sunk in
the moss; and when the engineer, after a month’s vigorous
operations, had made up his estimates, the apparent work
done was often less than at the beginning of the month.
Chat Moss was 4^- miles across. Cattle could not stand on
it, and a piece of iron would sink in it. The railway was
made to float on the bog; and it must be allowed that this
situation, unprecedented at the time, afforded an unequi¬
vocal proof of that admirable self-rejiance which never con¬
templated failure.
TUNNELS.
Tunnels.
Fig. 34.
Section of an Embankment.
other, 33 feet wide, sloping down to the natural surface.
These dimensions are for narrow-guage lines. For the
broad guage the cuttings are 38 feet wide, and the em¬
bankments are 43 feet wide at the level of forming. In
both guages a clear space, 6 feet wide, is allowed between
two lines of rails; and the total width over the up and down
lines is over 16 feet on the narrow guage, and about 21
feet on the broad.
The slopes of cuttings vary according to stratification, soil,
direction of the vein, moisture. In gravel, sand, or com¬
mon earfh, the slopes rise 1 foot for 1 to 1|- or 2 feet of
In passing through the consecutive cuttings of a railway,
travellers usually consider that those through rock must
have been desperate undertakings, very much more expen¬
sive than cuttings through clay. Their relative costs do
not. however, greatly differ ; for, not only does the vertical
rock-cutting require less excavation than the wide yawning
earth-cutting of the same depth, with extended slopes, but
when it is executed, the rock cutting is not liable to the
expensive slips which sometimes overtake the other.
In determining whether the line should proceed by
cutting or by tunnelling, it is usual to prefer the former
for any depth less than 60 feet; for greater depths it is
usually cheaper to tunnel. The tunnel (see fig. 35) under
Callander ridge, near Falkirk station, on the Edinburgh
and Glasgow Railway, is a fair average representation of
tunnels as usually constructed. It is lined with brick, 18
inches thick, founded on stone footings of greater breadth,
in order to throw the load securely upon the subsoil, as
shown in the transverse section. The sides and root of
the tunnel are curved from footing to footing, so as effec¬
tually to resist the inevitable external pressure of the
earth, to a span of 26 feet in width, and a height of 22
feet. The sectional view shows also the centering or tim¬
ber framing employed in the building of the tunnel, which
v\as so braced diagonally and transversely as to resist the un¬
avoidable inequalities of pressure without alteration of
form whilst the arch was in course of construction. Exter¬
nally, the entrances are built of stone, and the flank walls
are three feet in thickness, with counterforts at intervals.
This tunnel is not straight, but is formed on a curve of
one mile radius ; and it is 830 yards, or nearly half a mile
in length.
The history of the Kilsby tunnel, on the London and
Birmingham (now the London and North-Western) Rail¬
way, is interesting. It is known that the engineers deli¬
berate opinion was, that the line ought to pass through the
town of Northampton,—an arrangement which would of
RAILWAYS.
761
Tunnels, course have vastly enhanced the commercial importance
of the town. The inhabitants, however, urged and excited
by men of influence and education, opposed the project,
and succeeded in distorting the line, via the Kilsby tunnel,
—which, if the projected plan had been adopted, would not
have been required,—to a point five miles off. It was not
then considered that railways could supersede mail and
stage coaches ; they were looked upon as, and declared to
be, “ but smoky substitutes for canals.” The tunnel is
driven 160 feet below the surface ; it is 2398 yards in
length, or about 1 mile and 3 furlongs, and is 30 feet in
width, and 30 feet high, constructed with two wide air-
shafts 60 feet in diameter, not only to give air and ventila¬
tion, but to admit light enough to enable the engine-driver,
in passing through it with a train, to see the rails from end
to end. The construction of the tunnel was let for the sum
of L.99,000, or upwards of L.40 per yard run ; but owing T 7
chiefly to the existence of unseen quicksands, undetected ,“°nel8'
until they were broken into in the progress of the works,
and which incurred a vast increase of expenditure, the
tunnel is stated to have actually cost nearly L.300,000, or
L.125 per yard lineal.
The famous Box tunnel, on the Great Western Railway,
between Bath and Chippenham, was another difficult and
expensive work. The tunnel is about 70 feet below the
surface; it is 3123 yards in length, or rather more than ]f
miles; the width is 30 feet, and the height is 25 feet.
Where bricked, the sides are constructed of seven rings,
and the arch of six rings of brick, and there is an invert of
four rings. There are eleven air-shafts to this tunnel, ge¬
nerally 25 feet in diameter.
The tunnel under the Mound at Edinburgh (see fig.
Fig. 36.
Tunnel under the Mound, at Edinburgh, on the Edinburgh and Glasgow Railway.
36), on the Edinburgh and Glasgow Railway, supplies
an excellent illustration of tunnels formed with inverts,—
that is to say, inverted arches built under the rails. I he
first figure represents the elevation of the eastern en¬
trance to the tunnel, which is architecturally good; the
second figure is a transverse section, showing the truly cir¬
cular arch of the tunnel, 28 feet in diameter, and 20 feet
high above the rails, built of brick 3 feet thick, stiffened
with counterforts externally, and with ribs of masonry in¬
ternally, founded on a solid bed of mason-work, with an
inverted arch to distribute the weight. The third figure is
a longitudinal section of the tunnel, showing the stiffen-
ing-ribs, with a transverse section of the Mound standing
42 feet above the crown of the arch. The Mound,—or
“ Earthen Mound,” as it is properly called,—is an accumu¬
lation of loose earth and rubbish excavated for the founda¬
tion of the houses in the New Town of Edinburgh,
deposited in the valley which separates the Old Town from
the New, on a boggy soil. The soil and the deposit were
thus both of them unstable; and hence the necessity for
the invert arch, on which the tunnel may be conceived to
float.
The Shakspeare tunnel, or, more correctly, double tunnel,
driven through the Shakspeare Cliff, near Dover, on the
South-Eastern Railway, was peculiarly constructed, and
under peculiar circumstances. It is, in fact, two narrow
tunnels, carrying each one line of rails (see fig. 37), 12
feet wide, and 30 feet in extreme height, through the chalk,
separated by a solid pier or wall of chalk 10 feet thick.
The chalk is of variable quality, and the greater part of the
tunnel is lined with brick, strengthened by counterforts at
12 feet intervals, which carry the weight of doubtful beds
VOL. XVIII.
of chalk. The tunnel is 1430 yards, or upwards of three-
quarters of a mile in length, rising westward, with an incli¬
nation of 1 in 264. The tunnel being within a short dis¬
tance from the face of the cliffj the material excavated was
Fig. 37.
The Shakspeare Tunnel on the South-Eastern Railway.
discharo-ed through galleries about 400 feet long, driven in
from the face of the cliff, into the sea; the first operation
being to run a bench or roadway along the face of the chit.
There are seven vertical shafts from the surface, averaging
180 feet deep. „ n- • .
There are about 70 miles of railway tunnelling in Great
Britain or 1 mile of tunnel for 130 miles of railway. Ihe
cost of tunnelling has averaged L.102 per mile. The
longest tunnel is the Woodhead, at the summit of the
762
RAILWAYS.
Bridges
and
Viaducts.
Manchester, Sheffield, and Lincolnshire Railway, being
3 miles 60 feet long.
BRIDGES AND VIADUCTS.
ing brick arches of small span between the beams upon Bridges
their lower flanges, to carry the roadway. Thus the ver- a«d
tical depth from the soffit or crown of the main arch to the Vladucts.
roadway above, may but very little exceed the depth of
the beam, which is apparent in the sectional views. This
There are very few level crossings on English railways,
—that is, the crossing of one railway with another, or with
a common road, at the same level. The chances of acci¬
dents are so great as to have demanded, in general, the con¬
struction of bridges over or under the railway. The general
appearance of an ordinary stone or brick bridge is repre¬
sented by fig. 38, showing in elevation a bridge over or under
the railway. The minimum height of a bridge over the
railway is ruled by the elevation necessary to clear the top
of the chimney of the locomotive. An excellent method of
carrying roads over railways, where the height is limited
and the span is moderate, consists in erecting flat-arched
cast-iron beams over the railway (see fig. 39), and throw-
Eig. 38.
Ordinary Bridge over or under a Railway. The left-hand side is for a
Cutting, and a Bridge over the Railway ; the right-hand side is for an
Embankment and a Bridge under the Railway; the difference is in the
foundations.
method of construction is, moreover, well adapted for skew-
bridges, or such as cross the road at an oblique angle, as
exemplified in the illustrations. Cast-iron has, however,
as a material for railway structures, been very generally
superseded by wrought-iron, forming plate girder bridges.
Timber is now almost unheard of for railway bridges, on
account of its want of durability and stiffness, and such
bridges as have formerly been built of timber in this coun¬
try are being rebuilt of stone, brick, or plate-iron. Never¬
theless it may be proper to place on record the best and
most successful form of timber-bridge structure for carry¬
ing a railway, introduced by Mr John Miller, C.E., in the
works of the North British Railway. The Linton bridge
on that line (see fig. 40) is a masterpiece of construc¬
tion, the timber being so disposed as to combine a per¬
fectly stiff, unyielding platform with lightness and economy
of material and workmanship.
A bridge or viaduct, of a diversified character, was
erected by Mr Miller across the Union Canal, near Fal¬
kirk, on the Edinburgh and Glasgow Railway. (See fig.
41.) The flat arch, crossing the canal to the left, has a
span of 130 feet, and a rise of only 24 feet 6 inches. The
lateral thrust of this arch is immense; and the precautions
of the engineer to provide the necessary resistance have
been commensurate, having constructed very formidable and
weighty counterforts on the extreme left of the arch, with in¬
verted arches above to distribute the thrust, as shown in the
sections. The peculiar form of centering, or timber frame
on which the arch was built, is also to be remarked. It re¬
ceives no intermediate support from the ground, but rests
exclusively upon the piers, contrasting strongly with the
centering of the neighbouring arch, which, though the arch
is nearly semicircular, and has only 63 feet of span (less than
half that of the flat arch), is supported at two intermediate
points directly from the ground. The difficulties here en¬
countered arose not from physical causes, but from the ill-
natured jealousy of the Union Canal Company, whose
vested rights of traffic between the two terminal cities were
Bridges
and
Viaducts.
R A I L W A Y S. 763
supposed to be infringed by the railway company. They the centering of the arch over their canal, and drove the Bridges
would not allow the use of their ground for supporting railway company to carry it entirely from the piers. The and
Viaducts.
Fig. 40.
Linton Bridge, of Stone and Timber, on the North British Railway.
intermediate piers were built, as shown, on timber piles, as than it did before the railway was opened. The viaduct
the ground was soft. The Union Canal now pays better is 440 feet in length.
There are several extensive viaducts on the Edinburgh
and Glasgow Railway, the principal of which is over the
Almond water. It is built of stone, and consists of thirty-
six segmental arches, each of 75 feet span, and with piers 7
feet in thickness, at an average height of 50 feet; the whole
length being 720 yards, not much less than half a mile.
The Redburn viaduct (see fig. 42), consists of eight
segmental arches, 50 feet span, and 16 feet 8 inches rise,
on piers 7 feet thick at the upper part; the arches are 2
feet thick, and have a total width of 28 feet. The bed of
the river is 90 feet below the level of the rails.
One of the most imposing structures of this class, forming
part of the Glasgow and South-Western Railway, is the
Ballochmyle viaduct over the River Ayr, built of stone,
which spans the river by a semicircular arch of 180 feet,
founded on rock,—the largest span of railway masonry
764
Bridges
and
Viaducts.
RAILWAYS.
in this country, or probably elsewhere, with six smaller
arches of 50 feet span. (See fig. 43.) The arch-stones of
the central arch are 4 feet 6 inches broad. The center-
in o- of timber erected for the construction of this arch
Bridges
and
Viaducts.
Fig.42.
Redbnrn Viaduct, on the Edinburgh and Glasgow Railway.
(see fio-. 44) was a masterpiece of carpentry, and is well posed of 14-inch square balks, well braced by diagonals,
worthy of careful study. Its principal members were com- more especially transversely, as the height is very great in
Ballochmyle Viaduct, over the River Ayr, on the Glasgow and South-Western Railway.
proportion to the width ; and at the upper part of the fram- ing cranes employed in the construction of the arch. The
ing, lines of rails are placed, as shown, to carry the travers- highest point of the centering stood 157 feet 4 inches above
the bed of the river, and the level of the rails of the via- The Congleton viaduct, on the Manchester and Birming-
duct stands about 167 feet high. ham Railway, is perhaps the longest in England; it is of
RAIL
stations, stone, 1026 yards, or more than half a mile in length, and
^ 106 feet high, and it cost L.113,000, or L.113 per yard run.
The Dane viaduct, on the same line, is of brick, 572 yards
long and 88 feet high, and it cost L.54,000, or L.9o per
yard run, having 23 arches of 63 feet span. The Avon
viaduct, on the Midland Railway, is of brick, 240 yards in
length, 51 feet high, with 11 arches of 50 feet span ; it cost
L. 14,000, or L.60 per yard run. For comparison, it may
be stated that the Britannia Tubular Bridge across the
Menai Straits, 616 yards long, and 104 feet high, cost
L.600,000, or L.98 per yard run.
On the different lines entering London there are 11
miles of brick viaducts in the approaches to termini. At
Manchester and other large cities and towns there are
miles of similar works, extending often as far as the eye
can reach. It is estimated that there are about 55 miles of
viaducts in the United Kingdom. (See Iron Bridges.)
Level crossings—of public or private roads on the level
of the line—are guarded by gates, one on each side of the
line, generally of considerable width, to close the railway
when the crossing is opened to the public road. Each gate
is provided with a red or danger signal, so that when closed
on the line, the signal is visible to approaching trains.
STATIONS.
The great theatres of the operations incidental to the
transfer from place to place of persons and goods, prelimi¬
nary and subsequent to the transport, as well as at certain
epochs in its progress, are the stations. Stations are either
“terminal” or “intermediate.” The vast buildings and
their dependencies which constitute a chief terminal station
of a great line of railway, consist primarily of three distinct
departments :—1. The passenger station, appropriated to the
embarkment and disembarkment of the passengers, and
other objects of traffic, as small parcels and mails, which are
carried by the same trains. 2. 4 he goods station which
is appropriated to the reception and embarkment, and the
disembarkment and discharge, of goods and live stock trans¬
mitted by railway. 3. The locomotive, carriage, and w’ag-
gon depots, where the engines and the carrying stock
repose, are cleaned, examined, and repaired. At many in¬
termediate stations the same arrangements, on a smaller
scale, are made; in all of them there is at least accommo¬
dation for the passenger and the goods traffic.
The stations for passengers and goods are generally in
different and sometimes in distant positions; the place select¬
ed for each being that which is most convenient for the ap¬
proach and arrangement of the traffic to which they are
respectively appropriated. The passenger station abuts
on the main line, or, at termini, forms the natural terminus,
at a place as near as can conveniently be obtained to the
centre of the population which constitutes the passenger
traffic. The goods station is approached by a siding or
fork set off from the main line, at a point short of the pas¬
senger station. Thus, at Liverpool terminal station, the
branch leading to the passenger depot enters the town by
a tunnel beneath the streets, and terminates near the centre
of the town. The branch leading to the goods station, like¬
wise conducted by a tunnel under the town, is carried to the
docks and quays, where the goods are received directly
from the shipping upon the rails, and reciprocally from the
rails to the shipping.
To avoid the necessity of taking locomotives into the
towm under such circumstances, and sometimes because the
lines are conducted to the terminus by inclined planes, these
terminal branches of the railways are sometimes worked by
stationary engines and ropes to the point where the loco¬
motive joins the train.
The locomotive station is placed wherever the ground
may most conveniently be obtained, at or near to the ter-
W A Y S. 765
minus; in some cases it is found at a distance of 3 or 4 stations,
miles. i v-»7
The selection of intermediate stations, their number,
situation, and arrangement, is influenced mainly by the
nature, extent, and occupation of the local population ; and
the first step should be to get a good map of all the places
within the scope of the railway, and to mark upon it the
population of each place from the last parliamentary cen¬
sus. There is no doubt that the greater the number of
stations, the more the travelling increases; for it is found
that quick and cheap transit by railway not only increases
the existing traffic, but actually creates traffic where
none was to be found before. In an engineering point of
view, every effort should be made to secure for a terminus
or other important station, and for stations generally, a
position on the surface, rather than on an enbankment, or
a viaduct, or in a cutting. Facilities of access in all direc¬
tions from the surrounding districts, with good roads in the
case of passenger traffic, and good water and railway com¬
munication for goods depots, are obviously indispensable.
For safety and regularity, there should be an uninterrupted
view along the line of railway, by avoiding sharp curves
and a complication of over-bridges, in the vicinity of a
large station. For a terminus, a slightly-ascending incline
on the approaches are convenient, to aid in controlling the
ingress and assisting the egress of trains; but the inclination
should not exceed 1 in 300, on account of the extra labour
of handling vehicles on inclines. Intermediate and junc¬
tion stations should be situated on dead levels, and when a
good length of level can be had, with gradients falling from
it both ways, there is the greatest possible facility for work¬
ing the traffic. Falling gradients towards a station of any
kind are obviously objectionable; but unfortunately they
cannot in all cases be avoided.
An abundant supply of good water, and ample means
of drainage, are important at stations; and it is notorious
that in some cases it has been found necessary to aban¬
don stations after completion, from neglect in these
particulars. There should be ample area of land to admit .
of the greatest possible extension of accommodation; and
the erection of buildings on land adjacent to the station-
grounds should be discouraged. Companies have been
compelled to re-purchase, at greatly advanced cost, land
originally disposed of by them as “ surplus,” and generally
with a view to building operations. When this course is
adopted, prudent managers will take care to secure, in
the conveyance, power to re-purchase the freehold at ori¬
ginal prices, with allowance for outlay in building or other¬
wise, by valuation. The expediency of providing new rail¬
ways with the station appliances necessary for working them
in a complete form, before they are opened for traffic, is a
question of moment. Some have preferred opening with
temporary arrangements; others have constructed permanent
works adapted for the greatest extension of traffic. Of late
years the latter course appears to have been the most in
favour; but whether the result of good general policy, or
of a desire to facilitate the closing of the capital account,
does not readily appear—probably the former. It may also
be due in some measure to the recently-adopted system
of guaranteed contracts for the construction of works re¬
quiring their completion, with all their adjuncts. The main
objections to this system appear to lie in the impossibdity of
deciding in all cases beforehand upon the proper sites, and
the future requirements of the traffic. Errors on these
points cause inconvenience in working, and lead to a waste
of money, in subsequent abandonment, or in extensive
alterations or amendments. Let a comprehensive plan be
devised and adhered to, and only such portions be executed
from time to time as are necessary for current requirements.
In this way, unnecessary pressure upon the funds, when they
are generally at a low ebb, may be avoided, and credit
A
766
RAILWAYS.
Stations, is obtained for attention to public wants by appearing
gradually to yield to the public demand for accommoda¬
tion. Engineers are occasionally blamed for alleged errors
and oversights, which are due entirely to their inability to
make others understand the whole bearing of a scheme
when presented on paper. Railway officers generally
should possess so much engineering and architectural
knowledge as to enable them to judge of the merits of
plans whilst yet only on paper; and for the same reason
that the engineer should be a machinist, the manager should
be an engineer. Difficulties, again, arise from the em¬
ployment of architects to design and execute station-works
for want of special knowledge. In railway works, the func¬
tion of the architect should be limited to architectural
decoration. Buildings with sundry wings, recesses, and
returns, though it may be architecturally very effective, Stations,
induce a marvellous amount of confusion and delay.
In laying out the approaches and station-yard of passen¬
ger stations, ample width and space should be provided,
with well-defined means of ingress and egress, to facilitate
the circulation of vehicles ; and the setting-down pavement
should be as long as possible, to admit of several carriages
discharging passengers and luggage at the same time. The
pavement should be wide, and sheltered from the weather
by a roof, overhung beyond the kerb, or spanning the road¬
way ; but in all cases free from columns. The position of
the main buildings relative to the direction of the lines of
rails is the distinguishing feature in terminal stations. When
space permits, the usual course is to place them on the
departure side, parallel to the platform (see fig. 45); but
Fig. 45.
Terminal Station.—Offices parallel to the Platform.
they are frequently placed at the end of the station, at right two systems are combined in a third arrangement, in which
angles to the rails and platforms (see fig. 46). Or these the offices are placed in a fork, between two or more series
of lines and platforms (see fig. 47). Of the metropo- Western, and the South-Western stations, are examples of
litan termini, the Great Northern (Plate I.), the Great the first class ; the London Bridge stations, comprising the
Fig. 47.
” /
Terminal Station.—Offices between the Lines of Rails.
South-Eastern and the Brighton lines, and the Fenchurch North Woolwich, and Tilbury lines, fire examples of the
treet station, comprising the North London, Blackwall, second class ; and the Eastern Counties, and the London
KAILWAY S. 767
stations, and North-Western stations, are examples of the third
class.
The first and usual class of stations commands the
greatest length of setting-down pavement, ample space for
booking and other offices, waiting-rooms, &c., and the
shortest average distance for passengers and luggage from
the offices to the outgoing trains. Nevertheless, where
the traffic is various, involving the despatch of numerous
trains to different points in quick succession, and necessarily
with perfect regularity, the second system is the best. It
admits of increase to any extent in the number of plat¬
forms for arrival and departure, with ready access to all;
the rapid assortment of trains, with ready access to spare
carriage-lines; and with the greatest economy of labour, the
greatest facilities for the despatch and reception of trains,
and the best general control over the business of the station.
But where the frontage is limited, and for long traffic, there
is inconvenience in the movement of luggage over a crowded
platform. The third plan is probably the least commo¬
dious of the three; but it has the advantage of aftbrding
two arrival platforms, with carriage-roads alongside, the
others having but one so situated. In all the classes, it may
be observed, transverse lines are inserted with turn-tables,
to place all the lines in compact communication, for turning
on or off spare carriages, loaded horse-boxes, or carriage-
trucks. Independently of the turn-tables, the lines of rail
are connected by switches or points converging towards the
two main lines of rail, outgoing and incoming; and thus
the assortment and marshalling of trains may be effected
by horse or engine power, independently of the turn-tables.
Each plan of station comprises one or more large turn¬
tables for reversing the engine with its tender together.
The most convenient arrangement of the several offices
and waiting-rooms, with all their accessories, is very im¬
portant. A large exterior vestibule or hall, for those wait¬
ing for tickets, with ready communication from thence, for
luggage, to the platform, clear of the stream ot passengers,
and a spacious well-lighted booking-office, with the greatest
available length of ticket-counter, will give the greatest
amount of comfort and convenience to the travelling pub¬
lic. The ticket-counter should be so constructed as to
concentrate the business, and to reduce the number ot
clerks as much as possible ; it should be provided with an
inner glazed office, raised above the floor-level, to enable
the head clerk to keep his eye upon his subordinates. 1 he
counter must be provided with numerous drawers for cash,
spare tickets and books; and with a large number of ticket-
tubes, arranged in series, according to the traffic require¬
ments, each series having the means of being closed when
not in use. These tubes should occupy the depth between
the clerks’ counter and the cash-shell to which alone the
public have access, the cash-shelf being placed breast-high,
or about 4 feet from the ground. 1 he ticket-windows
ought not to be too numerous or too large, and should be
legibly marked with their several distinctions. High bar¬
riers have usually been placed before each window to avoid
crowding and to secure the pocket; but the recent substi¬
tution of wide tables is a decided improvement, as they
permit the retention of parcels in the hand, and more effec¬
tually expose the pickpocket to detection. The separation
of classes, before reaching the ticket-counter, is desirable
under some circumstances ; but offers many difficulties in
arrangement, and increases the labour within the counter.
Where the proportion of second and third class traffic is
large, there can be no doubt as to the propriety of keeping
it distinct, even at the risk of some additional outlay in
duplicate conveniences of all kinds. Alter booking, it is
the custom in this country to allow the passengers and
their friends to wander almost indiscriminately over the
company’s premises,—much to the detriment of the conve¬
nient working of the traffic. It is a question whether it
might not be desirable to adopt the continental system, and Stations,
to provide large halls or saloons for each class, communi- —v—'
eating with the booking-office and platforms, with a view to
confine the passengers until a few minutes before the time
of starting each train. Restricted space in building-area
seems to be the obstacle to the adoption of so great an im¬
provement ; added to which, the inherent restlessness of the
English traveller in the matter of luggage and its safety
might present some difficulty. This, however, could be
easily met, and with advantage in many respects, by alter¬
ing the luggage system, and compelling the public to book
and pay for the whole of it at an office distinct from the
ticket-counter, and attached to the other vestibule. All
railway managers know but too well how much the irregu¬
larity of trains is due to the want of punctuality on the part
of the public, and in no small degree to their requirements
in the way of luggage. Much of this might be avoided, if
railway companies had the power of converting a portion of
the fare into a toll upon luggage, combined with facilities
for disposing of it upon the trains before the platforms are
crowded with the passengers.
In connection with the luggage question, reference must
be made to the necessity for providing a spacious cloak or
left-property room, which should be accessible from the out¬
side of the station, be conveniently situated with respect to
the arrival platforms, and be furnished with every requisite
for ready stowage and sorting. If built fireproof, with an
upper floor to serve as a lost-property store, additional
safety and economy of space would be obtained.
The system of dividing the parcels office into two, dis¬
tinguishing them as “ in” and “ out,” or “ up” and “ down,”
does not seem desirable, as requiring more clerks and at¬
tendants than is otherwise necessary. One large, lofty, and
well-lighted office, to combine the whole business, is prefer¬
able, if it can be placed centrally, so as to be readily ap¬
proached from both platforms ; but it is essential that there
should be equally good access from the outside, with com¬
plete space for the vans and town-carts to stand under
cover without impeding other traffic.
The same remarks apply to a certain extent to the posi¬
tion and arrangement of the telegraph offices; the main
object being to give every facility to the public, without
actually admitting them within the station premises, secur¬
ing at the same time free communication with the plat¬
forms and offices for traffic purposes. Next in importance
to the arrangement and construction of the offices are those
of the platforms. The practice with regard to the height
above the rails has varied considerably, the recent tendency
being to raise them much higher than was usual at first.
Three feet may be stated as the limit in this respect, but
that height has probably been adopted as a necessary con¬
sequence of the increased width of the carriages, which
prevents the use of a second step. Where there is no im¬
pediment, a mean of about 2 feet has seemed advantageous,
as being sufficiently convenient for entering or leaving the
carriages, and being safer for the station people, who fre-
quentfy have to cross from one platform to another. Too
much attention cannot be given to the necessity for obtain-
incr the greatest possible width of platform. Where the
platform Is used on one side only, the width ought never to
be less than 20 feet; and when both sides are required, 30^
feet, or even 40 feet, should be allowed. The best mode of
constructing the platform is undoubtedly with stone slabs
laid hollow upon longitudinal walls, so as to admit of car¬
rying beneath it the water and gas pipes, telegraph or signal
wires, and the general drainage, with free access to each.
Slabs of sawn slate have been used largely, and are found
to be clean and quiet; but they are not to be depended
upon for safety, as it is nearly impossible to obtain them
thoroughly sound. I here is also always a risk of lamina¬
tion on the under side, which may proceed without dis-
768 RAILWAYS.
Stations, covery until the slab gives way suddenly under a weight of
luggage or passengers. Hard Yorkshire landings are pre¬
ferable, but they require rubbing on the upper surface, to
avoid the accumulation of dust and dirt. Cutting out for
turn-tables and openings for cross-lines of rails are fre¬
quently inevitable difficulties, which have given rise to
various ingenious contrivances, as shifting-stages, draw¬
bridges, &c. The substitution of “ traversers” for turn¬
tables goes far to remove one class ot impediments, and the
other is best met by the use of easy inclines, with crossings
on the rail-level. Where the platforms do not exceed 2
feet in height, and the surface is smooth, gradients of 1 in
10 are not too steep for luggage barrows, nor are they
dangerous in a crowd. The sorting of the different classes
of passengers preparatory to entering the carriages is some¬
times practised by means of barrier enclosures on the plat¬
form, as on the Greenwich Railway; but this is practicable
only in cases where the trains are always uniform in length
and arrangement. WTen the nature of the traffic renders
it necessary, and time can be spared, the examination of
the tickets before admission to the carriages, or before the
starting of the train, is a more effective and simple precau¬
tion. Many serious accidents having arisen from careless¬
ness in getting in and out of the trains while in motion at
the platforms, attempts have been made by the companies,
urged by the Board of Trade, to reduce the chance of
casualty by some kind of barricade along the edge of the
platforms. The danger of placing fixtures so near the sides
of the carriages as would be necessary to obtain the desired
result, seems to have hitherto prevented the adoption of
any plan calculated to meet the case; but it may be worth
consideration whether a system of rising barriers, counter¬
poised and guided from below, might not be contrived so
as to secure safety, and to some extent to answer the same
purpose as would be gained by separate waiting-saloons on
the continental plan.
The greatest advance in station-works during the last
few years has been the roofing over, in one span, of the
lines and platforms, the main object being to do away with in¬
termediate supports of every kind. That columns or pillars
in a station are objectionable, seems to be agreed upon on
all hands ; but where two or more spans can be so arranged
as to bring the columns in the centre of wide platforms,
the great extra expense of large spans may be saved, and
with some attendant advantages. Whatever may be the
spans adopted, every effort should be made to obtain height,
light, and ventilation. Too large a proportion of glass in
skylights is to be avoided, as it is apt to render the heat
in summer so great as to endanger the health of the
men employed, and to injure the rolling stock beneath, to
say nothing of the expense of continual repairs, and the
difficulty of preventing leakage and condensation. Dura¬
bility is of course the great desideratum; hence iron and
slate will naturally form the chief materials of the struc¬
ture. It is impossible, however, to avoid the use of timber
to a large extent, particularly for the sash-bars for the sky¬
lights and the boarding for the slates. Iron sash-bars,
though largely used, are not satisfactory in practice, as the
effect upon them of changes in temperature is so great as
to render it impossible to keep the glass water-tight. The
slating is sometimes attempted on iron battens, without the
intervention of boarding; but the unfinished effect below
is so bad, and the deterioration of the battens so rapid, that
there is nothing to recommend such a mode of construc¬
tion. When boards are used to carry the slates, they
should be laid horizontally, and not diagonally or vertically,
with a view to discover readily through the droppings from
the joints the position of any leaks in the slating. Louvre
ventilators, from their exposed position on the summit of
the roofs, should be made moveable, with the means of
closing them at pleasure, as has been done with those at
the Crystal Palace. Without such a precaution, there will Statl0ns-
either be defective ventilation or continual annoyance from
the driving in of rain or snow. The use of galvanized
sheet-iron, whether corrugated or flat, is not to be recom¬
mended as a covering material in or near a large town, as
it will be found to perish rapidly, either through the gal¬
vanic action of the metallic compound, or from the chemical
effect of the sulphurous fumes of coke and coal, when
largely consumed in the immediate vicinity. That material
may, however, be advantageously used in the country.
The best position for the horse and carriage docks is a
question not easily decided. Experience would lead to
the conclusion that two sets, one for arrival and one for
departure, are not absolutely essential; but if concentrated
at one point it is doubtful at which end of the platforms
they will work the most satisfactorily. Looking to the
greater importance of time in the despatch of trains, as
compared with a certain amount of delay attendant upon
unloading on arrival, the balance of advantage points in
favour of placing the docks at the extremity of the station¬
lines, where they may be so arranged as to communicate
equally with both series of rails, securing at the same time
ample length of siding space for spare stock. This system
has been in use at the London terminus of the Brighton
Railway for some years, and answers the purpose even in
times of the greatest pressure; whilst at Brighton, where
the plan is unavoidably reversed, outgoing trains are ne¬
cessarily stopped after starting from the platform, to allow
of carriage and horse boxes being attached—an arrange¬
ment obviously defective. Despatch and regularity will
be found to depend not so much on the number of each
kind of dock as in the perfection of the means provided for
securing a constant succession of trucks, by passing off the
loaded ones, and bringing in those that are empty, without
allowing them to impede each other. The details of con¬
struction require attention, particularly as to the surface,
which should be wood pavement for the sake of cleanliness,
and to prepare horses for the floors of their boxes; also as
to the means of admitting the buffers and draw-hooks with¬
out injury either to them or to the structure, the difficulty
being to provide for variation in the heights of vehicles
when loaded or empty, or when not uniform in build.
The correct arrangement and appropriation of the several
lines of railway in a terminal station materially affect the
economical and efficient working of the traffic. Circum¬
stances will necessarily indicate a particular principle to be
followed in each case, but there are a few general rules
which cannot be overlooked. It is essential that every
traffic-line, both in and out, should be provided with one
or more spare sidings, in addition to those set apart for the
break-vans, horse-boxes, and carriage-trucks, and for the
locomotive department. All these lines should communi¬
cate with each other by means of points and crossings, to
allow of shunting with engine-power, and to reduce to the
lowest limits the number of turn-tables or their substitutes.
Sharp curves are of course objectionable, and they ought
never to have a radius of less than 800 feet. The use of
self-acting points or switches may be assumed to be now
universal, though it is believed that some managers still
prefer the old eccentric or level switch, because they involve
more constant attention on the part of the pointsman, and
fix responsibility with greater certainty in case of casualty.
The extensive use of three-throw and four-way points is
sometimes objected to, as being more complicated and costly,
but if they are well made and properly fixed, there is no
real difficulty in working them, and siding space can fre¬
quently be so gained with much advantage. 1 urn-tables
in a passenger-station, and especially when placed on the
traffic-lines, can only be viewed as necessary evils. I he
wear and tear both to the rolling and to the fixed stock,
the intolerable noise when passing over them and inter-
• RAILWAYS. 769
Stations, ference with the line of platform, and the waste of space
between the lines of rails, are objections sufficiently obvious
to condemn turn-tables where they can be dispensed with.
The late Mr C. H. Wild secured some economy in width
by the introduction of his three-way tables, fixed diagonally;
but his plan of using inclines at the intersection of the cross¬
rails, to save the hammering of the passing wheels, is not
approved, as it has been found injurious to the flanges of
heavily-leaden vehicles, locomotives, and tenders. By far
the best substitute for the turn-table yet introduced is the
traverser. If well made and carefully worked, and attended
to, the shifting of carriages from line to line can be per¬
formed without extra manual labour or interference either
with the rails or the platforms. In cases where the edge
of the platform is unavoidably indented by the position of
a turn-table in the line adjoining, there is a choice of con¬
trivances for preserving the line when the table is not in
use ; such as leaves folding back on hinges, circular trollies
on low wheels, stages to slide or roll back above or below
the platform, and sundry other plans, all of which are but
so many additional sources of obstruction and expense;
hence if the turn-tables can be so placed as to fall at the
ends of waiting trains, the least evil seems to be to leave
the platform open with barriers to prevent accidents.
The whole area of every large station ought to be paved
with stones, or with Staffordshire blue bricks laid in mortar,
great attention being paid to the surface drainage. Hav¬
ing regard to conveniences for washing carriages and gene¬
ral cleansing purposes, it will be found best to form the rise
in the intermediate space, and the channels and gratings
within or between the rails. A longitudinal timber road,
with bridge-rails, will be found to give the greatest facilities
for effective paving or pitching.
It is assumed that every terminus will be provided with
one or more engine turn-tables according to the nature of
the traffic, but it does not appear to be the general practice
to construct engine-sheds as a part of the station, pro¬
bably because most lines have suburban depots, which offer
greater facilities for the purposes. If, however, space can
be afforded, economy and convenience are obtained by
placing a shed in communication with the turn-table and
coke-lines large enough to contain as many engines as
usually stand about during the day, or come out for work¬
ing the morning trains. The lines leading to such a shed
should connect directly with those of arrival and depar¬
ture, and be distinct from those appropriated to the turn¬
table and the coke waggons; but the best arrangement of
all is, to place the shed on a loop-siding connected at both
ends with the main lines, so as to obtain the easiest means
of access at all times. Good light and ventilation are essen¬
tial points in a well-constructed engine-shed, with ample
height to the roof, and width between and outside the rails.
The gas-fittings should be such as to admit of examining
any portion of the machinery with accuracy ; and the water
should be laid on with sufficient pressure to thoroughly wash
out the boilers from time to time. It is not unusual to
make the large water-tank for station use, do duty as a
roof to the engine-shed. To this there can be no objec¬
tion, provided the tank is fixed at a sufficient height to
secure perfect ventilation; and this will also improve the
pressure at the points of delivery. Such tanks cannot be
too large, and should never hold less than one week’s aver¬
age consumption, to meet the chance of failure in the means
of supply. Each line of rails within the shed should have
engine-pits, properly drained, and contrived to admit of
examining and repairing all parts of machinery from below ;
similiar pits should be constructed on each line outside the
shed, to admit of raking out the fires or removing the clinkers,
—operations which are best done in the open air. The ar¬
rangements for coking and watering are naturally connected
with the turn-table and engine-shed. Large coke-sheds
VOL. XVIII.
or stores are now generally considered unnecessary, it be- Stations,
ing found more economical to bring up the supply from the v - — -
ovens or depots as wanted, delivering direct from the wag¬
gon inlo the tender. For this purpose, coke sidings should
be laid alongside those leading from the turn-table, with a
platform intervening, on which the coke can be weighed
or measured in transit. Much time is lost in waterino- if
the cranes are not fixed in proper numbers or position; nor
is sufficient attention generally paid to having them, and
the service mains leading to them, of large diameter. The
gain of a few minutes in filling a tender is frequently of
vital importance in working the traffic to advantage.
The collection of tickets is a branch of railway business
which generally involves special provision in the arrange¬
ment of a terminus. The practice of stopping the trains
for this purpose at the entrance of the station is objected to
by the public, but it cannot be avoided unless there is
some station immediately preceding the terminus of suffi¬
cient importance to combine traffic purposes with collecting
the tickets. When such is not the case, the next best
course will be to utilize the time spent in collection by run¬
ning the engine round from the head to the end of the
train, instead of drawing it up to the platform. Every
ticket platform is usually furnished with convenient offices
and mess-rooms for the head collector and his men, fitted
up for sorting and arranging the tickets, keeping the books,
and taking their meals: attention of this kind to the com¬
forts of the men is always highly appreciated by them.
The road for carriages-in-waiting, which adjoins the ar¬
rival-platform, should be wide enough to permit at least
two ranks to stand, with passing room clear of them ; and it
is essential that the means of access should be distinct from
that of exit, to secure a continuous stream of vehicles, and
to avoid delay in turning or meeting others in an opposite
direction. Protection from the weather and from cold
draughts, by means of roofing and side walls, is important,
where there is a good first-class traffic, because attention
in a particular so apparently trivial will not unfrequently
bias the owner of valuable horses in favour of one line as
compared with another. The pavement should be of wood,
creosoted, if the ventilation is good, and constant attention
should be paid to sweeping and cleansing, without which the
ammoniacal exhalations will prove injurious to the health of
the men employed at the station. At the entrance to the
cab road there should be a large area, sufficient to hold
at least 100 cabs, as a reserve to meet the requirements
of the heaviest trains, with proper conveniences of every
kind, both for the men and the horses; and at the exit
should be placed the cab-inspector’s office for registering the
departures.
Attention to the material comforts of the men employed,
and particularly of those much exposed to the weather in
the execution of their duties, being an important element
of success in securing good and cheerful service, it is ob¬
viously politic to furnish every large station with distinct
mess or waiting rooms for the engine-drivers, guards,
porters, switch-men, &c. These should be spacious, well
ventilated, lighted, and warmed, and be fitted with good
cooking apparatus, cupboards, lockers, and tables, and be
so placed as to be near the work of each class of men.
Connected with the mess-rooms may be combined with
advantage offices 4nd store-rooms for the superintendents
of the different departments, such as the permanent way,
locomotive, aad carriage superintendents, police, &c., thus
giving each an opportunity of keeping an eye upon his
men, and of readily communicating with one another.
Experience will dictate the necessity for constructing
sundry other buildings as accessories to the effective work¬
ing of a busy terminus. The lamp-room should, if possi¬
ble, be detached and be fire-proof, with warm store-rooms
for oil, tallow, and waste. The dressers for cleaning and
770
RAILWAYS. •
Stations, trimming should be covered with polished zinc in prefer-
i -m J ence to slate. The shelves or brackets for the lamps should
be sufficiently extensive to hold the largest number in use,
and there should be ready means for disposing of the waste
and rubbish as they accumulate, to avoid all risk of fire.
It is frequently found good economy to have a few small
shops for the different classes of mechanics required for re¬
pairs and for odd jobs, such as smiths, gas-fitters, joiners,
plumbers, &c., much time being wasted in sending men and
materials to and from the general workshops of the line.
Unless a large hotel is attached to the station, it will be
found necessary to construct stabling for post-horses, and
coach-houses for private carriages on arrival, or when wait¬
ing to go by the trains. The construction and arrange¬
ment of the closets and urinals are too important to be
dismissed without brief notice. Comfort and decency will
best be consulted by distributing the conveniences amongst
separate buildings in various parts of the station area,
and appropriating some of them to different classes of
employes, distinct from those for public use. Urinals
should be freely ventilated, and be paved with slate
or some other non-absorbent material; the walls should
be lined with glazed tiles for 7 feet or 8 feet in height, and
the divisions and backs be of enamelled slate. Risers are
objectionable, and quite unnecessary if the floor have a
sharp incline towards the channel. Closets, whether for
the passengers or for the company’s men, cannot be too
simple in their construction. All brass work should be
avoided, or it will be stolen. The walls should be lined
with glazed tiles, or be grained and varnished, to prevent
the surface being defaced; a shelf should be provided in
each closet for depositing parcels, and water should be Stations,
turned on by the action of the door in opening and closing.
In fact, a constant and abundant supply of water both to
closets and urinals offers the only chance of confining with¬
in tolerable limits the annoyances necessarily connected
with such structures. The importance of keeping a large
station constantly swept and cleansed is too often overlook¬
ed, in consequence of the difficulty of disposing of the dirt
and rubbish which so rapidly accumulate. To meet this,
proper receptacles should be distributed at various points,
with shoots or traps to receive from above, and means of
access below for the scavengers’ carts.
The details given thus far are obviously intended to
apply in the main to metropolitan termini, or to those of
equal importance and extent. The leading principles, how¬
ever, will be found available, more or less, according to
circumstances, for the arrangement and construction of
terminal stations of every description. For the purposes of
illustration, attention will now be drawn to the general
features of small terminal stations on branch lines of rail¬
ways, with the peculiarities of each, and the advantages
and defects which have been met with in working them.
The several parts of the stations are distinguished in the<
illustrations by their initials, thus:—B.O., Offices, &c.;
R., Platforms; C.P., Coke Platform ; W., Warehouse;
C.S., Carriage-Shed; E.S., Engine-Shed ; C.W., Cattle-
Wharf; C.D., Carriage-Dock; G.Y., Goods-Yard; T.H.,
Tank-House; G.W., Goods Warehouse; L., Lodge;
W.R., Waiting-Rooms; M.R., Mess-Rooms; S.B.,
Signal-Box.
The first (fig. 48) is at the extremity of a double line of
railway in an important town on the coast, and accommo¬
dates the traffic and trains of two separate companies.
The peculiar shape of the land originally purchased, its
position with relation to that part of the town from
which the bulk of the traffic is derived, the necessity for
providing means of extension, and the existence of a public
street crossing on the level at the very entrance to the
station, were the chief controlling elements in the original
design. It will be observed that, by placing the offices and
both platforms on one side, with the spare carriage lines
adjoining, the frontage to the main street is economized,
and left free for carrying one or more of the lines forward,
as has since been done. The arrival and departure plat¬
forms are both accessible from the main lines at the same
time, and are made long enough to allow one train belong¬
ing to each company to arrive and depart, or to stand one
after the other; whilst an extra line, with its platform, is pro¬
vided for special occasions. The great length of the sta¬
tion offers every facility for abundance of spare lines, which
can be roofed over to any extent that may be desired at a
moderate cost. The horse and carriage loading arrange¬
ments are combined with the goods and cattle lines and
ocks, and with the spare carriage sidings, and the whole
of this department of the business is worked with great
success. The approach, and the yard in front of the offices,
are convenient as regards length for setting down and tak¬
ing up, but are too much confined and narrow. The road
should have been 50 feet wide at the least, including the
footway, and the yard not less than 80 feet in width with
roofing over some part of it. The position of the goods
department is satisfactory, being sufficiently near to the town
without any objectionable interference with the passenger
station. The arrangements were not, however, so good as
could be washed, having been devised under the impression
that the goods traffic of two companies could be worked
under joint management as easily as that of passengers.
Experience has proved that separate warehouses, yards,
and sidings ought to have been constructed, and that the
whole accommodation should have been on a more exten¬
sive scale. The engine-sheds in duplicate, turn-table, offices,
mess-rooms, shops, tanks, &c., are as well placed as the
shape of the land would permit; but the table is too far
from the platforms, and involves some loss of time, and
the employment of extra police, to secure safety with so
much crossing of the main lines. A second engine-table
will be seen adjoining the goods-yard, which was found
RAILWAYS.
Stations, convenient, both to save time in turning, and to bring into
''' use, with additional sidings, sundry corners of land which
would otherwise have been wasted. The great defect in
this station is the existence of a level crossing and a foot
bridge close to the entrance, the thoroughfare being now a
street, though originally but a narrow lane. Attempts
have been made both by the public and by the Board of
771
Trade to compel the companies to build a bridge, but Stations,
neither being able to confer permissive or compulsory
powers of purchase, nothing has been done in the matter.
Fig. 49 shows the outline of a station forming the terminus
of a small single branch, the nature of the traffic on which
necessarily admits of much simplification in all its arrange¬
ments. The trains being light, and only moving in one
Branch Terminal Station.—Single Line.
direction, a single platform suffices for passengers ; but as
goods are frequently attached to such trains, it becomes ne¬
cessary to combine the goods-yard as intimately as possible
with the passenger lines, so as to avoid loss of time on the
arrival of the trains, and to clear the trucks, and leave the
carriages ready for going out again, when the engine has
been turned and brought round. On short branches, to
which alone the single-line system ought to be confined, it
is generally an object to despatch the incoming train back
again as soon after its arrival as the engine can be connected
for the purpose. It is therefore convenient to place the
engine-table at the end of the station, beyond the platform,
instead of connecting it with the engine-shed, as heretofore
recommended, so that the engine may be turned round, run
round the train by means of the middle spare line, and be
hooked on, ready for starting, with the least possible delay,
the coke and water being taken out after these operations,
and while the outgoing train is being loaded. A station
of this character should always be so arranged that a second
line of way, as well as spare lines, may be added without
involving the removal of any permanent works or buildings ;
in fact, it should combine in one the character both of a
terminal and of an intermediate station. This rule will de¬
termine the position of the warehouses, goods and coal¬
yards, engine-shed, &c., and regulate the number of sid¬
ings. Reference to fig. 49 will show that such a course can
be adopted by the simple removal of the carriage and
cattle docks to the goods-yard, and of the engine-table en¬
tirely, the latter being no longer requisite. The position
of the engine-table is convenient for working the goods
traffic, and obviates the necessity for using any smaller ones.
Attention may also be drawn to placing the warehouse
directly opposite the offices, as affording facility for throw¬
ing a light roof from one to the other, to serve as shelter to
the platform, and as cover for the spare carriages. Every
such station should be provided with gas-works, large
enough not only to supply its own lights, but the town also ;
as in most cases it will be found that the inhabitants are
desirous of such a convenience. The proceeds from the
sale of the gas and the carriage of coals will secure a
handsome profit to the company, and the introduction of
gas-lighting will encourage improvements in the town tend¬
ing to increase traffic. The same course may be recom¬
mended with regard to water-works, when the station stands
high, and good water can be obtained on the spot; added
to which, there is economy in combining the gas-retorts
with the boiler furnace. Too much stress cannot be laid
on the importance of providing at first abundant space for
goods traffic, with large yards for coal, lime, timber, &c.,
and plenty of siding space. Such traffic is generally by far
the most remunerative for some time after the opening of a
line of the nature indicated, and can only be secured by
offering greater facilities. It should also be noted, that it is
desirable, for reasons previously urged, to combine with the
station comfortable residences for the station-master, porters,
engine-drivers, and guards.
Before leaving the subject of terminal stations, attention
may be directed to one of a class indicated in fig. 50, the
Fig. 50.
Branch Terminal Station for heavy Passenger Traffic.
arrangements of which are peculiarly adapted for the work¬
ing of unusually heavy passenger traffic on particular occa¬
sions, such as races or fairs. These consist mainly in placing
a laro-e number and considerable length of spare sidings at
each end of the platforms, to admit of trains arriving, dis¬
charging, and drawing out of the way in rapid succession,
and vice versd on the return journeys. This system has
worked very satisfactorily, and enables an almost unlimited
amount of traffic to be conducted with perfect ease and safety.
It may be objected, that with two platforms there will be
772
RAILWAYS.
Stations, some danger in crossing to the one opposite the offices; but
in practice it is found that one platform only is necessary, as
the traffic will always be in one direction at the same time.
The second platform is convenient for special or foreign
trains; and all danger can be avoided by connecting the
two by a bridge over or under, though such an expedient is
objectionable for this class of traffic. The small extent of
carriage and horse docks may also be thought a defect when
race traffic is in question. As, however, horses and car¬
riages cannot be carried with the passenger-trains, or during
the height of the passenger-traffic, their transit ought to
be limited to previous days and early hours, by which plan
they can be unloaded or loaded with sufficient despatch, pro¬
vided the siding room is convenient and ample for working
off the empty trucks without confusion. The large extent
of spare sidings at the end of the station not being required
during the greater part of the year, may be utilized for the
time, to much advantage, by roofing them over, and devoting
them to the purpose of stowing spare carriages.
Intermediate Stations^—Intermediate stations vary to a
greater degree than terminals. The area to be occupied
will naturally depend on the importance of the town, vil¬
lage, or district to be served; the character of the works on
that of the railway where the station is to be placed ; and
the position of the offices, warehouses, and other buildings,
on the special requirements of the traffic in each case.
As respects extent of space and accommodation in the way
of works, it has already been suggested that it is best to
err, if at all, on the side of extravagance ; but the situation
of the offices, waiting-rooms, &c., relative to the platforms
and lines of rails, when there are more than one, is a point
of considerable importance. When the station is situated
midway between towns of such extent as to cause an equal
flow of traffic in each direction, offices may be requisite on
both sides of the line; but where the bulk of the traffic
tends one way only, it will be desirable to concentrate
them on that side which involves the larger number of
passengers and the greater extent of waiting space. This
rule, again, will be modified by the position of the town or
the district from whence the traffic is to be derived, espe¬
cially if the railway lies on the natural surface, and adjoins Stations,
a public road, whether crossing on the level or otherwise,
This last condition is the most frequent one ; and as some
portion at least of the traffic must be expected to depart from
the platform opposite to the offices, provision must be made
for crossing with the least amount of danger to the public.
When the passengers are numerous in both directions, over-
bridges, as before stated, are objectionable ; and in a surface-
station an archway under the line is frequently impracti¬
cable. Some good authorities have adopted the plan of
making the trains cross to the passengers with one platform
only, when the platform may be made rather more than
double the length of a single train, having crossings in the
centre to communicate with both lines of rails, thus placing
the trains when standing on the platform upon a loop-siding
distinct from those lines. This system is only admissible
when the traffic is of such importance as to warrant the
increased risk of so much crossing, and the extra cost of
maintaining the additional staff of men necessary to insure
safety ; in fact, it should never be adopted unless where all
the trains are likely to stop, as the number of facing-points in¬
creases the elements of danger and of delay to the thorough
traffic. Much will also depend upon the probable uniformity
in the length of all the trains, as it is obvious that special pro¬
vision must be made for the longest possible train to approach
and to leave each station ufithout interfering wdth the other ;
so that if there is much variation in the general length, un¬
necessary expense may be incurred without commensurate
advantage. At the same time, it must be admitted that
this system offers great convenience to the public when
there is much first-class traffic and a large quantity ot
baggage; and it is especially applicable when the station
partakes of the character of a terminal one, or is used as a
receiver from branch or neighbouring lines, offering, as it
does, great facilities for making up and receiving trains
which may run over a portion only of the main lines, as
well as for attaching and detaching the carriages intended
or used for branch traffic.
An example is given (see fig. 51) of a large station where
from the position of a level crossing, combined with other
circumstances, the system last explained could not be
adopted, owing to the want of sufficient length for a double
platform on one side. The traffic is large in both direc¬
tions, and therefore, although the offices and main buildings
are placed on that side from w'hich the greater proportion
departs, the opposite platform is provided with waiting-
rooms and other conveniences for general accommodation.
In this case passengers cross the rails on the level, without
casualty, owing probably to the proximity of the public road
crossing where policemen are always in attendance. The
placing of the platform wall opposite to the main buildings
affords facilities for throwing a roof over in one span, which
s iclters both platforms most effectually at the least cost; and
ence a satisfactory result is obtained, as there is a consider-
a e amount of luggage to be conveyed across from one
p at orm to the other. The extremities of both are for¬
ms le with easy inclines paved with smooth stones, and a
paved crossing is formed from one to the other between
the rails, so as to allow hand-barrows to traverse with ease.
Important intermediate stations, such as the two last de¬
scribed, will be found to require most, if not all, of the
conveniences and adjuncts previously recommended for the
adoption in the case of second or third rate termini. This
particularly applies to the houses for clerks and porters, gas
and water works, complete booking and other offices, with
comfortable waiting-rooms, well arranged and spacious ware¬
houses for goods and coal and timber yards, with as much
length of siding as can be obtained. Relative to the con¬
struction of houses for the company’s servants, in connec¬
tion with the general business premises, it may not be out
of place to observe that there should be no door to com¬
municate between the residence and any of the offices, both
because such facilities frequently lead either to robberies
or to neglect of duty, and especially because the whole
KAILWAY S.
773
Stations, block of buildings will be rendered liable to rates and taxes
as an inhabited house.
The leading defect in the arrangement of the platforms
(fig. 51), where no foot-bridge over or under is provided,
lies in the difficulty of crossing where two trains arrive at Stations,
the same time. 1 his is sometimes met by arranging the ^
platforms as shown in fig. 52, where the end of one is placed
nearly opposite to that of the other, with a paved crossing
between them, so that a clear space can always be maintained
between the ends of the two trains when standing at the plat¬
forms. Such a plan offers many facilities for connecting sid¬
ings with the main lines and with one another, but is open to
the objection of increased cost in consecpience of the extra
length, and is not popular with the public, on account of the
greater distance to be traversed both by passengers and lug¬
gage.
It has already been urged, that when a station is neces¬
sarily situated on an embankment or in a cutting, it is true
economy, in the first instance, to raise or to excavate a
sufficient area to allow of conducting the whole of the
business at the platform level, with easy inclined approaches
to and from the public road. This applies particularly to
cases where there is much “long” passenger traffic with
heavy luggage, besides the ordinary horses, carriage, cattle,
and goods business. Steps up or down ought, as a general
rule, to be avoided at any cost; but when the station is
situated near any large town, so that the traffic is chiefly
confined to passengers, they may be adopted with some
advantage, particularly if the line is in a cutting, and the
offices can be placed over it and adjoining the public road-
bridge, as at New Cross Station, near London. Peculiar
facilities are offered by this plan when communication is
desired with a middle platform, as must be the case when
three or four lines of rails are used. It will then, how¬
ever, be found necessary to build waiting-rooms on each
platform, as the public will not be content to remain
on the upper level until the trains arrive. There may
also be some objection to the separation of the station-
master from his platform duties, if he is confined to the
booking-office; but this is partially met by the facilities
given for general supervision over the subordinates below,
as well as for an economical and simple concentration of
the entire business of the station. A somewhat similar
system is available when the station is on an embankment,
and the offices can be constructed in connection with a
bridge over the public road. But the advantages are by
no means the same, as there is no power of supervision
from the office; whilst the public will always object to the
inevitable darkness, damp, and noise. Nor are there the
same reasons for adopting the plan, as it is easy upon an
embankment to place the offices on one side, and to connect
them with the opposite or intermediate platforms by means
of archways under the rails, which are not objectionable if
well lighted and ventilated.
The junction station is a special variety of the interme¬
diate or local class, which presents questions of too much
importance and interest to be dismissed without distinct
notice, however brief. Where two double lines of railway
converge, it is frequently open to the engineer either
to place the buildings and yards in the fork between
the two, or beyond the point of junction. When the
means of access for the public and of communication be¬
tween the platforms are equally convenient, in either
case he will be guided in his decision by the peculiarities
of the traffic. If the branch or secondary line is simply a
feeder to the main trunk, and the trains on both are worked
in connection with each other, whether by attaching or
detaching special carriages, or by transferring the passen¬
gers, the balance of convenience will lie with the second
system, provided the sidings are so arranged as to enable
the branch or subsidiary trains to clear the main lines
before the others are due. If, on the other hand, the two
lines joining belong to distinct companies, or are worked
independently of each other, it will be far more convenient
to adopt the first system, because two trains in both direc¬
tions can draw up at the same time, without interference
with each other, and special conveniences for accommo¬
dating subsidiary traffic or varying the size of the several
trains can be arranged with the greatest facility. Judging
from the general practice throughout the country, the latter
seems to have become the more popular course.
Junction-stations for single-line branches may be ar¬
ranged with greater simplicity, as the traffic upon them is
generally of less magnitude, so that passengers and luggage
can be transferred over a platform without the necessity of
attaching or detaching carriages to or from the main line
train. Fig. 53 supplies instances to meet either case, being
the plan of a junction with two single-line branches, one
of which connects directly with the main line, and the
other only through the medium of an intervening platform,
facing-points in both cases being avoided. On such a sys¬
tem, the offices will be placed on the side opposite to the
through-line, the several platforms being connected by
means of an archway under them and the rails wherever
it is practicable. Waiting-rooms and their adjuncts must
necessarily be placed on the further platform, and a roof in
one or more spans should cover the platforms and sidings,
such roofs being inclosed on both sides, and, as far as
practicable, at the ends, to protect the passengers from the
weather, to which their exposed position will render them
peculiarly liable. Engine and tank houses, gas-woiks,
engine-tables, and rooms for the men employed, will also
prove as essential a portion of the general arrangements as
in the case of terminal stations.
King’s Cross station (Plate V.) is the most recently con¬
structed, and the most extensive metropolitan station. It
V
774
RAILWAYS.
Extent of vvas built originally for the use of the Great Northern Rail-
Sidings. way on]y; but has recently been modified and extended in
the goods department to accommodate the traffic of the Locomotive
Midland Railway, which, by an extension across the coun- Stations.
Fig. 53.
Railway Junction Station, haring two Single-line Branches.
try from Leicester station to Hitchin station, on the Great
Northern line, has found an entry into London by King’s
Cross, independently of the London and North-Western
route. The whole station, for passenger and goods traffic,
and for the purposes of the locomotive department, covers
26 acres of ground, and contains 18^ miles of lines of rail.
The ground from King’s Cross to Holloway, 1^ mile long,
comprising the ground covered by the passenger and the
goods stations at King’s Cross, cost about L.470,000.
Huntingdon station, on the Great Northern Railway (see
Plate V.) is one of the principal intermediate stations on the
line. The station-yards are bounded by a road at one end
and a river at the other, and the platforms are necessarily
opposed. The main line is kept entirely free of turn¬
tables, which are placed only on sidings. The station is 760
yards in length, or nearly half a mile, between extreme points,
and there are 3430 yards of siding, single line, or about 2
miles of siding in all, besides the up and down through lines.
The ordinary stations on this line are, with a wise eco¬
nomy, constructed to accommodate a great expansion of
traffic. They are 700 to 800 yards in length, between ex¬
treme points, or nearly half a mile, and they contain about
2000 yards of sidings, single line, or more than a mile total
length.
EXTENT OF SIDINGS.
The increasing traffic of the older railways has led neces¬
sarily to a greater use of the side lines, an increase of siding
room, and an extension of stations. The distribution of
siding accommodation on the London and North-Western
Railway, as it existed in 1853, is instructive. On the main
line of the southern division, from London to Birmingham,
113 miles, there were in all 53 miles of siding, single line;
and on the total length of line, 315 miles, there were 88 miles
of siding, single line :—in the proportion of about half the
■whole length for the trunk, and above a fourth for the
■whole division, or one mile of sidings, single line, to 3-f
miles of railway. For the total length of railway, 635
miles, there is one mile of siding, single line, to 5^ miles of
railway,—the stations averaging about four miles apart. The
great preparation for the accommodation of the traffic, thus
forcibly indicated by the proportion of siding room, sug¬
gests the great magnitude of the business done.
The stations of the Great Northern Railway are placed
at average distances of 4 miles apart; so that the sidings
of ordinary stations, each containing 2000 yards of single
line, average of themselves more than one-fourth of the
whole length of the railway. At King’s Cross station
there are 18£ miles of siding; and it maybe assumed that
there are many more miles of extra sidings at the principal
stations down the line. The total length of siding accom¬
modation on the whole line would then amount to one-
third of the length of the railway, or one mile of siding for
every three miles of railway. It would thus appear that
the Great Northern Railway company have forestalled the
demand for siding-room, which, in the experience of the
older lines, has been found necessary, to meet the demands
of growing traffic.
In estimating the total length of sidings on the whole
railway system, it should be known that there were in 1858
upwards of 2950 railway stations in England, Scotland, and
Ireland, for 9082 miles open for passenger traffic in that
year; being at about the average rate of one station for
every three miles of railway.
From what has been said, one mile of siding, single line,
may be taken as the average allowance per station, includ¬
ing, of course, terminal accommodation of every description,
which would show that the total extent of single line laid
for sidings averaged one-third of the total mileage of rail¬
ways. In addition, therefore, to the 9116 miles of line
open for passenger and goods traffic, or for goods only, in
1857, of which 30 per cent, were only single line, there were
3000 miles of siding; which would make a total of up¬
wards of 18,000 miles of single line in Great Britain and
Ireland.
LOCOMOTIVE-STATIONS.
Locomotive-stations should be situated at or near the
principal terminus of the railway, sufficiently near to a
large town to insure the facility for obtaining materials and
workmen ; and sufficiently far off to be clear of the heavy
local taxes with which such large establishments in all large
towns are burdened.
The locomotive-station of the Manchester, Sheffield,
and Lincolnshire Railway is selected for illustration. It is
situated at Gorton, about two miles from Manchester, the
RAILWAYS.
[Locomotive first position where the railway and the land take the same
Stations, level. The total quantity of land purchased is nearly
“y'"*"'' twenty acres, about nine of which are occupied by the work¬
shops and store-yard; the remainder is used for the con¬
775
struction of reservoirs for supplying the works with water, Locomotive
and for erecting cottages upon it for the work-people in Stations,
the company’s service.
I he block-plan (fig. 54), shows the general arrangement
and relative positions of the shops, cottages, reservoirs, &c.
The reservoirs a are calculated to hold a month’s con¬
sumption of water, and are supplied from the adjoining
canal, the water passing through filter-beds in its course
from the canal to the reservoirs. These reservoirs, from
their elevated position, supply the water directly into the
tenders upon the railway, and throughout the workshops,
the canal being at a sufficiently high level to supply them.
The cottages b are 140 in number, arranged in four
blocks. The plan of the works is nearly square, the en¬
trances being placed towards the cottages on the east side
of the works ; and adjoining are the offices and general
stores h.
The engine-house, or shed for engines on duty, c, is a
rotunda of 150 feet in diameter inside, and is capable of
holding seventeen engines with their tenders, leaving the
entrance and exit lines clear. The advantage of this
arrangement, shown more in detail (fig. 55), over the ordi¬
nary polygonal engine-house, is in the absence of pillars
for supporting the roof, of which there are twelve for a
twelve-sided polygon ; in this building there is but one
column at the centre. To the left of the entrance is a
furnace for holding live fuel, from which the engines are
lighted ; and there are two lines of rail across the central
turn-table, on one of which the engines enter, and on the
other depart. Between the rails of each radiating line a
pit is constructed to afford access below the engines for
inspection. The roof is of wrought iron, surmounted by a
louvre for ventilation, which is glazed to admit light freely.
To the left of the rotunda are the workshops, with stationary
engine-house and boiler. The fitting and tool shop con¬
tained in the block d, is 120 feet by 60 feet, and contains
nearly the whole of the tools. The smiths’-shop is contiguous
to the fitting-shop, in the same block, and of equal dimen¬
sions ; it contains sixteen smiths’ fires, eight on each side.
Next to this is the boiler-shop, of the same size, with eight
smiths’ fires and four fires for heating boiler-plates, and a
finishing and shearing machine. Next to these is the erect-
ing-shop, 150 feet long by 60 feet wide, containing nine
transverse lines of rails, each to hold two engines; so that
eighteen engines may be housed here at once. There are
Fig. 55.
Rotunda at Gorton Locomotive-Station, to house the Working Engines.
travelling cranes in the shop which traverse it for its full
length, and capable of lifting any engine and moving it to
any part of the shop.
To the left are the carriage and waggon shops e, the
waggons being on the ground floor and the carriages above,
to which elevation they are raised by a self-acting worm-
776
RAILWAYS.
Station
Fittings.
hoist worked by the stationary engine. These shops are
320 feet by 70 feet, and can receive fifty waggons and
thirty-eight carriages; and attached to them are the lifting-
room and the trimming and saddlery room. The lines of
rail in the engine and waggon shops are served by a tra¬
verser, for means of communication with the external rails.
Besides these buildings there are in the block / a paint-
shop and a shed for locomotives in reserve, 160 feet by
40; also, a coke-shed g, 100 feet by 40, so constructed
that the coke-waggons stand on one side, whilst the loco¬
motives approach and receive their charge of fuel on the
other side, the coke being measured into baskets on the
intervening platform.
There are four lines of rails into the works, which, with
the turn-tables and the arrangement of sidings externally,
are shown in the plan.
But, in the use of circular or polygonal engine-sheds
there is necessarily a circumscribed space inside, limiting
the spare room ; and there is also an expensive converging
roof to construct. In the arrangement of engine-sheds,
capacity and economy of construction, combined with
facility of access and departure to and from all parts of the
sheds, are the first considerations. To supply the demand
for such accommodation at the locomotive station of the
North-Eastern Railway at Newcastle-on-Tyne, where four
separate buildings of the ordinary polygonal arrangement
would have been required, it was resolved to depart from
this plan of building, and, retaining the circular system
of radiating lines with central turn-tables, to inclose five
such systems in an extended oblong building, roofed over
its entire area in five parallel bays, supported on the side
walls and on four rows of columns. (See fig. 56.) The
circular systems, as arranged in two rows, and alternating
with each other, afford numerous direct lines of com¬
munication from one system to the others. The total
length of the building is 450 feet, and the width 280 feet,
with a total covered area of 126,000 square feet; which is
43 per cent, more than would have been covered by five
circular or polygonal buildings of the ordinary kind. The
additional space so gained is of great convenience in facili¬
tating the minor repairs done in an engine-shed. Strong
lifting frames are fixed over the spare lines not occu¬
pied by running engines, such as are engaged on regular
daily duty. Benches for fitters executing repairs on the
engines are erected at convenient places ; and fire-places
are built at intervals into the walls for warming the shed,
and supplying live fuel to kindle the fires in the engines
and get up the steam. There are berths for ninety loco¬
motive engines in this shed.
STATION FITTINGS.
Switches and Crossings.—The use of switches and
crossings is to form a link of communication between one
line of rails and another, of which many are required at and
about railway stations and at junctions, as exemplified in
foregoing illustrations. They are usually constructed with
ordinary rails, and are carried in cast-iron chairs spiked Station
down to sleepers. The switch-rails are moveable, and are Fittings.
n
n
n
Fig. 56.
Locomotive Engine-Shed on the North-Eastern Railway.—A, Turn-tables;
B, Lifting-frames; C, Fitters’ Benches; D, Fire-places.
worked by rods to which heavy weights are attached; the
function of the weights being to retain the points in one
position, and to act as a self-acting adjustment in restoring
them to it—their normal position—after having been shifted
for the passage of a train. (See figs. 57 and 58.)
When only one of the terminal rails is moveable, it is
called a single switch, and is used only on sidings or branch
lines of rail; the double switches being more perfect in ac¬
tion, are adopted on the main line; and, as a general rule,
switches on the main line are ordered to be laid with the
points in the direction of the traffic, so that passing trains
may run out of the points, and not into them. “ Facing-
points,” as they are termed, are such as are laid on the
main line, facing or pointing towards the regular advancing
trains. Many accidents have been caused to trains by
Fig. 57.
Switches and Crossings.-Showing a connection between two lines of rail, and the position of the Switches, Boxes, and Rods.
train&im0intS’ |mProPer^y se^ °r out °f order, turning the *• derailment” in modern railway parlance. So dangerous
pullino- im y lnt0 a S1^‘ng, with the impossibility of are facing-points felt to be, particularly on high-speed lines,
train 'off im^ 0 Preve|lt a collision ; or throwing the that on some railways they are absolutely forbidden at all
ie rai s a together, producing what is called except terminal stations, and at intermediate stations
RAILWAYS. 777
Station
Fittings.
where every train is ordered
this rule can only be followed
to stop. In some situations
by sacrificing simplicity and
increasing the number of backing-points, but it no doubt
diminishes the risk of accident.
The stock-rails are notched to receive the ends of the
tongues, and in order to guard these notches from the rude
contact of the wheel-flanges, as well as for the general
guidance of the train through the switches and crossings,
guard-rails are fixed at suitable places, as shown in the
illustrations. In some designs of switches the fixed rails
are preserved entire, without notches, and the sides of the
tongues are housed under the rails, in lateral recesses; in
these cases the guard-rails are not required.
Turn-tables.—These are of two classes—for turning car¬
riages and waggons, and for turning engines and tenders
together. For the carrying stock, they are 12 to 14 feet
in diameter, sufficiently large to receive conveniently
vehicles of which the wheels are 8 to 10 feet apart between
the centres. Turn-tables ordinarily used are of cast-iron,
carrying two transverse lines of rails, and revolve upon a
central pivot, and conical rollers near the circumference,
which are upheld and turn upon a cast-iron base bedded
in cement, or on a built foundation. (See fig. 59.)
fig. 58.
Switch-Box.—Rod a attached to tho Points to work them ; b, Weight to re¬
tain the Points in position; c, Lever, with Disc-signal, to act also as
Counterweight.
For turning engines and tenders together, and thus
superseding the necessity formerly experienced of un¬
coupling them to be turned on small tables, turn-tables 40
VOL. XVIII.
feet long, or thereby, are required. A common plan of
table consists of two longitudinal balks of timber, to carry
a line of rails, framed together with cast-iron beams, to
support the centre on a pivot and the extremities on
rollers. The table revolves in a pit about 4 feet deep, on a
large circular race of cast-iron bedded on a firm foundation,
to carry the rollers, and the motive force is applied by
means of gearing. In situations of much thoroughfare it
is needful to extend the deck of the table laterally, like
wings, to complete the circle, and so cover in the pit.
Traversers.—These are a convenient substitute for turn¬
tables, particularly for working a number of parallel lines of
rails. A traverser is simply a low rectangular frame, made
with two overhung rails, to receive carriages or waggons,
and moveable on rollers across the lines of rail, so as to
receive the carriage from any one line of rail, and deposit
it on any other.
Water-cranes.—Water-cranes are erected at conve¬
nient spots for delivering water to the locomotives. The
upright column is firmly erected, and contains the sup¬
ply-pipe, which ascends within it from the ground. The
horizontal member is in direct communication with the
supply-pipe within the column ; revolving freely, so as to
be swung out of the way when not in use. It is suffi¬
ciently long to reach over the middle of the line of rails,
and has attached to it a leathern hose to direct the current
of water into the tender. The handle of the shut-off valve
is shown near the base of the column. In other plans of
Signals.
fig. 60.
Water-Crane, to fill the Tenders of Engines.
water-cranes, the shut-off valve is placed at the upper end
of the column, or at the extremity of the swinging pipe,
and is opened and closed by a screw. (See fig. 60.)
SIGNALS.
The want of uniformity in the system and code of signals
is to be regretted. The “ semaphore” (see fig. 61) is
now very generally employed, and has in a great measure
superseded the “ disc” as a means of signalling ; but the
companies do not all work it by the same code. One ma¬
nager uses it to give two signals, and another to give
three ; a third will have an auxiliary or distant signal placed
at 500 or 600 yards from the station, to act as a repeating
signal, his neighbours perhaps preferring to use it only as a
caution. There are companies which, rejecting the sema¬
phores, use sundry varieties of the disc ; and this, though
simple and cheap, is limited in its application.
In the employment of the semaphore, the arm is turned
straight out, perpendicular to the post, as the signal of dan-
5 F
778 RAILWAYS.
ftlS. y j   J  ^ ^ ‘
of caution; and it is turned home, disappearing within the train
I a a.* X3. ^ ~ —
Signals, o'er ; diagonally downwards, at an angle of 45°, as the signal post, when the line is all right for the approach ot the signals.
b  y ^ ° * u within thp train. Distant-signals have but one arm, as they act only
upon trains approaching in one direction. Station-signals
have two arms, right and left, to operate upon trains arriv¬
ing in either direction. (See fig. 61.) Other essential
elements of security consist in a clear definition of the
duties of the attendant to the signals, their strict enforce¬
ment, the selection of the most suitable men, their ade¬
quate remuneration, and providing them with convenient,
warm, well-fitted lodges, with ample window-space, within
which they may keep a constant watch over the line without
exposure to weather. At junctions, where the signal-man
works the points in connection with the signals, his lodge
or box should be raised some height above the surface, to
give him perfect supervision in every direction. rIhis
keeps him out of the way of gossips, and he is less likely to
be distracted in the discharge of his duties. A similar pre¬
caution is of service at all other important signal-stations,
even where points may not be wrought in connection with
signals.
At night it is needful to supply the place of semaphores
or discs by large and powerful lamps, with reflectors, capable
of showing lights of three colours,—a white light, a blue
or green light, and a red light,—signifying respectively
safety, caution, danger. They are changed either by re¬
volving the lamp on its axis, to present a different side with
a differently-coloured glass, or by retaining the lamp as a
fixture, and sliding differently-coloured glasses in “ spec¬
tacle-eyes,” or otherwise, before the light. Both of these
methods of changing the signal are illustrated in the figures
annexed.
Signalling has been a subject of much controversy; it
has been distinguished by controversialists into two sys¬
tems,—the “ positive” system, and the “ negative” sys¬
tem. The so-called negative system is in fact the current
practice of the day; and by the epithet “ negative” it is
implied that, inasmuch as the normal state of the signal is
that of caution, or that of safety, as the practice may be,
and as it is only turned on to danger when specially re¬
quired for the protection of the station on the line, the
habitual caution or safety-signal is in effect no real signal
at all, as except in cases of danger it does not demand any
active demonstration from the signal-man as to the state of
the line, and as a proof satisfactory and assuring to the
engineman approaching that he is at his post and attending
to his duty. On the contrary, the positive system, so-
called, presupposes the normal state of the signal to be that
of danger ; so that, in the event of the signal-man neglecting
his duty to lower the semaphore when the station is clear
for the passage of an approaching train, it will at the most
—so it is presupposed—^be a dereliction of duty on the safe
side, and the train, which might have gone innocently for¬
ward, would simply be stopped at the forbidding signal
until released from embargo by the formal descent of the
semaphore. The positive system demands in fact a posi¬
tive act of duty, or demonstration, on the part of the signal¬
man,—namely, to alter the signal on the approach of a
train when the line is clear, without which positive act of
duty on his part the train could not approach the station
otherwise than by the commission of a clear breach of
signal-law on the part of the engineman.
The positive system, it may be observed, is in successful
operation at all large and important junctions, where the
signals are raised, or, as it is technically described “ closed”
against every line of rails,—that is their normal condition ;
and when one or more trains approach the junction, the
signal-man has it in his power to keep them all out, or
to “ open” the signals, one at a time, for the safe and
successive passage of the trains through the junction. In
such a situation, the use of the positive system is manifestly
conducive to the greatest degree of safety, as by the una¬
voidable intersections of the lines of rails there are many
RAILWAYS.
779
Locomo¬
tive
Power.
chances of collision. Peculiar situations ot risk require
peculiarly stringent codes of signals, and the exceptional
character of the situation, and of the system of signals, is the
best guarantee for the safe conduct of trains at such places.
But the extension of the positive system to every
station on a line of railway would, no doubt, thoroughly
defeat the object in view. For the uninterrupted passage of
an express train, the active co-operation of successive
signalmen at 3-mile intervals (the average distance apart
of stations) would be essential; and should any one fail
in the duty of timely lowering the signal, there would of
structed a non-condensing steam-locomotive of lilliputian
dimensions. This locomotive was placed on three wheels;
the boiler was of copper; the flue passed obliquely through
it, and was heated by a spirit-lamp; the steam-cylinder was
only f ths of an inch in diameter, with a stroke of 2 inches,
turning a crank on the axle of the larger wheels, which
were inches high. This little locomotive, standing not
higher than 15 inches above the ground, could run at a
speed of six or eight miles per hour.
In 1804 Mr Richard Trevithick constructed a high-
pressure locomotive for the Merthyr Tydvil Railway, in
South Wales; but the great defect consisted in the slip-
Loeomo-
tive
Power.
course be an interruption of speed and a loss of time, and ._
all the consequent dangers of want of punctuality would ping of the wheels, which Mr Blenkinsop endeavoured to
ensue. In practice, however, it would undoubtedly be obviate in 1811 by employing a rack-rail, in which a large
losing their respect and their toothed wheel was to work. In 1813 Mr Brunton of
practice.
found that engine-men, losing their respect
patience for such false precautions as signals of danger
when there was no danger, would generally disregard the
elevated semaphore, and push through, to the extensive and
dangerous demoralisation of engine-men and signal-men.
It appears to be overlooked that the human brain is an in¬
dispensable element of the machinery of signalization, and
that simplicity in the working of the brain is an element in
Butterley contrived a locomotive carriage, to be propelled
by levers like horses’ feet. In 1814 Mr George Stephenson
constructed an engine for the Killingworth Railway, near
Newcastle, in which toothed wheels were employed to en¬
gage and turn all the four wheels of the engine, and so to
utilize all their adhesive power, to “bite” the rails.
The year 1829 is famous in the annals of railways for
the question, just as simplicity is, in the manoeuvring of the two things—the opening of the Liverpool and Manchester
semaphore. The use of the electric telegraph will be con- Railway, the type and forerunner of modern railways; and
sidered in treating of railway accidents.
LOCOMOTIVE POWER.
It is hardly necessary to observe that a locomotive
engine differs in many particulars from other steam-engines.
The source of power—the principle of mechanical life—is
a point of agreement; it determines the order to which
the locomotive naturally belongs. But in this we have a
new species, adapted to other purposes, and possessing
different capabilities. The machine, as its name imports,
is intended for locomotion ; and in order that it may fulfil
its purpose, it must carry along with it the fuel and water
which are necessary to maintain its action. This con¬
dition implies compactness and lightness of construction,
combined with the requisite power. To obtain those first,
the engine and boiler are united together in the same
machine, and the parts are made of much smaller dimen¬
sions, in proportion to the power, than in other steam-
engines. The requisite power is obtained by using steam
of very high pressure—of such a pressure as will allow the
steam-cylinders, when the power is developed, to be of
small capacity ; but, in order to obtain steam in sufficient
quantity and of sufficient pressure from a boiler which
must also be portable, it was necessary to depart from the
common form, and to adopt a mode of construction by
which the evaporative power of the boiler—that is, its
power of generating steam—would be greatly augmented.
The condition of locomotion at high velocity in so weighty
a mass as the lightest and most compact locomotive must
be, implies, moreover, subjection to violent strains and
shocks, which must as far as possible be provided against
by strength and firmness in the framing together of the
whole.
It may readily be conceived that locomotive machines
did not at once start into their present state of approxi¬
mate perfection, but have been gradually matured by suc¬
cessive modifications and improvements. The first
suggestion of the application of steam-power to the
propelling of carriages is due to the illustrious Watt, who
proposed it in 1759 to his friend Dr Robison, at Glasgow
college. Oliver Evans, of Philadelphia, thought of the
same thing in 1782, when he patented a “steam-waggon
but it does not appear that anything more than a good high-
pressure stationary engine was the result of his labours.
In 1784 Mr Watt patented a locomotive carriage; and in
the same year Mr Murdoch, his friend and assistant, con-
the invention and construction of the first high-speed loco¬
motive of the standard modern type, the railway and the
locomotive by Mr Stephenson and his son, Mr Robert
Stephenson. This engine was made under competition
for the Liverpool and Manchester Railway, and it gained
the prize for lightness, power, and speed, awarded by the
directors. It weighed 4 tons 5 cwt.; the tender following
it weighed 3 tons 4 cwt.; and two loaded carriages drawn
by it on the trial weighed 9 tons 11 cwt.; thus, the drawn
weight was 12 tons 15 cwt., and the gross total 17 tons.
It averaged a speed of 14 miles per hour; its greatest
velocity was 29 miles per hour; and it evaporated 18J
cubic feet, or 114 gallons of water, per hour.
This engine, the Rocket, comprised the three elements of
efficiency of the modern locomotive, the internal water-sur¬
rounded fire-box, and the multitubular flue in the boiler,
being a number of small tubes in place of one large tube ;
the blast-pipe, from which the waste steam of the engine
was exhausted up the chimney; and the direct connection
of the steam-cylinders, two in number, one on each side of
the engine, with the driving or propelling wheels, on one
axle. The subdivision of the flue into a number of small
tubes proved to be of marvellous advantage in accelerating
the absorption of heat by the water, and the generation of
steam, in virtue of the great increase of heated surface ex¬
posed to the water, without adding to the size or weight of
the boiler. But the evaporating tubes would have been of
little avail practically had they not been supplemented by
the blast-pipe in the chimney, which, by ejecting the steam
from the engine after it had done its work in the cylinder,
straight up the chimney, excited a strong draught through the
boiler, and caused a brisk and rapid combustion of fuel, and
generation of heat. The heat was absorbed with propor¬
tional rapidity through the newly-applied heating-tubes.
The blast-pipe, thus designedly applied, was undoubtedly
the invention of Mr Stephenson; in conjunction with the
multitubular flue, it altered and vastly improved the range
and capacity of the locomotive ; and, in further conjunction
with the direct connection of the steam-cylinder to one
axle and pair of wheels, it was tantamount to a new and
original machine.
Fledged and armed with wings, this locomotive, the
Rocket, subsequently drew an average gross load of 40 tons
behind the tender at 13-3 miles per hour. The old Killing-
worth engine could only work at a maximum of 6 miles per
hour with 50 tons. The Rocket, in the earlier trial, attained
a speed of 29 miles per hour. George Stephenson came
780
RAILWAYS.
Locomo- eminently at the right time in scientific history, gathering
tive into one magnificent fact all the floating prophecies of pos-
Power. ^ gibjiitieg^ solving the problem, and setting the question of
" the railway and the locomotive engine at rest for ever by
his grand and masterly invention.
The key-note was struck. Constructors on all sides
worked, each in his own way, at the locomotive, to im¬
prove the detail and increase the efficiency; and for many
years the practice of builders was moulded into two ge¬
neral classes of engines, with two cylinders placed horizon¬
tally inside the smoke-box, under the chimney, and other¬
wise essentially similar to each other, except in one great
feature, the number and disposition of the wheels. In one
class there were six wheels, of which one pair was placed
behind the boiler, typified in the engines of the day made by
Mr Robert Stephenson; in the other class there were but
four wheels, placed under the barrel of the boiler, leaving
the fire-box overhung, typified in the engines made by Mr
Bury for the London and Birmingham Railway. Experi¬
ence has demonstrated the disadvantage of an overhung
mass, with a very limited wheel basis, in the four-wheeled
engine running at high speed; and now it is the general
practice to apply six wheels to all ordinary locomotive
stock.
The general features and characteristics of modern loco¬
motive practice are represented by the illustrations (figs.
62 and 63). There are two leading types of passenger-
engines, distinguished chiefly by the steam-cylinders being,
in the first, situated within the framing, under the boiler,
with the main driving axle cranked at two points to receive
the power from the two cylinders; and in the second
type, the steam-cylinders are placed external to the fram¬
ing, and connected, not to the axle, which is straight, but
to crank-pins fixed between the spokes of the wheels, in
connection with the nave. From these distinguishing fea¬
tures, the two types of engines are known respectively as
“inside-cylinder locomotives” and “outside-cylinder loco¬
motives.” In the latter, the general contour of the cylinders
is usually visible at the fore-end of the machine. The ten¬
ders have six or four wheels, according to the taste of the
designer, and they are supplied with powerful brakes,
worked by screws, with blocks of wood placed against each
wheel. A water-tank forms the upper part of the tender,
namely, the two sides and the back, in the form of a horse¬
shoe, holding 800 to 1200 gallons; and in the hollow of
the shoe the fuel is deposited, of which a full charge may
weigh 30 cwt. to 2 tons. The engine and tender are sus¬
pended on springs placed over the axle-bearings.
Similarly, there are inside-cylinder goods locomotives,
and outside-cylinder goods locomotives. In the former the
wheels are all of one size, in order that the driving force
may be transmitted from the central pair of wheels to the
front and back pairs, by means of coupling-rods attached to
crank-pins in the wheels, hence called a six-coupled engine.
In the latter engine the hind-wheels only are coupled with
the central wheels, and the fore-wheels are of less diameter,
as, being free, they are not required to be so large ; hence
called a four-coupled engine. The six-coupled engine can
take the heaviest train on a good straight railway,—that is,
on one free, to a large extent, of curves or sudden turns in
the line of direction of the train ; but the four-coupled works
most economically on curved lines, and may be made so as
to take, in average practice, as heavy a load as the six-
coupled engine.
American practice, after having passed through various
p lases, has arrived at two great types of locomotive for
passengers and for goods traffic, which are universally
a opted m the United States. The passenger-locomotive
as eig t wheels, of which four in front are placed in a
moveable frame, called a “bogie” or “truck,” which
swive s on a central pivot, and adapts itself to the curves
of the lines; the four wheels behind are the “ drivers
they are larger than the front wheels, and of equal size
and coupled. The cylinders are placed outside, just
over the truck, horizontally. A “ cab” or “ house” is
placed upon the hinder part of the machine, behind the
boiler, for 4.the protection of the engine-driver and the
stoker from the weather, with ample glazed opening, to
afford a clear view ahead. The chimney or “ stalk” is in
form externally like an inverted cone, expanding upwards ;
internally, it is cylindrical, and the space between the outer
and inner chimneys forms a reservoir for cinders and ashes
thrown up through the inner chimney, which are deflected
by a baffle-plate at the top, and thrown over into the reser¬
voir, trap, or “ spark-catcher.” This contrivance is specially
designed for the use of wood as fuel, and to prevent the
risk of conflagration arising from the numerous sparks
which would otherwise be discharged in passing through
forests and other ignitable districts. Asa further precau¬
tion for the prevention of sparks, the top of the stalk is
covered with a fine wire-net. The steam-whistle is si¬
tuated above the boiler for ordinary use ; and the bell
is hung near to the cab, with ropes within reach of the
engineman. The bell is used in passing through the streets.
The cow-catcher is hung in front of the engine, to ward
off stray cattle, &c., and the American flag is hung be¬
hind it. The tender is carried on eight wheels, disposed
under two trucks, fore and aft, to facilitate the turning of
the tender on the curves. The goods-locomotive is placed
on ten wheels, of which six are coupled, to supply driv¬
ing-power, and the leading four wheels are hung in a swivel¬
ling truck.
Weight, Dimensions, and Cost of Locomotives.—The
earliest four-wheeled engines made by Messrs Stephenson
& Co. as an article of manufacture weighed 9 tons “ with
the steam up,”—that is, with a supply of fuel and water in
the boiler. The six-wheeled engines weighed 11£ tons.
An ordinary passenger-locomotive of the present time
weighs 19 to 23 tons, and occasionally as much as 27 tons,
which is excessive. A goods-locomotive of the most pow¬
erful stamp weighs 27 to 32 tons, distributed on six-coupled
wheels. Tenders weigh from 10 to 15 tons, with fuel and
water supply. Tank-locomotives, or such as are constructed
to carry their supply of fuel and water in reserve, without
the aid of a tender, weigh a few tons heavier than the same
engine if fitted with a tender. But tank-locomotives are
usually made of small size, to work light, branch traffic, and
weigh lighter in consequence than most other engines,—
from 12 to 20 tons gross. The Great Western broad-gauge
8-wheel passenger-engines weigh 35 tons, or with ten¬
der, 50 tons. I he goods-engines are not so heavy, weigh¬
ing about 30 tons, or with tender, 45 tons. But the heavy
tank-engines used on the steep lines of South Wales and
elsewhere weigh 40 tons gross.
Passenger-locomotives are commonly made with cylinders
15 or 16 inches in diameter, with a stroke of 20 to 24
inches, and driving-wheels varying from 5£ to 7 feet dia¬
meter, according to the duty for which the engine is made;
for high-speed express trains the larger wheel is used. The
cost of a modern passenger-locomotive and tender is about
L.2300.
Ordinary goods-locomotives have cylinders 16 inches
diameter, and 24 inches stroke, with 5 feet wheels. They
cost about L.2800 with tender.
The fire-grates are 3 feet to 4 feet in length, and about
3 feet 6 inches wide ; and the boilers contain 150 to 230
small flue-tubes, about 2 inches in diameter, and 10 to 11
feet in length. Some account of the performances of loco¬
motives will be given in another section. The compara¬
tive magnitudes of recent broad-guage and narrow-guage
engines and tenders may be apprehended from the skeleton
elevations (figs. 62 and 63).
Locomo
tive
Power.
RAILWAYS.
781
Carriages
and
Waggons.
CARRIAGES AND WAGGONS.
The carriage-stock comprises all vehicles concerned in
the conveyance of passengers and their luggage, and of
private carriages and horses, the vehicles to carry the Carriages
latter usually being attached to, and run as part of, the and
passenger train in which their owners are conveyed. The Waggoins.
waggon stock comprises the vehicles employed in the
conveyance of merchandise, minerals, and live stock. The
common varieties of vehicles employed in railway traffic
are as follows:—
Passenger-train Stock.—First-class carriage, second-
class carriage, third-class carriage, composite carriage,
luggage brake-van, horse-box, carriage-truck. To these
may be added the mail-carriage or travelling post-office.
Goods-train Stock.—Platform-waggon, open or box wag¬
gon, high-sided round-end waggon, covered goods-waggon,
cattle-waggon, sheep-waggon, coal-waggon, coke-waggon,
brake-van.
Besides these, there are other waggons specially designed
for special traffic, as gunpowder, salt, and lime. Also
ballast-waggons, for the private use of the engineer’s de¬
partment.
The classification of carriages is designed to meet the
various requirements of the travelling public; some pre¬
ferring seclusion, ease, luxury, high speed ; others preferring
society, if tolerable, and economy, with moderate comfort
and moderate speed; others looking to economy simply.
For the sake of uniformity externally, and in many of the
details, carriages are usually made of the same external
length, width, and height, and suitably in the interior.
The under-works of the stock may thus be identical in con¬
struction, and a uniformity of working and wearing parts
is thus secured, which is conducive to economy of main¬
tenance.
The waggon-stock should be as nearly uniform as pos¬
sible. Uniformity of waggons is more important than that
of carriages, as their total number and cost are much
greater, and the supervision with which they are favoured
is less minute; besides, the cost of maintenance is less than
where many varieties of waggons exist on the same line.
But whatever may be the upper-works, the under-works of
the whole of the waggon stock should be entirely uniform.
One of the greatest engineering evils that have been in¬
flicted upon railway companies has arisen from the want
of arrangement or consultation between the officers ot dif¬
ferent lines, in order to consider the question, common to all,
as to the best plan and construction of vehicles to be used
by them. The result has been, that several companies have
built classes of stock unsuited to work conjointly the traffic
of their own and other lines. The diversity of practice is no
doubt partly occasioned by the growing vrants of traffic, and
the gradual increase in capacity and tonnage of the carrying
stock, incurring unavoidable structural alterations of plan.
Amongst the early contributors to the production of the
railway waggon were to be found the great carriers, their
agents, road-contractors, farmers, builders, wheelwrights,
salesmen, graziers, timber merchants, and others whose
occupations and opinions, it may be imagined, gave birth
to a wide diversity of practice.
Another reason for the want of harmony in past prac¬
tice has been the separation of the duties of engine and
of carriage and waggon superintendence. The carriage
superintendent, aiming at the utmost economy of main¬
tenance in his department, has been continually adding to
the quantity and weight of material employed in the con¬
struction of the carrying stock, as the remedy for the ob¬
served failure of weak parts £ and thus the stock, particularly
waggons, has been increased in strength rather by adding
to the mass of matter than by studying to throw the same
weight of timber and iron into superior combinations.
Doubtless the stock was made very lasting and serviceable,
but meantime the heavy trains, handed over to the loco¬
motive department, induced similarly the construction of
heavier and more powerful locomotives, when the maxi¬
mum was quickly reached, and strongly evinced by the
sufferings of the permanent way.
It was of course unavoidable, from the need of enlarged
782
RAILWAYS.
Carriages dimensions, capacity, and increased strength, both in car-
and riages and waggons, that the dead weight should be to
Waggons^ gorne extent increased. The early first-class carriages
weighed 3| tons, the bodies or upper parts being 15 feet
long, 6 feet 6 inches wide, and 4 feet 9 inches high, in
three compartments, to hold six passengers each, or 18 in all.
Railway carriages have gradually since been increased in
weight to 5| and 5f tons; and in dimension of body to 18
or 20 feet in length, 7 feet 6 inches wide, and 6 feet 3
inches high,—outside measures for the narrow guage. The
capacity has been increased from 462 cubic feet in the
early carriages to 820 cubic feet. The same increase of
dimensions has taken place in the other classes of carriages.
The great increase in size and weight of carriages has
arisen very much in compliance with the demands of the
public for greater convenience, speed, and safety. It was^
found that the old carriages suffered the most in cases of
collision, and it became essential, with the increase of
speed and length of trains, to add very much to the size,
strength, and weight of the carriages. The wheels weighed
originally 17 cwt.: they now weigh from 25 to 30 cwt.
First-class narrow-guage carriages are commonly divided
transversely into three compartments, each six feet long,
and well lined with cushions; in each compartment there
are six seats, and there are in all seats for eighteen pas¬
sengers. In some instances the seat-partitions or elbow-
rests are dispensed with, and the whole width of the com¬
partment thrown open to receive four on each side, or
twenty-four passengers in one carriage. Saloon-carriages,
having no compartments, are getting into use.
Second-class carriages are usually divided into four com¬
partments, holding eight passengers each, or thirty-two per
carriage. They have usually been finished with hard board¬
ing, destitute of cushioning, on the nearly obsolete policy of
making them uncomfortable, in the hope of inducing pas¬
sengers to travel first-class instead. The London and
Brighton Railway Company have understood the value of
a little encouragement to the public, by meeting them half¬
way, and supplying comfortably-padded seats in the second Carriages
class. The receipts in 1858 were materially benefited by and
the gracious experiment; and other companies must do the Waggons,
same.
Third-class carriages do not differ very much from
second-class, except that they are thoroughly hard and
square inside, older, and more homely.
Passenger brake-vans are made open inside for passen¬
gers’ luggage ; and are formed with a compartment at one
end for the guard, with an elevated perch and glazed cham¬
ber about the level of the roof, to facilitate his supervision
of the whole of the train. The brakes commonly used are
sliding-brakes, with blocks of timber applied to the four
wheels, brought up by a screw and handle. The weight of
the brake-van is from 5 to 6 tons. Horse-boxes are con¬
structed to carry three horses. All narrow-guage carrying
stock is placed on four wheels.
Broad-gauge first-class carriages are 24 feet long, 9 feet
wide, and 6 feet high in the body, divided into four com¬
partments, holding four passengers on each side, or alto¬
gether thirty-two. The second and third-class are 27 feet
2 inches in length ; the second-class has five compartments
for sixty passengers, and one for luggage ; and the third-
class has six compartments, for seventy-two passengers and
a guard’s brake compartment. All carriages are placed on
six wheels.
The original form of goods waggons generally employed
for some years after the opening of the Liverpool and
Manchester Railway in 1829, was simply a platform about
10 feet long on four wheels, with sides varying from 4
to 10 inches in height. Many of these wTaggons are still
employed for the transport of weighty rough goods; they
weighed 2^- to 3J tons, and carried about 2 tons of goods.
The general unfitness of this style of waggons led to the adop¬
tion of portable sides and ends, which consisted of open crib-
rails dropped into staples; and to these were added the costly
tarpauling or sheet to cover the goods, and bind them down.
(See fig. 64.) The waggon, thus appointed, made 13 or 14
feet in length, and weighing about 3^ tons, was fitted to carry
4 or 5 tons of ordinary goods. But loose or moveable parts
of waggons are objectionable, as they occasionally fall
away or are lost, or get out of order, and are costly to main¬
tain. The use of tarpaulings is said to have amounted to
an annual charge of L. 12,000 on one railway. So uncer¬
tain is the duration of a tarpauling, that a new one may be
spoiled the first day of its use, by injury from projecting
angles of goods under cover. Crib-rails and tarpaulings have
been to a great extent superseded by built covered wag¬
gons, 14 to 16 feet long, with sliding doors and moveable
roofs (see fig. 65); so that the crane-chain can deposit or
move a bale of goods, however heavy, from any part of the
interior of the waggon ; and the goods may be perfectly in¬
closed and protected from damage by fire, wind, or rain.
Covered waggons weigh from 4 to 5 tons, and can carry,
according to their dimensions, 6 to 8 tons. The cost of
maintenance of ordinary open waggons is said to amount
to from 7 to 10 per cent, of the first cost, as against that of
the covered waggons, which is stated to be only 4 per cent.
The Great Northern Railway coal-waggons, which are
well designed and constructed, are made with open sides 2^-
to 3 feet high, weigh 4 tons empty, and carry 7|- to 9 tons of
coal (see fig. 66).
It may be stated generally that properly-made open
waggons may carry twice their own weight of goods, and
covered waggons 1£ times their own weight of goods ; but
that ill-designed, heavily-made waggons may carry no more
than their own weight in goods. The great demand for
weight in waggons arose, as much as from anything else,
RAILWAYS. 783
Carriages from the absence of spring-buffers at the ends, and the concussions to which they were subject in daily use. To Carriage,
and ‘ --- J  ai, tLo Lard reduce the violence of such contingencies, and also not to „„"uu
Waggons.
s trom tne aosence oi spring-ouners m me cnuo, -- ” ~ J . a-' . and
and imperative need of strength to resist the inevitable hard reduce the violence of such contingencies, and also not to Wtggont
I, V — — J
Pig. 66.
Coal Waggon on the Great Northern Railway.
add very much to the cost of the waggon, buffing-springs
were applied at one end of each waggon, leaving the other
end “ dead,” as shown in fig. 64. The benefits of this
partial arrangement became evident; and as at the same
time several forms of external buffers—compact, efficient,
cheap, and easily applied,—had been matured, and had be¬
come regular articles of manufacture, the practice of spring¬
ing one end of the waggon has been gradually extended in
new stock to the other end, as in fig. 65. Waggons, as
formerly made, were, in long trains, likewise subjected to
violent shocks in starting into motion at stations and other¬
wise ; and therefore the draw-bars also were placed upon
springs. Some persons have gone further, and placed the
guard or side chains upon springs. Thus the waggon has
come to be defended by springs at all points. The substi¬
tution of elastic action for dead shocks has proved very
beneficial in promoting the durability of waggon stock ; and
there is no doubt that the extra cost so incurred has been
amply compensated in saving of materials and in durability.
Spiral springs for buffing and drawing, made of round or of
oval steel, have answered very well.
Broad-guage waggons have been constructed sufficiently
strong to carry 20 tons of load. But they are not ge¬
nerally made to carry more than 10 tons. They are car¬
ried on six wheels.
An impression of the relative dimensions and bulk of
broad and narrow guage carriages may be gathered from
the outline elevations of a first-class carriage of each guage
(fies 67 and 68) on the same scale. The relative costs are narrow-guage open goods waggon costs L.80, as compared
about L.340, narrow-guage, and L.640, broad-guage. A with a broad-guage waggon costing L.140.
784
RAILWAYS.
TOTAL MAGNITUDE, COST, AND MILEAGE OF RAILWAY
STOCK.
The number of miles run per annum varies very much
with circumstances. An engine, when on duty, may per¬
form a duty averaging 120 train miles per day, amounting
to upwards of 37,000 miles per annum, excluding Sundays.
But as a portion of the stock is always under repair, and a
portion in reserve, it is safe to allow 50 per cent, of the
total number as off duty, leaving 50 per cent, at work,
which would reduce the average performance per engine
of the whole stock to 18,000 or 20,000 miles per annum.
The circumstances of many lines do not admit of such
a high average mileage ; and the gross average mileage run
by each locomotive, passenger and goods, may be taken at
16,000 train miles per annum; and as the gross mileage
performed in 1857 amounted to upwards of 83,000,000
train-miles, there would be 5200 locomotives then on
stock, which, if they be estimated at an average cost of
L.2000 each, would amount in cost to L. 10,400,000. The
number of vehicles of all classes varies within very wide
limits in proportion to the number of locomotives on
different railways. The North-Eastern, doing a very large
mineral traffic, has probably the largest proportion,—namely,
53 vehicles per locomotive. The Manchester, Sheffield,
and Lincolnshire has 38 per locomotive, the Glasgow and
South-Western 36, the Great Northern 27^, the Eastern
Counties 27, the London, Brighton, and South Coast 25,
the Midland 24, the Scottish Central 21, the Bristol and
Exeter 16. An average of 30 vehicles per locomotive for
all the railways gives a total number equal to 156,000
vehicles, which, at an average rate of L.100 per vehicle,
would amount in cost to L.15,600,000.
According to these estimates, the total cost of carrying
stock is one and a half times the total cost of locomotives,
and the sum of the two is L.26,000,000, equivalent in
round numbers"lo L.3000 per mile of the mean length of
railway open in 1857.
Besides the train-miles run by engines, which are in fact
the only performance recognised from a commercial point
of view, they run many miles unavoidably “ empty,”—that
is, without a train; the proportion of the empty or un¬
profitable mileage being dependent on the exigencies of the
traffic and the nature of the line. A line with locally heavy
gradients must have “assistant” or “pilot” engines in
readiness to assist the trains up the inclines, which usually
have to return empty to the depot; and in cases of special
trains, empty engines are run to or from the train, before
or after duty, according to the situation of the engine-depot,
as the case may happen.
There is another duty, of a passive description, which is
imposed on engines,—to stand “in steam,” or with the
steam up and the fire in good order, in readiness to act
when required. Assistant engines necessarily stand thus
many hours a day while on duty, and there is a certain con¬
sumption of fuel incurred in so maintaining the steam.
Some railway companies therefore, for the purpose of plac¬
ing the whole duty of the locomotive department on record,
register the whole time of engines being in steam, also the
empty mileage run, besides the time on active duty and
the train-miles run. The nature of the duty of goods
engines, which is various, is also distinguished, so as, in
short, to make a complete record of the work done. In the
Manchester, Sheffield, and Lincolnshire Railway accounts,
it is believed, the laudable practice of detailed records, as
above indicated, was initiated; and it is in course of adop¬
tion by other companies. The following statement con¬
tains a list of the rolling stock of that line, and the parti-
cu ars of the duties performed by the engines during the
secont ialf-year 1857 ; and it may be taken as an example
of the proper method of recording such duties:—
Magnitude,
Cost, and
Mileage of
Railway
Stock.
Manchester, Sheffield, and Lincolnshire Railway.—Half- Magnitude,
year ending December 31, 1857.
List of Rolling Stock,—
Locomotives and tenders  115
Twin carriage    1
First-class carriages    51
Second-class do  89
Third-class do  127
Dummies   6
Horse-boxes  19
Carriage-trucks  11
Luggage-vans    32
Brake-waggons    55
Waggons  3963
Sheets or tarpaulings  2200
Horses    107
Cost, and
Mileage of
Railway
Stock.
Number of hours in steam—Running  95,337
„ „ Shunting  49,093
„ „ Standing  28,842
Total hours in steam 173,272
Cwt.
Coke consumed  241,527
Coal „   229,681
Cost per hour 23 05 pence
„ mile  2A5 „
Mileage run by Engines.
Passenger train-miles.
Goods „
Mixed „
Coal „
Stone „
Cattle „
Ballast
Miles.
693,921
360,243
87,244
94,189
162
8,772
1,045
Actual train-miles 1,245,576
Assisting  34,250
Empty   81,327
Total for the half-year 1,361,153
In this statement the assisting and empty miles, taken to¬
gether, constitute an extra mileage of 9-3 per cent on the
train-miles.
The North-Eastern Railway Company possessed, at the
end of 1857, 414 locomotives and tenders, and 22,125
vehicles for passenger and goods traffic, amongst which
there were 2321 goods-waggons, 1362 trucks for timber,
and 15,073 coal-waggons. The Midland Railway, with
413 locomotives, just one less than on the North-Eastern,
had only 9944 vehicles, or less than half the number on
the other line, including 8727 waggons; but the Midland
waggons are of much larger capacity, as there are amongst
the North-Eastern stock 10,050 chaldron-waggons suited
to the habitudes of the coal-trade of the Newcastle district.
The London and North-Western Railway Company had,
at the end of 1858, 779 engines and tenders, with a
passenger-train stock 2552 in number, and a goods-train
-fock 13,718 in number,—in all, 16,270 vehicles, compris¬
ing 11,012 goods-waggons.
LENGTH OF RAILWAYS.
By the official report to the Board of Trade for the year
1857 it appears that, at the end of the year, there were
completed and in actual operation in the United Kingdom
9116 miles of railway. This extent of railway communi¬
cation was distributed between England and Wales, Scot¬
land, and Ireland, in the following proportion :—
Miles.
England and Wales  6777
Scotland  1269
Ireland    1070
Total 9,116
RAILWAYS.
78£
Railway Of the 9116 miles open in 1857, there were only 740
Employes, miles of broad guage, and 261 miles of mixed guage; to-
gether 1001 miles in England, or 12 per cent, of the whole
mileage in England and Scotland.
Of the 9116 miles open in 1857, the following were the
lengths of single line:—
Of whole Mileage
Miles. Opened.
In England and Wales 1715 or 25 per cent.
In Scotland  409 „ 32 „
In Ireland  651 ,, 64 „
Total.
.2775
30
The rate at which the construction of railways has pro¬
ceeded during the last fourteen years in these countries
may be estimated from the following statement, showing the
consecutive additions to the gross length of railway, year
by year, in the second column, and the total lengths in the
third column:—
Length of Line Total length of
opened during Line opened at
the Year. 81st Deo.
Year; Miles. Miles.
1843   2036
1844   204 2240
1845   296 2536
1846   606 3142
1847   803 3945
1848  1182 5127
1849   869 5996
1850   625 6621
1851   269 6890
1852   446 7336
1853   350 7686
1854   368 8054
1855   243 8297
1856   421 8718
1857    398 9116
It may be observed that, subsequently to 1845, the an¬
nual addition to the length of line opened, which was
about 300 miles in that year, doubled itself in 1846, and
rose to nearly 1200 miles in 1848. During the five years
1846-50, 800 miles of new lines were opened annually.
These accelerated rates of construction arose out of the
railway mania of 1845-46, when, during these two years
alone, 7238 miles of railway were authorized by acts of
Parliament to be made. . Subsequently to 1850, when the
extreme pressure of construction subsided, the annual in¬
crease of mileage opened averaged 356 miles per year to
the end of 1857; and, according to recent returns, about
340 miles were opened in 1858.
There were 774 miles of railway in course of construc¬
tion in 1857, not opened in this year; and they make, in
addition to the lines already opened, a total of 9890 miles,
or nearly 10,000 miles.
RAILWAY EMPLOYES.
Upon the lines in course of construction during the ten
years 1848-57 the average number of persons employed
varied from 63'6 per mile in 1848, and a maximum of 69
per mile in 1849, to 44 persons per mile, or 44,037
persons on 1004 miles in June 1857.
Upon lines open for traffic on the 30th June 1857, in all
8942 miles, 109,660 persons were employed, or 12‘26
persons per mile, variously employed, and distributed as in
the annexed statement:—
Secretaries or managers
Treasurers  
Superintendents  
Accountants or cashiers
Station-masters 
Ticket-collectors  
Guards or brakesmen ..
Switchmen   
Carry forward, 
VOL. XVIII.
Per Mile.
221 or *024
26 „ -003
398 „ *044
201 „ -022
2,471 „ *276
404 „ -045
3,716 „ -415
3,263 „ -364
Per
Mile.
10,700 or 1-196
Brought forward 
Engineers  150
Storekeepers  198
Draughtsmen  156
Foremen   1,335
Engine-drivers  3,563
Stokers   3,644
Artificers  21,337
Platelayers   8,260
Inspectors or timekeepers ... 997
Clerks   8,712
Gatekeepers   1,998
Policemen or watchmen   2,349
Porters or messengers  17,091
Labourers 26,285
Miscellaneous   2,885
or
»
5*
3f
3t
3f
Per Per
Mile. Mile.
10,700 or 1-196
•017
•022
•017
•149
•398
•407
2-386
•923
  38,643 or 4-321
•111
•974
•223
•262
1- 911
2- 938
•322
60,317 or 6-745
Money in¬
vested in
Railways.
Total  109,660 or 12-263
In 1848, 52,688 persons were employed upon 4252
miles, or 12-391 per mile, as against 12-263 per mile in
1857, showing that the total numbers per mile are the
same. An analysis of the component elements, however,
indicates a proportional reduction in the numbers engaged
in the more general services of railways, and an increase
in the numbers engaged in the out-door service of the
traffic ; thus, there were *364 switchmen per mile in 1857,
against *249 per mile in 1848, showing an increase of
nearly one-half more ; gatekeepers, -223 per mile in 1857,
against *094 in 1848, or two and a half times the number;
guards or brakesmen, ’415 per mile in 1857, against -352 in
1848, or one-sixth more. This comparative increase would
appear to show that the safe working of the trains has been
well provided for with the development of the railway
system.
If it be assumed that each employe contributes to the
support of two or more other persons, it would appear that
1 per cent, of the population of the United Kingdom was
maintained by the railways in operation, independently of
the considerable amount of labour employed on railways in
course of construction. Mr Stephenson has estimated
that, collaterally, in the manufacture of iron, the felling
and transport of timber, the production of stores, the
erection and improvement of buildings, &c., railways give
employment to at least 50,000 men ; and that, taking every
one together, 2 per cent, of the population derive their
maintenance from railways.
MONEY INVESTED IN RAILWAYS.
On December 31, 1857, the total amount of capital
raised for the construction of railways was a small fraction
under L.315,000,000 (or L.314,989,626), representing an
expenditure of about L.35,000 per mile (or L.34,950).
Some small portion of this cost belongs to the lines in
course of construction at that date. The money has been
raised in the following proportions :—
In 1857.
By ordinary share capital, L.178,567,935, or 57 per cent.
By preference shares   58,061,655, or 18 „
By loans      78,360,236, or 25 ,,
Total capital, L.314,989,826
Say L.315,000,000.
Average interest on preference shares  4-86 per cent.
Do. do. loans   4-52 „
Do. available dividend on the ordi¬
nary share capital  3-60 „
Average percentage of nett receipts to
total capital and loans   4-06 „
The relative proportions of ordinary capital, preference
capital, and loans above given, have been stationary during
the three years 1855, 1856, and 1857; but during the
previous six years the proportions of preference and loan
5 G
786
RAILWAYS.
Money in- capital had been increasing from 9 per cent, and 22 per
vested in cent> respectively in 1849, to what they have just been
Railways^ statecj to fog in 1857^ namely, 18 percent, and 25 per cent.
In 1845-6 the dividends of railways appear to have been
at their maximum, of which the following are examples:—
Railways.
Dublin and Drogheda 
Eastern Counties 
Edinburgh and Glasgow  
Glasgow and Ayr 
Great Western  
Lancashire and Yorkshire 
London and North-Western—
London and Brighton 
London and South-Western ....
Midland 
South Eastern 
York and North Midland 
York, Newcastle, and Berwick
Divideml on Share
Capital in 1846.
... 4 per cent.
. 6
. 7
. 8
. 7
.10
. 6
• 9f
. 6i
. 6*
.10
. 9
The precipitate influx of new lines during the four years
from 1846 to 1850, the expensive contests before Parlia¬
ment to prevent such competing lines from being made, the
unhappy competitions for the privilege of constructing
branch lines, the leasing of new lines by older lines at
unremunerating rates, competition for traffic, and other
causes leading to great extensions of capital, and arising
from the attempts to execute works in three or four years
which might advantageously have been spread over twelve
or fifteen years,—such causes have been in operation to de¬
press the dividends of railways, and with such power as to
reduce the average proportion of nett receipts in 1849 to
2-83 per cent, of the total capital and loans raised at that
time. Such, however, is the virtue of railway property
that the nett receipts have increased since 1849 from 2‘83
per cent, to 4,06 per cent, of the total capital and loans
raised in 1857; and notwithstanding the accumulation of
preference capital and loans, both taking precedence of or¬
dinary capital, the available dividend on the latter increased
from 1'88 per cent, to 3’6 per cent.
The average cost of railways per mile open in 1857 was
as follows:—
England and Wales L.39,275
Scotland  28,225
Ireland    15,664
Total average L.34,950
—say L.35,000 per mile. But it is worthy of notice that
the average cost of independent lines of railway authorized
since 1848, and opened for traffic in the course of the
ten following years, amounted to only L.11,823 per mile;
namely, for England L.14,559; Scotland, L.7243; Ireland,
L.7303 per mile. The difference in cost thus exhibited
arises, among other causes, partly from the less costly cha¬
racter of the newer lines, and partly from the fact, that
the existing lines, which have had no addition to their length
for several years, have continually increased their capital.
Thus, upon twenty-nine railways, having an aggregate
length of 1200 miles, the capital increased from L.39,000,000
in 1853 to L.43,000,000 in 1857, or at the rate of above
L.600 per mile per annum. But during the same period the
nett receipts of these lines rose from 3'4 per cent, to 4'2 per
cent, of the entire capital and loans. In 1849, when a
total of 5996 miles had been opened, the total share capital
and loans raised was L.229,747,778, or L.38,300 per mile ;
and as at that time a large proportion of capital was applied
to lines in course of construction, this may be accepted as
a full mileage cost; whereas, notwithstanding the additional
construction of 3120 miles,—half as much again,—at much
ess mileage cost, the 9116 miles open in 1857 are found
a^out L.35,000 per mile, not much less than in
49, owing to the continual additions made to the capital
of the older lines.
The number of railway companies, and the average Money in¬
length worked by them, was, for 1857, as follows:— vested in
Number of Average Length of Railways.
Companies.
England 52
Scotland   20
Ireland .....21
Total  93
The London and Blackwall Railway, costing L.311,912 per
mile, and the North London Railway, costing L.146,320 per
mile, stand pre-eminently at the top of the list in capital
expenditure per mile, for which their localization in and
about London sufficiently accounts. But the third on the
list, the Birkenhead, Lancashire, and Cheshire Junction,
from Birkenhead to Chester and Warrington, costing up¬
wards of L.75,000 per mile, stands, a beacon and an example
to all railway companies, on the battle-ground of the London
and North-Western and the Great Western companies.
The exalted cost of that line was incurred partly by the pro¬
tracted contests in which it has been involved with the
neighbouring railways, and partly by the costly works of
construction joining the railway to the docks at Birkenhead.
The principal and older railways have been constructed at
a heavy rate of cost per mile, compared generally with the
more recent lines ; the difference is attributable to the costly
legislation and land charges they have incurred, as well as
to the magnitude of the works of construction, involving
deep cuttings, high embankments, long viaducts and tun¬
nels, in order to obtain the most favourable gradients and
curves, conforming, as nearly as possible, to a straight and
level course. Of the railways in England, the Carlisle and
Silloth Bay, one of the most recently opened, has the
honour of standing at the foot of the list, 13 miles long, and
costing L.6474 per mile, or little more for the whole line
than the cost of a single mile of the Birkenhead, Lanca¬
shire, and Cheshire Junction.
Of the Scottish lines, the Caledonian stands at the head
of the list, costing L.43,000 per mile ; and the East of Fife,
7 miles long, at the foot, costing L.4351 per mile. But the
cheapest lines of any length are the Forth and Clyde, cost¬
ing L.5525 per mile ; and the Peebles Railway, costing but
L.20 more than that, L.5545 per mile.
Of the Irish lines, the Dublin and Kingston, a suburban
line, 8 miles long, cost the highest amount per mile, about
L.53,000. The next to it, of any considerable length, is
the Ulster Railway, L.25,000 per mile. The cheapest line
is the Limerick and Foynes, L.5282 per mile; and this
appears to be the cheapest line of considerable length in
the United Kingdom.
The proportions of expenditure on capital account, cannot,
from want of data, be exactly determined. The following
may be accepted as an approximate analysis of average cost
of the railways open in 1856-7 :—
Per mile. Percent.
Law and parliamentary expenses L.2,000 or 6
Land and compensation  7,000 or 20
Works of construction and stations com- )
plete )17>500 or 50
Locomotive and carrying stock  3,000 or 9
Interest on stock, discounts, bonuses, di- 1 ^ ^qq or
vidends from capital, contingencies, &c. } J
L.35,000 100
From this statement it would appear that the nett cost of
construction and equipment is L.20,500 per mile, or above
half of the entire cost; that the cost of land and compen¬
sation is L.7000 per mile, or one-fifth of the entire cost
per mile. Out of 315 millions of capital, then, it would
appear that above 60 millions have been absorbed in
charges for land and compensation ; of this sum, six-
sevenths went intact into the pockets of the landowners,
the remainder being dissipated in costs.
Lines in Miles.
123
60
51
234
Passenger
Traffic.
RAILWAYS.
Statistics of Railways in Europe, America, India, and the Colonies.
78T
Passenger
Traffic.
Name of State, &c.
Austria  
Belgium (government lines)  
France  
Germany (exclusive of Austria and l
Prussia)  J
( England and Wales...
Great Britain < Scotland  
I, Ireland 
Holland 
Prussia 
Sardinia  
Spain 
Switzerland 
Tuscany  
United States of America 
India (capital estimated)  
Canada   
New South Wales 
1856
1856
1854
1855
1857
1857
1857
1857
1856
1855
1855
1856
1856
1855
1857
1857
1857
Length
of Line
Open.
Miles.
1,586
445
2,913
2,226
6,706
1,243
1,070
163
2,503
234
130
203
132
17,481
290
1,252
381
Total Capital
Expended.
L.
25,876,786
7,294,783
74,772,994
29,185,250
263,145,238
35,084,288
16,760,300
3,248,845
35,295,043
4,037,427
2,053,493
144,646,953
2,982,000
14,648,195
1,226,034
Capital
per Mile.
L.
16,378
16,391
25,668
13,111
39,275
28,225
15,664
19,931
14,101
19,888
15,556
8,275
10,280
11,720
31,845
Traffic
Receipts
per
Mile.
L.
2190
2158
2706
1816
3161
2107
1091
1709
1877
1447
924
636
966
1234
729
939
1166
Working
Expenses
per Mile1
L.
1150
1260
1191
897
1564
941
465
1042
968
744
522
341
446
666
308
648
840
Nett
Receipts
per Mile.
L.
1040
898
1515
919
1597
1166
626
667
909
703
402
295
520
568
421
291
326
Proportions
of the
Working
Expenses to
the Traffic
Receipts.
Per Cent.
52-7
58'2
44-0
49-4
48'0
44-0
380
61*0
51-6
51-4
56-5
54-3
46-2
540
42-2
690
720
Proportion
of the
Nett Re¬
ceipts to the
Capital
Per Cent.
6-3
5- 5
6- 6
5- 7
4-1
4-1
4-0
3-3
6- 2
1- 5
33
6-7
41
2- 5
10
PASSENGER TRAFFIC.
The returns forwarded to and printed by the Board of
Trade, from which the statistics of traffic are derived, are
neither uniform nor complete ; and it is difficult to balance
the various elements of such returns. The data in many
cases can only be approximated to; and they are here pre¬
sented as nearly correct as is permitted by the nature of
the returns. In some instances data are simply reproduced
as rendered in the Report of Captain Gallon, the secretary
to the railway department of the Board of Trade.
The total number of passengers of each class conveyed
in 1857 was as follows:—
The average distances travelled by passengers of each
class in 1857 were as follows :—
Countries.
England.
Scotland.
Ireland ..
Total.
First Class.
Miles.
190
17-0
17-8
18-8
Second Class.
Miles.
135
93
12-2
13-8
Third Class.
Miles.
11-7
10-7
15-2
11-7
Total.
Miles.
13- 6
11-3
14- 3
13-3
Countries.
England .
Scotland .
Ireland ..
Total.
First Class.
Second Class.
15,671,096
1,823,542
1,112,188
18,606,826
36,603,060
2,180,284
3,382,941
Third Class
and Parlia¬
mentary.
63,562,252
10,723,694
3,912,183
42,166,285 | 78,198,129
Total,
including
Miscel¬
laneous.
115,858,806
14,733,503
8,416,579
139,008,888
The number and mileage of passenger trains in 1857
were as follows :—
Total
Number.
England   1,612,357
Scotland   218,031
Ireland  135,315
Total Average Mileage
Mileage. per Train.
37,601,375 23-3
3,972,494 18-2
3,263,367 24-1
Total  1,965,703 44,837,236 22-8
The average number of passengers per train in 1857
was as follows :—
Note.— There were about 11,000 season or periodical ticket-
holders in England, 3000 in Scotland, 4500 in Ireland;
in all 18,500, averaging the two half-years.
S
The proportions were as follows:—
Average
Passengers
per Train.
England   72
Scotland   68
Ireland  62
Average Mileage
travelled by
Passengers.
Miles.
13- 6
11-3
14- 3
13-3
Average
Mileage run
per Train.
Miles.
23- 3
18-2
24- 1
22-8
Total  71 i-3-o
actual receipts from passengers of each class in
Countries.
England.
Scotland.
Ireland .
First Class. Second Class.
Per cent.
13 5
12- 5
13- 3
Per cent.
31-6
14-7
40 2
13 4
30-4
Third Class.
Total.
Per cent.
549
72-8
46-5
56-2
100
100
100
100
The  ,
1857 were as follows : —
The numbers conveyed per mile of the mean length of
railway open in 1857—namely, in England 6610, in Scot¬
land 1226, in Ireland, 1064 miles—were as follows:—
Countries-
England.
Scotland.
Ireland .
Total.
First Class.
Second Class.
L.
2,753,123
251,184
163,161
3,167,468
Third Class.
Total,
including
Miscel¬
laneous.
3,147,398
178,778
248,812
L.
2,921,158
471,432
244,628
3,574,988 3,637,218
L.
9,004,769
916,697
671,332
10,592,798
The proportions of receipts were as follows :—
Countries.
England.
Scotland
Ireland .
Total.
First Class. Second Class. Third Class.
2371
1148
1045
5537
1778
3179
Total,
including
Miscel¬
laneous.
9616
8749
3676
17,527
12,017
7,909
2090
4737
8786
15,617
Countries.
England.
Scotland.
Ireland .
Total 
First Class.
Second Class.
30-5
274
24-3
29'9
34-9
19-5
37’0
337
Third Class.
325
51-5
36-4
34-3
Total,
including
Miscel¬
laneous.
100
100
100
100
788
RAILWAYS.
Passenger The average receipts in 1857, per mile open, were as
Traffic, follows:—
Countries.
England.
Scotland.
Ireland ..
Total.
First Class.
L.
416
204
154
356
Second Class.
L.
476
146
234
402
Third Class.
L.
442
384
230
409
Total,
including
Miscel¬
laneous.
L.
1362
746
631
1191
The receipts per train-mile run are reported to have been
as follows :—England, 64‘8d.; Scotland, 62‘6d.; Ireland,
54-5d.
The average receipts per passenger of each class in
1857 were as follows :—
Countries.
England.
Scotland.
Ireland...
Total
First Class. Second Class. Third Class.
d.
42-2
331
35-2
35-5
d.
20 6
19-7
17-6
20-3
d.
110
10-6
15-0
11-2
Total.
d.
18-3
14-7
18-7
17-9
Countries.
England.
Scotland.
Ireland..
Total
First Class.
d.
201
1-77
1-81
1-97
Second Class.
d.
1-41
1-55
1-35
1-41
Third Class.
d.
•87
•87
•90
•87
Total.
d.
1-26
1.13
1-20
1-25
and in France to 43 per cent. On continental lines gene- Goods
rally, three-fourths of the passengers are third-class. Traffic.
GOODS TRAFFIC.
The average fares per train-mile, of passengers of each
class, in 1857, were as follows:—
The total quantity of merchandise, minerals, live stock,
parcels, &c., conveyed in 1857 are as in the annexed
table:—
Heavy Goods Traffic in 1857.
Goods.
General merchandise
Minerals—
Coal 
Unclassed mine¬
rals, coal, lime,
&c 
Total Minerals..
Total 
England.
Tons.
21,138,732
23,320,309
14,318,994
37,639,303
58,778,035
Scotland.
Tons.
2,909,139
1,942,968
6,584,925
8,527,893
11,437,032
Tons.
980,056
98,323
28,465
126,788
1,106,844
Tons.
25,027,927
25,361,600
20,932,384
46,293,984
71,321,911
Live-Stock Traffic in 1857.
Stock.
Cattle.
Sheep.
Pigs...
Total with unclassed
England.
Head.
1,778,259
No.
5,693,092
1,112,346
8,588,129
Scotland.
Head.
331,443
No.
1,042,568
37,973
1,411,984
Ireland.
Head.
255,027
No.
349,113
442,907
1,047,047
Total.
Head.
2,364,729
No.
7,084,773
1,593,226
11,047,160
Light-Goods Traffic in 1857 (by Passenger-Trains).
From the foregoing statements it appears that the aver¬
age distance travelled, in 1857, by passengers of all classes,
was only 13'3 miles ; the greatest average was 19 miles by
first-class passengers in England. These figures are sug¬
gestive :—they demonstrate that the bulk of the passenger-
traffic is local, confined mainly to short distances, and that
long journeys, though important, are but secondary sources
of income. In 1843, first-class travelling averaged 26
miles per passenger ; second-class, 14-4 ; third-class, 12‘5
total, IS'l miles. The generally lower averages of 1857
are to be ascribed to the extension of short local lines
and branches, and to the improved accommodation for
second and third class travellers, by which these classes of
traffic were promoted. As might be expected, however, on
different lines and in different localities the average dis¬
tances travelled by the different classes vary within consi¬
derably wide limits.
The total number of passengers conveyed in 1857 has
been seen to be upwards of 139 millions, and the total re¬
ceipts to be upwards of 10£ millions sterling. Of this large
amount of receipts, the third-class traffic, at less than a
penny per mile, contributes the most. The first-class re¬
ceipts are the lowest, and are about 30 per cent, of the
entire receipts ; the second-class receipts are about 34 per
cent., and the third-class about 36 per cent.; and second
and third conjointly amount to 70 per cent, of the entire
receipts from passengers. It is obvious from these compa¬
rative results, that the lower fares pay the best, even with
inferior accommodation. The excessive preponderance of
third-class receipts in Scotland results partially from the
{practice of running only first and third class on the Cale¬
donian and the Great North of Scotland railways.
1 here is a decided preponderance of third-class traffic on
V.e continental railways. In Holland and Prussia the
t me-c ass receipts amount to 50 per cent, of the wholes
Goods.
England.
Scotland.
Ireland.
Total.
Passengers’ luggage
Parcels  
Carriages   
Horses 
Dogs 
Tons.
14,324
No.
7,663,988
48,056
186,779
226,589
Tons.
46
No.
638,293
5,244
25,946
37,884
Tons.
424
No.
383,821
3,503
19,726
27,277
Tons.
14,794
No.
8,686,102
56,803
232,451
291,750
The proportions of merchandise and minerals carried in
each country were as follows:—
Goods.
England.
Scotland.
Ireland.
Total.
General merchandise
Per Cent.
36
Per Cent.
26
Per Cent.
88-5
Coal 
Unclassed minerals..
Total minerals..,
Total  
39
25
17
57
9
2'5
64
74
11-5
100
100
100
Per Cent.
35
35
30
65
100
The weights carried per mile of the mean length of rail¬
way open in 1857 were as follows :—
General Total
Merchandise. Minerals.
Tons. Tons.
England (6610 miles) 3198 5694
Scotland (1226 miles)  2373 6956
Ireland (1064 miles)  920 120
Total (8900 miles) 2812 5202
Total.
Tons.
8892
9329
1040
8014
The number and mileage of goods trains in 1857 were as
follows
RAILWAYS.
789
n Total Total
LrOOQS Number. Mileage.
Traffic. England  921,258 32,315,676
*«■»»» Scotland  197,461 5,249,496
Ireland   21,309 1,057,013
Total  1,140,028 38,622,185
Average Mileage
per Train.
351
26-6
49-6
340
The actual receipts frorn goods-traffic in 18o/ were as
follows:—
By Goods-Trains.
traffic exceeded 13J millions sterling; and they stand Passenger
highest per train-mile in Ireland, probably because the anr^ Go01*3
greater part of Irish goods-traffic consists of general mer- ra 1C‘
chandise and live stock, which pay better than minerals.
PASSENGER AND GOODS TRAFFIC.
The mileage of trains in 1857 was stated to be as fol¬
lows : —
Countries.
England
Scotland.
Ireland ..
Total
General Mer¬
chandise.
L.6,728,667
767,297
285,7/6
L.7,781,743
Minerals.
L.3,313.256
'657,592
16,444
Live Stock.
L.410,267
47,912
59,177
Total.
L.10,452,190
1,472,801
361,400
L.3,987,292' L.517,356 L.12,286,391
By Passenger- Trains.
Countries.
England 
Scotland  
Ireland 
Total.
Parcels and
Luggage.
L.548,585
38,128
28,216
L.614,929
Carriages,
Horses, and
Dogs.
L.203,047
17,570
16,807
L.237,424
Mails.
L.319,156
56,283
67,628
L.443,067
Total.
L.1,070,788
111,981
112,651
L.1,295,420
The proportions of the above receipts were as follows :—
By Goods-Trains.
Countries.
England ,
Scotland
Ireland ..
Total.
General
Merchandise.
Per Cent.
64
52
79
63
Per Cent.
32
45
4-5
33
Live Stock.
Per Cent.
4
3
16-5
Total.
100
100
100
100
By Passenger-Trains.
Countries.
England
Scotland.
Ireland ..
Total.
Parcels, &c.
Per Cent.
51
34
25
48
Carriages,
&c.
Per Cent.
19
16
15
18
Per Cent,
30
50
60
34
100
100
100
100
The average receipts from goods traffic in 1857, per mile
open, were as follows :—
By Goods
Trains.
England L.1581
Scotland   1201
Ireland  340
By Passenger
Trains.
L.162
91
106
Total L.1380
L.144
Total.
L.1743
1292
446
L.1524
Countries.
England
Scotland.
Ireland ..
Total.
Passengers.
Train-miles.
37,601,375
3,972,494
3,263,367
44,837,236
Goods.
Train-miles.
32,315,676
5,249,496
1,057,013
38,622,185
Total.
Train-miles.
69,917,051
9,221,990
4,320,380
83,459,421
The total receipts from all kinds of traffic in 1857 were
as follows:—
Passengers.
England  L.9,004,769
Scotland  916,697
Ireland  671,332
Goods. Total.
L.11,522,978 L.20,527,747
1,584,782 2,501,479
474,051 1,145,383
Total L.10,592,798 L.13,581,811 L.24,174,609
The following is a general statement of the capital raised,
and the gross receipts from passengers and from goods, in
1857, reduced to annual and weekly mileage rates:—
Mean length of railway 1
open (miles) J
Capital per mile open 1
December 31 J
Receipts per mile per an¬
num,—
From passengers 
From goods 
Total.
Receipts per mile per
week,—
From passengers..
From goods 
Total.
Proportions of receipts-
From passengers...
From goods  
Total.
Proportion of gross re-)
ceipts to capital J
England.
6,610
L.39,275
1,226
L.28,225
L.1,362
1,743
L.3,105
L.26
34
L.60
Per Cent.
44
56
100
7-9
Scotland.
1,064
L.15,664
L.746
1,292
L.2,038
L.14
25
L.39
Per Cent.
37
63
100
7-2
L.631
446
L.1,077
L.12
9
L.21
Total.
8,900
L.34,950
L.1,191
1,524
L.2,715
L.23
29
L.52
Per Cent.
59
41
100
6-9
Per Cent.
44
56
100
7-8
The receipts per goods train-mile are reported to have
been as follows, though it appears from the foregoing figures
they should be higher:—
d.
England  76'6
Scotland 67‘0
Ireland 82*6
These statistics of goods-traffic show that upwards of 71
million tons of heavy goods were transported in 1857 in the
United Kingdom, two-thirds of which were minerals. But
in Scotland the minerals constitute three-fourths of all the
heavy goods carried; and the greatest tonnage of goods
per mile open is carried in that country. There were up¬
wards of 8| millions parcels carried on all the railways ; and
11 millions of live stock. The total receipts from goods*
The table shows that the goods is considerably greater
than the passenger traffic, the former averaging 56 per cent.,
and the latter 44 per cent, of the whole receipts. These
proportions are identical with those of England alone, whilst
they differ widely from those of Scotland and Ireland indi¬
vidually. In Scotland there is much more goods than pas¬
senger traffic; in Ireland there is more passenger than
goods traffic ; whilst the proportions of traffic in England
represent the average of Scotland and Ireland together.
The gross receipts per mile for England, Scotland, and Ire¬
land are in the ratio of 3, 2, 1; and the total average is
L.2715 per mile per annum, or L.52 per mile per week.
The goods-receipts are shown to be absolutely greater
than the receipts from passengers. This preponderance of
goods-receipts has been the growth of years, the increase
of goods-traffic having from the first been greater than that
L
790
RAILWAYS.
Passenger of the passenger-traffic. The proportional receipts in 1849
and Goods an(} 1857 mav be thus contrasted :—
Traffic.
WORKING EXPENSES.
Working
Expenses.
1S49.
Per Cent.
Passenger receipts  53
Goods receipts   47
Total.
Countries.
England.
Scotland.
Ireland...
Total.
England.
Scotland.
Ireland...
Total.
England.
Scotland.
Ireland.
England.
Scotland
Ireland...
Total.
100
1857.
Per Cent.
44
56
100
The following table affords a summary of the expenditure
of railways, as to the amount of working expenses per mile,
per annum, and per train-mile run, as well as the propor¬
tion of working expenses, in Great Britain and Ireland, dur¬
ing 1857:—
Working Expenses for the Year 1857.
Maintenance
of Way. I
Locomotive
and
Carrying Stock.
L.
1,533,259
155,065
63,998
L.
3,701,238
444,414
190,172
1,752,322
4,335,824
Traffic
Charges.
L.
2,563,837
249,986
110,381
Miscel¬
laneous, in¬
cluding
Police,
Watchmen,
Compensa¬
tion, &c.
1,191,971
183,021
54,124
2,924,204 1,429,116
Rates and
Government
Duty.
L.
717,193
61,484
20,096
(no duty)
798,773
Total.
L.
9,707,498
1,093,970
438,771
11,210,239
Correspond¬
ing Receipts
from
Traffic.
L.
20,195,460
2,486,890
1,139,296
23,821,646
Proportion
of
Expenditure
to
Receipts.
Per Cent.
48
44
38
47
Working Expenses per Mile per Annum.
L.
247
133
68
208
L.
597
382
202
L.
413
215
117
515
347
L.
192
158
57
L.
115
53
21
L.
1564
941
465
170
95
1335
Working Expenses per Train-Mile Run.
d.
5-0
4-3
3-6
a,
( Locomot. 8-75 1
\ Car. st... 3 50 J
12-25
I Locomot. 8’7 1
-. st... 2-8 j
11-5
{ Car.
f Locomot. 9’25 1
\ Car. st... 1-55 J
10-80
d.
8-9
6-2
6-2
d.
4-1
4-6
31
d.
2-6
1-7
1-2
d.
32-8
28-3
24-9
Proportion of Working Expenses.
Per Cent.
15-8
14-2
14 6
15-5
Per Cent.
38-1
40-6
43-3
38-4
Per Cent.
26-4
229
25-2
26-3
Per Cent.
12-3
16-7
12-3
Per Cent.
7-4
5-6
4-6
12-7
7-1
Total.
100
100
100
100
iVote.—The receipts of such railways as have not made public their working expenses are not included in this table.
I he appropriation of the gross receipts to working ex¬
penses, interest, and dividend, would therefore be as fol¬
lows :—•
Per Cent, of
Gross Receipts.
Maintenance of wray  7-3
Locomotive and carrying stock  18 0
Traffic department  12*4
Miscellaneous  6-0
Kates, &c  3.3
Total working expenses  47
Interest on preference stock and loans  27
Balance available as dividend on ordinary share ) „„
capital  | 26
Gross receipts    100
The relative receipts and expenditure per train, as re¬
ported, are as follows :—
Receipts.
Passengers. Goods.
d. d.
England      64-8 76-6
Scotland  626 670
Ireland     54 5 82-6
Expenditure.
England   32-8
Scotland   28-3
Ireland    24-9
Per Cent,
of Receipts.
48
44
38
Total.
d.
70-3
65-0
60-7
Surplus
Receipts.
d.
37-5
36-7
35-8
Develop¬
ment and
Distribu¬
tion of
Traffic.
RAILWAYS.
791
Analysis of Locomotive Expenses.—The average cost of
locomotive power has been found to be approximately
8fd. per train-mile, passengers and goods; it is greater
for main lines and less for secondary lines. 1 he following
are the usual proportions of the locomotive expenditure on
principal lines for working, repairs, and renewals:—
Passenger- Goods-Engines
Engines per perTrain-
Train-mile. mile.
d. d.
remen, "j
r, cok- V
Wages of enginemen and firemen
cleaning, oil, tallow, water
ing-wages 
Coke, at Ids. per ton  2'0
Repairs and renewals, including ge- I
neral charges..  J
2-5
40
40
4-5
8-5 110
It will be observed that the element of coke for fuel
is a very important item of expense; and as the average
cost of coke fit for railway purposes is more than double
that of coal, it has become a desideratum to substitute coal
for coke, in order to reduce the working expenses of rail¬
ways. The difficulty hitherto in effecting this desirable
object has consisted in the smoke discharged from coal,
which is forbidden to be emitted on railways by act of
Parliament. There is no doubt of the nuisance of coal-
smoke, and of the desirability of extinguishing it; and
Mr Joseph Beattie of the London and South-Western
Railway has laboured since 1853, with much success, at
the problem of smoke prevention on railways. Mr Syl¬
vester Lees and others have followed in his track ; and more
recently, in 1857, Mr D. K. Clark introduced a method of
burning coal without smoke by means of steam-inducted
air-currents, delivered into the fire-box above the fuel, and
amongst the smoke ; a plan which has operated success¬
fully in consuming the smoke, and in promoting the effi¬
ciency of the engine. In the course of a few years longer
there is no doubt that coke will be generally super¬
seded by coal on railways. By the proper use of coal,
half the cost of fuel will be saved, say an average of l^d.
per train-mile, which, upon 83,000,000 miles, wrould
amount to a saving of L.700,000 per annum in the item
of fuel alone, and would raise the available dividend on
the original capital of railways nearly one-hall' per cent.
(See Steam-Engine.)
THE DEVELOPMENT AND DISTRIBUTION OF TRAFFIC.
The statistics of traffic returns of railways in the United
Kingdom, since 1842, indicate a remarkably steady and
rapid increase of traffic. In 1842 the total receipts
amounted to upwards of L.4,250.000 sterling; in 1852
they were nearly L.16,000,000; and in the five years
ending 1857 they were as follows:—
terminate in London—the metropolitan lines—are more
important than the provincial lines. The county of
Middlesex contained, according to census, in 1851, a popu¬
lation of nearly 2,000,000, or fully one-tenth of the whole
population of England and Wales. London is the great
heart of the country, and is the chief centre of commerce ;
and as, moreover, the metropolitan railways, taken to¬
gether, possess a greater variety of traffic than others, they
will be selected as the basis of the subsequent discussions,
illustrative of the growing magnitude and distribution of
traffic. Now it appears that, on the metropolitan railways,
nine in number, including the London and Blackwall and
North London, the following were the receipts for the four
years ending 1857 :—
Year.
1854.
1855.
1856.
1857.
Average
Miles Open.
2579
2664
2778
2834
Gross
Receipts.
I,.
9,354,425
9,920,609
10,559,658
10,743,118
Receipts
per Mile.
Receipts
per Milo
per Week.
L
3627
3724
3801
3792
L.
70
73
73
Develop¬
ment and
Distribu¬
tion of
Traffic.
The metropolitan railway mileage, it may be noted, con¬
stitutes one-third of the total mileage, whilst it produces
nearly half the whole traffic receipts in the country ; inso¬
much that the receipts per metropolitan mile are two-fifths
more than the gross average receipts per mile. Again, it
appears that 35 per cent, of the total increase of receipts
during the four years 1854-57 was acquired from only 32
per cent, of the average mileage ; and but for the baleful
competition during 1856-7 between the London and
North-Western and Great Northern companies, the pro¬
portion of increase would have been more nearly 45 per
cent. Whether the increase of receipts be compared with
the total increase or with the mileage, the traffic of the
metropolitan railways increases the most rapidly, as it is
also of the greatest absolute magnitude.
Separating, further, what may be distinguished as the
coast lines to the south and east (the Eastern Counties,
South-Eastern, Brighton, and South-Western) from the
interior lines to the north and west (the London and
North-Western, the Great Western, Great Northern,
Blackwall, and North London), the receipts of the metro¬
politan lines may be thus classified and compared with the
receipts in other parts of the United Kingdom for 1857 :—•
Average Miles
Open.
Receipts per
Mile per Week
in 1857.
Metropolitan interior lines   1515 L.86-5
Metropolitan coast lines   1319 56'5
Other English lines not included in
the above   SGli/ 51-5
Scottish railways   1183 40-5
Irish railways  1044 2D0
Y'ear.
Average
Miles Open.
Gross
Receipts.
Receipts
per Mile.
Receipts
per Mile
per Week.
1853.
1854.
1855.
1856.
1857.
7488
7846
8177
8502
8901
18,035,879
20,215,724
21,507,599
23,165,493
24,174,616
L.
2408
2577
2630
2725
2716
L.
46
49
51
52-4
52 2
Showing an increase of one-third in the gross receipts
since 1853, with an increase of one-fifth in the miles open.
The receipts per mile increase, notwithstanding their con¬
tinual dilution by the infusion of new lines. These results,
taken together, indicate the inherent elasticity of the rail¬
way system, and its seemingly inexhaustible resources.
As the main trunk-lines constitute the foundation of the
railway system, so also those which converge towards and
This comparative statement shows that the densest traffic
in England, averaging L.86, 10s. per mile over 1515 miles,
lies to the north and west of the metropolis; that the rail¬
way traffic of the country is very partially distributed, and
that, taking London as the great focus, the traffic radiates
and converges in all directions with generally decreasing
intensity as the distance from London increases. The
northern and western districts, it is true, were in 185*
more freely supplied with railway communication than the
southern and eastern districts. But the chief concern of
the railway economist is to equalize the flow of the traffic,
and, with "this design, to provide a sufficiency and suitable
localization of converging lines. It is easy to foresee that a
third line between London and Oxford, on the narrow
guage, occupying the territory between the London and
North-Western and Great Western railways, shall be one
day constructed as a direct outlet for the densely-crowded
792
RAILWAYS.
Develop- traffic of the north-western districts. A railway was in
ment and fact projected with this object, and a bill applied for in
Distribu- 1353 ; but the bill was thrown out under the combined
^on opposition of the neighbouring railway companies, the
v ™ j opposition of party, with the bugbear cry of injurious com-
petition. # ,
The capacity of a railway for traffic is regulated by the
number and weight of the trains, by the speed at which
they can be run, by the degree of punctuality of then
arrivals and departures at all the stations, and by the
length of the line. The number of trains must be limited
ultimately by the contingencies of the ti'affic, and the re¬
gularity with which they can be propelled; for the same
conditions of safety and expedition which require the use
of distinct up and down lines, operate also in limiting the
number of trains per day moving in the same direction.
A margin must be allowed for unforeseen delays and. the
want of absolute punctuality ; and therefore some fixed
intervals must be adopted as the minimum period of time
which can be interposed between the starting of successive
trains from a terminus.
The weight of the trains is another important element,
and it is one which has been overlooked in the economy of
railways. Heavy trains demand heavy engines, capable of
drawing heavy loads and of keeping time. Now heavy
engines at high speeds operate most injuriously upon the
road, and so seriously as to have made it a matter of cer¬
tain experience that the economical limits of engine-
weight has on some lines been exceeded. The more
nearly the speeds of trains can be approximated, the higher
may the speeds be, and the greater the number which may
be run, though of course the probability of accidents by
collision or otherwise, at the higher speeds, is increased by
unforeseen causes of irregularity. 1 he reason is obvious ;
fast trains are not so shortly brought up as slow trains, and
collisions are greatly more disastrous. The length of line
also affects the capacity for traffic, as the contingencies of
transit increase in proportion with the length ; and the daily
number of through trains should be less. The shorter the
lines in general, the more frequent are the trains. Great
and continuous length of line is then, so far, an element of
w eakness, as much of the traffic on every section of a long
line depends upon the arrivals from other parts; and its
safe and beneficial working must depend all the more upon
the aid of the telegraph.
The traffic of the London and North-Western Railway
affords ample illustration of the foregoing doctrine. The
main line w^as partially opened in 1837, and in 1838 it was
opened through. The traffic of this line sprang up from
very small dimensions in 1837, and rapidly developed, as
may be observed in the following historical summaries of
the traffic. The daily numbers of trains to and from the
principal termini or stations of different sections of the
line, at successive intervals of years, w^ere as follows :—
Railways.
London (Euston)
Stafford 
Manchester ...
Total.
1837.
No.
19
14
(1831.)
26
59
1848.
No.
44
38
90
172
1852.
No.
86
104
102
292
1857.
No.
109 trains.
109
The average weight of engines working these trains
varied from 7 tons in 1831, to 18 or 19 tons in 1848. In
1852 the weight of engines, with tenders, averaged 36 tons
at Euston, 28 tons at Stafford, and 32 tons at Manchester;
and in 1857 the average of engine and tender rose to
about 40 tons at Euston. The running speed of goods
trains averaged from 10 miles per hour in 1831 to 20 miles
per hour in 1848-57. The average weight of trains, Develop-
without engine and tender, was as follows :— ment and
Distribu¬
tion of
Traffic.
Railways.
London 
Stafford 
Manchester.
Trains.
( Passenger.-
\ Goods 
| Passenger-
| Goods 
( Passenger.
1 Goods 
1837.
Tons.
46
112
45
118
(1831.)
11
45
Tons
57
141
53
159
55
111
72
66
58
1852.
Tons.
87
75
64
Tons.
140
These data show a great increase both in number and
in weight of trains at all the stations ;—from 172 trains per
day in"l848, to 282 trains per day in 1852. Taking Lon¬
don trains for special analysis, there went into and out of
Euston station 44 trains daily, averaging 72 tons weight, in
1848 ; 109 trains daily, averaging 140 tons weight, in 1857;
—showing an increase to two and a half times the number,
and to double the weight; or, upon the whole, to five times
the magnitude of the London traffic, as it was in 1848,
during the subsequent period of nine years. This appears
an overwhelming rate of progress; and it looks still more
formidable when it is considered that, into and out of Lon¬
don, during the period from 1848 to 1852, the daily num¬
ber of trains increased 10‘5 percent, per annum ; 1852-57,
4-6: the weight per train increased, 1848-52, 4 tons;
1852-57, 11 tons: the whole train weight increased,
1848-52, about 1000 tons ; 1852-57,1500 tons per annum.
This statement plainly indicates that in the earlier stages
of development, whilst yet the line was free and unburdened
with business, the number of trains was freely increased to
conduct the growing traffic, with a small increase in their
weight; but that subsequently, as the line became crowded
with trains, and the circulation of traffic embarrassed, the
number of trains was much more slowly increased, whilst
considerable additions were made to their weight; so much
so, that the whole train-weight, indicating the general mag¬
nitude of the traffic, has increased in an accelerating ratio
since 1848.
So early as 1849 the question of heavy engines and high
speeds, incidental to the crowded traffic of the London and
North-Western Railway, was one of considerable embar¬
rassment in its engineering aspects. The effects on the
rails and other parts of the permanent way, produced by
the increased weight and speed of the engines and trains,
had become very marked, and the deterioration of tbe road
had increased very rapidly under the heavy engines intro¬
duced ; and further, the immediate damage to both the
road and the rolling stock, from high speed, outweighed, in
positive loss to the company, the additional fare received.
To remedy this state of affairs, it was proposed to reduce
the number of passenger-trains, augmenting their weight
and diminishing their speed, in orddr to give more scope
for the working of the heavy goods-trains, which were often
obliged, even at that time, to be taken at speeds of 25 to
30 miles per hour, though timed for 20 miles an hour. In
dealing with the passenger traffic, it was proposed by the
general manager to use the lighter class of engines for short
local trains, and on branch lines to run fewer carriages with
trains, by causing passengers to change their seats at junc¬
tion instead of attaching the carriage itself ; in connection
with which it was found that the average capacity and
actual number of passengers in the carriages, in 1848-9,
were as follow:—
Capacity
for Pas¬
sengers.
First class   18
Second class 25
Third class    32
Average Number
of Passengers
per Carriage.
7
13
21
RAILWAYS.
793
Develop It was obviously considered in 1849, that at that time
ment and the natural limits of the traffic of the London and North-
Distribu
tion of
Traffic.
Western Railway were, if not exceeded, at least, under the
circumstances, fully attained.
Nevertheless, in 1853, as compared with 1849, the en¬
gine-mileage increased 16percent., merchandise and mineral
tonnage 56 per cent., train-weight 33 per cent., and engine-
weight practically 10 per cent., on the lines open in 1848.
To provide for the working of this largely-increased traffic,
many of the lighter engines were condemned as unfit for the
purpose, and were replaced by heavier engines. Secondly,
The road was made much stronger, with heavier rails and
chairs, larger sleepers, deeper ballast, and better drainage.
But the damage to the road, and cost of maintenance, not¬
withstanding its greater strength, has unavoidably increased;
and it was estimated that in 1853 the “ life” of the rails was
reduced from 20 years to 15 years. Thirdly, The electric
telegraph was extensively introduced over the line, the use
of which greatly facilitated and economized the working of
the traffic, and practically doubled the capacity of the rail¬
way for traffic.
In 1856 an extension of the system of telegraphic signal¬
ling, by detail sections, was applied and in operation over
the entire distance from London to Rugby, 83 miles,—the
section of greatest traffic,—upon a plan which was consi¬
dered by Captain Huish in 1858, after two years’ experi¬
ence of its working, to be the nearest to perfection that
could be arranged. A signal apparatus was stationed every
2£ miles on the whole distance ; and every train as it comes
upon a fresh length of 2£ miles is telegraphed forward to
the next station in the series, and when it leaves that length
its passage forward is telegraphed back to the station be¬
hind. By this means they have the power of preventing
trains being within 2| miles of each other, be their speed
or irregularity what it may. This system of communica¬
tion has conduced very materially to the safety of the line,
and it inspires great confidence into the men whose duty it
is to work the traffic. During fog, the telegraph apparatus
is of inestimable utility, in conjunction with the use of fog-
signals, which are fixed to the rails, and discharged with a
loud report by the engine in passing over them. Captain
Huish mentions that, during two days of such intense fog
that a train could not be seen at the distance of its own
length, 400 trains were run, without diminishing the speed,
by the aid of the signals, and without accident. It was like
a discharge of platoon firing from one end of the line to the
other. In view of the formidable and increasing traffic, a
third line of rails was in 1858 commenced to be laid down
from London, for a distance of 54 miles, for the running of
the goods and mineral trains, at slower and more economical
speeds, without interfering with the rapid trains of the main
line; and it was anticipated that the saving of tear and
wear, by diminished speed, and the saving of shunting and
delaying slow trains to let the fast trains pass, would pay the
interest of the cost of the third line. There can be no
doubt of the sound policy of this course.
Meantime, the pressure exerted upon the resources of the
railway by the mixing of slow with fast trains, has driven the
London and North-Western Railway Company to the ex¬
pedient of working the majority of their slow or goods
trains during the night, when the road is comparatively
clear. Thus, the average number of passenger and of
goods trains on the southern division, that passed Tring
station, 32 miles from London, during the twenty-four
hours, in April 1857, was as follows:—
Passenger Trains.
No.
6 a.m. to 12 noon  16-2
12 noon to 6 p.m IS'!
6 P.M. to 12 midnight  11
12 midnight to 6 a.m  2
Showing that the greater number are goods trains; that Railway
26 goods trains, or nearly half their whole number, were Speeds and
run after midnight; and that the busiest periods of the 24 b0C0™0'
hours were after mid-day and after midnight, so equally and ^mances
unavoidably was the traffic distributed over the day and , j
night: the stupendous machine being in ceaseless opera-
tion, working double turns. The greatest average number
of passing trains, about five per hour, indicates an arrival
at average intervals of 12 minutes, or 24 minutes interval
each way, up and down. This appears a fair allowance of
time, but it conceals the inequalities of speed and the un¬
punctualities of slow and fast trains. It was found, in the
course of one week’s observation at Tring station, that there
were, in the arrivals of passenger-trains alone:—Up-trains,
18 arrivals behind time 5 minutes and upwards,—maximum
lateness 34 minutes; down-trains, 29 arrivals behind time
5 minutes and upwards,^—maximum lateness 16 minutes;
in all, 47 late arrivals, or 8 per day ;—being at the rate of
one late arrival in six passenger trains, independently of the
irregularities of goods trains. It is superfluous to dwell
on the highly-disciplined organization which is demanded
to insure the safe working of traffic so complicated and of
such magnitude.
Such is, in brief, the material history of the most hardly-
worked line in the kingdom,—a “ representative” line—de¬
veloping the successive stages of a growing traffic, and the
successive contrivances and organizations to provide for it.
RAILWAY SPEEDS AND LOCOMOTIVE PERFORMANCES.
“ Railway speed ” is a variable quantity, varying in the
same country, and different in different countries, accord¬
ing to the amount of business done and the relative value
of time. The cost of transport is affected by the element
of speed more, perhaps, than by any other condition :—
the actual tractive force of engine necessary to draw a
given train increases much faster than the ratio of the speed
simply. At the higher speeds it increases nearly as the
square of the speed. Thus, if an engine and tender, weigh¬
ing together 32 tons, and exerting a given tractive force,
takes, say, forty loaded carriages, weighing 290 tons, at 20
miles per hour on a level, the loads which it could take if
it exerted the same tractive force at higher speeds, would
be only as follows :—
On a Level.
At 20 miles per hour, 40 carriages, weighing 290 tons.
„ 30 „ „ 30 „ „ 220 „
„ 40 „ „ 21 „ „ 160 „
„ 50 „ „ 15 ,, „ Ho ,,
„ 60 ,, ,, 11 ,, „ 85 „
„ 70 „ „ 8 „ „ 60 „
The influence of gradients, also, is very important. If
an engine and tender, weighing together 32 tons, be capable
of drawing a maximum train of, say, 56 loaded carriages,
weighing 420 tons, at 20 miles per hour on a level, it
would only draw the following loads, at the same speed, on
the following inclines:—
At 20 Miles per Hour.
Level 56 carriages, weighing 420 tons.
Goods Trains.
No.
7
10-4
13-4
26-2
Total Trains.
No.
23-2
28-8
24 4
28-2
Incline 1 in 600, 45
1 in 300, 36
1 in 150, 27
1 in 100, 20
1 in 75, 16
1 in
1 in
1 in
1 in
1 in
It is hei
50, 12
40, 9
30, 6
20, 3
10, nil
340
270
200
150
120
90
65
45
24
nil
Day’s total (specials extra) 47’6
VOL. XVIII.
57-0
104-6
re shown that, on an incline of 1 in 20, the engine
would only be capable of taking up three loaded carriages,
about 24 tons weight, and that on 1 in 10 its whole power
£ H
794
RAILWAYS.
Railway in this particular case would be absorbed in pulling up its
Speeds and own weight. Hence the prime importance, in the eaily
Locomo- stages of railway experience, of constructing the gradients
tive Per- ag near]y ]eVel as was practicable, as they absorbed, accord-
formances. ing to their steepneSs, large proportions of the power of the
* Y ^ light engines of the time, in ascending hills ; and that which
would otherwise appear unwarrantable—the costly construc¬
tion of the early railways by expensive tunnelling, viaducts,
bridges, and cuttings, to approximate to the desiderated hou-
zontal standard—is abundantly explained by the pai amount
necessity of usefully employing the limited power of the
engines then constructed. This was the stand-point °f the
elder Stephenson ; he maintained the superiority of ‘flat
gradients, and the sound policy of incurring a large expendi¬
ture in construction in order to avoid otherwise heavy inclines
and heavy expenses. The ruling gradient of the Liverpool
and Manchester Railway was fixed at 1 in 900, excepting of
course the inevitable inclines at Rainhill summit,for working
which special provision was made £ that of the next great
line, the London and Birmingham, was fixed at 1 in 330; and
it is’well known at what cost even this gradient, though con¬
siderably steeper than the Liverpool and Manchester, was
obtained. It was the object of Mr Stephenson to make
this railway as mechanically perfect as possible, reducing
the gradients to the minimum consistent with the confor¬
mation of the country. On the Great Western Railway,
one of the earliest made lines, the ruling inclination is 1 in
1320 for the greater part of the way. Mr Joseph Locke
initiated the system of cheaply-constructed railways, as the
facilities for increasing the power of locomotives became
better understood ; he constructed lines with long steep
gradients, some of them 1 in 70, 1 in 75, 1 in 80. The
Great Northern Railway, of comparatively recent origin, is
constructed on a ruling gradient of 1 in 200 ; and in gene¬
ral the more recently made lines have the steepest gra¬
dients. Following thus the variable surface of the country,
this system became known as the “undulating system,”
and it has even been deemed preferable to the system of
perfect or approximate levels, being supposed to afford
breathing intervals, as was thoroughly understood in coach¬
driving, when the horses were eased by “getting the
shoulder off the collar ” going down-hill. The analogy is
not sound ; an engine never tires, and its power does not
necessarily fluctuate like horses’ power. The question of
levels versus gradients appears to involve the question of
straight lines versus curves; for, inasmuch as steep railways
are generally also lines of frequent curves, which by com¬
mon consent operate very prejudicially in absorbing loco¬
motive power, the question is rather as between gradients
and curves on the one part, and levels and straight lines
on the other part. Moreover, the ruling speeds, as they
may be called, have in the course of years increased. The
question is not susceptible of a comprehensive and satisfac¬
tory solution otherwise than by means of a comparative
analysis of all the elements of working expenses during a
series of years.
Working Speeds of Passenger-Trains.—The average
speed of express trains, including stoppages, varies from 36
to 42 miles per hour; and of parliamentary trains, stop¬
ping at all the stations, the average speed, including stop¬
pages, varies from 17 to 21 miles per hour. The speeds
of ordinary trains are intermediate between those of express
and parliamentary trains, dependent on the frequency of
the stoppages.
If the delays incurred by stoppages be allowed for in
bringing up express trains, and in getting up the speed,
; for which four minutes per stoppage may be allowed, and
. also the time standing at stations, the average speed while
running with steam on, would vary from 42 to 48 miles per
hour. The following are the comparative speeds of express
trains on the broad and narrow guages in 1859 ;—
Bkoad Gttage—
London and Birmingham
Average 
Narrow Gtjage—
London and Brighton 
Averaare  
Average
Speed, in¬
cluding Stop¬
pages.
Miles per
Hour.
42
37
40-4
385
Average full
Speed while
Running.
Miles per
Hour.
45
45
Maximum
Speed in
Practice.
Miles per
Hour.
About 60
About 60
Railway
Speeds and
Locomo¬
tive Per¬
formances.
The average full speed on the Great Northern Railway
(narrow guage) is 47 miles per hour, and a speed of 62
miles per hour is frequently run. During periods of active
competition the trains on the Great Western Railway
(broad guage) have been run at a speed of 65 miles per
hour. But, such a high speed can only be run, with any pre¬
tension to safety, on the best parts of the lines, free of
curves, and with the road in first-rate order. The average
practice in speeds of passenger-trains appears to be the
same on the broad and the narrow guages.
Working Speeds of Goods Trains.—The ordinary aver¬
age progress of goods-trains, including all detentions,
varies from 10 to 18 miles per hour over long distances.
The ordinary actual speed while running varies from 15 to
25 miles per hour ; 20 miles per hour is a common running
speed. The very large goods-traffic of the London and
North-Western and Great Northern Railways is conducted
at higher than average speeds, in order to clear the passen¬
ger traffic—15 to 20 miles per hour, including stoppages,
and frequently at a running speed of 30 to 35 miles per
hour, or occasionally 40 miles per hour when the stoppages
are long.
Locomotive Performances.—The duty and performance
of locomotive engines vary materially, as may be supposed,
on different lines, according to the nature and extent of the
traffic. The following are a few characteristic performances
on different railways.
London and North-Western Railway, southern division.
The principal passenger trains have been classified thus:—
Description of Train.
1. Express 
2. Day mail 
3. Night mail 
4. Stopping train 
5. Heavy stopping train.
6. Extra train   
Number of
Carriages.
9
13
17
21
25
34
Train
Weight.
Tons.
46
66
86
106
126
171
Running
Speed.
Miles per
Hour.
42
38
34
31
28
36
Number of
Stoppages.
3
5
7
9
11
5
The average speed, including stoppages, and the con¬
sumption of coke per mile run, are as follows:—
«
Average
Speed.
Consumption
of Coke per Mile
run.
Miles per Hour. lb.
1. Express  39 21
2. Day mail  33 30’6
3. Night mail  31 26-6
4. Stopping train  27 30-6
5. Heavy stopping train  26 29-2
6. Extra train  33 42-3
Goods-trains have been run from Rugby to London
(81^ miles) with the following results :—
1st Goods Train. 2d Goods Train.
Number of waggons  53 45
Train weight (tons) 450 402
Running speed (miles per hour).... 17 U
Number of stoppages  10 10
The average speeds, including stoppages, and the con¬
sumption of coke, were as follows:—
railways.
795
Accidents
on Rail¬
ways.
1st goods train.
2d „ .
Average
Speed.
Miles per Hour
 12
 14
Consumption
of Coke.
, lb.
71-4
54-2
The coal-trains on the London and North-Western,
Midland, and Great Northern railways, are generally made
up of 30 to 35 waggons, carrying each 6 or 7 tons ot coal,
or a total load of 200 to 240 tons coal, amounting to a
total train-weight of 400 tons. This train is taken by a six-
wheel coupled goods-engine, with two steam-cylinders, 16
inches diameter, and 24 inches stroke, and 5 feet wheels,
weighing 30 to 32 tons, with a tender 13 to lo tons. 1 he
gross weight of engine, tender, and train, is therefore about
445 tons, which ascends inclines of 1 in 200 at a speed of
10 to 15 miles per hour, and travels the entire route to the
metropolis, including stoppages, at a speed of 18 miles per
hour. The steam-pressure in the boiler is usually 120 lb.
per square inch ; but on the Great Northern Railway 140 lb.
steam is employed in the goods-engines, and they can
take a train of 40 loaded waggons, carrying 290 tons of
coal, weighing altogether 455 tons, or, with engine and
tender, 500 tons gross, up an incline of 1 in 178 at 10 miles
per hour, and otherwise perform the whole journey in good
time.
The Lickey incline of the Birmingham and Gloucester
line is 2£ miles in length; gradient, 1 in 37. A tank-engine,
with cylinders 17 inches diameter and 24 inches stroke, with
4 feet 4 inch coupled wheels, can take a train-weight of 134
tons, or a total gross weight, including the engine, of 168 tons,
at 8 miles per hour. The exertion of engine-power to per¬
form this duty would be equal to the traction of a gross
weight of seven times the amount, or nearly 1200 tons, on
a level.
The Kittybrewster incline, on the Great North ol Scot¬
land Railway at Aberdeen, is made on a gradient of 1 in 59,
with quick curves, and about 2 miles long. A tank-engine,
with cylinders 15 inches diameter and 24 inches stroke, and
four qi-feet coupled wheels, weighing 25 tons, can take up
a train-weight of 200 tons at 10 miles per hour, equivalent
to a gross weight of 900 tons on a level.
But perhaps the most extraordinary example of a dead
pull by one engine is to be seen on the Vale of Neath
Railway, broad guage, with a gradient of 1 in 90, worked
by a six-wheel coupled tank-engine weighing 40 tons, with
cylinders 17 inches diameter and 24 inches stroke, wheels
4 feet 9 inches diameter. This engine can take up the in¬
cline, 1 in 90, a train of 25 loaded waggons, 15 tons each,
or 375 tons total, and, with the engine, 415 tons gross,—
equivalent to a gross weight of 1245 tons on a level.
A foods-engine, working at full power, exerts a tractive
force ^of 10,000 to 12,000 lb., or about 5 tons pull on the
train ; so that a pull of 5 tons from the engine suffices to
draw behind it 1000 tons on a level.
A tractive force of 10 or 12 lb. is capable of drawing
1 ton on a level at 10 miles per hour. At 60 miles per hour
the required tractive force is about 45 lb. for 1 ton of gross
weight.
ACCIDENTS ON RAILWAYS.
The question of railway accidents involves the whole
question of railway management in detail. Accidents may
be called the weak points of the system, where imperfection
is manifested, where failure crops out, and where the line
of demarcation may be drawn between the practicable and
the impracticable. “ If the road is perfect,” says Cap¬
tain Huish, “ if the engine is perfect, if the carriages are
perfect, and I will go on to say, if the signalman is perfect,
and if everything about the railway is perfect, almost any
amount of speed that can be got out of an engine may be
done with safety. But we deal not with theoretical excel¬
lence, but with practical facts, and none of these things are Accidents
perfect; and in a large machine like a railway they cannot on Kai1'
always be kept perfect.” “ The question of railway com- v, }
munication,” he adds, “ divides itself into two great parts : Y
—there is the great commercial principle involved, there
is the great public principle of safety and convenience.”
The adjustment of the claims of the proprietors, who look
for a return for their money on the one part, and the claims
of the public looking for increased accommodation on the
other part,—this is an expression of the whole ques¬
tion, and involves of course the consideration of railway
accidents.
Safety to life and limb is of course the most important
consideration in the working of railway traffic. Yet the pro¬
blem is substantially this there are upwards of 140 millions
of passengers and 70 million tons of goods per annum con¬
veyed over our railways; assumed that all these must be
transported by railway, what is the best way to do it ? It
must at the best be by a species of compromise ; there must
be a limit to tentative measures, there must be a risk.
“ If you do not go at all,” says Mr Seymour Clarke,
“ there is no risk of an accident; if you go one mile an
hour it is more risky than if you stand still; it is a natural
attendant upon all travelling that there is a liability to acci¬
dent of some sort.” And, again, Mr Locke thinks that
where you have the certainty of inflicting an inconvenience
on the public by a prospective advantage in the saving of
an accident, you should be very careful how you entad a
perpetually recurring inconvenience for the sake of pre¬
venting an accident which may never arise.”
The evidence adduced before the select committee of
the House of Commons on railway accidents in 1858, from
which the foregoing extracts have been made, has led the
committee to the conclusion, that accidents on railways arise
from three causes:—inattention of servants; defective mate¬
rial, either in the works or the rolling stock ; and excessive
speed. Of the accidents reported to the Board ot 1 rade
that happened in 1857, there appears to have been twice as
many by collision between trains as by running off the
rails; and of the accidents by collision, five-sixths took
place between passenger-trains and goods-trains ; and only
about one-sixth between passenger-trains, one against
another. It further appears that a very small proportion,
not above one in twenty, of the accidents reported, have di¬
rectly arisen from excessive speed, but in every case in con¬
junction with imperfections in the permanent way. It may
be observed that the greater proportion, if not all of these
accidents, may be traced primarily to the ciowding o
trains, timed for unequal speeds, and the want of punctu¬
ality, which involve the risk of every kind of accident as a
consequence :—by a want of perfect manifestation or appre¬
hension of signals, or by excessive speeds. As tentative
measures, the free use of the electric telegraph for giving
intelligence of the exact relative positions and circumstances
of trains on the line, and the use of the most powerful
brakes for bringing up the trains in the shortest practicable
distance, are probably of the most urgent necessity. Ihe
admirable utility of the road-telegraph is undisputed; and
Captain Galton adduces some remarkable illustrations of
its beneficial operation in the entire prevention of accidents
by collision on lines where it is thoroughly enforced, and
where previously to its use such accidents were incurred.
Perfect brakes are also indisputably promotive of safety
in working traffic and in compensating for unavoidable irre-
gularities. With the usual amount of braking power, a
train at 50 miles per hour may not be stopped within 900
or 1200 yards. An instantaneous brake is not of course
what is wanted; on the contrary, a length of 200 yards ap¬
pears to be the shortest desirable space within which a train
at 50 or 60 miles per hour should be stopped, so that the pro¬
cess of retardation should not be accompanied by the risk of
796 RAIL
Railway carriages over-riding each other, or of violence to the pas-
Legislation sengers; and this appears to have been accomplished on
the Lancashire lines by Newall’s and by Fay’s brake;
Chambers’ and Champion’s brake, applied to a series of car-
ria^es in a train, has been proved to be serviceable and
efficient on the North London Railway, where it is
employed in working the traffic of that line, than which
there is not a more hardly-wrought line in the kingdom, in
its special character of an omnibus line, with stations aver¬
aging a mile apart, at which all the trains are stopped,
the journey being run at an average speed of 16J miles
per hour, including stoppages. There are other very
powerful systems of train-brakes in operation. Steam-
brakes applied to the locomotives and extended to the ten¬
ders, and even to the brake-vans, have been found bene¬
ficial, and capable of stopping a train within half the usual
distance.
The general adoption of a simple method of communica¬
tion between the guard and the driver of a train in motion
is a desideratum. There are various plans obvious and suf¬
ficient enough, but it would appear that, to insure their
adoption by all railway companies, legislative interference
must be invoked.
RAILWAY LEGISLATION.
Since Parliament began to legislate for railways, a multi¬
tude of laws have been placed upon the statute-book, which
will certainly excite the wonder, if they fail to be the
admiration, of future generations. The London and North-
Western Railw ay alone is regulated by nearly two hundred
different acts ! Not only are the statutes numerous ; they
are irreconcileable in principle and detail. Several different
select committees have, at various times, deliberately re¬
ported against the possibility of maintaining competition
between railways, and to this principle Parliament has as
often assented. Yet, the practical operation of the laws
which have received legislative sanction has been through¬
out, and at the same time, to negative this principle, by
almost invariably allowing competition to be obtained
wherever it has been sought. Whatever may have been
the effect for the time, the competition which Parliament
permitted has generally been terminated by combination.
As Mr Stephenson puts it:—“ Where combination is pos¬
sible, competition is impossible.”
The expenses, direct and incidental, of obtaining an act
of Parliament have been in many cases enormous, and ge¬
nerally are excessive. There are three parties responsible
for such extravagance,—Parliament itself, the railway com¬
panies, and the landowners. In 1855, it was shown, by a
return of Mr Hadfield, which was, however, far from com¬
plete, that the amount expended by existing railway com¬
panies in obtaining the acts of Parliament by which they
are incorporated vras no less, in parliamentary, legal, and
engineering costs, than fourteen millions sterling! The
adherence to useless and expensive forms by parliamentary
committees, in what are called the standing orders, or
general regulations for the observance of promoters of rail¬
way bills, on the one part, and the itching for opposition of
railway companies, to resist fancied inroads on vested rights,
and supposed injurious competition, on the other part, have
been amongst the chief sources of excessive expenditure. By
a return of Colonel Wilson Patten, in 1859, it was shown
that the parliamentary expenses alone, incurred by railway
companies owning L.263,000,000 capital, amounted to about
millions sterling, or 3*2 per cent. Mr Stephenson men¬
tions an instance showing how Parliament has entailed ex-
pense upon railway companies by the system complained of.
I rent Valley Railway was, under other titles, originally
proposed in 1836. It was, however, thrown out by the stand¬
ing outers committee, in consequence of a barn, of the value
WAYS.
of L.10, which was shown upon the general plan, not having Railway
been exhibited upon an enlaiged sheet. In 1840, the line Legislation
again went before Parliament. It was opposed by the Grand
Junction Railway Company, now part of the London and
North-Western. No less than 450 allegations were made
against it before the standing orders sub-committee, which
was engaged twenty-two days in considering those objec¬
tions. They ultimately reported that four or five of the alle¬
gations were proved, but the committee nevertheless allowed
the bill to proceed. It was read a second time and then went
into committee, by whom it was under consideration for
sixty-three days ; and ultimately Parliament was prorogued
before the report could be made. Such were the delays
and consequent expenses which the forms of the House
occasioned in this case, that it may be doubted if the ulti¬
mate cost of constructing the whole line was very much
more than the amount expended in obtaining permission
from Parliament to make it. This example serves to show
the expensive formalities, the delays, and difficulties, with
which Parliament surround railway legislation. Another
instance, quoted by the same authority, will show not only
the absurdity of the system of legislation, but also the afflict¬
ing spirit of competition and opposition with which railway
bills are canvassed in Parliament, and the expensive outlay
incurred by companies themselves.
In 1845, a bill for aline now existing wrent before Par¬
liament, with eighteen competitors, each party relying on
the wisdom of Parliament to allow their bill at least to pass
a second reading! Nineteen different parties condemned
to one scene of contentious litigation! _ They each and all
had to pay not only the costs of promoting their own line,
but also the costs of opposing eighteen other bills. And
yet, conscious as government must have been of this fact,
Parliament deliberately abandoned the only step it ever
took on any occasion of subjecting railway projects to in¬
vestigation by a preliminary tribunal. Parliamentary com¬
mittees generally satisfied themselves with looking on and
watching the ruinous game of competition for which the
public are ultimately to pay. In fact, railway legislation
became a mere scramble, conducted on no system or prin¬
ciple. Schemes of sound character were allowed to be
defeated on merely technical grounds, and others of very
inferior character were sanctioned by public act, after enor¬
mous parliamentary expenses had been incurred. Com¬
peting lines were granted,—sometimes parallel lines through
the same district, and between the same towns.
The following are the costs incurred in obtaining the
original acts of some of the older railway companies :—
Great Western Railway act L.88,710
London and Birmingham act  72,868
Eastern Counties act  45,190
It is not, of course, to be ignored that the parliamentary
agents and the general body of lawyers—solicitors, con¬
veyancers, and council—concerned in railway enterprise,
get up and carry out new lines and branches as a matter of
business, and that they necessarily profit by the complica¬
tions and delays incidental to parliamentary routine. It has
been found that in past years legal and parliamentary ex¬
penses have varied from L.650 to L.3000 per mile. In one
contest, L.57,000 was spent amongst six counsel and twenty
solicitors. The sum expended by one company alone in
nine years, in legal and parliamentary expenses, had
reached L.480,000, averaging L.53,300 a year. Notwith¬
standing the greatly diminished cost of railway-making in
more recent times, the average capital expenditure on rail¬
ways has, as formerly observed, been nearly maintained, by
otherwise excessive expenses, at the same high rate,
having amounted in the end of 1857 to L.35,000 per mile.
But the expenses incurred through the opposition of
railway companies amongst themselves, influenced by the
K A I L W A Y S.
797
Railway bugbear competition, are indeed secondary to the charges
Legislation for ]ancj ancl compensation. Parliament affords extraordi-
‘ nary facilities to landowners to make extraordinary demands
for compensation. Having given them these facilities, it
then makes the legal steps by which such demands can be
resisted so expensive that it is frequently difficult to decide
whether, if all the desired reductions can be made, the cost
of obtaining the saving will not exceed the whole amount
that can be saved. And yet it is well known that, except
in regard to houses actually demolished, nearly every piece
of property which is intersected undergoes improvement in
value, in consequence of the construction of the lines. In
towns and villages the land abutting on railways becomes
valuable as frontage; and at country stations the land be¬
comes desirable for building purposes. The millions which
have been paid by railway companies to landowners may be
fairly said to be so much put into their pockets as an in¬
ducement to allow their property to be increased in value.
“ Once the greatest obstacles to railway enterprise,” says
a writer in the Edinburgh Revieiv, “ owners of estates
have of late years been amongst its chief promoters. Since the
Liverpool and Manchester line was first defeated by landed
opposition, and succeeded with its second bill only by
keeping out of sight of all mansions, and avoiding the
game-preserves,—since the time when the London and
Birmingham Company, after seeing their project thrown
out by a committee of peers who ignored the evidence, had
to conciliate their antagonists by raising the estimate for
land from L.2o0,000 to L.750,000,—since the time when
parliamentary counsel bolstered up a groundless resistance
by the flimsiest and absurdest excuses, even reproaching
engineers with having trodden down the corn of widows,
and destroyed the strawberry-beds of gardeners;—since
then a marked change of policy has taken place. Nor was
it in human nature that it should be otherwise. When it
became known that railway companies commonly paid for
land and compensation sums varying ,from L.4000 to
L.8000 per mile,—that men were indemnified for supposed
injury to their property by sums so inordinate that the
greater part has been known to be returned by the heir as
conscience-money,—that in one case L.120,000 was given
for land said to be worth but L.5000when it was bruited
abroad that large bonuses in the shape of preference shares
and the like were granted to buy off opposition,—when it
came to be an established fact that estates are greatly
enhanced in value by the proximity of railways, it is not
surprising that country gentlemen should have become
active supporters of schemes to which they were once the
bitterest enemies.” The Eastern Counties Railway Com¬
pany had, up to 1846, paid not less than L.809,950 for
land and compensation, equal to about L.12,000 per mile.
The cost of the land purchased by the original London and
Birmingham and Great Western railway companies aver¬
aged not less than L.6300 per mile.
But the most conspicuous example, in recent times,
which overshadows all others, of excessive expenditure in
parliamentary litigation, as well as in land and compensa¬
tion, is supplied in the history of the Great Northern Rail¬
way Company. The preliminary expenses of surveys,
notices to landowners, &c., commenced in 1854, and the
bill was introduced into the House of Commons in 1855,
when it was opposed by the London and North-Western,
the Eastern Counties, and the Midland railways. It was
further opposed successively by two other schemes called
the London and York and the Direct Northern. The
contest lasted eighty-two days before the House of Com¬
mons, more than half the time having been consumed by
opposition to the bill. The bill was allowed to stand over
till next year (1846), wdien it began before the committee
of the House of Lords where it left off in the Lower House
in the year 1845, on account of the magnitude of tlie case.
The bill was before the Upper House between three and four Railway
wrecks ; and in the same year (1846) it’was granted. The Legislation
promoters of the rival projects were bought off, and all their
expenses paid, including the costs of the opposition of the
neighbouring lines already named, before the Great Northern
bill was passed ; and the “ preliminary expenses,” compris¬
ing the whole expenditure of every kind up to the passing
of the bill, was L.590,355, or more than half a million ster¬
ling, incurred at the end of two years of litigation. Since
the passing of the act an additional sum of L.172,722 has
been expended for “ law and engineering expenses in
Parliament” to 31st December 1857, which has been spent
almost wholly in obtaining leave from Parliament to make
various alterations. Thus it would appear that a sum
total of L.763,077 was spent as parliamentary charges for
obtaining leave to construct 245 miles, being at a rate of
L.3115 per mile.
During the same period, the payments made by the
Great Northern Railway Company for “land and compen¬
sation” amounted to L.1,901,371, or nearly two millions
sterling, at the rate of L.7760 per mile. The parliamentary
and land and compensation charges together make a sum
of L.2,664,448, or L.10,875 per mile of the original line.
The total payments on capital account were L. 11,299,300 ;
and of this amount, those items constitute the formidable
proportion of 23£ per cent., being nearly one-fourth of
the capital forestalled before the ground was broken.
The particulars of the Peebles Railway may next be
quoted in contrast to those of other lines, as a perfect ex¬
ample of economical construction and legitimate expendi¬
ture. The railway is a single line, 18| miles in length, from
Peebles station to the point of junction with the North
British Railway at Eskbank station, 8 miles from Edinburgh.
There was no opposition to the project in any quarter, and
the landowners agreed to give the lands required at thirty-
five years’ purchase of the agricultural value,—the value
and severance damage being fixed by arbitration. Nor did
the turnpike-road trustees make any claim for damages.
The act was passed in July 1853, and the actual cost of
obtaining it was only L.650, no fees to counsel having been
found necessary. The total parliamentary expenses, up to
the obtaining of the act, was L.1569 ; but further expenses
were incurred in 1857 in applying for power to raise new
capital. The charges for land and compensation amounted
to L.21,222, or L.1131 per mile. Seven stations, with
approaches, including Peebles station, averaging one for
every 2f miles, were built at an average cost of about
L.1200 each. The works were constructed for about
L.3600 per mile, and the locomotive and carrying stock
cost about L.1000 per mile. The railway was opened in
July 1855, two years after the passing of the act. The
total cost at the end of 1858 amounted to L.6688 per mile,
of which the following is an analysis:—
Total. Per Mile,
Preliminary and parliamentary expenses L.2,753 L.147
Engineering and surveying   2,400 128
Land and compensation  21,222 1131
Works   67,15/ 3582
Stations, sheds, &c  8,352 445
Interest  543 29
General charges   1,424 76
Electric telegraph   710 38
Machinery   259 14
Locomotive and carrying stock  20,590 1098
Total capital cost in 1858 ...L.125,410 L.6688
Reform in Railway Legislation.—In 1858 a select
committee of the House of Commons was appointed to
consider the best means of amending the tribunal for the
examination of railway bills. One object was to diminish
the time and labour of the members of committees on rail¬
way bills ; the other was to diminish the cost of the pro-
798
RAILWAYS.
Railway ceedings. From the evidence taken it appeared generally
Legislation that there was a want of consistency and uniformity of
's—principle in the modes of dealing with railway bills by com¬
mittees of the House, and also a needless expenditure of
time and money, in consequence of the changing elements
of committees, and their want of experience ; that the
permanent appointment of paid chairmen of character and
experience would considerably expedite the business of
committees, and diminish expenses, principally from their
being able to direct the inquiry, to conduct deliberations,
to prevent irrelevancy, to restrain superfluous evidence,
and to keep counsel in check. It was also suggested, that
all parties should be allowed to appear in opposition before
committees, and that the check upon the abuse of that pri¬
vilege should be the power of examining witnesses on oath,
as is done before committees of the Upper House, and of
awarding costs in cases of vexatious or unnecessary pro¬
ceedings. It appeared in evidence that duiing tlie eleven
years f847-57 the number of railway bills introduced was
913, or 83 per annum, on which the committees sat 1676
days, or 152 days per annum. The committee reported in
favour of a few obvious expedients suggested by the evi¬
dence, but did not deal with the essential elements of
reform,—namely, the recognition of a permanent tribunal
or, at all events, of permanent chairmen or judges, and the
power of awarding costs.
Mr Stephenson, in 1856, suggested that, instead of leav¬
ing the treatment of railway bills to inexperienced tribu¬
nals,—the ordinary parliamentary committees,—a mixed
commission should be organized of practical men of ac¬
knowledged legal, commercial, and mechanical ability,
willing to devote its attention to railway subjects only.
“ Give us,” he said “ a tribunal competent to form a sound
opinion. Commit to that tribunal, with any restrictions you
think necessary, the whole of the great questions appertain¬
ing to our system. Let it protect private interests, apart
from railways; let it judge of the desirability of all initia¬
tory measures, of all proposals for purchases, amalgamations,
or other railway arrangements ; delegate to it the power of
enforcing such regulations and restrictions as may be
thought needful to secure the rights of private persons, or
of the public ; devolve on it the duty of consolidating, if
possible, the railway laws, and of making such amendments
thereon as the public interests and the property now de¬
pending upon the system may require ; give it full dele¬
gated authority over us in any way you please ; all we ask
is, that it shall be a tribunal that is impartial, and that is
thoroughly informed; and if impartiality and intelligence
are secured, we do not fear the results.” Mr Stephenson,
apprehends, nevertheless, that any such tribunal appointed
by government would fail to give adequate security for the
proper fulfilment of the high duties which they would have
to perform. Probably such an intermediate course as that
suggested in the evidence, already alluded to, before the
committee on railway legislation, would be advisable, as
a preliminary step to a more perfect institution. No one
will doubt, after the experience of the last 30 years, that
it would have been better for the railways had they never
appeared against each other at all; for it is clear that the
money which has been spent unproductively, in opposi¬
tion before committees, would have been economized. It
is obvious that the reduction of dividends to less than one-
half of their former amount by a course of fruitless litiga¬
tion and profitless accumulation of capital, which has no¬
thing to show for it, had better have been effected by
doubling the extent of railway communication and sub¬
dividing the traffic, even supposing such a declension of
dividend to follow of necessity the extension of railways.
The fact is, however, that the dividends would have con¬
tinued undiminished under liberal management, even with
all the additional new lines, because the business of the old-
established lines really has not declined, but, on the contrary, Railway
has wonderfully and unexpectedly augmented. Manage¬
ment.
MANAGEMENT OF RAILWAYS.
Railways, as a system, have been upwards of twenty
years in operation, and have been wrought with various
degrees of success. In all that appeals directly to common-
sense, common feeling, discretion, judgment, and reputa¬
tion, railways have upon the whole been successfully and
creditably managed. They have, however, been afflicted
with the worst evils characteristic of joint-stock manage¬
ment, of which the central vice and weakness may be ex¬
pressed in a few words,—namely, that the interests of the
managing class are different and distinct from those of the
proprietary body. Mr Stephenson, sensible of the defects
of the prevailing system of management, promulgated in
1856 a plan of working railways on lease, which appears to
provide for the real necessities of the situation. “ Looking
at the question in a broad point of view,” he says, “ the con¬
sideration occurs, whether it might not be possible, by some
operation analogous to that of a trading company under the
Limited Liability Act, to give an entirely new and greatly
improved character to the relations between shareholders and
managers ? Suppose a limited number of men of business,
varying say from ten to twenty, and capable of giving good
security, agreed together to take a line from the share¬
holders at a fixed rental. They might depute their man¬
agement to two or three of their own body ; or even, if the
line was short, to one gerant. Under such circumstances
there would be no clamour from shareholders at half-yearly
meetings—no sudden changes of directorates, involving
ruinous alterations of policy,—no cabals between one set
of directors and another,—and no mischievous interferences
with the development of the system. The manager, free
from the apprehension of being saddled personally with all
the responsibility and liability, would be able to embark in
enterprises not comprehended in the terms of the act of
Parliament, but essential to the prosperity of their line.”
“ They would be free from apprehensions as to the liabilities
they incurred ; and whilst they would not be turned from
their course of policy by the outcry of any discontented
individual able to make his voice heard through any public
channel, they would give practical security that the public
interests would be consulted, because the interests of the
public and those of the managers would be in every re¬
spect identical.” These important observations point pre¬
cisely to the general principle essential to permanent suc¬
cess ; and it may be added that they are confirmed by
the great authority of Mr Bidder, who has frequently di¬
rected his large capacity and pure analytical mind to the
most complicated and most delicate questions of railway
policy. (d* k- C.)
(The following authorities have been consulted in the pre¬
paration of this article:—Report of the Railway Department
of the Board of Trade, 1857 ; Report of the Select Com¬
mittee of Parliament on Railway and Canal Legislation,
1858; Report of the Select Committee of Parliament on
Accidents on Railways, 1858 ; Minutes of Proceedings of
the Institution of Civil Engineers, 1850-1858 : “Perma¬
nent Way,” “ Railway Stations,” “ Railway Accidents,”
Address of Mr Stephenson as president, Address of Mr
Locke as president; Minutes of Proceedings of the Institu¬
tion of Mechanical Engineers, 1851-58: “Railway Car¬
rying Stock,” “ Locomotive Workshops;” Railway Ma¬
chinery, by D. K. Clark, 1855; Statistics of Metropolitan
Railways, by D. K. Clark, 1853; European Railways,
by Holley and Colburn, 1857; On Deterioration of Rail¬
way Plant and Road, by Mark Huish, 1849; Railways,
their Capital and Dividends, by E. D. Chattaway, 1856.)
1
R A I
RAJ
799
Raimbach RAIMBACH, Abraham, a distinguished line-engraver,
II was a Swiss by descent, and was born in London in 1 / 76.
Raisins. eminence in art was attained by assiduous industry.
Becoming an apprentice to Hall the engraver in 17 89, he
continued in that capacity till 1796, engraving under his
master’s eye all day, and training his hand in sketching at
night. He then had recourse to various means of improve¬
ment. Part of his working-time was devoted to the study
of drawing in the Royal Academy ; another part was occu¬
pied in executing occasional engravings for the booksellers ;
his leisure hours were employed in eking out his scanty
income by painting portraits in miniature. It was not until
he had laboured in this manner for about nine years, that
he received a sufficient number of commissions in engrav¬
ing to engage all his efforts. Raimbach had not been long
established in his profession when he formed an intimacy
with Sir David Wilkie, and the result was, that in 1812
he began to engrave some of that master’s best pictures.
With such great originals as models, his prints attained the
highest excellence. “ The Village Politicians,” “ The
Rent-Day,” “ The Cut Finger,” “Blind-Man’s Buff,” “ The
Errand-Boy,” “ Distraining for Rent,” “ The Parish Beadle,”
and “ The Spanish Mother and Child,” although at first
they did not sell so well as was expected, raised him in the
estimation of connoisseurs. The French especially held
him in great honour. At the time of his death, in 1843, he
held a gold medal which had been awarded to him for his
“ Village Politicians,” at the Paris Exhibition of 1814, and
the title of Corresponding Member of the Institute of France,
which had been bestowed upon him in 1835. The auto¬
biography of Raimbach was edited by his son, for private
circulation, under the title of Memoirs and Recollections of
the late Abraham Raimbach, including a Memoir of Sir 1).
Wilkie, R.A.
RAINBOW. See Meteorology, and Optics.
RAISINS are the dried fruit of the grape-vine (Vitis
vinifera, Linn.; Nat. Ord. Vitacece, Lind.; the Ampe-
lidece of Decandolle). The grape, which is the most ex¬
tensively useful of all known fruits, is, according to its va¬
rieties, and the methods used in preparing them, converted
into various kinds of raisins, some of which form very im¬
portant articles of commerce. The finest are those which
are dried on the vine, and retain the beautiful bloom which
covers the ripe grape. They are called Muscatel raisins,
and are imported to this country chiefly from Malaga,
whence they come in boxes, in which the bunches are en¬
tire, and are carefully packed in layers, with white paper
between them. To prepare Muscatel raisins, the grapes,
when ripe, are allowed to remain on the vines, but the main
stalk of each bunch is partially severed, enough only being
left uncut to prevent the weight of the cluster from break¬
ing. The leaves which shade the grapes are cut off, and
the bunches fully exposed to the sun, which makes them
shrivel, and loose much of their original watery fluid. The
pulp remaining becomes by concentration very sweet.
Thus prepared, they are often called “ raisins of the sun,”
but are generally termed Malaga or Muscatel raisins.
The more common sorts of raisins are gathered when
ripe, and are either laid in the sun, or are dried in heated
rooms; they are sprinkled whilst drying with an alkaline
lye, which is generally made by burning the prunings of
the vines, and filtering water through the ashes. The
water dissolves the potash in the ashes, and becomes strongly
** alkaline. This part of the process causes the saccharine mat¬
ter of the grape, which is a peculiar variety of sugar imper¬
fectly crystallizable, to form rounded concretions, and also
partially to exude and cover the skin of the raisin with a
thin saccharine varnish. A lye made of water, ashes, and
oil, is sometimes used, and the raisins prepared with it are
in consequence named Lexias. The black Smyrna raisins
are small, dry, and black, without the white concretions of
grape-sugar, which are so abundant in the Sultana, Valentia,
and Denia raisins, or Lexias, as the two latter varieties are
sometimes called. The best kinds of Lexia, or lye-prepared
raisins, are gathered with the bunches entire, and are hung
on lines in the sun ; when they begin to shrivel they are
dipped in the lye once or twice, and again hung up to com¬
plete the curing; they are then carefully packed in boxes
(containing about 56 lb.), half-boxes, and quarter-boxes.
The fine Turkish raisins, called Sultanas, are always packed
in cylindrical boxes, technically called drums. The grape
from which this most delicious of all raisins is prepared is
remarkable for being seedless and small; whereas the only
other Turkish raisin known in commerce, the black
Smyrna, has very large seeds, although it is a small fruit.
Another instance of a seedless variety of the grape is
found in the common currant of the grocers, the Corinth
or Corinthian grape of old writers. This is the smallest
of all the varieties of the grape ; it is only cultivated in the
Greek islands, where it forms a most important crop. It
is most extensively grown in Patras, Zante, Ithaca, and
Cephalonia, comparatively few coming from Corinth, whence
its commercial name was derived. The clusters of the Co-
Rajah
II
Rajahmun-
dry.
rinth grape are remarkably small, generally about 3 inches
in length, the grapes being only the size of peas ; they are
gathered from the vines when ripe, and are laid up in heaps,
called couches, exposed to the sun. When dry, they are
cleaned from the stalks and deposited in rooms called sera¬
glios, where, owing to the exudation of grape-sugar on their
surface, the berries become sticky, and they adhere firmly
together, so as to require digging out. When required for
use, they are trodden into large casks called butts, averag¬
ing about 18 cwt.; caroteels or tierces, averaging about 7
cwt. ; and barrels, of from 2 to 3 cwt. each. They are also
now very frequently packed in boxes of from 1 to 1| cwt.
Although these different kinds of dried grapes are only used
in cooking and confectionary, the trade done in them is
enormous, and, as far as this country is alone concerned,
employs a very^large amount of shipping. The imports in
1858 were:—
Of Raisins,— Cwt.
From Spain    243,147
,, Italy and Sicily   4,701
,, Turkey  57,309
„ Other countries (into which they have ) ^
been imported) J ’
Of Currants,—
From Greece     308,763
„ Ionian Islands   63,270
„ Other countries (into which they have | g20
been imported) J ’
Wine is often made from raisins, and that of Malaga is
chiefly manufactured from the dried grape. The luscious
Hungarian wine, Tokay, is made from grapes partially con¬
verted into raisins on the vine. Raisin wine was made by
the ancient Romans, and other nations of antiquity. The
raisin wines of Crete, Cilicia, and Africa, were highly prized
by the epicures of Rome. (t. c. a.)
RAJAH, a hereditary prince among the Hindus be¬
longing to the warrior caste, or the Cshatriya. (See
Caste.)
RAJAHMUNDRY, a district of British India, in the
presidency of Madras, lying between N. Lat. 16. 18. and
17. 38., E. Long. 81. 7. and 82. 40., bounded on the N. by
Orisa, N.E. by the district of Vizagapatam, S.E. and S. by
the Bay of Bengal, W. by the district of Masulipatam, and
N.W. by the Nizam’s temtories ; area, 4501 square miles.
The northern and north-western portions of the district are
occupied with hills, which resemble in character the eastern
ghats farther to the west, and are of a granitic structure,
mixed with gneiss, trap, and calcareous tufa. The centre
of the country contains some lower hills of alluvial forma¬
tion, and the ground along the coast is low and flat. The
800 , R A J
lie some of the
whole of India,
rally alluvial and
liajeshaye only large river is the Godavery, which enters the district
from the north, and flows through it in a southerly direction
Rajpeepla. for 49 miles. It then divides into two branches, that to
the right flowing S. and S.W. for 45 miles, and the other
S.E. and E. for 52 miles. In the delta thus formed
richest and most fertile tracts in the
The soil of the level ground is gene-
fertile, especially along the banks of
the river, where there is a rich dark mould suitable for the
growth of cotton. Besides this plant, tobacco, indigo, sugar,
rice, maize, millet, pulse, and other crops, are raised in the
district. The Godavery is navigable for boats, and much
teak wood is floated down by it. The water is used for the
purposes of irrigation. In the bed of the river are many
small islands of rich soil, some formed naturally by the de¬
posit of silt, and others by artificial means. The climate is
warm, and generally healthy, except in the valleys and
jungles towards the north-west, where a deadly malaria
prevails. Rajahmundry, the principal town of the district,
stands on a rising ground on the left bank of the Godavery,
285 miles N.E. of Madras, and 580 S.W. of Calcutta. It
has one main street, lined with low mud houses roofed
with tiles. This street contains the chief bazaar, and runs
along the river’s bank ; and several smaller streets branch
off'from it on either side. To the north of the town stands
a square fort surrounded with mud walls, and containing
barracks, hospital, jail, and magazine. There are many
mosques in the town, but the Mohammedans are few and
poor. Pop. of the town, 15,000 or 20,000 ; of the district,
1,012,036.
RAJESHx4YE, a district of British India, in the presi¬
dency of Bengal, bounded on the N. by the district of
Dinajepore, N.E. by that of Bogra, E. and S.E. by that of
Pubna, S. by that of Nuddea, W. and N.W. by those of
Moorshedabad and Malda; length, from E. to W., about
62 miles; breadth, 50; area, 2084 square miles. It is a
very moist region, being traversed by numerous rivers from
the Himalayas in the north. The largest of these is the
Ganges, which washes the S.W. border of the district.
There are also many swampy lakes, some of them of large
size ; and in the periodical inundations to which the country
is subject, many channels, generally dry, are filled with
water. Rice is the chief crop raised here, but corn and
pulse ot various kinds are also grown. Indigo and silk
are the most important commercial products of the country.
Pop. 671,000.
RAJMAHAL, a town of British India, in the district of
Bhaugulpore, presidency of Bengal, and 196 miles N.W.
of Calcutta, on a steep bank on the right side of the
Ganges, which sweeps past with a broad, impetuous current,
sometimes washing away large portions of the land. It
contains the ruins ot two palaces and two mosques, one of
which is a large imposing building, though of x’ude execu¬
tion. The houses are generally mean and ruinous, clus¬
tered round twelve separate market-places; and the ap¬
pearance of the town is wretched. Rajmahal is a place of
very great antiquity ; according to one account, having been
founded more than 3000 years b.c. It was ceded to the
British in 1765. Pop. estimated at 30,000.
RAJPEEPLA, a petty state of India, in the province
or Guzerat, presidency ot Bombay, lying between N. Lat.
21.23. and 21.59., E. Long. 73.5. and 74; area, 1650
square miles. It is partly mountainous, and occupied by
wild tribes ol Rajpoots and Bheels; but the peasants of
the plains are an industrious, peaceful class, devoted to
agricultural pursuits. The most important products of the
country are cornelians, which are obtained from mines, and
conveyed to Cambay, where they are cut and polished.
ie profits derived from this source have recently fallen off’
to a considerable extent. The chief river in Rajpeepla is
ie mgun, on which Nandode, the capital, stands. The
RAJ
state was at first independent; then for a time it became Rajpootana
tributary to the sovereigns of Delhi; and finally to the
Guicowar state, to which it still pays tribute. The British
government has, however, a certain authority over Raj¬
peepla. Pop. 122,100.
RAJPOOTANA, an extensive region of India, lying
between N. Lat. 23. 35. and 29. 57., E. Long. 70. 5. and
77. 40.; bounded on the N. by the British district of But-
teeana; N.E. and E. by those of Kurreeana and Goorgaon,
and by the states of Jhujhur, Bhurtpore, Dholpore, and
Gwalior; S. by the territories of Scindia, Holkar, and the
Guicowar, by Jabbooa and Myhee Caunta; and W. by *
Scinde and Bhawulpore. Length, from E. to W., 420 miles ;
breadth, about 400. It is divided into the following dis¬
tinct states:—
Area in „ , ,.
Sq. miles. Population.
Beekaneer  17,676 539,260
Shekawuttee   3,895
Alwur  3,573 280,000
Jessulmere 12,252 74,400
Joudpore 35,672 1,783,600
Jeypore 15,251 1,891,124
Serohee    3,024
Mairwarra (British)   282 37,715
Ajinere (British)  2,029 224’891
Kishengurh   724 70,000
Tonk  1,864 18,672
Oodeypore  ,11,614 1,161,400
Bhoondee  2,291 229,100
Kotah  4,339 433,900
Jhallawar  2,200
Doongerpore  1,000 100,000
Banswarra  1,440 144,000
Pertabgurh  1,457 145,700
Kerowlee  1,878 187,800
Total 122,461
The country derives its name from the Rajpoots, a peculiar
race of men who inhabit it. They are believed to be de¬
scended from the Kshestriyas, or warriors, one of the four
original castes of the Hindus. It is not known at what
period they first appeared as a distinct nation, but they
attained a high degree of power and renown just beibre
the Mohammedan conquests in the twelfth century. At
that time they possessed an extensive dominion, including
Delhi, Kunnouj, and Guzerat. In 1193 and 1194 the Raj¬
poot chiefs sustained more than one defeat at the hands of
the Mohammedans, and were deprived of all their posses¬
sions except the regions they now’ occupy. In many other
parts of India, however, scattered members of the Rajpoot
race are to be met with. The character of this people is
remarkable, and exhibits many traces of their military ori¬
gin. A sort of feudal system is the polity of the nation;
the various clans into which the people are divided form
societies of men, closely connected one to another, and
devoted to their chieftains; and these chieftains, again, are
similarly related to each other and to the rajah. Many of
the peculiar features of the mediaeval chivalry are or were
discernible among the Rajpoots, though perhaps after a
ruder and less elevated pattern. Among these are the de¬
ference paid to women, the code of honour towards their
enemies, the pride of birth, and the delight in warlike
exploits which mark this warrior tribe of Hindus. These
good qualities are not unmixed with the greatest vices.
Suttee and infanticide are the most atrocious of these;
treachery and cruelty are by no means unknown among
them ; and even their courage, so far from being a cool and
steady determination, is avowedly stimulated by the intoxi¬
cation of opium. Improvements are now being introduced
gradually into the country, under the protection of the
British, which is proving very beneficial. It is exercised
through an agent for the states of Rajpootana. This con¬
nection with the British originated about the beginning of
R A K
Rake this century, when the Rajpoots proved unable to defend
|| their country against the Mahrattas.
Raleigh. R\KE of A Ship is that part of the hull which hangs
 v ' over both ends of the keel. That which is before is cal ed
the fore-rake or rake forward, and that which is behind is
called the rake-aft or afterward. ..
RAKKA, a town of Asiatic Turkey, capital of a pashahc
of the same name, on the left bank of the Euphrates, -
miles S E of Birr. It contains the rums of a palace ot the
Caliph Haroun-al-Raschid. The ancient Nicephonum, a
town founded by the Macedonians, occupied this site ; a
fortress was erected by Justinian ; and new defences were
added by the Emperor Leo, from whom it got the name ot
Leontopolis. Pop. 8000. ^
RALEIGH, Sir Walter, fourth son of Mr Walter Ra-
leigh of Fardel, in the parish of Cornwood in Devonshire,
was born in 1552 at Hayes, in the parish of East Badley, a
farm belonging to his father. About the year 1568 he was
sent to Oriel College, Oxford, where he .continued but a
short time. He became one of the hundred volunteers,
commanded by Henry Champernon, who, with other Eng¬
lish troops, were sent by Queen Elizabeth to assist the
Queen of Navarre in defending the Protestants. He has
described some of the great battles in which he was en-
<ra«-ed in his History of the World. In 1577 or 15/8 he
proceeded to the Low Countries with the troops sent by
the queen to assist the Dutch against the Spaniards, and
probably shared the glory of the decisive victory obtained
over Don John of Austria in 1578. On his return to Eng¬
land, a new enterprise engaged his attention. His half-
brother, Sir Humphrey Gilbert, having obtained a patent
to plant and inhabit some parts of North America, Raleigh
embarked in this adventure; but meeting with a Spanish
fleet, after a smart engagement, they returned without suc¬
cess in 1579.
The following year the King of Spain, in conjunction
with the Pope, having projected a total conquest of the
English dominions, sent troops to Ireland to assist the
Desmonds in the Munster rebellion.^ Raleigh obtained a
captain’s commission under Lord Grey of Wilton, then
deputv of Ireland, and embarked for that kingdom, where
he oreatly distinguished himself both for bravery and for
skill. He returned to England, and attracted the notice of
Queen Elizabeth, owing, as we are told in Naunton’s Frag-
menta Regalia, to the following accidental piece of gal¬
lantry :—The queen, as she was one day taking a walk,
being stopped by a soft place in the road, Raleigh imme¬
diately took off his new plush mantle, and spread it on the
ground. Her majesty trod gently over the soft foot-cloth.
Surprised and pleased with the adventure, and much struck
by the noble appearance of the young soldier, she admitted
him to her court, and employed him first as an attendant
on the French ambassador Simier, upon his return home,
and afterwards to escort the Duke of Anjou to Antwerp.
During this excursion he became personally knowm to the
Prince of Orange, from whom, at his return, he brought
especial acknowledgments to the queen, who now frequently
conversed with him. But the inactive life of a courtier did
not suit the enterprising spirit of Raleigh. He took ad¬
vantage of his favour with the queen to obtain in 1584 a
patent empowering him to possess such countries as he
should discover on the continent of North America. Ac¬
cordingly he fitted out at his own expense two ships, which
sailed in the month of April, and returned to England
about the middle of September, reporting that they had
discovered and taken possession of a fine country, to which
the queen gave the name of Virginia. About this time he
was elected knight of the shire for the county of Devon,
and soon afterwards received the honour of knighthood.
To enable him to carry on his designs abroad, the queen
granted him a patent‘for licensing the venders of wine
VOL. XVIII.
R A L 801
throughout the kingdom. In 1585 he sent a new expedi- Raieigh.
tion to Virginia, commanded by his relation Sir Richard v ^—/
Greenville, who left a colony at Roanoak of 107 persons,
under the government of Lane ; and by the establishment
of this colony he was enabled to import tobacco into Eng¬
land. In the same year Sir Walter Raleigh obtained a
orant of 12,000 acres of the forfeited lands in the county
of Cork in Ireland, which, instead of yielding him any pro¬
fit, cost the proprietor L.200 a year to keep them from in¬
vasion and havoc. This consideration induced Raleigh to
sell his lands to Boyle, afterwards Earl of Cork. About
the same time he was made seneschal of the duchy of
Cornwall, and warden of the stanneries.
In the year 1587 he sent another colony to Virginia;
but his various undertakings and offices obliged him to as¬
sign his patent to a company, and the plan ot colonizing
was by them speedily relinquished; so that the unfortunate
colonists were left to their fate. About this time we^ find
Raleigh distinguished by the titles of 4' Captain of the
Queen’s Guards,” and “Lieutenant-General of Cornwall.”
From this period to the year 1594 he was continually en¬
gaged in projecting new expeditions, defending the king¬
dom from the insults of the Spaniards, and transacting p^1-
liamentary business, with equal ability and resolution. Sir
Walter fell under the queen’s displeasure on account of an
alleged intrigue with the daughter of Sir Nicholas Iluog-
morton, one of the maids of honour ; however, he married
the lady, and lived with her in great conjugal harmony.
During* his disgrace at court he projected the conquest of
Guiana in South America, and in 1595 sailed for that
country, in the vain hope of discovering the golden region
of El Dorado, supposed to be situated in the depths of
Guiana. He returned to England the same year, and soon
afterwards published an account of his expedition. In the
following year he was one of the admirals in the successful
expedition against Cadiz, gained mainly by his skill and
valour, under the command of Howard and the Earl ot
Essex ; and in 1597 he sailed with the same commanders
against the Azores. Soon after these expeditions we find
him assiduously engaged in parliamentary business. His
speeches evince a knowledge ot political economy far supe¬
rior to any man of his time. He had so far regained the
royal favour as to obtain a grant of the manor of Sherborne
in Dorsetshire, which he magnificently embellished. Fuller
mentions a tradition that the first orange-trees that ever
grew in England were planted by his hand. 1 his tradition
is rendered the more likely by his recorded fondness for
horticulture. In truth his genius was as varied and dis¬
cursive as it was powerful. He could turn himself with
surprising facility from mathematics to poetry, from the pro-
foundest cosmographical speculations or metaphysical dis¬
quisitions to the lighter subjects of music, from ornamental
hardening or painting to historical or antiquarian researches;
and all the while kept up his intercourse with the world
and the court, and was ready to avail himself °1 any new
avenue which might open up to his ambition or his love of
glory. In 1600 he was sent on a joint embassy with Lord
Cobham to .Flanders, and on his return made governor of
^Que'en Elizabeth died in the beginning of the year 1603 ;
and with her Raleigh’s glory and felicity sunk, never to rise
a<Tain Upon the accession of James, Sir Walter lost his
interest at court, was stripped of his preferments, and foully
accused of a plot against the king. He was arraigned at V in-
chester, and, on his trial, was insulted with the most shock¬
ing brutality bv the famous Coke, attorney-general, who in¬
fluenced the jury to convict him without any legal proof of
his fruilt. After a month’s imprisonment, however, in daily
expectation of his execution, he was reprieved and sent to
the Tower, and his estates were given to Car, Earl of
Somerset, the king’s favourite. During this confinement
5 i
802
RAM
RAM
Ramadan he wrote many ofhis most valuable pieces, particularly his
II History of the World. In March 1615, after sixteen years’
Ramgurh. jmprjsonment, he obtained his liberty, and immediately be-
gan to prepare for another voyajre to Guiana, which proved
equally abortive and ruinous. His eldest son, who bore his
father’s name, and a lad of infinite spirit, was slain by the
Spaniards, and Captain Keymis, the head of the expedition,
committed suicide. In tiie year 1618 lie returned to Eng¬
land, where he was soon afterwards seized, imprisoned, and
beheaded. He was sacrificed by the pusillanimous monarch
to appease the Spaniards, who, whilst Raleigh lived, thought
every part of their dominions in danger. He was executed
in Old Palace Yard, and buried in St Margaret’s adjoining,
in the sixty-sixth year of his age. His behaviour on the
scaffold was manly, unaffected, cheerful, and easy. Being
asked by the executioner w hich way he would lay his head,
he answered, “So the heart be right, it is no matter which
way the head lies.” He was a man of admirable parts, ex¬
tensive knowledge, undaunted resolution, and perhaps the
best prose writer of his age. He was upwards of six feet in
height; and in his demeanour, says Aubrey, “he pre¬
sented an awfulness above other mortals.” His great work,
the History of the World, is a truly remarkable perform¬
ance, both for matter and style. It has often been re¬
printed. His Life has frequently been written, and once
exceedingly well by Patrick. Eraser Tytler for the “Edin¬
burgh Cabinet Library,” 1833. An edition of his whole
works was published at Oxford in 1829, in 8 vols. 8vo.
RAMADAN. See Bairam.
RAMBERVILLERS, a town of France, in the depart¬
ment of Vosges, on the right bank of the Mortagnc, here
crossed by a stone bridge leading to a suburb on the op¬
posite side, 16 miles N.E. of Epinal. It is in general well
built, but contains no conspicuous public edifices. There
are a public library of 10,000 volumes, forges, tanneries,
manufactories of woollen cloth, linen, pottery, &e.; and
some trade in corn, hemp, hops, cutlery, and other articles.
Pop. 4841.
RAMBLA, a towm of Spain, Andalucia province, and
17 miles south of Cordova. It has straight and well-paved
streets, good houses, and several squares; but few of the
public buildings are particularly deserving of notice. There
are several convents and churches, and the people are
mostly employed in farming, but also in the manufacture
of earthenware, linen, and woollen fabrics, &c. Pop.
9040.
RAMBOUILLET, a town of France, in the depart¬
ment of Seine-et-Ouse, 17 miles S.W. of Versailles. The
dull place is remarkable for nothing but the ugly, gloomy,
red brick castle, w ith five flanking stone towers, surrounded
by a large park and forest. In the great tower is the room
where Francis I. died in 1547. Here, too, another monarch
took his leave of the French throne,—Charles X., under the
terror of the fate of Louis XVI., signed his abdication
August 2, 1830. Since then the building has not again
been the residence of royalty; but the present emperor
made it, in 1852, a seminary for officers’ daughters. Pop.
(1856) 4363.
RAMESES. See Egypt.
RAMGURH, a district of British India, presidency of
Bengal, bounded on the N. by the district of Behar, N.E.
by that of Mongheer, E. by that of Beerbhoom, S. by that
aft of Chota Nagpore, and W. by that of Palamow ; lying be-
~ tween N. Lat. 23. 20. and 24. 50., E. Long. 83. 30. and 81.
38: length, from E. to W., 675 miles; breadth, 90; area,
8524 square miles. Much of the surface is gently undu¬
lating, with groups of hills here and there, and in some
places extensive table-lands. Granite, quartz, and other
primitive rocks are the components of some of the hills ;
and the country is rich in ores of coal, iron, lead, antimony,
and probably also silver. Numerous rivers, but none of
large size, water the country. They flow generally to the Ramtnohtm
S.E., discharging their waters into the estuary of the Roy-
Ganges; but some take a northern course, and join that
river at a higher point. Vast, dense, and impenetrable are
the forests with which a great part of the district is covered,
haunted by many kinds of wild beasts and poisonous ser¬
pents, the dread of the inhabitants, who are thinly scat¬
tered over the country, dwelling in mud villages, and en¬
gaged chiefly in tilling the soil. Nothing that deserves the
name of a town is to be seen. Pop. 372,216.
RAMMOHUN ROY, Rajah, a Hindu of wonderful
talents and enlightenment, was born at Burdwan in the
province of Bengal, about 1774. His parents, descended
from Brahmins who had held high offices, both secular and
sacred, resolved to make their boy worthy of his distin¬
guished ancestry. The greatest care was taken in fitting
his mind for his high prospects. The Persian and Arabic
tongues were taught him, that he might attach himself to
the court of Mohammedan princes. Sanscrit also was
added to his education, that he might be competent to hold
a sacerdotal office among the Hindus. Yet the young lad
had not reached his sixteenth year before circumstances
occurred to turn his thoughts in a direction different from
that w hich had been marked out for him. His intercourse
with the Moslems made him acquainted with the doctrine
of the unity of the Godhead. The dogma recommended
itself to his understanding, and shook his faith in the idola¬
trous system of worship which his fellow-Brahmins were
observing. This feeling of doubt drove him to the ancient
Hindu scriptures for further enlightenment. Finding that
they distinctly taught the existence of one Supreme Being,
he became from that time an advocate of monotheism. Boy
though he was, he lost no time in composing a manuscript
to show how the Hindus had corrupted the primitive sim¬
plicity of their faith. Frow ns and rebukes-from the entire
circle of his acquaintance immediately assailed him ; but
they w ere only the means of making him pursue the inves¬
tigations which he had already begun. Driven from home
by the coolness of his father, and induced to sojourn for a
time in Thibet, he studied all the forms of religion that
came under his view. Then, after a lapse of two or three
years, he returned to his paternal abode, confirmed in his
aversion towards idolatry, and bent upon seeking additional
enlightenment both in the oracles of his own caste and in
other religious creeds.
About 1814 Rammohun Roy, living in a house in the
Circular Road, Calcutta, began to be known as the most
extraordinary man among the Brahmins. There were many
qualifications which combined to give him this position.
His patrimony was handsome. His bearing was pleasing,
courtly, and imposing. His moral character was pure, ear¬
nest, and philanthropic. Still more striking were the in¬
tellectual attainments which he possessed. A more richly
endowed, active, and far-searching mind could scarcely be
found. The weapons of logic were thoroughly at his com¬
mand. He could also range through the provinces of San¬
scrit, Persian, and Arabic literature. Especially was he at
home in English politics and letters. In fact, wherever in
the entire region oflearning truth seemed to point the way,
thither did he strive with a European daring and invin¬
cibility7.
This energetic and gifted native could not long remain
inactive, and Rammohun Roy soon appeared in the char¬
acter of a reformer of Brahminism. The plan he employed
was, to seek out and lay before the Hindus those simple
precepts of religion and morality which he might find within
the range of his reading. He began his endeavours by
translating into Bengali, Hindustani, and English the
Vedant, “ the most celebrated and revered work of Brah-
minical theology.” He then published in English and Ben¬
gali some of the principal chapters of the Veda, the body
RAM
Ramnad of Hindu divinity. His next attempt was to draw up a
II compendium of the morality of the Christian religion.
Ramsay. Qree]^ arul Hebrew were accordingly acquired, that he
^might examine and prove the Scriptures in the original.
The result was a hook, produced in 1820, in English, San¬
scrit. and Bengali, and entitled The Precepts of Jesus
the Guide to Peace and Happiness. More selections would
also have been prepared by him had he not been engaged
for three years in defending his last publication against the
animadversions of Dr Marshman and other Christian wiiteis.
Rammohun Bov’s labours for the enlightenment of his
countrymen ended with 1830. A visit to England had
long been one of the cherished enterprises of his mind.
Taking advantage of his appointment as ambassador from
the King of Delhi to the British government, he now set
sail, and arrived at Liverpool in 1831. He was just be¬
ginning to form a large circle of friends throughout the
country when he died at Stapleton Grove, near Bristol, on
the 27ih of September 1833. (See A Review of the La-
hours, O/iinions, and Character of Rummohun Roy, by
Lant Carpenter, LL.D., London, 1833.)
RAMNAD, a town of British India, presidency of
Madras, in the district of Madura, capital of a zemindary of
the same name, stands near the coast of Balk’s Bay, 63
miles S.E. of Madura. It is inclosed by a wall and ditch
about 2^ miles in circuit; but the former is now in a ruinous
condition, and the latter nearly tilled up. Viewed from the
flat country around, the town presents a conspicuous appear¬
ance, with its massive triangular fort, its ancient and richly-
adorned palace, and its pagodas rising to the sky. The streets
are narrow and ill kept, but the houses are pretty good.
A Protestant church, Roman Catholic church, several incon¬
spicuous but elegant mosques, and two bazaars, are among
the other buildings. The only manufacture is that of coarse
cloth. Pop. 13,000, of whom about 6000 live in the fort.
RAMPANT. See Heraldry.
RAMPART. See Fortification.
RAMPOOR, a jaghire or fief of British India, in the
division of Rohilcund, bounded on the N.by the district of
Pilleebheef, E. and S. by that of Bareilly, and W. by that
of Meradabad, lying between N. Lat. 28. 30. and 29. 11.,
E. Long. 78. 5o. and 79. 30. A level, fertile country,
watered by the Kosila and Nahul, flowing southwards, it
is partially occupied in the north by marshy forests and
jungle, where the climate is exceedingly unhealthy ; but in
the south it presents a wide expanse of waving corn-fields,
broken only by small villages or groups of mangoes and
bamboos. It is occupied by an industrious and intelligent
people, who are chiefly employed in farming. The capital
is a large anil populous town of the same name, on the left
bank of the Kosila, 789 miles N.W. of Calcutta. It is
built chiefly of mud, but contains a lofty mosque. Pop.
estimated at more than 320,000.
RAMSAY, Allan, a Scottish poet, was born at Lead-
hills in Lanarkshire on the loth October 1686. His father
was employed in the management of Lord Hopetoun’s
mines at that place, but died whilst the poet was yet in his
infancy. He remained at the parish school of Leadhilis
with tolerable regularity till he reached his fifteenth year,
and was employed in washing, preparing the lead ore for
smelting, and other operations about the works. In 1701,
when in his fifteenth year, he was bound apprentice to a
wigmaker in Edinburgh, an occupation at which he con¬
tinued till 1716. One of the earliest of Ramsay’s produc¬
tions now known, an address to the members of the Easy
Club, appeared in 1712, when he was twenty-six years of
age; and three years afterwards he was humorously ap¬
pointed their poet-laureate. Many of his poems written
about this lime were published in the form of separate
pamphlets. After having followed the occupation of wig-
maker for a considerable time, he finally abandoned it for
RAM 803
that of bookseller, as being more congenial to the literary Ramsay,
turn of his mind. His detached pamphlets were afterwards
published by him in the year 1721, in one volume 4to, which
was encouraged by a very liberal subscription. The first
volume of his well-known collection, the Tea-table Mis¬
cellany, was published in 1724, and ran through twelve edi¬
tions in a very few years. He soon afterwards published
what is called the Evergreen, being a collection of Scotch
poems written by ingenious poets prior to the year 1600.
In 172.5 appeared his Gentle Shepherd, part of which, called
Patie and Roger, was printed in 1721, and Jenny and
Maggy in 1723, the great success of which induced him to
form them afterwards into a regular drama.
In the year 1728 he published a second volume of his
poems, which was afterwards reprinted in 8vo. Ihese per¬
formances so rapidly enlarged the circle of his fame and
reputation that in 1731 an edition of his poetical works was
published by the booksellers of London, and two years
afterwards they appeared at Dublin. From his shop op¬
posite to Niddry Street, he removed to one at the east end
of the Luckenbooths. In this shop he continued to sell
and lend out books until he was far advanced in years;
and we have reason to believe that he was the first person
who established a circulating-library in Scotland. His col¬
lection o\,' Fables appeared in 1730, after which period he
may be said to have almost discontinued the occupation of
author. Such, however, was his enterprising spirit that he
built, at his own expense, the first theatre for dramatical
performances ever known in Edinburgh, which took place
in what is called Carrubber’s Close, in the year 1736 ; but
he did not long enjoy his character of manager, for the
magistrates of Edinburgh required him to shut it up, as an
act of Parliament prohibited all such amusements without
a special license and his Majesty’s letters-patent. It is
generally understood that he relinquished the trade of book¬
seller about the year 175.5, being then sixty-nine years of
age, and lived the remainder of his days in a small house
erected by himself on the north side of the Castlehill. A
scorbutic complaint, attended with excruciating pain, de¬
prived him of Ids teeth, and, after corroding one of his jaw¬
bones, put a period to his existence on the 7th of January
1758, in the seventy-third year of his age. He was buried
in the Greyfriars Churchyard, Edinburgh.
Ramsav possessed a very considerable share of poetical
genius. Of this, his Gentle Shepherd, which will continue
to be admired as long as the language in which it is written
shall be understood, and especially by the natives of North
Britain, to whom only the peculiarities of dialect by which
it is distinguished can be familiar, affords the best proof.
Some of his songs may contain far-fetched allusions and
childish conceits; but many of them are equal, if not su¬
perior, in their pastoral simplicity, to productions of a similar
nature in any other language. Some of the imitations of
the ancients by this poet are extremely happy ; and several
of his tales have all the excellences that belong to that
species of composition. But of a great proportion of his
other productions it may be pronounced with truth that
they are mere prosaic compositions, filled with the most
commonplace observations, and destitute even of the orna¬
ment of smooth versification and correct rhymes. A com¬
plete edition of his works, with a Life written by the late
George Chalmers, was published in 2 vols. 8vo, 1800. A
reprint of The Gentle Shepherd, with some account of the
author’s life, has recently been brought out in Edinburgh,
in 1856.
The poet’s son Allan attained to considerable eminence
as a portrait-painter. (See Chambers’s Biographical Dic¬
tionary of Distinguished Scotsmen.)
Ramsay, Andreiv Michael, generally known by the name
of the Chevalier Ramsay, a polite Scottish writer, was de¬
scended of a respectable family, and was bom at Ayr in 1686.
804 RAM
Ramsden He studied at the Edinburgh university, where he was dis-
|| tinguished for his industry and abilities. His talents and
Ramsey, learning recommended him as a tutor to the son of the Earl
of Wemyss ; after which, conceiving a disgust for the religion
in which he had been educated, he in the same humour
reviewed other Christian churches, and, finding none to his
liking, rested for a time in Deism. Whilst he was in
this uncertain state of mind he wrent to Leyden, where, fall¬
ing into the company of Poiret, a mystical divine, he re¬
ceived the infection of mysticism, w'hich prompted him to
consult Fenelon, the celebrated archbishop of Cambray,
who had imbibed principles of the same nature, and who in
1709 gained him over to the Catholic religion. The sub¬
sequent course of his life received its direction from his
friendship and connection with this illustrious prelateand
being appointed governor to the Duke de Chateau-Thieny
and the Prince de Turenne, he was made a knight of the
Order of St Lazarus. Ramsay was sent for to Rome by the
Cljevalier de St George to undertake the education of his
chiluren ; but on his arrival there in 1724 he found so many
intrigues and dissensions astir, that he obtained the che¬
valier’s leave to return to Paris. He died in 1743, in the office
of intendant to the Duke of Bouillon, Prince de Turenne.
His works are,—History of the Life and Works of M. Fene¬
lon, Archbishop of Cambray, in French and English, 1723 ;
A Philosophical Essay upon Civil Government, London,
1721, afterwards republished under the title of An Essay
on Politics; The Psychometre, or Reflections upon the
Different Characters of the Mind ; The Travels of Cyrus,
in French and English, 1727, 2 vols., and 4to, 1730,
written with much elegance, but too much overloaded with
erudition and reflection ; The History of Viscount Turenne,
Marshal of France, in French and English ; The Philo¬
sophical Principles of Natural and Revealed Religion, 2
vols. 1749, printed at Glasgow after the author’s death.
RAMSDEN, Jesse, a distinguished optician, was the
son of an innkeeper, and was born near Halifax in York¬
shire in 1735. His love for mathematical studies began to
appear wdiile he was attending a school in his native county.
A period of apprenticeship to a cloth-worker in Halifax did
not extinguish it. At the age of twenty-four he was found
in London, a mathematical and philosophical instrument-
maker, skilful in hand and intelligent in head. His grow¬
ing excellence soon enabled him to open a shop for himself,
and to commence a successful business. A sextant invented
shortly before 1766 was the first of a series of improved
mathematical instruments which issued from his establish-
mentT There followed at intervals a dividing-machine, a
theodolite, an equatorial, a telescope, a mural quadrant, a
micrometer, and several minor inventions. On account of
these services to science, Ramsden was held in high esti¬
mation towards the close of his life. At his death in 1800
he was a member of the Royal Society, a fellow of the
Imperial Academy of St Petersburg, and the wearer of a
Copley medal.
RAMSEY or Ramsay, a market-town of England,
county of Huntingdon, on a tongue of high land stretch¬
ing into the fens near Ramsey Mere, a lake now partially
drained, 12 miles N.N.E. of Huntingdon and 69 N. of
London. It consists of two streets crossing afright angles,
and has a small stream running through the middle of it.
Most of the houses are old and built of brick, but many
elegant ones have recently been erected. A fine old church,
partially exhibiting the transition from the Norman to the
early English architecture, is the chief ornament of the
town, and is conspicuous for its embattled tower. A ruinous
but richly-sculptured gateway is the only remnant of a
once famous and wealthy abbey. Places of worship for
various denominations, several schools, and a literary insti¬
tution, are to be found here. The people are mostly en¬
gaged in farming. Pop. 4645.
RAM
Ramsey or Ramsay, a seaport on the N.E. coast of the Ramsey
Isle of Man, 17 miles N.N.E. of Douglas. It is irregularly ||
built; but has wide streets, and contains several churches, Rama3,
a grammar school, and a court-house, where most of the
law courts for the north of the island are held. The an¬
chorage in the bay is good, and there is a pier and light¬
house. Herring fishery is a productive source of profit,
and corn and provisions are exported. Pop. 2701.
RAMSGATE, a seaport and market town of England,
in the county of Kent, at the S.E. corner of the Isle of
Thanet, 15 miles E.N.E. of Canterbury, and 73 E. by S.
of London. Its older portion lies in a narrow valley, open¬
ing out to the sea, between the chalk cliffs that line the
coast, and on which many fine new streets and villas have
been erected, commanding a beautiful view. In the older
portion, where the streets are narrow and the houses mean,
there is a market-house, bank, public library, and other
edifices. A large and elegant parish church in the Gothic
style, with a lofty tower, a chapel of ease, district church,
and places of worship for Baptists, Methodists, Independ¬
ents, Roman Catholics, and Jews are the chief ecclesias¬
tical buildings in Ramsgate. Education is afforded by
various schools ; the places of amusement include a theatre,
assembly-rooms, and baths ; and for charitable purposes
there are an hospital and a dispensary. Ramsgate has for
a long time been resorted to as a sea-bathing place, and
indeed its prosperity is chiefly owing to this circumstance.
The harbour, which is formed by two piers, and has an
area of 48 acres, is the most important feature of the place,
and one of the finest works of the kind in the country. It
is formed by two piers, built of Portland and Purbeck
stone and Cornish granite. The eastern pier is nearly
3000 feet long, the western about half that length, having
on it a lighthouse. For repairing ships there are here a
dry dock and a slip. The number of sailing-vessels re¬
gistered at the port, December 31, 1857, was 103, tonnage
5115; of steamers 1, tonnage 10. In the year 1857 there
entered coastwise at Ramsgate 388 sailing-vessels, tonnage
30,998 ; and there cleared 95, tonnage 6118. From foreign
ports there entered 29 sailing-vessels, tonnage 3456 ; and
for foreign ports, cleared 16, tonnage 982. In all, there
entered 417 vessels, tonnage 34,454; and there cleared
111, tonnage 7100. The trade of the port is very con¬
siderable ; coal, timber, eggs, and other articles are im¬
ported. Ship-building and rope-making are the chief
manufactures. Fishing is also an employment to many of
the inhabitants. Ramsgate is a member of the Cinque
port of Sandwich, and is governed by a deputy appointed
by the mayor of that town, and by commissioners under a
local act. It was originally a mere fishing-village, with a
few mean houses and a wooden pier; but after the Revo¬
lution of 1688 some of its inhabitants acquired wrealth in
the Baltic trade. This business is not, indeed, now carried
on here, but it was the first circumstance that led to the
prosperity and improvement of the town. The harbour was
constructed in 1780-95 by Smeaton, Rennie, and others;
and the town was one of the earliest popular watering-
places for the Londoners, though at first not so much fre¬
quented as Margate. Pop. (1851) 11,838.
RAMUS, Petrus, the Latinized form of the name
Pierre de la Ram^e, a man celebrated alike by the per¬
secutions of which he was made the object, and by the
reforms which he endeavoured to introduce into philosophy,
science, and public instruction, was born at the little village
of Cuth in Picardy in 1515. His father, Jacques de la
Ramee, pursued the humble occupation of a field labourer,
but could date back his descent in a few removes to no¬
bility. The boy lost his father at a very early age, and it
was reserved for his mother, Jeanne Charpentier, to nurse
him in poverty, and teach his young hands early to handle
the instrument of toil. Thrift and want combined early to
R A M
RAN
805
Ramus, develop his mind; and when only eight years old, we are
told of his visiting Paris all alone in pursuit or food am
knowledge. Misery pursued the poor child there also, an
he was compelled to retrace his steps. Again and again
he visited the capital at short intervals, when his maternal
uncle, struck with his great perseverance, afforded him tem¬
porary shelter. Honore Charpentier who pursued the
carpenter’s craft, could not do more than a low him fairly
to commence his studies. Ramus, who had now reached
his twelfth year, was endowed by nature with a singularly
robust constitution, and entered the college of Navarre in the
quality of a domestic. In this position he spent the day in
his masters’ service, and the night was devoted to study
and sleep. He attended the public course given by the
Faculty of Arts in 1527, when he left it greatly m love
with logic, and with a profound aversion for the manner in
which it was taught. The first occasion on which Ramus
expressed publicly his dissent from the logic of Aristotle
was at his examination for his master’s degree. I his oc¬
curred in 1536, when Ramus had reached his twenty-first
year. He chose for his thesis the startling paradox, Quce-
cumque ab Aristotele dicta esse, commenticia esse (All
that has been affirmed by Aristotle is a fabrication). A
subject so novel placed the judges in the very greatest
embarrassment. The master said it,” was no guarantee
to Ramus of the truth of a single proposition; and it was
entirely in vain that all the peripatetics which Paris con¬
tained, united their influence to crush him. Hie young
candidate urged his replies with so much spirit and viva¬
city, he managed his objections with so much subtlet), and
sent them home with so much address, that all Paris was
filled with astonishment and admiration. His admission to
the rank of Master of Arts was a real triumph.
Having thus emphatically won the right of instructing
in the liberal arts, Ramus, in conjunction with Omer Talon,
an able professor of rhetoric, and Barthelemy Alexandre, a
distinguished Greek scholar, established themselves in the
little college of Ave-Maria. When in his twenty-eighth year
Ramus published two books in Latin, of which even Joseph
Scaliger condescended to extol the style. The title of the
one was Dialectical partitiones ad Academiam parisiensem;
of the other, Aristotelicce Animadversiones,—\he latter of
which in particular subjected its author to incredible pei-
secutions. Hardly had these two books seen the light
when the university, by its rector, Pierre Galland, solicited
and obtained from" the magistrates an arrest for their im¬
mediate suppression. Their author was represented as an
enemy to religion and to the public peace. After endless
jargoning, Francois I. resolved to bring this quail 1 to a
close. A chairman and four judges, two of them selected
by each party, were to sit in judgment between Ramus and
his opponents. The upshot of it was, that Ramus was con¬
demned, on the 1st March 1544, as having “acted rashly,
arrogantly, and impudently.” He was compelled to leave
Paris, and he took up his residence at the college of Presles,
where a number of students had taken refuge from the
plague, and commenced a course of lectures on rhetoric.
PIeDreturned to Paris in 1545, the royal decree having been
cancelled through the influence of the cardinal of Lorraine.
He began a course of mathematics, which he continued till
1551, when Henry II. appointed him professor of philo¬
sophy and eloquence in the College of France. , The years
which followed were the most tranquil of Ramus’s life. He
wrote a Greek, a Latin, and a French grammar, several
treatises on mathematics, logic, and rhetoric. In 1561
Ramus embraced Protestantism, and his logical ardour, as it
was said, compelled him to make an invasion into the domain
of theology. “ Des ce moment,” adds a French biographer,
“ il fut perdu.” Lost or not, Ramus had to flee the halter
in the month of July 1562, and found an asylum at the
palace of Fontainebleau, the property of Charles IX. The
Ramusio
royal protection was not sufficient for his defence, for while
absent his house was pillaged and his library destroyed. II
After the treaty of Amboise in 1563 he resumed his chair ^ ^ ° ‘
in the capital, but did not long enjoy it. Civil troubles in
Paris induced him in 1568 to ask permission to travel. He
visited a great many towns in Germany and Switzerland,
where “the French Plato” (Gallicus Plato) was received
with much honour. He resided for some time in Bale, in
Heidelberg, in Geneva, and in Lausanne, and taught his
logic to the citizens of the three last-mentioned towns.
Ramus had found it necessary, during his residence in
Paris, strongly to oppose the appointment of one Jacques
Charpentier to the mathematical chair of the university,
from his profound, yea his avowed, ignorance of the subject.
This person never forgave him. On his return to 1 aris,
Ramus fell a victim to Charpentier s revenge dming the
massacre of St Bartholomew in 1572.
Although Ramus had talent sufficient to overthrow the
logic of Aristotle as it was then understood and interpieted,
he was unfortunately incapable of raising anything better
in its stead. He freed logic from the scholastic subtleties
to which it was then applied, but forgot, in re-applying it, to
settle its natural limits once and for all. He was not, in
short, a profound thinker; he dealt more in rhetoric than
in logic. Yet in freeing men’s minds from the tyranny o
a system he took a decided step in advance of his age, and
deserves the gratitude of humanity for so doing. 1 he system
of Ramus speedily extended from France to Switzerland,
Spain, Germany, Holland, Denmark, and Scotland, and
was publicly taught in each of those countries. He left a
o-reat number of works, of which a detailed catalogue will
be found in De Petri Rami Vita, Scriptis, Philosophia,
by Waddington Kastus, 8vo, Paris, 1848. Many of the
author’s works were translated into English and other foreign
languages. The partizans of this philosopher are known
by the name of Ramists or Rameans.
RAMUSIO, Giambattista, an Italian who was born at
Treviso in the Venetian State in 1485, began in the for¬
mer half of the sixteenth century to edit a collection of the
most notable voyages both ancient and modern. Ihe cir¬
cumstances of his life peculiarly qualified him for such a
task. He had travelled in the character of an ambassador
through France, Switzerland, and Italy. His acquaintance
with history, geography, and languages was great. Many
learned foreigners likewise were his friends and correspond¬
ents and could communicate any information he might
require. Thus aided, he carried on the work with success.
Those parts of his collection which were written in foreign
languages he translated into Italian. Io those parts which
were obscure or incorrect he added explanations and com¬
ments from the stock of his own knowledge. The first
volume was published at Venice in 1550, under the title of
Raccolta di Navigazioni e Viaggi ; a second followed in
1556; and a third appeared in 1559, two years after the
author’s death. . T .i i
RANDERS, a town of Denmark, province of Jutland,
on the navigable river Guden or Gudenal, at the head of
Rander’s Fiord, 22 miles N.N.W. of Aarhuus, and 111
W.N.W. of Copenhagen. It occupies a position that is
both very picturesque and strong in a military point of
view; and it contains an arsenal, a grammar school, and a
laro-e hospital. Much industry is carried on here, especially
in the manufacture of hosiery and brandy. The trade is
also considerable ; and the fishing of salmon is pursued by
many of the inhabitants. Pop. (1851) 7738.
RANDOLPH, Thomas, an English poet, was born in
Northamptonshire in 1605. He was educated at West¬
minster and Cambridge, and was very early distinguished
by his excellent genius. He gained the esteem and friend¬
ship of some of the greatest men of that age, particularly
of Ben Jonson, who adopted him as one of his “ sons.”
806 E A N
Random
Shot
Ranz des
Vaches.
He has a good deal of fancy, and he writes melodious
verse; but his poetry is bookish, and his love and gal¬
lantry is that of a college fellow and a reader of Ovid. He
died under thirty in 1634.
His principal works are,-—The Muses' Looking-Glass, a
Cometlg; Arngntas, or the Impossible Dowry, a pastoral
acted before the king and queen ; Aristippus, or the Jovial
Philosopher ; The Conceited Pedlar ; The Jealous Lovers,
a Corned;/; Hey for Honesty, down with Knavery, a Co¬
rned tj ; and several other poems.
RANDOM SHOT, is a shot made when the muzzle of
a gun is raised above the horizontal line, and is not de¬
signed to shoot directly or point blank. 1 he utmost
random of any piece is about ten times as far as the bullet
will go point blank. The bullet will go farthest when the
piece is mounted at an angle of about 45° above the level
range.
RANGE, the path of a bullet, or the line it describes
from the mouth of the piece to the point where it lodges. If
the piece lie in a line parallel to the horizon, it is called the
right or level range; if it be mounted to 45°, it is said to
have the utmost range ; and all others between 0° and 45°
are called the intermediate ranges. (See Gunnery.)
RANGER, a sworn officer of a forest, appointed by the
king’s letters-patent, and whose proper business is to walk
daily through his bailiwick, to drive back the deer out of
the purlieus, and to present all trespasses within his juris¬
diction at the next forest court.
RANGOON, a seaport-town of British India, in the pro¬
vince of Pegu, on the left bank of the Rangoon arm of the
Irrawaddy, about 20 miles from its mouth, and 62 S. of Pegu.
Previous to the great fire which consumed the whole of
the town in 1850, it occupied an oblong area along the
river’s bank, about one mile in length and three-quarters
in breadth ; but after that catastrophe it was rebuilt on a
different site, about a mile from the river, in the form of a
square. It was built of bamboos for the most part, and
defended by a pagoda on the north side, which formed a
sort of citadel. In 1853 and 1855 fresh conflagrations took
place; and from the nature of the buildings they proved
very destructive. In the re-building of the town, since its last
destruction, arrangements have been made by the British
authorities for securing not only a proper protection against
the recurrence of such devastations by fire, but for provid¬
ing, by drainage and other measures, for the health and
cleanliness of the tow n. The situation of Rangoon is very
favourable to trade; and ship-building is actively carried
on. Timber is floated down from the teak forests in the
interior, and many vessels of large size have been built
here. The town was first built in 1753, by Alompra, the
founder of the Burmese monarchy, and from him it derived
its name, signifying the “ City of Victory.” It was taken by
the British in the first Burmese war in 1824; but subse¬
quently restored to the native pow'er. In the second war
the capture of the pagoda or citadel by General Godwin
in 1852 led to the fall of the town; and it passed, along
with the province of Pegu, into the hands of the British.
Pop. about 20,000.
RANK. See Navy, § Personnel.
Rank and File, the horizontal and vertical lines of
soldiers w hen drawn up for service.
RANTERS. See Methodists.
RANZ DES VACHES (Germ. Kuhreigen), a simple
and beautiful melody which the Swiss herdsmen play on
the Alpine horn when driving out and in their herds to
the pasture. Consisting, as it does, of a few simple inter¬
vals, the effect of it is quite enrapturing when heard among
the echoes of the Swiss mountains. The native Swiss are
said to be seized with inexpressible longings to return to
t ten native country when they hear it played in a foreign
lanu. 1 his nostalgia or homesickness, as experienced by
RAP
the Swiss soldier abroad, is elegantly alluded to by Rogers Raoul
in his Pleasures of Memory, part i., p. 19 :— ||
“ The intrepid Swiss, who guards a foreign shore, Rape.
Condemned to climb his mountain-cliffs no more,
If chance he hears the song so sweet, so wild,
His heart w-ould spring to hear it when a child,
Melts at the long-lost scenes that round him rise,
And sinks a martyr to repentant sighs.”
(See Hecherches sur les Ranz des Vaches, by Tarenne,
Pari?, 1813: Sammlung von Schweizer Kuhreigen und
Volksliedern, Berne, 1818; also a Dissertatio de Nos¬
talgia, bv Th. Zwinger, Basle, 1710.)
RAOUL ROCHETTE, Desihe, an eminent French
archteologist, was born about 1789 at St Amand, in the
department of Cher, and received his education at Bourges.
His quick and facile talents soon began to lead him to a
high place in the world of letters. At the age of twenty-
two he was called to the chair of history in the lyceum at
Paris. About four years afterwards he was translated to
the same chair in the university of that city. Meanwhile
he was commencing to prosecute the science of archaeo¬
logy with great success. The first result of his labours,
published in 1815 under the title of Histoire Critique
de l'Establissement des Colonies Grecques, in 4 vols. 8vo,
was favourably received by the public. This achievement
stimulated him in his favourite investigations. It is true
that a part of his attention was for a while directed to
the topography and history of modern Switzerland. But
he was soon found making frequent tours of discovery into
different European countries, and perfecting his archaeolo¬
gical know ledge by the examination of museums and ruined
buildings. A part of his researches appeared in 1822 under
the title of Antiquites Grecques du Bosphore Cimmerien,
and established his fame. So eminent, in fact, did he be¬
come, that he was appointed in 1826 to the chair of archae¬
ology. The remainder of Raovd Rochette’s life was occu¬
pied in maintaining that reputation which be had so labori¬
ously gained. He continued to make frequent incursions
into the scenes of classical history, and to embody bis dis¬
coveries in a series of works. His principal publications
were,—Monuments Inedits d’Antiquite Jiguree Grecque,
Etrusque, et Romaine, in folio, 1828 ; Pompei: Choix
d'Edifices Inedits, in folio, 1828; Peintures Antiques lud¬
dites, in 4to, 1836; Memoires de Numismatique et d’Anti¬
quite, in 4to, 1840; and Memoires d'Archeologie Com-
paree Asiatique, Grecque et Etrusque, in 4to, 1848. At
his death in 1854, Raoul Rochette was perpetual secretary
of the Academy of Fine Arts, and a corresponding mem¬
ber of most of the learned societies in Europe.
RAPE, in law, the carnal knowledge of a woman for¬
cibly and against her will. This, by the Jew ish law, was
punished with death, in case the damsel was betrothed to
another man; and in case she was not betrothed, then a
heavy fine of fifty shekels was to be paid to the damsel’s
father, and she was to be the wife of the ravisher all the
days of his life, without the power of divorce which was
in general permitted by the Mosaic law.
The Roman law punishes with deatli and confiscation of
goods the crime of ravishment, under which it includes
both the offence of forcible abduction, or taking away a
woman from her friends, and also the present one of for¬
cibly dishonouring her; either of which, without the other,
is in that law sufficient to constitute a capital crime. The
stealing aw'ay a woman from her parents or guardians, and
debauching her, is equally penal by the emperor’s edict,
whether she consent or be forced ; and this in order to take
away every opportunity of offending in this from women,
whom the Roman law supposes never to go astray
without the seduction and arts of the other sex ; and there¬
fore, by restraining and making so highly penal the solici¬
tations of the men, they meant to secure effectually the
RAP
Rape, honour of the women. But our English law does not en-
^ —i ^ ter tain quite such sublime ideas of the honour of eithei
sex as to lav the blame of a mutual fault upon one of the
transgressors onlv; and therefore it is a neeessaiy ingre*
dient in the crime of rape that it must be against the
woman’s will.
Hape was punished by the Saxon laws, particularly those
of Athelstane, with death ; which was also agreeable to the
old Gothic or Scandinavian constitution. But this was
afterwards thought too hard ; and in its stead another severe
but not capital punishment was inflicted by William the
Conqueror, namely, castration and loss of eyes, which conti¬
nued till after Bracton wrote, in the reign of Henry 1II. But
in order to prevent malicious accusations, it was then the
law that the woman should, immediately afterwards, go
to the next town, and there make discovery to some credi¬
ble persons* of the injury she had suffered, and afterwards
should acquaint the high constable of the hundred, the co¬
roners, and the sheriffs, with the outrage. This seems to
correspond in some degree with the laws of Scotland and
Aragon, which require that complaint must be made within
twenty-four hours; though afterwards by statute Westm.
i„ c. 13, the time of limitation in England was extended to
forty days. At present there is no time of limitation fixed ;
for, as it is usually now punished by indictment at the suit
of the king, the maxim of law takes place, that nullum tem-
pus occurrit rerji; but the jury will rarely give credit to a
stale complaint. During the former period also it was held
for law, that the woman, by consent of the judge and her
parents, might redeem the offender from the execution of
his sentence by accepting him for her husband, if he also
was willing to agree to the exchange, but not otherwise.
In the 3 d^ Ed ward I., by the statute Westm. i.. c. 13, the
punishment of rape w as much mitigated ; the offence itself,
of ravishing a damsel within age, that is, twelve years old,
either with or without her consent, or of any other woman
against her will, being reduced to trespass, if not prose¬
cuted by appeal within forty days, and subjecting the of¬
fender only to two years’ imprisonment, and a fine at the
king’s will. But this lenity being productive of the worst
consequences, it was, in ten years afterwards, 13 Edward 1.,
found necessary to make the offence of forcible rape felony
by statute Westm. ii., cap. 34. And by statute 18 Elizabeth,
c. vii.it is made felony without benefit of clergy; as is also the
abominable wickedness of carnally knowing or abusing any
woman-child under the age of ten years, in which case the
consent or non-consent is immaterial, as by reason ol her
tender years she is incapable of judgment and discretion.
Sir Matthew Hale is indeed of opinion that such profligate
actions committed on an infant under the age of twelve
years, the age of female discretion by the common lawr,
either with or without consent, amount to rape and felony,
as well since as before the statute of Queen Elizabeth. But
that law has in general been held only to extend to infants
under ten ; though it should seem that damsels between
ten and twelve are still under the protection of the statute
Westm. i., the law with respect to their seduction not
having been altered by either of the subsequent statutes.
A male infant, under the age of fourteen years, is pre¬
sumed by law to be incapable of committing a rape, and
therefore, it seems, cannot be found guilty of it. For
thoiudi in other felonies malitia supplet (etalem ; yet, as
to this particular species of felony, the law supposes an
imbecility of body as well as mind. The civil law seems
to suppose a prostitute or common harlot incapable of any
injuries of this kind ; not allowing any punishment for
violating the chastity of her who has indeed no chastity at
all, or at least has no regard to it. But the law of England
does not judge so hardly of offenders as to cut off all oppor¬
tunity of retreat even from common strumpets, and to treat
them” as incapable of amendment. It therefore holds it to
R A S 807
be felony to force even a concubine or harlot, because the Itapho*
woman may have forsaken that unlawful course of life ; for, H
as Bracton well observes, licet tnerelrix ftier it antea, certe ^a8^‘ t
tunc temporis non fait, cum reclamando nequiticc ejus con- r
sentire noluit. Capital punishment for this offence was
abolished by 4 Viet. 1841, and transportation substituted.
IIA PH 6E, a market-town of Ireland, county of Donegal,
in a beautiful situation, amid a rich and well-cultivated
country, 3 miles N.W. of Lifford, and 136 N.N.W. of Dub¬
lin. It contains a plain cruciform church, formerly the
cathedral of the diocese of Raphoe, which is now united
with that of Derry. There are also various dissenting places
of worship, a free school, national school, and others; a
neat market-house, library, dispensary, &c. In the vicinity
are the deanery, and a large handsome edifice formerly
the episcopal palace. Pop. (1851) 1492.
RAPIN, Paul de, Sieur of Thoyras, an eminent his¬
torian, was the son of Jacques de Rapin, and was born at
Castres in 1661. He was first educated under a tutor in
bis father’s bouse, and was afterwards sent to Samur. In
1679 be returned to bis father, with a design to apply
himself to the study of the law, and was admitted an
advocate; but reflecting that bis being a Protestant would
prevent liis advancement at the bar, be soon after re¬
solved to quit the profession of the law, and to apply
himself to that of the sword. His father, however, would
not consent to the change. The revocation of the Edict
of Nantes in 1685, and the death of his father, which hap¬
pened two months afterwards, made him resolve to come
to England ; but as he had no hopes of any settlement there,
his stay was but short. He therefore went to Holland, and
enlisted himself in the company of French volunteers at
Utrecht, commanded by M. Rapin, his cousin-german. He
attended the Prince of Orange into England in 1688; and
the following year Lord Kingston made him an ensign in
his regiment, with which he proceeded to Ireland, where he
gained the esteem of his officers at the siege of Carrick-
fergus, and soon received a lieutenant’s commission. He
was present at the battle of the Boyne, and was shot through
the shoulder at the battle of Limerick. He was soon after¬
wards made captain of the company in which he had been
ensign ; but in 1693 he resigned his company to one of his
brothers, in ordgr to become tutor to the Earl of Portland’s
son. Having finished this employment, he returned to
his family, which he had settled at the Hague, where
he continued some years. But as he found his family in¬
crease, he resolved to retire to some cheap country ; and
accordingly removed in 1707 to Wesel, where he com¬
menced his great work the History of England. 1 hough
he was of a strong constitution, yet seventeen years’ appli¬
cation entirely ruined his health. He died in l72o. Ra¬
pin wrote in French a Dissertation sur les Whigs et les
Torys. His Histoire <$ Angle ter re was printed at the Hague
in 1726 and 1727, in 9 vols. 4to, and reprinted at Trevoux
in 1728, in 10 vols. 4to. This last edition is more complete
than that of the Hague. It has been translated into Eng¬
lish, and improved, with notes by Tindal, in 2 vols. folio,
1757-59. This performance, although the work ofa foreigner,
is deservedly esteemed as one of the fullest and most im¬
partial collections of English political transactions extant.
RASGRAD, or Hesarokad, a town of European Tur¬
key, in Bulgaria, in a lofty position overlooking a ravine,
on the Ak or White Lern, an affluent of the Danube, 215
miles N.W. of Constantinople. It is a place of considerable
trade, standing at the junction of four main roads. Strong
in its natural position, it is further defended by a dry ditch
and palisade. The Turks were defeated here by the Rus¬
sians in 1810. Pop. 16,000.
RASK, Rasmus Christian, an eminent scholar and
philologist, was born at Brendekilde, in the Island of Fyen
or Funen in Denmark, in 1787. He studied at the uni-
808 R A
Ilask. versity of Copenhagen, and early distinguished himself by
singular talent for the acquisition of languages. In the
year 1808 he was appointed assistant-keeper of the uni¬
versity library, and some years afterwards made professor of
literary history. In 1811 he published, in the Danish lan¬
guage, his Introduction to the Grammar of the Icelandic and
other Ancient Northern Languages, the materials of which
were entirely derived from the immense mass of manuscript
and printed works which had been accumulated by his prede¬
cessors in the same field of research. This grammar appears
to have given afresh impulse-to the study of the ancient
northern languages, even in Germany. T he reputation
which Rask acquired by it recommended him to the Arna-
Magnaean Institution, by which he was employed as editor of
the Icelandic Lexicon of Bjorn Haldorsen, which had long
remained in manuscript. To this work, which appeared in
1814, Bishop Muller contributed a preface, in which he
pronounces a just eulogium on the talents and the spirit of
research displayed by the youthful editor. About the
same time, Rask who had never been in Iceland, paid a
visit to that country, where he remained from 1813 to
1815, during which time he made himself completely mas¬
ter of the language, and familiarized himself with the litera¬
ture, manners, and customs of the natives. To the interest
with which they inspired him may probably be attributed
the establishment at Copenhagen, early in 1816, of the
Icelandic Literary Society, which was mainly instituted by
his exertions, and of which he had the honour to be the
first president.
Whilst thus employed, however, he was about to enter
upon a more ample field of enterprise. In October 1816
he left Denmark on a literary expedition, which had been
fitted out for the double purpose of prosecuting inquiries
into the languages of the East, and collecting manuscripts
for the University Library at Copenhagen. The King of
Denmark having liberally provided him with the requisite
means, he proceeded first to Sweden, where he remained
two years, in the course of which he made an excursion
into Finland, for the purpose of studying the language of
that country. Here he published, in Swedish, his Anglo-
Saxon Grammar in 1817 ; and during the same year there
appeared at Copenhagen, in Danish, an Essay on the Origin
of the Ancient Scandinavian or Icelandic Tongue, in which
he traced the affinity of that remarkable idiom-Ao the other
European languages, particularly to the Latin and the
Greek. In 1818 he published a second edition, very much
improved, of his Icelandic Grammar, translated by him¬
self into Swedish; and in the course of the same year he
also brought out the first complete editions of Snorrow’s
Edda, and Saemund’s Edda, in the original text, along
with Swedish translations of both Eddas, the originals and
the versions occupying each two volumes. From Stock¬
holm he proceeded in 1819 to St Petersburg, where he
wrote in German an interesting paper on “ The Languages
and Literature of Norway, Iceland, Sweden, and Finland,”
which was published in the sixth number of the Vienna
Jahrbucher. From Russia, which he traversed, he pro¬
ceeded through Tartary into Persia, and resided for some
time at Tauris, Teheran, Persepolis, and Shiraz. It may
be mentioned here, as an instance of his remarkable facility
in acquiring languages, that in about six weeks he made
himself sufficiently master of the Persian to be able to con¬
verse freely in that language with the natives. In 1820
he embarked at Abuschekr, in the Persian Gulf, for Bom¬
bay, which he reached in safety; and during his residence
there he wrote in English “ a Dissertation on the Authen¬
ticity of the Zend Language,” which he addressed to the
governor, the Hon. Mountstuart Elphinstone, and which
was afterwards published in the third volume of the Trans-
actions oj the Literary Society of Bombay. The same
nroduction, with corrections and additions, was afterwards
S K.
deemed worthy of insertion in the Transactions of the Royal Raet,
Asiatic Society. From Bombay he proceeded through India
to Ceylon, where he arrived in 1822, and soon afterwards
wrote, in English, “ A Dissertation respecting the best
Method of expressing the Sounds of the Indian Languages
in European Characters,” which was printed in the Trans¬
actions of the Literary and Agricultural Society of Colombo.
Professor Rask, having at length completed his researches
on the scale prescribed, set out for Europe, and reached
Copenhagen in the beginning of May 1823, after an ab¬
sence of nearly seven years. He brought home with him
a considerable collection of rare and curious oriental manu¬
scripts, Persian, Zend, Pali, Cingalese, and others, which
now enrich the university and royal libraries of the Danish
capital.
Notwithstanding all his labours and exertions, this inde¬
fatigable scholar scarcely allowed himself an interval of re¬
pose. Between the period of his return from the East and
that of his death, which occurred far too soon for the inter¬
ests of philology, Professor Rask published in his native
language a Spanish Grammar in 1824, an Italian Gram¬
mar and a Frisic Grammar in 1825, a Treatise respecting
the Ancient Egyptian Chronology in 1827, the Ancient
Jewish Chronology previous to Moses in 1828, and an Es¬
say on Danish Orthography in the same year. He likewise
edited an edition of Schneider’s Danish Grammar for the
use of Englishmen in 1829, and superintended the English
translation of \\\% Anglo-Saxon Gram mar hy Thorpe in 1830.
This last work supplies what had long been a desideratum
in English literature. Before its appearance persons whose
taste might dispose them to investigate our early vernacu¬
lar remains had no guides to direct them, and each had to
form for himself a grammar and a dictionary of the Saxon.
Hickes’ was full of blunders, and in these Elstob, Lye,
Manning, and others had religiously followed him, super¬
adding their own contingents respectively. Rask’s services
to comparative philology were very great. He was the first
to point out the connection between the ancient Northern
andGothiconthe one hand, and of the Lithuanian, Sclavonic,
Greek, and Latin on the other. In private life the cha¬
racter of Professor Rask was such as to command admira¬
tion and respect. His manners, though somewhat retiring,
were mild and gentle, and his morals unimpeachable. His
mode of living was simple in the extreme, and his temper¬
ance almost that of an anchoret. The habits of study and ap¬
plication which he had acquired in his youth were never laid
aside. In company he was diffident, and always expressed
himself with modesty ; but when the subject involved any¬
thing relative to his own history or pursuits, he evinced a
reluctance to converse which seemed to grow upon him
with years, and almost amounted to a morbid sensibility.
His facility in the acquisition of languages was extraor¬
dinary ; he appeared to gain a knowledge of them by a sort
of intuition, and his mind seemed to recollect rather than
to 1 ; rn. In 1822 he was master of no less than twenty-
five languages and dialects. His knowledge of English was
extensive and correct. He spoke and wrote it with such
fluency and precision that Englishmen to whom he was
introduced were accustomed to ask him how long he had
been in England, considering that such an acquaintance
could only be gained by a residence in the country where
it was spoken. Rask, in his personal appearance, was thin
and spare, but well made ; his habits of temperance, regu¬
larity, and exercise, had contributed to give him all the
appearance of a healthy man, and he seemed destined to
attain a ripe old age. He was capable of enduring much
fatigue, and even the privation of necessary rest; changes
of climate seemed to produce no impression upon his con¬
stitution ; the scorching sun of India, and the biting frosts
of Iceland, were equally braved and disregarded. But,
with all this apparent superiority to ordinary infirmities, he
K A S
Rassova fell a victim to consumption, and died at Copenhagen on
II the 14th of November 1832, in the forty-fifth year of his
Hasten- age. pjjg numerous philological manuscripts were given over
v ur^' , to the king’s library at Copenhagen. Rask s Anglo-Saxon,
Danish, and Icelandic Grammars have been given to the
English public by Thorpe, Repp, and Dasent respectively.
RASSOVA, a fortified town of European Turkey, on
the right bank of the Danube, at the place where that nver
turns suddenly to the north, 38 miles E. by N. of Sihstna.
Near this begins the line of earth-works called irajans
Wall, stretching across the isthmus of the Dobrudscha to
the Black Sea. Rassova was occupied by the Russians for
a short time in 1854. Pop. 8000.
RASTADT, or Rastall, a fortified tovwi of the grand
duchy of Baden, circle of Middle Rhine, on the Murg, not
far from its confluence with the Rhine, 14 miles S. of Carls-
ruhe, and 30 N.E. of Strasburg. The palace, formerly oc¬
cupied by the margraves of Baden-Baden, a building four
storeys high, after the model of the palace at Versailles, is
the most conspicuous edifice. It stands on a height, and
has a tower surmounted with a gilt statue of Jupiter, and
commanding an extensive view. The town is regulaily
built, and has several churches, a lyceum, and a normal
school. Manufactures of tobacco, snuff, cutlery, mathe¬
matical and musical instruments are carried on here ; and
there is a considerable trade. Rastadt was first brought
into importance by the Margrave Louis William, who had
fixed his residence here in the end of the seventeenth
century, it having previously been but a small village.
The peace of 1714, which put an end to the war of the
Spanish succession, was signed in the palace by Prince
Eugene and Marshal Villars. A congress was held here in
1797-9, to negotiate a peace between France and the
empire, after which the French ambassadors, Roberjot and
Bonnier, were murdered on their return, only a short dis¬
tance from the town, but by whom it was never ascertained.
A monument now marks the place. At Rastadt the insur¬
rection in Baden in 1849 first broke out; and the insur¬
gents, after a three weeks’ siege, were^obliged to surrender
at discretion to the Prussians. Pop. 7284.
RASTALL, John, a printer and miscellaneous writer,
was born in London probably about the end of the fifteenth
century, and educated at Oxford. Returning from the
university, he settled in the metropolis and commenced
printer, “ then esteemed,” says Wood, “ a profession fit for
any scholar or ingenious man.” He married the sister of
Sir Thomas More, with whom, we are told, he was very
intimate, and whose writings he strenuously defended.
From the title-page of one of his books, he appears to have
lived in Cheapside, at the sign of the Mermaid. He died
in the year 1536; and left two sons, V illiam and John ;
the first of whom became a judge in Queen Mary’s reign,
and the other a justice of peace. The subject of the pre¬
sent article was a zealous Papist j but Bale says that he
changed his religion before his death. He wrote Natura
naturata, which Pits calls a copious and ingenious comedy,
describing Europe, Asia, and Africa. The Pasty me of the
People; the crony cles of diverse realmys, and most especially
of the realm of England, brevely compiled and emprinted
in Cheapesyde, at the sign of the Mermaid, next Pollys-
gate, cum privilegio, folio. It was reprinted in 1811 in
the Collection of English Chronicles. Ecclesia Johannis
Rastall, 1542, was one of the prohibited books in the reign
of Henry VIII. He also wrote Legum Anglicanarum
vocabula explicata, French and Latin, London, 1567, 8vo.
RASTENBURG, a town of Prussia, in the province of
Prussia, and circle of Kbnigsberg, on the Guber, 55 miles
S.E. of Kbnigsberg. It is distinguished by the high, red
roofs of the houses; and contains a castle, several churches,
^ gymnasium, &c. Linen is woven here, and forms the
principal article of trade. Pop. 4805.
VOL. XVIII.
RAT 809
RAT. See Mammalia. Rat
RATAFIA, a-fine spirituous liquor prepared from the IJ
kernels and other parts of several kinds of fruits, partieu- v Ratlon- j
larly cherries and apricots. Ratafia of cherries is prepared
by bruising the cherries, and putting them into a vessel
wherein brandy has long been kept; then adding to them
the kernels of cherries, with strawberries, Sugar, cinnamon,
white pepper, nutmeg, cloves, and to twenty pounds of
cherries ten quarts of brandy. The vessel is left open ten
or twelve days, and then stopped close for two months be¬
fore it is tapped. Ratafia of apricots is prepared in two
ways,—namely, either by boiling the apricots in white wine,
adding to the liquor an equal quantity of brandy, with sugar,
cinnamon, mace, and the kernels of apricots, infusing the
whole for eight or ten days, then straining the liquor, and
putting it up for use;. or by infusing the apricots, cut in
pieces, in brandy for a day or two, passing it through a
straining-bag, and then putting in the usual ingredients.
The French excel in this species of distillation.
RATCHET. See Clock and Watch Work, § Going
Barrels.
RATES. See Navy, § Materiel.
RATHANGAN, a market-town of Ireland, county of
Kildare, on the Little Barrow, 5 miles N. by W. of Kil¬
dare, and 31 W.S.W. of Dublin. It is pretty well built,
and contains a handsome parish church ; various other
places of worship, two schools, a dispensary, and several
large flour-mills. There are hardly any manufactures or
trade here. Pop. (1851) 1004.
RATHDOWNEY, a market-town of Ireland, Queen’s
County, on an affluent of the Nore, 19 miles S.W. of Mary¬
borough. It has a good parish church, Methodist and Ro¬
man Catholic chapels, two schools, a barrack, and a dispen¬
sary. In the parish there are, besides other remains, those
of an abbey and of three castles. A brewery and a boulting-
mill are the only manufactories. Pop. (1851) 1192.
RATHENGW, or Rathenau, a town of Prussia, in
the province of Brandenburg and circle of Potsdam, on the
Havel, 45 miles W. of Berlin. It contains a church with
a newly-erected Gothic tower, a gymnasium, and a girls’
school. There is also a monument and a statue of the
elector Frederick-William. Among the manufactures, the
most important is that of optical instruments ; fishing, brew¬
ing, distilling, and navigation, give employment to many of
the people. A victory was gained here in 1675 by the
troops of Brandenburg over the Swedes. Pop. 6432.
RATHKEALE, a market-town of Ireland, county of
Limerick, on the Deel, 16 miles S.W. of Limerick, and
136 S.W. by W. of Dublin. Many of the houses are well
built; and there are a parish church, Roman Catholic and
other places of worship, a court-house, jail, several schools,
hospital, dispensary, and workhouse. The inhabitants are
mostly employed in farming, and there is a considerable
retail trade. The ruins of an old priory and of two castles
are to be seen here. Rathkeale derived much advantage
from a colony of German Protestants who settled here in the
beginning of the eighteenth century. Pop. (1851) 3029.
RATIBOR, a town of Prussia, in the province of Sile¬
sia and government of Oppeln, on the left bank of the
Oder, 40 miles S.S.E. of Oppeln. It is walled, entered by
four gates,, and defended by a castle. There are here a court
of appeal for Upper Silesia, several churches, a gymnasium,
and other schools, several hospitals, &c. Manufactures
and trade are actively carried on; and much-frequented
markets are held for corn, cattle, wool, flax, and hemp.
Pop. 9691.
RATIO. See Geometry, § on Proportion.
RATION, a portion of ammunition, bread, drink, and
forage, distributed to each soldier in an army for his daily
subsistence. The horse have rations of hay and oats when
they cannot go out to forage.
5 K
810 RAT
national- R ATION ALISM, in its widest acceptation, is applicable
ism to all who follow the dictates of reason, whether in their
II speculative or practical life. In its more restricted signifka-
Ratisbon. t-on appijecj specially to that system of religious opinion
whose final test of truth is placed in the direct assent of the
human consciousness, whether in the form of logical deduc¬
tion, moral judgment or religious intuition, by whatever
previous process these faculties may have been raised to
their assumed dignity as arbitrators. I he rationalist, as
such, is not hound to maintain that a divine revelation of
religious truth is impossible, nor even to deny that it has
actually been given. He may admit the fact of a revela¬
tion, and may accept certain portions of it as of permanent
authority; but he assigns to the higher tribunal of his con¬
sciousness the right of determining what is essential to
religion and what is not.
RATISBON (Germ. Regensburg, Fr. Ratisbonne), a
town of Bavaria, in the upper palatinate, on the right bank
of the Danube, here crossed by an ancient stone bridge,
at its confluence with the Regen, 65 miles N.N.E. of
Munich. It has an antique and somewhat dull appearance,
as it has greatly fallen off from its former size and splen¬
dour. The old walls which surround it are in a dilapidated
condition, and the ditches filled up. Entrance is obtained
by six gates into the town, where the streets, narrow and
crooked, though clean, are lined with old-fashioned stone
buildings. Several loop-holed embattled towers rise from
the houses to remind the spectators of the ancient turbulent
times; and in the street of the ambassadors there are many
memorials of the days when its splendid mansions were
occupied by the representatives of great monarchs and
nations. The arms of various countries decorate many of
the houses, among which are the eagle of Austria and the
lion of St Mark. The Gothic cathedral of St Peter,
though both of its towers are unfinished, is one of the
masterpieces of German architecture. It was begun in
1275, and left off in 1634. The ground plan is peculiar,
as the lower storey has no transepts, but only the upper.
The western front is extremely beautiful, and richly adorned.
In the interior are many fine statues and works of art;
among the rest, the high altar of solid silver. From the
summit of the building a beautiful and extensive view is
obtained over the course of the Danube, with the chain of
the Alps in the distance. Within the cathedral inclosure
are the remains of two more ancient churches, curious and
interesting to the antiquarian. There are numerous other
churches in the town, but few of them possess much in¬
terest, A gloomy and irregular old building near the ca¬
thedral is the town-hall, the meeting-place of the German
Diets from 1663 till 1806. In the assembly-hall are still to
be seen the seats and benches which are said to have been
used. The building also contains dungeons and a torture
chamber ; in the latter, directly below the hall of the Diet,
is the most perfectly preserved collection of instruments of
cruelty that exists in Europe. A large building, formerly
the Benedictine convent of St Emmeran, is now the resi¬
dence of the Count of Thurn and Taxis. In the garden
belonging to it stands a monument to Kepler, who died at
Ratisbon in 1630, and is buried in the adjacent church¬
yard. The town contains, besides the buildings already
mentioned, a theatre, public library, picture gallery, col¬
lection of antiquities ; lyceum, gymnasium, and other
schools; hospital, infirmary, orphan and blind asylums, &c.
The manufactures include beer, brandy, tobacco, leather,
wax-candles, porcelain, earthenware, paper, cotton, steel,
brass, &c. Ship-building is actively carried on, and there
is a considerable trade and navigation on the Danube; salt,
timber, and corn, being the chief articles of commerce. In
the vicinity of Ratisbon stands the Walhalla, a building
after the model of the Parthenon at Athens, containing
busts and monuments of celebrated Germans from the
R A U
earliest period. It was founded by King Lewis of Ba- Ratlines
varia in 1830, and completed in 1842; a magnificently- ||
adorned building, but, as a temple of Fame, not by any Rauch,
means so impressive as the time-hallowed fanes of other
countries. It stands on a hill commanding towards the
east, a view of the dark slopes of the Bavarian Forest on
the north of the Danube, and the rich plain of Straubing
on the south, with the ruin-crowned heights of Donaustauf,
and the towers of Ratisbon to the west, and in clear weather
the distant Alps to the south. Ratisbon is a town of great
antiquity, and was a place of some importance under the
Romans. With the exception of one square tower, said
to be of Roman origin, there are no remains of this period.
The first German emperor, Louis the German, fixed his
residence here; and the town was afterwards the seat of
the dukes of Bavaria, and the capital of that country.
Frederick Barbarossa, in the twelfth century, made Ratis¬
bon immediately dependent on the empire, and as such it
remained till 1803, when it was given to the Archbishop of
Mentz. The town enjoyed great prosperity during the middle
ages ; but, like Augsburg and Nuremberg, it fell into decay
after the discovery of the Cape of Good Hope. In 1809 it
passed again into the possession of Bavaria. Pop. 25,000.
RATLINES, or, as the sailors call them, ratlins, those
lines which form the ladder-steps to the shrouds of a ship.
RATTANS, commercially rattan-canes, are the whip¬
like prolongations {Jlagelli) of the petioles of Calamus Rox-
burghii, Griffiths, the C. Rotang of Roxburgh and other
species (Nat. Ord. Palmacece). These jlagelli are often
of very great length, and as they ara armed at their extre¬
mities with long sharp prickles, when pushed amongst the
foliage of other trees they serve as tendrils to these climb¬
ing palms. The greater portion of the flagellum is smooth
and glossy, with a thick silicious coating having the ap¬
pearance of varnish, and being very indestructible. They
are collected in Bengal, along the Coromandel coast, in
Java, and in China, in vast quantities, and are used very
extensively for a great variety of purposes in all parts
of the peninsula of India, from which they are largely
exported to all parts of the world. Their great strength
and flexibility, their cylindrical form, the ease with which
they split, &c., render them applicable to a variety of pur¬
poses. The Hindus and Chinese make hats, shoes, chairs,
bedsteads, baskets, sieves, and other useful articles of them.
They likewise use them as ropes for binding their wooden
houses together, and form a great variety of mats from
them. The Chinese use them to a great extent instead of
cord for tying round their tea-chests. In Europe they are
chiefly used in forming the bottoms of chairs and stools,
and as a cheap substitute for whalebone. The imports
in 1858 were 8,901,600 rattans. They usually come in
bundles of about fifty in each, the canes being about 16 feet
in length, and once bent in the bundle. (t. c. a.)
RAUCH, Christian, one of the greatest sculptors of
modern times, was born at Arolsen, in the principality of
Waldeck, on the 2d of January 1777. The opening career
of the young artist was attended with considerable difficulty.
His parents were poor, and could not afford to place him
under efficient masters. His first instructor, Valentin ot
Arolsen, taught him little else than the art of sculpturing
grave-stones. Professor Ruhl of Cassel could not give
him much more. A wider field of improvement opened
up before him when he removed to Berlin in 1797; but
poverty still hampered all his efforts. He was obliged
to earn a livelihood by becoming a royal lacquey, and to
reserve the prosecution of his favourite art for his spare
hours. The genius of Rauch, however, soon forced itself
into notice, and recommended him to several influential
individuals who were able to give him assistance. Queen
Louisa surprising him one day in the act of modelling her
fair features in wax, sent him to study at the Academy of
R A U
Rauch. Art. Not long afterwards, in 1804, Count Sandrecky gave
him the means to go and complete his education at Rome.
There also he found both aid and encouragement. Wil¬
liam Von Humboldt directed his attention to the antique.
Canova and Thorwaldsen advised and stimulated him in
that study. Under such propitious patronage the young
sculptor made rapid progress. Among other works, he
executed bas-reliefs of “ Hippolytus and Phaedra; Mars
and Venus wounded by Diomede,” and a “ Child Praying.
It was in 1811 that Rauch entered upon the eminent
part of his career. Commissioned in that year to execute
a monument for Queen Louisa of Prussia, he summoned
up all his strength and industry for the arduous task. It is
said that he shut himself up from all intercourse with the
world until, by unwearied meditation and experiment, he
had caught and embodied the features of his departed pa¬
troness. The statue, representing the queen in a sleeping
posture, was placed in a mausoleum in the grounds of
Charlottenburg, and procured great fame for the artist.
Commissions for portraits came pouring in upon him. The
consummate tact with which he seized individual chaiac-
teristics, and the artistic manner in which he treated them,
established at once his reputation. The erection of all
public statues came to be entrusted to him. He began to
execute that long series of representations of great Ger¬
mans in which his genius is exhibited to full advantage.
As years passed by, statesmen, patriots, and men of genius,
some colossal and others of the ordinary size, continued
to come forth from his studio. In course of time almost
every important town throughout the country possessed a
bust of some worthy fresh and vigorous from his matchless
chisel. There were, among others, Blucher at Breslau,
King Maximilian at Munich, Pastor Franke at Halle, Alt
bert Durer at Nurenberg, Luther at Wittenberg, and the
Grand Duke Paul Frederick at Schwerin. At length he
reached the climax of his efforts, by commencing in 1840
a colossal monument at Berlin to Frederick the Great.
This work was inaugurated with great pomp, and in the
presence of a vast assemblage, in May 1851, and has ever
since been regarded as one of the grandest masterpieces
of modern sculpture. On a granite pedestal 25 feet in
height stands the colossal equestrian statue of the king.
His plain, pinched features, and his grotesque costume, are
given with historical exactness, w'ithout impairing the artis¬
tic effect, An air of resistless majesty ennobles the mean
countenance, and a bold and skilful treatment hides the
absurdity of the garb. Nor are the representations on
the pedestal less correct or less successful. On each of the
four faces designs in high relief, of the size of life, and exe¬
cuted after authentic portraits, busts, or medals, appear
lively groups of the generals, statesmen, and great men of
the reign. Beneath these figures are tablets bearing the
names of other noted Prussian contemporaries. Above are
female forms of Justice, Strength, Wisdom, and Modera¬
tion, interspersed with emblematic bas-reliefs of the princi¬
pal periods of the monarch’s career. In fact, the entire
monument is a vivid history in stone of the life and reign
of Frederick the Great.
These numerous labours of Rauch were rewarded by a
happy old age. The matchless excellence of his master¬
piece had been recognised throughout the world, Princes
decorated him with honours. All the academies of Europe
enrolled him among their members. Especially did his
own sovereign and countrymen regard him with proud af¬
fection and respect. Of late years his fine form, the very
embodiment of elevated and venerable genius, was an ob¬
ject of interest at the court-balls of Berlin. Nor did he
take less pleasure than he had ever done in the prosecu¬
tion of his art. As he said himself, “ his working-room was
his home.” A statue of Kant for Konigsberg, and a statue of
Thaer for Berlin, occupied his attention during some of his
R A V 811
last years; and he had just finished a model of “ Moses pray- Ravailliac
ing between Aaron and Hur,” when the illness attacked him Rav|nna
which eventually carried him off on the 3d December 1857. v y
RAVAILLIAC, or Ravaillac, Francois, the assassin
of Henri IV. of France, was born at Angouleme, about 1578,
and was at the time of his execution about thirty-two
years of age. Ravaillac was the son of humble parents, his
father being one of those inferior retainers of the law to
whom the vulgar give the name of pettifoggers, a pro¬
fession to which his son had also been bred. He taught a
school for some time, and seems to have been imprisoned for
debt, which greatly affected his mind. His distress was so
great that he had much ado to live. M hen he was seized
for the murder of the king, he was very loosely guarded,
and all were permitted to speak with him who pleased. He
was removed next day from the house of Espei non to the
Conciergerie, the proper prison of the Parliament of Paris.
When he was first interrogated, he answered with great
boldness, that he had done it, and wmdd do it if it were to
be done again. ^Vhen he was told that the king, though
dangerously wounded, was living, and might lecovei, he
said that he had struck him home, and that he was suie he
was dead. He persisted in the most solemn asseverations
that he had no accomplices, and that nobody had persuaded
him to the fact. He appeared surprised at nothing so
much as at the universal abhorrence of the people, which,
it seems, he did not expect. When he was put to the
torture, he broke out into horrid execrations, and always
insisted that he did the act from his own motive, and that
he could accuse nobody. On the day of his execution,
after he had made the amende before the church of Notre
Dame, he was carried to the Greve ; and, being placed
upon a scaffold, was tied to a wooden engine in the shape
of a St Andrew’s cross. The knife with which he did the
murder being fastened in his right hand, it was fiist burned
in a slow fire; then the fleshy parts of his body were torn
with red-hot pincers, and melted lead, oil, pitch, and rosin
poured into the wounds. The people refused to pray for
him; and when, according to the sentence that had been
pronounced upon him, he came to be dragged to pieces by
four horses, one of those that were brought appearing to be
but weak, a spectator offered his own, with which the cri¬
minal was much moved. He was very earnest for absolu¬
tion, which his confessor refused, unless he would reveal his
accomplices. “ Give it me,” said he, “ upon condition that
I have told the truthwhich the priest eventually did. His
body resisted the force of the horses ; and the executioner
cut him into quarters, which the people dragged through
the streets. There has just been published Lc Proces du
tres Meschant et Detestable Parricide Francois Ravaillac,
by Auguste Aubry, Paris, 1859, compiled from the ori¬
ginal MSS. of the trial.
RAVELIN. See Fortification.
RAVENGLASS, a seaport and market town of Eng¬
land, in the countv of Cumberland, 42 miles S.S.W. of
Carlisle. It stands'on an inlet of the sea, where the Esk,
Irt and Mite unite, and commands a view of the Welsh
mountains and the Isle of Man. Oysters are obtained
alono- the coast, and there is a considerable coasting trade
in coal, timber, and com. Pop. (1851) of the parish of
Muncaster, in which it is included, 623.
RAVENNA, a town of the Papal States, capital of a
delegation of the same name, on the left bank of the Mon¬
tone, 43 miles E. by S. of Bologna. It stood originally on
the coast; but as early as the filth century the alluvial de¬
posits brought down by the Po had begun to encroach upon
the sea, from which it is now about 4 miles distant. This
space is now occupied by a portion of that celebrated pine
forest, perhaps the most ancient in Italy, which covers the
flat sandy ground along the Adriatic for about 25 miles.
It furnished timber for the Roman fleets, and afterwards for
V ?'
812 R A V
Ravenna, those of Venice; and it has been rendered classic ground
by the genius of Dante, Boccaccio, Dryden, and Byron.
The town is inclosed by earthen ramparts about 3 miles
in circuit, but it has miserably shrunk from its former dimen¬
sions ; its palaces are deserted of their greatness, and grass
grows in its broad and once busy streets. The cathedral,
built by Orso, Archbishop of Ravenna, in the fourth cen¬
tury, has been rebuilt in modern times; so that the only
relic of the original edifice is the cylindrical campanile,
which resembles the Constantinopolitan minarets. In the
interior there are, among other works of art, two of the
finest of Guido’s paintings. The baptistery, of an octa¬
gonal form, is of nearly the same date as the church, and
is detached from it. It contains many well-preserved
treasures of early Christian art. The basilica of San Vitale
is a splendid octagonal building in the pure Byzantine style,
after the model of St Sophia at Constantinople. It was
consecrated in 547, and was imitated in the church of
Charlemagne at Aix-la-Chapelle. Of the other churches
in the town, many possess much interest from their antiquity,
their architecture, or the paintings and sculptures which
they contain. Indeed, it is at Ravenna that the early
Christian monuments are to be seen in the greatest per¬
fection ; they are not, as in Rome, mixed with the remains
of an earlier paganism ; nor as in Constantinople, which in
architecture this city much resembles, altered by the intro¬
duction of the Moslem religion and rule. Of the once
splendid palace of Theodoric nothing now remains but a
single wall, adorned with marble pillars. The mausoleum
of the Gothic monarch, about a mile outside of the town,
is a round marble edifice, with a solid dome weighing more
than 200 tons. On its flat summit the urn with the royal
ashes is said to have lain. The building, now a church,
has been split by lightning, and sunk some feet in the earth.
But the most celebrated tomb in Ravenna is that of Dante,
whose ashes, inclosed in a marble sarcophagus, lie in a small
square building surmounted by a cupola, and ornamented
not with very good taste. Near this spot is the house
where Byron lived for more than two years. Among the
palaces of the town, the most interesting is that of the
archbishop, the chapel of which has been preserved un¬
touched from the fifth century. The public library con¬
tains upwards of 40,000 volumes and 700 MSS.; among the
latter, is a celebrated one of Aristophanes, and an illuminated
one of Dante on vellum. The museum and the academy
of fine arts are both rich in their respective objects. There
are also various private collections of paintings, a theatre,
and other establishments. The only manufacture carried
on here is that of silk, and this only to a very small extent.
Ihe trade too is almost extinct. The origin of Ravenna
is lost in obscurity; it is said to have been a Thessalian
colony, but was afterwards given over to the Umbrians,
who retained possession of it till it was conquered by the
Romans. What time this took place does not appear; the
name is not mentioned till the time of the civil wars, when
it seems to have been a place of much importance. In the
time of Augustus it stood on the coast, in the midst of
marshes, and was built on piles, intersected by canals; so
that it must then have resembled the modern Venice.
4 hat monarch, making Ravenna the station of his Adriatic
fleet, formed a harbour called Portus Classis, about 3 miles
to the south, and connected it with the Po by a canal which
passed through the town. From this epoch the station of
the Roman fleet continued to be here, and the city rose to
a great degree of prosperity, especially as a military post.
In 404 Honorius established his residence here, and it was
r>n •! an^ successors the imperial city of the West,
besides its strong position, the fortifications with which it
se.curec^ Ravenna against the attacks of the
ot s or a considerable time. Theodoric, king of the East
° s, overthrew in 489 Odoacer, who had established
RAY
himself there after the fall of the Western Empire, and made
Ravenna the capital of a new kingdom. Fifty years later,
Belisarius compelled the surrender of the city; and his suc¬
cessor Narses obtained the government of Italy, under the
title of Exarch of Ravenna. This exarchate lasted for 185
years, till in 754 the Lombards, under Astolphus, driving
out Eutichius, the last exarch, made Ravenna the metro¬
polis of their kingdom. But their designs against Rome
brought upon them the armies of Pepin and Charlemagne,
who re-conquered Ravenna, and gave it as a temporal pos¬
session to the Papal See. Many civil wars and tumults took
place in the subsequent ages; and in 1441 the people
placed themselves under the protection of Venice. In
1509 Ravenna was restored to the Pope, and made the
capital of the Romagna, governed by his legates. Shortly
after, a French army under Gaston de Foix invaded Italy,
and encountered the Spanish and Papal troops near Ra¬
venna. One of the most bloody engagements recorded in
history took place; the French were victorious, but their
brave commander fell in a desperate assault on the retreating
foe. Ravenna was once more taken from the Pope by the
French in 1790, but afterwards restored. Pop. about 18,000.
The delegation, bounded on the N. by that of Ferrara,
E. by the Adriatic, S. by the delegation of Forli, and W.
by that of Bologna and by Tuscany, has an area of 674
square miles. The country slopes towards the N. and E.
from the Apennines and their branches in the interior;
and along the coast is marshy and unhealthy, though the
inland portions are fertile and salubrious. Salt, corn, hemp,
flax, wine, and cattle are the chief products of the country.
Pop. (1853) 175,994.
RAVENSBURG, a town of Wurtemberg, circle of
the Danube, in the midst of vine-clad hills, on the Schus-
sen, 22 miles E.N.E. of Constance. It has an antique
appearance, and is encircled with embattled walls and
towers of various form. From the Veitsburg, a height
once occupied by a castle of the Guelph family, a magni¬
ficent view is obtained of the Lake of Constance and the
Swiss Alps. The town contains a town-hall, many churches,
convents, hospitals, &c. Manufactures of beer, silk, flax,
worsted, paper, and other articles are carried on. The
trade too is very extensive. Pop. 5500.
RAWITSCH, or Rawicz, a town of Prussia, province
and 55 miles S. of Posen. It is well built, and encircled
with walls and ditches, and contains a handsome town-hall,
Protestant and Roman Catholic churches, a gymnasium
and other schools, a jail, &c. The manufactures consist of
woollen and cotton cloth, leather, hats, and tobacco; and
there are also spinning-mills. Some trade is carried on in
corn and wool. Charles XII. of Sweden had his winter
quarters here in 1704. Pop. 9532.
RAY, John, a celebrated naturalist, was the son of Roger
Ray, a blacksmith, and was born at Black Notley in Essex
in 1628. He received the rudiments of learning at the
grammar school of Braintree; and in 1644 was admitted
into Catharine Hall, Cambridge, whence he afterwards
removed to Trinity College in that university. He took
the degree of Master of Arts, and became at length a
senior fellow of the college. He was chosen Greek lec¬
turer at the age of twenty-three, and two years later mathe¬
matical tutor to his college. His intense application to his
studies having injured his health, he was obliged at his
leisure hours to exercise himself by riding or walking in
the fields, which led him to the study of plants. He noted
from Johnson, Parkinson, and the Phytologia Britannica,
the places where curious plants grew; and in 1658 he rode
from Cambridge to the city of Chester, whence he pro¬
ceeded to North Wales, visiting many places, and amongst
others the famous hill of Snowdon, and returning by Shrews¬
bury and Gloucester. In 1660 he published his Catalogus
Plantarum circa Cantabrigiam nascentium, and the same
Ravens-
burg
RAY
Raymond, year he was ordained deacon and priest. In 1661 he ac-
companied Francis Willughby and others, in seatch of
plants and other natural curiosities, to the north of England,
and Scotland; and the next year he made a western tour
from Chester, through Wales, to Cornwall, Devonshire,
Dorsetshire, Hampshire, Wiltshire, and other counties. He
afterwards travelled with W illughby and other gentlemen
through Holland, Germany, Italy, France, and made se-
veral tours in England, and was admitted fellow of t le
Royal Society. In 1672 his friend Willughby diech in
the thirty-seventh year of his age, at Middleton Hall,
his seat in Warwickshire, to the great loss and grief of
Ray himself, his friends, and all good men who knew
him. As there existed the closest and most sinceie
friendship between Willughby and Ray from the time of
their being fellow-students, Willughby not only confided
in Ray in his lifetime, but also at his death; for he made
him one of the executors of his will, and charged him with
the education of his sons, Francis and Thomas, leaving him
at the same time an annuity of L.60 per annum. The
elder being not quite four years of age, Ray, as a faith¬
ful trustee, undertook their instruction, and for their use
compded his NoYficnclcLtov Clcissicus, which was pub¬
lished the same year. Francis, the elder, dying before
he became of age, the younger became Lord Middleton.
Not many months after the death of Willughby, Ray
lost another of his best friends, Bishop Wilkins, whom he
visited in London on the 18th of November 1672. In June
1673 Ray married a daughter of Mr Oakley of Launton
in Oxfordshire. Towards the end of this year came forth
his Observations made in Foreign Countries, to which was
added his Catalogus Stirpium in exteris Regionibus obser-
vatarum; and about the same time appeared his Collection
of Unusual or Local English Words, which he had made
in his travels through the counties of England. After hav¬
ing published many books upon subjects foreign to his pro¬
fession, and among which was his Collection of Proverbs,
published in 1672, he at length resolved to appear in the
character of divine. He published his excellent demon¬
stration of the being and attributes of God, entitled The
Wisdom of God manifested in the Works of the Creation,
1697, 8vo. The rudiments of this work were read in some
college lectures", and another collection of the same kind
he enlarged, and published under the title of Three Physio-
theological Discourses concerning the Chaos, Deluge, and
Dissolution of the World, 1692, in 8vo. Ray died in 1705.
He was modest, affable, and communicative, and distin¬
guished by his probity, charity, sobriety, and piety. He
wrote a great number of works, the principal of which, be¬
sides those already mentioned, are :
Catalogus Plantarum Anglia;; Dictionariolum Trilingue secundum
locos communes ; Historia Plantarum Species hactenus editas, aliasque
insuper multus noviter inventas et descriptas complectens, 3 vols.;
Methodus Plantarum nova, cum Tabuhs, 8vo, and several other works
on plants ; Synopsis Methodica Ammalium Quadrupedum et Serpen-
tini generis, 8 vo; Synopsis Methodica Avium etPiscium; Historia Insec-
torum, opus posthumum; Methodus Insectarum; Philosophical Letters.
Memorials ofJohnRay\\a.\e been written byDrDerham,
by Sir J. E. Smith for Rees’ Cyclopcedia, and by Cuvier
and Dupetit Thouars for the Biog. Univ. (See those bio¬
graphies, collected and published for the “Ray Society”
by Dr Edwin Lankester.)
RAYMOND of Sebonde (written also Sabonde, Sa-
bunde, Sebon, Sebond, Sebeyde, Sabiende, and Sebeide),
was born at Barcelona towards the close of the fourteenth
century, professed philosophy, theology, and medicine, from
1430 to 1432, in the university of Toulouse, where he died
in 1432. Dr C. L. Kleiber, who has recently examined
the oldest MS. relating to Raymond at Paris, conjectures
that it is Sabaedo in Spain that must be meant by the
place so variously spelt in the different accounts given of
him. There are a number of works ascribed to him; but
R A Z 813
the only one known in our day is the Theologia Naturalis Raynal
sive liber creaturarum, written, according to some, in Span- ||
ish, but translated into French by Montaigne in 1569: into Razzi.
Latin at different times—Deventer, 1487 ; Strasburg, 1496;
Niirnberg, 1502; Paris, 1509; Venice, 1581; Lyon, 1648.
The author, who was the first to use the expression Theo¬
logia Naturalis, spent upwards of thirty years in the com¬
position of this work. It was began in 1404, and finished
1436. (See De Raimundi quem vacant Raymond Sa-
bunde vita et scriptis, by Dr C. L. Kleiber, 1856.)
RAYNAL, Guillaume Thomas Francois, better
known as the Abbe Raynal, was born in the year 1711,
and having received his education from the Jesuits, became
one of their number. Amongst them Raynal acquired a
taste for literature and science; but he was afterwards
expelled on account of his impiety. Soon after this event
he justified his expulsion by associating with Voltaire,
D’Alembert, and Diderot, who employed him to furnish
the articles on theology for the Encyclopedie; but having
no relish, and probably as little qualification, for such work,
he devolved it on the Abbe Yvon, whom Barruel allows to
have been an inoffensive and upright man. The first work
ot Raynal is his Political and Philosophical History of
the European Settlements in the East and West Indies.
The style of this work is rambling but animated; it con¬
tains many just reflections both of a political and philoso¬
phical nature, intermixed, however, with much vague and
declamatory speculation. It has been translated into every
European language. This performance was followed by a
small tract in the year 1780, entitled the Revolution of
America, in which he pleaded the cause of the colonists
with 'much zeal, censured the conduct of the British go¬
vernment, and discovered some acquaintance with the
principles of the different factions; circumstances which
induced a belief that he had been furnished with materials
by those who knew the merits of the dispute much better
than any foreigner could reasonably be supposed to do.
The French government instituted a prosecution against
him on account of his History of the East and West Indies;
but with so little severity was it conducted, that sufficient
time was allowed him to retire to the dominions of his
Prussian majesty, by whom he was protected, notwith¬
standing he had treated the character of that sovereign
with ‘very little ceremony. At one period the British
House of Commons showed him a very singular mark of
respect. The speaker having been informed that Raynal
was a spectator in the gallery, public business was instantly
suspended, and the stranger'was conducted to a more hon¬
ourable situation. But when a friend of Dr Johnson’s
asked him, “ Will you give me leave, doctor, to introduce
to you the Abbe Raynal?” the stanch Tory turned on
his heel, and said, “ No, sir.” A love of liberty was the
principal trait in Raynal s character. In the month of May
1791 he addressed to the Constituent Assembly an elo¬
quent and impressive letter, in which he proved that it
was not the business of the assembly to abolish every
ancient institution; that the genius of the French people
is such that they never can be happy or prosperous except
under a well-regulated monarchical government; and that,
if they wished not the nation to fall under the worst kind
of despotism, they would increase the power of the king.
Besides the works already mentioned, he was the author
of a Histoire du Staadthouderat, Paris, 1784; Histoire du
Parlement dAngleterre de Catherine dArragon, 2 vols.,
1750; Histoire du Divorce Henri VIII., 1763 ; Anecdotes
litteraires, historiques, militaires, etpohtiques, 3 vols., 1753.
He was deprived of all his property during the Revolution,
and died in poverty in the month of March 1796, in the
eighty-fourth year of his age.
RAZZI, Giovanni Antonio, surnamed II Sodoma, an
eminent Italian painter, was bom at Vercelli in Piedmont
814
REA
Reading.
about 1474. He first became notable at Siefia as an artist
of very eccentric conduct. Much of his attention was
directed to horse-racing and other frivolous amusements.
His house was turned into a menagerie for all sorts of ani¬
mals. He prided himself in his whimsicalities, and gloried
in the nickname of mattaccio (buffoon.) He even could
not refrain from leaving traces of levity in some of his
serious painting. Yet Razzi had a fine genius, which in
his calmer and more collected moods rose to some of the
highest excellences in art. Speaking of some of his select
works at Siena, Annibale Caracci declared that “ few such
works were to be seen.” There were “ The Epiphany” in
the church of S. Agostino, rivalling the style of Leonardo
da Vinci» “ The Scourging of Christ,” in the cloister of
S. Francesco, noted for the surpassing excellence of its
figures ; and “ The Swoon of St Catherine of Siena, ’ in a
chapel of S. Domenica, enthusiastically admired by Peruzzi.
Razzi died in the great hospital at Siena in 1554.
READING, a market-town, parliamentary and muni¬
cipal borough of England, capital of Berkshire, on the
Rennet, just above its confluence with the Thames, 36
miles W. by S. of London. It is irregularly built, but has
been recently very much improved. The greater part of
the town lies in the parish of St Lawrence, on the angle of
land formed by the Rennet and Thames, and the principal
business streets are in this quarter. To the west lies the
parish of St Mary, occupied by many of the poorer people ;
and to the south that of St Giles, containing most of the
best and newest streets. The houses are for the most part
substantial, many of them handsome, and the streets broad
and well paved. The church of St Lawrence is an edifice
mostly in the later English style; but has some portions in
the Norman style, in which it was originally built. In
1434 it seems to have been considerably repaired and
altered. The tower at the west end is of chequered flint
work, and has a peal of ten bells. A similar but not so hand¬
some tower belongs to St Mary’s church, which was built
in 1550 out of the remains of a more ancient abbey. Be¬
sides the church of St Giles, two district churches, and a
chapel of ease, there are Independent, Methodist, Quaker,
and Roman Catholic churches in the town. The town-hall
is a commodious modern structure, having in the lower part
accommodation for the grammar school. The county jail and
house of correction, after the model of that of Pentonville,
occupies a costly edifice of a castellated form. A building,
known by the name of the Oracle, for the employment of
the poor in ribbon and silk weaving, erected in the seven-
teentj) century by John Rendrick, exhibits*a combination
of the Grecian and Gothic architecture. Reading has also
various almshouses, a dispensary, and an eye-infirmary.
The educational establishments include a free grammar
school, founded in 1556, and containing in 1851 thirty-five
scholars ; a blue-coat school, for forty boys; a green-coat
school, for twenty-one girls; national, British, and infant
schools, &c. A fine public hall affords accommodation to
the literary society and mechanics’ institute of Reading,
for public amusement and recreation there is a theatre, a
news-room, and baths. The town was formerly remark¬
able for its extensive manufactures of woollen goods. This
branch of employment has, however, been abandoned, al¬
though there is still some industry in various other depart¬
ments. Silk, ribbons, coarse linen, and sail-cloth are made ;
and there are also iron foundries, breweries, large build-
ing-yards, and establishments for making biscuits. The
trade is considerable, and is facilitated by various means of
communication with different parts of the country. The
Rennet is navigable up to the town for vessels of 120 tons ;
the Rennet and Avon Canal opens up an intercourse with
the large seaports, and the Great Western Railway passes
«!ose to the town, and has a station here. Corn, flour,
hops, timber, seeds, wool, cheese, and beer are among the
REA
articles of trade. Markets are held on Wednesdays and Reading
Saturdays, and there are four yearly fairs. The borough is ||
governed by a mayor, five other aldermen, and eighteen Reason-
councillors ; and it returns two members to the House of
Commons. Assizes, quarter-sessions, and a county court are
held here. The earliest historical notice of the place in¬
forms us that in 871 it was in the possession of the Danes,
who, after resisting an assault of the West Saxons, were in
the following year obliged to evacuate it. In 1006 they
again made their appearance, and burned the town. Dur¬
ing the civil war between Stephen and Maud, Reading and
its castle were of some importance ; but the castle seems to
have been destroyed not long after. Several of the subse¬
quent monarchs resided and held Parliaments in the town.
In the civil war of the seventeenth century Reading was
at different times in the possession of both parties, and
suffered much during that contest. Among the celebrated
men who have been natives of Reading are Archbishop
Laud and Sir John Soane. Pop. (1851) 21,456.
Reading, a city in the United States of North America,
capital of Berks county, Pennsylvania, on the left or east
bank of the Schuylkill River, here crossed by two bridges,
52 miles E. from Harrisburg, and about the same distance
N.W. from Philadelphia. It is a handsome town, com¬
pactly built, and intersected by straight, clean streets, cross,-*
ing each other at right angles. It stands on a plain rising
gradually from the river, and is inclosed on the east by an
eminence called Penn’s Mount. Among the most con-;
spicuous public buildings are the court-house the German
Lutheran church, surmounted by a handsome steeple about
200 feet in height; and the German Reformed church,
which has also a steeple 150 feet high. In addition to
these, it has about twelve churches, an academy, two mar¬
ket houses, two banks, and several public libraries. Reading
is a flourishing town, and carries on an active trade, being
in point of population and manufactures the third in the
state. It is connected with Philadelphia, Pottsville, and
other places by railway, and is the centre of a rich and
populous agricultural district. It is also largely engaged in
the manufacture of iron, hats, shoes, and other articles. It
was laid out by William and Richard Penn in 1748; in¬
corporated as a borough in 1783, and as a citv in 1847.
Pop. (1840) 8410; (1850) 15,743; (1853) about 17,000.
REAL {realis), though always importing the existing,
is used in various significations and oppositions:—1. As
denoting the thing as contradistinguished from its name.
2. As expressing a something in contrast to a nothing. 3.
As denoting material or external, in contrast to spiritual
or internal. 4. As synonymous with actual, and thus as op¬
posed either to the potential or to the possible. 5. As de¬
noting absolute or irrespective, in opposition to relative or
phenomenal existence. 6. As indicating existence as a
subsistence in nature, as contradistinguished from existence
taken as a representation in thought. 7. And lastly, a thing
which really or in itself is one and indivisible, may never¬
theless be logically and by the mind considered as diverse
and plural, and vice versa. (For further illustration of the
meaning of this word, see Hamilton’s edition of Reid’s
Works, note B, p. 805.)
REAL, a Spanish coin of two sorts,—first, the real of
plate, value about 4|d.; and the real of vellon, worth about
2£d.
REALEJO, a seaport of Nicaragua, on a bay of the
Pacific, 28 miles W.N.W. of Leon. The harbour is very
good, and is sheltered by an island having two entrances.
Safe anchorage is afforded for as many as 200 ships of the
largest size. Mahogany and other timber, sugar, cotton,
indigo, &c., are exported from the town. Pop. 5000.
REALISM. See Nominalism and Realism.
REASON (Gr. Aoyos, Lat. ratio, Fr. raison, Ger. ver-
nunft), is a word of very various signification. Passing by
REA
Reate its employment in most languages for cause, motive, argu-
|] ment, principle of probation, or middle term of a syllogism,
Reaumur. j(. }s foUntl employed by various philosophers, and often to
^a greater or less extent by the same philosopher, in the fol¬
lowing Jive significations:—-l. It has been used both in
ancient and modern times to denote our intelligent natuie
generally. In this sense of the word it comprehends,—
(a.) Conception, or simple apprehension (evvoia, vo^cm rwv
aSiaipeTtov, conceplus, conceptio, apprehensio simplex, das
Begriefen) ; (b.) Judgment (dfl-d(£<ms, judicium) ; (e.) Rea¬
soning, or the Discursive faculty (Sidvoia, Adyos, koyiagbs, to
crvWcrJCeadai, discursus, ratiocinatio); (d.) Intellect, or
intelligence proper, either as the intuition or as the place of
principles (vous, intellectus, intelligentia, niejis}. 2. In close
connection with the preceding signification, from which
perhaps it ought not to be separated, is that meaning in
which it is used to characterize the legitimate employment
of our faculties in general. 3. It has been employed to de¬
note the third and fourth of the above-mentioned functions,
—viz., the dianoetic and the noetic. 4. It has been very
generally used for the third of the above special functions,
reason and reasoning being thus confounded. 5. It sig¬
nifies the noetic in contrast to the dianoetic faculties, and
especially with Kant and his school, who divide reason
(vernunft) exclusively and emphatically from understand¬
ing (vers(and). This abusive use of the word, for the
faculty of the unconditioned, determined its adoption in the
philosophy of Fichte, Schelling, and Hegel. (See note A
by Sir William Hamilton, in his edition of Dr Reid’s Works;
also the article Metaphysics.)
REATE {Ried), an ancient city of the Sabines, was
situated on the Velinus (Velino), about 48 miles from
Rome. Its political importance was small. Although ad¬
mitted to the Roman franchise along with the neighbour¬
ing towns in 290 B.c., it did not enjoy in the time of Cicero
any higher privileges than those of a prcefectura. The
chief importance of Reate was derived from its connection
with the Velinus. That river moved in a broad and placid
stream through the level district on the N.W. side of the
city. Its waters rested at intervals in a series of picturesque
lakes, which they had formed for themselves along their
course. Its ample flood plentifully moistened the soil, and
created in the neighbouring meadows the fresh and bloom¬
ing luxuriance of a garden. So charming, indeed, was the
entire scene, that the valley was called by C icero the Rea-
tine Tempe, and the meads were commonly known by the
name of the Rosei Campi. But this same river was also
the cause of public calamity and strife. Its waters held in
solution a large quantity of carbonate of lime, which settled
down upon the bed in the shape ot travertin. When this
deposit was allowed to accumulate it checked the current,
and the district of Reate was inundated. When it was
cleared away the stream became too rapid, and, rushing
over a precipice (the Falls of Terni) into the Nar, swelled
that river until the fields of the neighbouring town ot In-
teramna (Terni) were overflowed. Thus a dispute arose
between the inhabitants of the two cities, which continued
at intervals for many centuries. Cicero, as the patron ot
Reate, was one of the first who took part in it; and it did
not end until in 1785 the evil was rectified by making the
Velino join the Nar at an oblique angle.
REAUMUR, Rene Antoine Fekchault, Sieur de,
distinguished for his laborious researches in natural
science, was born at Rochelle, of a good family, in 1683.
After having finished his early education in the place of
his birth, he studied philosophy at Poictiers, and civil law
at Bourges; but he soon relinquished the latter to ap¬
ply himself to mathematics, physics, and natural history.
Flaving come to Paris, he was received into the Academy
of Sciences in 1708. From that hour he was wholly em¬
ployed in natural history, to which his inclination parti-
R E B 815
cularly led him ; and his inquiries were not confined to any Rebec
one department of the subject. His memoirs, observations, I!
and discoveries on the formation of shells, spiders, muscles, Rebus;
the marine flea, the berry which affords the purple dye,
and on the numbing power of the torpedo, excited the
curiosity of the public, and early announced him as an able,
curious, and entertaining naturalist. The French were in¬
debted to him for the discovery of the turquoise mines in
Languedoc. He also found out a substance, now used to
give false stones a colour, which is obtained from a certain
fish called in the French able or ablete, on account of its
whiteness, and which is the bleak or blag of our writers.
His experiments on the art of turning iron into steel, not
previously known in France, obtained him a pension of
12,000 livres; and this reward was to be continued to the
Academy to support the expense which might accrue in
this art. His work on that subject, which first brought
him into general notice, was entitled FArt de Convertir le
Fer Forge en Acier, et VArt d'Adoucir le Fer Fondu, 4to,
1722. He continued his inquiries on the art of making tin
and porcelain, and endeavoured to perfect the thermometers
then in use. He composed a Histoire des Rivieres Auri-
feres de France, and made curious and important observa¬
tions on the nature of flints, on fossil shells (whence is
obtained in Touraine an excellent manure for land), and
likewise on birds and insects. He adopted the method for
preserving eggs practised from time immemorial in Greece
and the islands of the Archipelago, which is to steep or
immerse them in oil or melted fat. Another experiment,
still more important, made by Reaumur, was the introduc¬
tion into France of the art of hatching fowls and birds, as
practised in Egypt, without covering the eggs. The cli¬
mate of France proved too severe, however, for carrying out
this experiment with entire success. Active, sedulous, and
attentive, he was early in his study, often at six in the
morning. Exact in his experiments and observations, he
let no circumstance escape him. In society he was dis¬
tinguished through life for his modest and agreeable be¬
haviour. His probity, benevolence, and goodness of heart
endeared him to his countrymen. He died in the seventy-
fifth year of his age, on the 18th ot October 1757. His
death was the consequence of a fall, which happened at the
castle of Barnardiere on the Maine, where he went to pass
his vacation. He bequeathed to the Academy of Sciences
his manuscripts and all his natural productions. His works
consist of a very great number of memoirs and observations
on different parts of natural history, printed in the collec¬
tions of the Academy of Sciences ; and a large work, printed
separately in 6 vols. 4to, entitled Memoirs pour servir a,
VHistoire des Insectes, 1734-42. (See Life of Reaumur
by Cuvier, in the Biographic Universelle.)
REBEC, a three-stringed instrument, tuned in fifths,
and played with a bow, similar to the violin. It was
introduced by the Moors into Spain, where it seems to
have been much used on festive occasions. Milton repre¬
sents, in his L’Allegro, youth and maid dancing to “ the
jocund rebeck's sound and Byron, speaking of Seville,
says that here “ love’s rebec sounds.”
REBUS, an enigmatical representation of some name or
thing, by using figures or pictures instead of words or parts
of words. Camden mentions an instance of this kind of
wit in a gallant who expressed his love to a woman named
Rose Hill, by painting in the border of his gown a rose, a
hill, an eye, a loaf, and a well; which, in the style of the
rebus, reads “Rose Hill I love well.” This kind of wit was
long practised by the great, who took the pains to find
devices for their names. It was, however, happily ridiculed
by Ben Jonson in the humorous description of Abel Drug-
ger’s device in the Alchemist, by the Spectator in the de¬
vice of Jack of Newberry. The origin of the word is
ascribed to the priests of Picardy, who have an annual
816 R E C
Recanati practice of satirizing their neighbours in ingenious squibs
II called “ De rebus quee geruntur.” Rebus, in heraldry, is
Recorder. a coat 0p arms which bears an allusion to the name of the
person; as three castles for Castleton, three cups for Butler,
three conies for Coningsby ; a kind of bearings which are of
great antiquity.
RECANATI, a town of the Papal States, in the pro¬
vince of Macerata, on the Musone, near the Adriatic, 4
miles S.W. of Loretto, and 9 N.E. of Macerata. A small
old town, it stands on a steep height, looking towards the
distant Apennines, over an expanse of grassy meadows and
rich corn-fields, with clumps of mulberry-trees, and wind¬
ing streams. There are a cathedral and two other churches
here, partially of Gothic architecture; several splendid
palaces, and some convents. In the vicinity is a fine
aqueduct, stretching from hill to hill over the country
between Recanati and Loretto. Pop. 16,000.
RECITATIVO, or Recitative, in music, a kind of
singing that differs but little from ordinary pronunciation ;
such as that in which the several parts of the liturgy are
rehearsed in cathedrals, or that in which actors deliver
themselves at the opera.
RECKONING. See Navigation, book i., c. x.
RECORDE, Robert, a physician and eminent mathe¬
matician, was descended of a respectable family at Tenby
in Wales, and lived in the time of Henry VIII., Edward
VI., and Mary of England. The time of his birth is not
exactly known, but it must have been about the beginning
of the sixteenth century ; for he was entered of the univer¬
sity of Oxford about 1525, and was elected fellow of All-
Souls College in 1531. As he made physic his profession,
he went to Cambridge, where he was honoured with the
degree of doctor in that faculty in 1545, and was very much
esteemed for his extensive knowledge of many of the arts
and sciences. He afterwards returned to Oxford, where
he publicly taught arithmetic and mathematics, as he had
done prior to his going to Cambridge. It appears that
he afterwards went to London, and acted as physician to
Edward VI. and to Queen Mary, to whom some of his
books are dedicated. He wrote, the year he went to the
capital, the Urinal of Physic, which passed through several
editions. He died in the King’s Bench prison, Southwark,
where he was confined for debt in the year 1558.
He published several works upon mathematical subjects, chiefly
in the form of dialogue between master and scholar. Of these the
following is a list, viz. :—The Pathway to Knowledge, containing
the first principles of geometry, as they may moste aptly be applied
unto practice, bothe for the use of Instrumentes Geometricall and Astro-
nomicojl, and also for projection of Plattes, much necessary for all
sortes of men, London, 1551, 4to; The Ground of Arts, teaching the
perfect worke and practice of Arithmeticke, both in whole numbers and
fractions, after a more easie and exact forme then informer time hath
been set furth, 1552, 8vo; The Castle of Knowledge, containing the
Explication of the Sphere both Celestiall and Materiall, and divers other
things incident thereto, with sundry pleas aunt proofes and certaine
newe demonstrations not written before in any vulgare woor/tes, London,
1556, folio; The Whetstone of Witte, which is the second part of
Arithmetike, containing the extraction of rootes, the Cossike practice,
with the rules of equation, and the woorkes of surde numbers, Lon¬
don, 1557, 4to. Wood says that he was the author of several
pieces on physic, anatomy, politics, and divinity ; but they do not
seem ever to have been published. Sherburne states that he also
published Cosmographiw Isagoge; that he wrote a book, Be Arte
faciendi Horologium, and another Be usu Globorum, et de statu
Temporum. Professor de Morgan says of him, in The Companion
to the British Almanac for 1837, in his “ Notices of English Mathe¬
matical and Astronomical Writers between the Norman Conquest
and the year 1600,” that he is a “ man whose memory deserves a
much larger portion of fame than it has met with, on several
accounts.”
RECORDER, is a person appointed by Her Majesty, by
"arrant under the sign-manual, as the chief judicial officer
xj-a borouSh or city having a court of quarter-sessions.
His salary is fixed by the council of the borough, and he
io s ns office during good behaviour. He is placed next
EEC
in rank to the mayor, and is the sole judge of the court of Records
quarter-sessions, and where there is such, of any court of ||
record for the trial of civil actions. The mayor and recorder Recusants,
are respectively, ex officio, justices of the peace within the
borough. The recorders were formerly chosen by the cor¬
porations.
RECORDS, Public, in the legal sense of the term,
are contemporary statements of the proceedings in those
courts of law which are courts of record, written upon rolls
of parchment. In a popular sense, the name is given to all
public documents preserved in a recognised repositary.
There is no country in the world so rich as ours in stores
of public records, in all branches of its government, whether
constitutional, judicial, parliamentary, or fiscal. During the
last sixty years upwards of a million of pounds sterling has
been expended by the appointment of successive commis¬
sioners and parliamentary committees of inquiry on these
records; and an act of Parliament was passed (1 and
2 Viet., c. 94), whereby a special agency was constituted
for their proper custody. The agency thus specially ap¬
pointed was the Master of the Rolls. The records of our
earlier history are kept on rolls written on skins of parch¬
ment and vellum, from nine to fourteen inches wide, and
about three feet in length. Sometimes these are attached
together, bookwise, by the tops ; sometimes they are sewed
together consecutively. The earliest record written on
paper is during the reign of Edward II. These documents
are recorded in Norman-French, Latin, and English, which
became the prevailing language of records in the reign of the
second George. The public records are now being me¬
thodized, regulated, digested, and bound, besides being
calendared and indexed. The task is a gigantic one ; and
if one may judge from a single specimen,—the Court of
Common Pleas,—some 1200 miles of parchment, 9 inches
wide, will require patiently to be read through, before any
one can consult these important records with any degree
of facility. By a recent regulation of the Master of the
Rolls, literary inquirers are permitted to search for and
make notes of records gratis, provided they can satisfy the
deputy-keeper that their application is for a bona fide lite¬
rary purpose. Besides the offices for modern records at¬
tached to each court, there are the following repositories in
which different branches of the public records are to be
found:—
The Tower, Thames Street; Chapter-House, "Westminster Abbey;
Rolls Chapel, Chancery Lane; Duchy of Lancaster, Lancaster
Place, Strand; Duchy of Cornwall, Somerset House; Common
Pleas, Carlton Ride and Whitehall Yard; Queen’s Remembrancer’s
Records in Carlton Ride and Tower of Westminster Hall; Aug¬
mentation Office, Palace-Yard, Westminster; Pipe Office, Somer¬
set House ; Lord Treasurer’s Remembrancer, Somerset House ;
Land Revenue, Carlton Ride; Pell-Office, 1 Whitehall Yard; Ex¬
chequer Pleas, 3 Whitehall Yard; First-Fruits Office, Temple.
The best works of general reference as to the subjects of the
public records is the Report of the Select Committee of 1800.
RECTOR. See Parson.
RECURRING SERIES. See Algebra.
RECUSANTS, the name applied to those who refused
to attend divine service on Sundays or holidays, according
to the forms of the church established in England. The
use of the term in temporal courts can be traced back as
far as 1 Elizabeth, c. 2. The statutes against recusancy
were fourfold: 1. Those who absented themselves from
the church from indifterence, irreligion, or dissent, were
termed “ recusants” simply ; 2. After conviction, such per¬
sons were styled “ recusants-convict;” 3. Those professing
the Roman Catholic faith received the name of “ Popish
recusants ;” and 4. Those who had been convicted of Popery
in a law court were termed “ Popish recusants-convict.”
Protestant dissenters were relieved from the penalties in¬
stituted against recusancy at the Revolution by the Tolera¬
tion Act, 1 Will, and Mary, c. 18. The exemption in
RED
RED
817
Red this act in favour of those denying the doctrine of the Trinity,
II was repealed in 1813 by 53 Geo. III., c. 160 ; and Roman
Redruth.^ Catholics were exempted from prosecution in 1791 and 1729,
on the ground of their peculiar faith. The statutes against
recusants, who not being Roman Catholics or Protestant
dissenters, are still in force, though seldom insisted on.
RED. See Chromatics.
REDDITCH, a town of England, county of Worcester,
on a hill near the borders of Warwickshire, 12 miles S.S.W.
of Birmingham. It is a well-built, straggling place, con¬
taining places of worship belonging to the Established
Church, the Methodists, Independents, and Roman Catho¬
lics ; national schools, a literary and scientific institution,
&c. Needles, fish-hooks, and similar articles are made in
large quantities. There are, too, breweries, malt-houses,
and brick-kilns. Pop. 4802.
REDEMPTION. See Theology.
REDON, a town of France, capital of an arrondisse-
ment in the department of Ille-et-Vilaine, at the foot of a
hill on the Vilaine, 39 miles S.S.W. of Rennes. It is well
built, and contains a fine Gothic church, formerly attached
to an abbey, with a much-admired apse. The abbey build¬
ings are now occupied by a college. Redon is favourably
situated for commerce, as the Vilaine is navigable, and the
two branches of the canal between Nantes and Brest unite
here. Ship-building and the making of serge are carried
on here; and there are large slate quarries in the vicinity.
The chief articles of trade are,—colonial produce, slates,
iron,lead, timber, pitch, tar, wine, brandy, butter, salt, hemp,
flax, sail-cloth, leather, &c. Pop. (1856) 4847.
REDOUBT. See Fortification.
RED RIVER, one of the affluents of the Mississippi,
from the west, is formed by the union of the Salt Fork and
South Fork in Texas, about N. Lat. 34. and W. Long.
100. It flows at first eastward, separating between Texas
and the Indian territory, till it enters the state of Arkansas.
At the village of Fulton, in this state, it bends to the south,
passes into Louisiana, and traverses that state in a S.E.
direction, joining the Mississippi about 200 miles above
New Orleans. Its whole length is estimated at 1200 miles,
about 500 of which are regularly navigated by steamers.
The name is characteristic ; for the water is tinged with
red, from the soil of the prairies through which it flows.
About 530 miles above its confluence with the Mississippi
the river is obstructed by what is called “ the Great Raft.”
This is a vast accumulation of trees and drift-wood, con¬
veyed down the stream and lodged here ; so that the river,
obstructed in its course, flows over the adjacent country,
and forms many side channels and lakes. The impediment
was cleared away by the government at great expense in
1834-5, but since that time it has again been formed.
REDRUTH, a market-town of England, county of
Cornwall, on the brow of a hill, 8 miles W.S.W. of Truro,
and 9 N.W. of Falmouth. The surrounding country, bar¬
ren and covered with heaps of rubbish, presents no very
delightful appearance to the eye, but is full of mineral
riches, especially copper and tin. In the town, consisting
mainly of one long street, are a town-hall, court-house,
market-house, and fine granite clock-tower. The church,
about half a mile off, was, with the exception of its Gothic
tower, rebuilt in 1768. A chapel of ease in the pointed
style, and places of worship for Baptists and Methodists, are
among the ecclesiastical edifices of the place. National
schools, a grammar school, a literary institution, reading-
room, and small theatre, provide for the instruction and
amusement of the inhabitants, who are chiefly employed in
mining operations and iron-foundries. There is some trade
in minerals ; and railways connect the town with several
seaports. Redruth is said by some antiquaries to be one
of the oldest places in the kingdom; but this opinion has
been called in question. Pop. (1851) 7095.
VOL. XVIII.
RED SEA, an extensive inland sea separating Arabia
in Asia, from Abyssinia, Nubia, and Egypt, in Africa. It
extends in a north north-westerly direction from the Straits
of Bab-el-Mandeb, which connect it with the Indian Ocean,
till it terminates in the two gulfs of Suez and Akaba,
which inclose between them the mountain region of Sinai.
1 he name Red by which this sea is known in the pre¬
sent day is simply a translation of Rubrum, Erythrceum,
or ’EpvOpa, terms by which it is designated in the works of
the ancient classics. This last term, however, as used by
Herodotus and some other writers, includes likewise the
Persian Gulf and Indian Ocean ; and when the Red Sea
only is meant, the term Arabicus Sinus (’Apd/3ios or
’ApafiiKos koAttos) is used. How the name Red came to
be applied to it is a question which neither ancients nor
moderns have been able satisfactorily to solve. By some
it is held to arise from the red and purple hues of the
coral with which this sea abounds, or from the red colour
which is occasionally imparted to it by numerous animal-
culae floating near the surface ; by others from the adjacent
country of Edom, which, in the Phoenician and Hebrew
tongues, means red; while Strabo, Pliny, Curtins, &c.,
consider it to be derived from a great king named Erythrus,
who reigned over that country. It is not improbable that
the name, as originally bestowed, was derived from that of
the king or the country, and that, when afterwards adopted
by the Greeks and Romans, they, mistaking a proper for a
descriptive name, translated instead of adopting it. The
Hebrew name, Yam Suph (“ Weedy Sea”), which is also
its Egyptian name, is supposed to be derived from the
plant-like corals with which it abounds.
This sea lies between Lat. 12.30. and 30.2. N., and Long.
32. 38. and 43. 40. E., and has a length of above 1280
miles from the Straits of Bab-el-Mandeb to the ,town of
Suez. Its greatest breadth is 192 miles, under the parallel
of 17. N.,—that is, one-third up the sea, whence it narrows
pretty uniformly towards both extremities, being 72 miles
across at Ras-Mahommed, where it divides to form the
gulfs of Suez and Akaba, and nearly of similar breadth at
Gibbel Zugar, under the 14th parallel. Its entire circuit,
measured round both gulfs, is about 4020 miles, its area
108,154 square miles, and its contents probably about
800,000 cubic miles. The Gulf of Suez, the longer and
more western arm of this sea, has a length of 167 miles,
and an average breadth of about 20. Its extreme breadth
is under 30, and at its mouth it has a breadth of about 17
miles. Its depth, where greatest, is about 50 fathoms, and
averages about 22. The port of Suez, from which it takes
its name, is situated at the head of the gulf. (See Suez
The area is estimated at 2000 square miles. The Gulf
Akaba, extending in a N.N.E. direction, has an area
only about 800 square miles. It is 100 miles in lengt
16 miles in breadth where widest, and 7 at the mouth, ks
depth for two-thirds of its length is about 120 fathoms, smd
at one place a depth of 200 fathoms was reached without
bottom. The mean depth is probably not less than
fathoms.
The Red Sea itself may be said to have generally
depth of more than 100 fathoms, and in one place 1(
fathoms were sounded without finding bottom. A reeH
shallow, running across from Mocha, in Lat. 13. 30., has been
carefully sounded, and has an average depth of from 25 to
30 fathoms, its greatest depth being 40, near mid-channel.
From this it again deepens to upwards of 125 fathoms as
it approaches the straits. The entrance to the sea is
divided by the small island of Perim into two channels,
called the Great and Little Straits: the former, between the
island and the coast of Africa, being 13 miles broad ; the
latter, between the island and Cape Bab-el-Mandeb, If miles.
The Great Strait has an average depth of about 80 fathoms,
and for a breadth of 6 miles in mid-channel it exceeds 100
5 L
Red Sea.
:es
1/
i 70
V
818
Red Sea.
RED SEA.
The Little Strait has a depth of from 12 to 17 fathoms,
and is the one that is almost always preferred by vessels
entering the sea, having a fine sandy bottom and a depth
of 30 feet of water up to both shores. The island of
Perim has recently been taken possession of by the
English. (See Perim.)
The islands of the Red Sea are numerous, but they are
mostly all of small size, and occur chiefly along the shores.
Off the western coast, not far from Massuah, is a numerous
group called the Dhalak Archipelago, and not far fiom t e
opposite coast is a group called the Farsan Islands. South
of these groups are several other islands, one of which,
Gibel-Teer, in Lat. 15. 30., has an active volcano rising
about 900 feet above the sea. A violent eruption took
place in one of the Zugar islands, in Lat. lo., in 18 .
Indeed, all the islands in the middle of the sea between 12.
and 16. N. Lat. are volcanic. Coral reefs and islands are
also numerous in this sea, and are very detrimental to
navigation. The reefs most commonly extend in long
strips parallel to, and generally about a quarter ol a mile
from, the shore. Their outer side rises from deep water ;
and their summits are seldom more than 4 or 5 feet from
the surface. They are frequently united with the adjacent
continent, so as to render the shores almost inaccessible ;
but in other cases the side towards the mainland has a
gentle slope downwards, forming a channel of sufficient
depth to admit of being navigated by small vessels. The
Red Sea is the most northern portion of the ocean where
coral reefs occur, and they are more numerous here than
in any other part of equal extent.
From the position of the Red Sea, in a deep valley
between the elevated table-land of Arabia on the E., and
the high lands of Abyssinia, Nubia, and Egypt, on the W.,
the prevailing winds are in the direction of its length,
either S.S.E. or N.N.W. The former commences in
October and continues till May or June, blowing with
considerable strength in February, but diminishing gradu¬
ally as summer sets in, and occasionally ceasing almost
altogether. In the lower part of the sea, being confined
within comparatively narrow limits, it blows with con¬
siderable violence, and is stronger towards the Arabian
than the Abyssinian shore ; but it slackens as it passes the
Harnish and Zugar islands, under the 14th parallel, where
the sea begins to expand, and by the time that it gets as
high as Jiddah, Lat. 21. 30., it is for the most part light and
variable. From December to April southerly winds are
occasionally experienced in the Gulf of Suez, sometimes
freshening into a gale, and blowing for several days. The
winds, however, from Suez to Jiddah are mostly northerly
throughout the year, and occasionally blow with considerable
yiolence. The N.N.W. winds prevail in the lower half of
the Red Sea from June to October, blowing with con¬
siderable violence in June and July, and becoming light
and variable in August and September. As the time of
their extinction approaches, there are sometimes calms of
several days, when the sea breezes become excessive. In
those parts where, or at the times when, the regular winds
ai^ little felt, land and sea breezes prevail, particularly on
A coast of Arabia. The fine season is usually from
®gust to October; and showers, such as they are, are
CTiefly experienced from November to March.
The direction of the wind has a considerable effect in
raising or lowering the surface of the sea, especially in the
northern parts. Near Suez the direction of the wind
makes a difference of about 4 feet in the depth of water.
Little is yet known of the tides of the Red Sea: at Suez
they are said to rise 5 feet at neap and 7 at springj’tides ;
but of course this must depend very much upon the wind.
It was long supposed that the Red Sea must be much
salter than the general ocean, being situated in an almost
rainless and riverless district, while the evaporation was
very considerable. This, however, is found not to be the Red Sea.
case ; and hence it is supposed that there is a constant v~~'
under-current of the denser and salter water through the
straits to the Indian Ocean. The evaporation is estimated
at about 8 feet annually over the entire surface; whereas
the quantity of rain falling in the course of a year cannot
exceed an inch. According to the measurements of the
French engineers in 1799, the Red Sea at Suez was said
to be 30 feet higher than the Mediterranean ; but recent
measurements have shown this to be a mistake, and that
the height is only about 3 feet. Indeed, there is every
reason to believe that the Red Sea at one time communi¬
cated with the Mediterranean. The distance between the
two is only about 90 miles, and all the intervening space is
of recent deposit, a considerable portion of it being still
below the level of the two seas. It is proposed to con¬
struct a canal connecting the two seas, and thus mate¬
rially to shorten our communication with the East. (See
Suez.)
Round its entire circuit the Red Sea is walled in by
immense masses of mountain, which, down to Jiddah, in
Lat. 21. 30., approach close to the shore. On the African
side, down to the 16th parallel, isolated hills alone skirt its
borders, the higher ranges being 40 or 50 miles off; while
on the opposite shore, between the same parallels, the land
rises gently towards the interior of Arabia. Between the
16th and 12th parallels a range of volcanic hills runs nearly
parallel to, and at the distance of above 14 miles from, the
shore on the African side, and there is a similar range of
greater magnitude and of the same character on the
Arabian coast. The other rocks consist chiefly of num-
mulite limestone, forming part of that vast band which
stretches from the Alps to the Himalayas. The immediate
shore consists of a belt of sand and gravel sloping up¬
wards from high-water mark to a distance varying from
some hundred yards to many miles. It abounds with
shells and corals identical with those in the sea itself, and
is obviously an upheaved beach of comparatively modern
date.
Within the last few years the commerce and navigation
of the Red Sea have very much increased, and it is now
regularly navigated by British steamers, as forming part
of the overland route to India. During the year 1857
no fewer then 111 English steamers entered and left
the port of Suez, having an aggregate burden of 144,500
tons, and 36,600 horse-power. They carried 10,156 pas¬
sengers, 23,520 cases of letters, and 137,770 packages
of merchandise or gold and silver, to the value of
L.28,248,670. A considerable communication is kept up
between the two shores by pilgrims from the eastern
countries of Africa visiting Mecca and Medina. Grain
and slaves are also largely transported from Africa to
Arabia. The principal harbours on the Arabian side
are Mocha, Hodeida, Locheia, and Jiddah ; and on the
African, besides Suez, Cosseir, Suakim, and Massuah.
Mocha, Hodeida, and Locheia are the three ports ot
Yemen, and export coffee, wax, myrrh, gums, ivory,
leather, and grain; receiving in return cotton goods,
silks, draperies, iron, copper, lead, tools, tobacco, rice,
and sugar. The aggregate value of the exports and im¬
ports is estimated at about L.730,000 annually. The first
of these, Mocha, is now in a ruinous condition, having pro¬
bably not more than 2000 inhabitants. The value of its
exports does not exceed L.80,000, of which coffee consti¬
tutes about a fourth. Hodeida is now the principal place for
the export of coffee, amounting in value to about L.200,000
annually, while its other exports amount only to
LAO,000. Locheia exports chiefly grain, the value of which
may be about LAO,000 annually. Jiddah carries on a
very considerable trade, and being the port of Mecca, it
is the resort of numerous pilgrims from all parts. It is
RED
Red Sea. built along the shore in the form of a parallelogram, and
contains about 4000 houses, with a resident population of
about 20,000. Merchants assemble here ; and goods are
brought from Muscat, India, Singapore, Persia, Syiia,
Egypt, and Eastern Africa. The exports and imports to¬
gether exceed a million sterling. The trade of Jiddah is
almost entirely in the hands of Indian merchants, who are
English subjects. There are very few European houses of
commerce but France and England have each a consul
here. In June last (1858) the Mussulman population
rose against the Christians, and massacred no less than
forty-five of them, including the two consuls. Massuah,
the principal entrepot of the trade of Abyssinia, stands on
a low, sandy, and barren island, separated from the main¬
land by a channel about a quarter of a mile wide, which
serves as its port. Its exports, which are estimated to ex¬
ceed L.500,000 annually, consists chiefly of coffee, myrrh,
incense, hides, gum, ivory, senna, slaves, and gold-dust;
and its imports, of cotton and silk stuffs, red and blue cloths,
matchlocks, rice, sugar, tea, lead, iron, copper, timber, &c.
Cosseir derives its importance from being the granary of
the barren Hedjaz. The export of cereals amounts to
about L.25,500 ; and that of hides, tusks, &c., to about
L.3000 ; while the imports are about L.17,500. The ex¬
ports of Suakim amount to about L.51,000. The principal
article is butter, which is consumed in incredible quantities
on the Arabian coast. Among the other exports are
slaves, salt, coffee, dates, gums, hides, cereals, ivory, gold,
cattle, musk, and ostrich feathers. At present (May 1859)
an electric telegraph is being laid down in the Red Sea.
The Red Sea is celebrated in sacred history as having
been miraculously divided, and a passage opened up through
it for the children of Israel in their journey from Egypt.
The exact place of this miracle has been the subject of
much controversy; but it is now generally agreed that it
must have been at one or other of two places, either in
the neighbourhood of Suez, or 18 miles farther south, at
the mouth of the Wady Tuarik. Which of these it was,
would depend upon the route that they took on leaving
Egypt; and if we can fix upon that with any degree of
certainty, with the like certainty can we declare that the
one or the other was the scene of the miracle. Egypt is
connected with the Red Sea by two valleys, along one or
other of which the Israelites must have travelled; the one
terminating at Suez, the other at Wady luarik. The
former and more northern of these has its entrance in the
province of Esh-Shurkiyeh, near the ruins of the ancient
Heroopolis ; the latter in the neighbourhood of Cairo. Ac¬
cording to Josephus, they must have taken the latter of
these routes, for he says that they set out from Latopolis,
near Cairo; but against him there is the authority of the
Septuagint, which makes the departure to have been from
the neighbourhood of Heroopolis. Goshen, too, is now ge¬
nerally agreed to have been in the present province of Esh-
Shurkiyeh, which at this day is what Goshen was in ancient
times, “ the best of the land” of Egypt, and that portion of
the country lying nearest to Canaan. The distance by the
more southern of these routes is no less than 70 miles; and
this of itself is a strong objection to any argument that may
be advanced in its favour, as they accomplished the journey
in three days, though encumbered with women and chil¬
dren and cattle; whereas the usual day’s march of the best
appointed armies, either in ancient or modern times, is not
estimated higher than 14 English miles. Dr Robinson, after
examining this route, says, “We were quite satisfied, from
our own observation, that they could not have passed to the
Red Sea from any point near Heliopolis or Cairo in three
days, the longest interval which the language of the narra¬
tive allows. Both the distance and the want of water on
all the routes are fatal to such an hypothesis. I he distance
by the northern route is only about 30 or 35 miles; and this
SEA. 819
they could have easily accomplished in three days. Some Red Sea.
indeed hold that they set out by the northern passage, and
afterwards took a road between two ranges of mountains,
and thus entered the more southern valley ; but in this way
the journey would be at least as long as by the longer of the
two routes.
We think, however, that a careful study of the recorded
narrative itself is sufficient to settle the question as to the
route. On the evening of the second day they were “ en¬
camped in Etham, in the edge of the wilderness,” when
God commanded them to “ turn and encamp before Pi-
hahiroth, between Migdol and the sea over against Baal-
zephon.” Now, in Numbers (xxxiii. 8) we are told that
“they departed from before Pi-hahiroth, and passed
through the midst of the sea into the wilderness, and went
three days’ journey into the wilderness of Etham.” This
wilderness of Etham must therefore have been on the
eastern side of the Red Sea, and Etham itself in all proba¬
bility was somewhere about the head of the sea. What
more natural, then, than to suppose that the children of
Israel, on setting out, had received no special directions as
to their course, and had thus taken the usual and proper
route to Sinai, intending to pass round the head of the sea
and along its eastern side. On reaching Etham, however,
they were commanded to “ turn,” and instead of continu¬
ing along the eastern side, to come down the western, and
to encamp “ between Migdol and the sea,” God having thus
intended to bring about their deliverance from the host of
Pharaoh. The object of the miracle was thus not to open
up a passage for the Israelites, but to deliver them from the
Egyptians.
If we examine the sea itself, its evidence is almost equally
strong in favour of the northern passage. At Wady
Tuarik it is about 12 miles across, and it is difficult to sup¬
pose how a large body, of upwards of two millions, as
the Israelites must have been, including women and chil¬
dren, with numerous flocks of cattle, could have passed over
here in a single night. The depth also is about 180 or 200
feet; and we cannot suppose that even Pharaoh would have
attempted to pass through twelve miles of a defile, with
water piled up to that height on each side, especially with
the terrible ten plagues still fresh in his memory. At
Suez, where a tongue of land projects into the sea, it is
only about 1150 yards across, but is of some depth. Above
and below this, where it is wider, there are fords. Niebuhr
crossed at one of these, above the town, at low tide, when
the water only came up to about the knee. There is here,
however, undoubted evidence of a gradual filling up going
on. “The passage,” says Niebuhr, “would have been
naturally more difficult for the Israelites some thousands of
years back, when the gulf was probably larger, deeper, and
more extended towards the north; for, in all appearance,
the water has retired, and the ground near this end has
been raised by the sands of the neighbouring desert.” Dr
Robinson’s testimony is to the same effect. He says,—“ The
sand from the northern part of the desert, driven by the
strong north-east wind which often prevails, is continually
carried towards and into the water; and the process of fill¬
ing up is still going on.” Though it is not improbable that |
the passage took place here, above Suez, we are rather in- |
dined to think that it was effected at a point below that f
town. At a short distance below Suez there is at the pre- g
sent day a ford, which is sometimes crossed by the Arabs J-
at low tides, the water being then about five feet deep.^ g
Shoals extend to some distance from either shore ; but if
we suppose, with Dr Robinson, that they crossed in an
oblique direction, the distance from bank to bank would
be from three to four miles. The depth of water may
then have been greater here than it is at present; but even :0
now, at high water, it is from ten to twelve feet. Naturally,
if we may so speak, this place was peculiarly well adapted /
820 RED
Red Sea. for the miracle. It is exactly the part of the sea most likely
to be affected by the wind in the manner described. A
strong north-east wind (as Dr Robinson supposes that it
was, for in the indefinite phraseology of the Hebrew an
east wind means any wind from the eastern quarter), super-
naturally directed, might readily be supposed to dry up this
ford, by coming down obliquely upon it, and driving away
the waters to the south, at the same time that it was keeping
back, within the tongue of land at Suez, the waters to the
north of it. This, in fact, answers exactly to the account of
the miracle as given by Moses; for he says that the “ Lord
caused the sea to go back by a strong east wind.” Ihe
wind being thus the immediate agent in the miracle, we are
naturalIv led to look for a place where it could have had
some effect in bringing it about; and at no place, as we
have seen, could it have acted so efficiently as at the ford
below Suez. At Wady Tuarik, on the other hand, the
depth is so great that it is impossible to suppose that the
wind could have had any effect in dividing the waters; and
had the miracle been wrought here, it is likely that Moses
would have taken some other mode of describing it than by
attributing to the wind what it manifestly could have had
no power to bring about; besides, as one writer shrewdly
remarks, the waters would not then have been said to form
a wall, but a mountain. It is to be remembered too, that
the Israelites were crossing from west to east; and how in
the course of a single night, encumbered as they were,
could they pass over 12 miles in the bottom of the sea with
a strong east wind blowing directly against them. Indeed,
those who maintain that the passage was effected at Wady
Tuarik require the aid of some half-dozen miracles; whereas
from Moses’ account, we have no reason to infer that there
were more than one.
There are some, however, who object to this view, that
it reduces the miracle to the smallest possible dimen¬
sions ; and as they cannot bring forward any arguments to
support their opinions, they attempt to strengthen their
cause by branding as rationalists and disbelievers all who
differ from them. It is to be regretted that this mode of
argument has been adopted by even those from whom it
was little to be expected, and serves only to indicate the
extreme weakness of their cause. A miracle is not the
less a miracle because the means by which it is effected
may seem small in our eyes. In this case the miracle
consisted in the delivering of the children of Israel [from
the host of the Egyptians. The apparent insignificance
of the,means only manifests the more strikingly the
power of God. If the simplicity and plainness of the
sacred Scriptures be an argument for their inspiration,
not less do we think is the simplicity of the miracles
an argument that they were wrought by God. There
were many more striking and signal ways in which He
could have destroyed the Egyptians, and delivered the
Israelites; but His workings are always simple and unos¬
tentatious. He ever chooses the smallest and most easy
means for the accomplishment of even the greatest ends.
Indeed so much is this the case, that if the claims of the
two were otherwise equal, we should unhesitatingly declare
in favour of the narrower, shallower, and easier passage.
Those who attempt to magnify God’s miracles, and fancy
that in this way they are doing Him a service, would do
well to remember that they are doing what neither He nor
the inspired penmen have done before, and may well doubt
whether they be not assuming an office which has not His
sanction. The days of miracles are now past. God speaks
not to us in the great and strong wind, rending the moun¬
tains and breaking in pieces the rocks, nor in the earth¬
quake, nor in the fire, but in the still small voice of reason
and conscience. It is wrong, then, to attempt to build
upon the former that faith which can only have a sure
foundation upon the latter.
REE
RE-DUPLICATION of sounds in musical harmony. Re-duplica-
See the article Music, under section Harmony. tion
REE, Lough, a lake of Ireland, formed by an expansion II
of the Shannon, lying between the counties of Longford v eev^‘ 7
and Westmeath on the E., and that of Roscommon on the
W. : length, from N. to S., about 15 miles; greatest
breadth, 8; area, 42 square miles; extreme depth, 75 feet.
Its shores are irregular in outline, but extremely beautiful
in scenery; and the few islands which the lake contains
also possess many attractions. Besides the Shannon, Lough
Ree receives the Inny from the east.
REEFS, Coral. See Physical Geography, § 86.
REES, Abraham, a very learned dissenting divine, was
born in 1743 at Llanbrynmair in Wales, and studied for
the ministry at Hoxton academy. As his mind devel¬
oped, it became eminently and keenly practical. He was
eager to seize and ready to employ any knowledge that
might be turned to immediate advantage. There was
scarcely an office within the sphere of his profession for
which he had not qualified himself, and to which he was
not willing to apply all his energies. For a considerable
period he was both mathematical tutor at Hoxton academy
and pastor of the Presbyterian congregation, St Thomas’s,
Southwark. His activity only extended itself when, in
1783, he was translated to the congregation of Jewin
Street, in the Old Jewry. Every subject that had any re¬
ference to the cause of public enlightenment received part
of his attention. He kept up his acquaintance with the
general learning of the day. He delivered occasional
lectures at Slurs’ Hall in the winter evenings ; became
a leading business-man among the Nonconformists of the
capital; and took an active part in every scheme of phil¬
anthropy. His literary labours at the same time were not
neglected. Many of his sermons issued at intervals from
the press. Several contributions from his pen found their
way into the Monthly Revierv. Chambers’s Encyclopedia
appeared under his editorship between 1781 and 1786. At
length his own Cyclopedia began to be published in 1802,
and was completed in forty-five quarto volumes in 1819.
In consideration of all these great and multifarious labours,
Rees was held in high estimation. At his death in 1825
he was D.D. of the university of Edinburgh, and a
member of the Royal Society, and of several Other learned
bodies.
REETH, a market-town of England, in the North Rid¬
ing of Yorkshire, on the left bank of the Swale, 53 miles
N.W. of York. It contains various dissenting churches
and two endowed schools. Lead is obtained in the vicinity.
Besides weekly markets, several annual fairs are held here.
Pop. (1851) 1344.
REEVE, Clara, the authoress of The Old English
Baron, was the daughter of the Rev. William Reeve,
rector of Freston and of Kerton in Suffolk, and perpetual
curate of St Nicholas, and was born at Ipswich in 1723.
Her father was “ an old Whig,” and from him she learned
all that she knew : he was her oracle, and used to make her
read the parliamentary debates while he smoked his pipe
after supper. Under the same paternal tuition, she also
read Rapin’s History of England, Cato’s Letters, the
Greek and Roman histories, and Plutarch’s Lives, at an age
when few people of either sex can read their own names.
She first became an authoress by translating from the ori¬
ginal Latin Barclay’s fine old romance of Argenis, which
was published in 1762, under the title of The Phoenix. It
was not, however, until 1767 that she produced her Cham¬
pion of Virtue, afterwards called The Old English Baron,
a work written after the manner of the Castle of Otranto,
by Horace Walpole. This production is inscribed to Mrs
Brigden, the daughter of Richardson, who is stated to have
lent some assistance in the revision and correction ol the
work. The success of The Old English Baron encouraged
E E F
REF
821
Reforma
tion.
Reforrna-
Refiection Miss Reeve to devote more of her leisure hours to literary
of Light composition, and accordingly she published in succession
The Two Mentors, The Progress of Romance, The Exile,
The School for Widows, Plans of Education, and Memoirs
of Sir Roger de Clarendon, a natural son of the Black
Prince, with Anecdotes of many other eminent persons of
the fourteenth century. The various novels produced by
this lady are all marked by excellent good sense, pure mo¬
rality, and a considerable command of those qualities le-
quisite to constitute a good romance. I hey were, geneially
speaking, favourably received at the time j but none of them
took the same strong possession of the public mind as The
Old English Baron, upon which the fame of the author
may be considered as now exclusively rested, and by which
alone she will be known to posterity. She died at Ipswich
in December 1808, in her seventy-fifth year. (For an
estimate of her works, see Romance.)
REFLECTION OF LIGHT. See Optics.
REFORM, Parliamentary. See Parliament.
REFORMATION is, in general, the act of reforming
or correcting an error or abuse in religion, discipline, or the
like. The word is used, by way of eminence, for that great
reformation in the corrupted system of Christianity com¬
menced by Luther in the year 1517. By some it is pre-
tion begun tended that the only motive which Luther had in beginning
by Luther. tjie Reformation was his enmity to the Dominicans, who had
excluded his order, the Augustinians, from all share in the
gainful traffic of indulgences. But this does not seem at
all probable, for such a motive would not naturally lead him
to deny the virtue of indulgences, whilst his conduct could
not but exclude him for ever from any chance of a share in
the traffic, which otherwise he might perhaps have obtained.
Besides, this traffic was so contrary to the common prin¬
ciples of reason and honesty, that we cannot wonder at
finding one man in the world who had sense enough to dis¬
cern it, and courage enough to oppose such a disgraceful
practice. In all probability, however, the imagined in¬
significance of the first Reformer was the reason why he
was not persecuted and exterminated at the very outset,
as others bad been before him. Another reason probably
was, that he did not at once attack the whole errors of
Popery, but brought about his reformation gradually, proba¬
bly as it occurred to himself.
Zuinglius The Reformation commenced in the city of Wittenberg
in Switzer- in Saxony, but was not long confined either to that city or
to the province in which it is situated. In 1520 the Fran¬
ciscan friars, who had the care of promulgating indulgences
in Switzerland, were opposed by Zuinglius, a man not in¬
ferior in understanding and knowledge to Luther himself.
He proceeded with the greatest vigour to overturn the
whole fabric of Popery; but his opinions were declared to
be erroneous by the universities of Cologne and Louvain.
Notwithstanding this, the magistrates of Zurich approved of
his proceedings ; and the whole of that canton, together
with those of Berne, Basle, and Schaffhausen, embraced his
opinions.
In Germany, Luther continued to make great advances,
without being in the least intimidated by the ecclesiastical
censures which were thundered against him from all quarters.
Continually protected by the German princes, either from
religious or political motives, his adversaries could not ac¬
complish his destruction as they had done that of others.
Those princes who were upon bad terms with the court of
Rome took advantage of the success of the new doctrines,
and in their own dominions easily overturned a church which
had lost all respect and veneration amongst the inferior
ranks. The court of Rome had disobliged some of the
smaller princes in the north of Germany, whom the Pope
probably thought too insignificant to be worth managing ;
and they, in revenge, universally established the Reforma¬
tion in their own dominions. Melancthon, Carlstadt, and
land.
Reforma¬
tion op¬
posed in
Germany.
other men of eminence, also greatly forwarded the work of Reforma-
Luther ; and in all probability the papal hierarchy would tion.
have soon come to an end, in the northern parts of Europe
at least, had not the Emperor Charles V. given a severe
check to the progress of the Reformation in Germany. In
order to follow out the schemes dictated by his ambition,
he thought it necessary to ingratiate himself with the Pope ;
and the most effectual method of doing this seemed to be
by the destruction of Luther. The Pope’s legates insisted
that Luther ought to be condemned by the Diet of Worms
as a most notorious, avowed, and incorrigible heretic. This,
however, appeared unjust to the members of the Diet, and
he was summoned to appear personally, which he accord¬
ingly did without hesitation. There is not the least doubt
that his appearance there would have been his last in this
world, if the astonishing respect that was paid him, and the
crowds who came daily to see him, had not deterred his
judges from employing summary means against the author
of such a heresy. He was therefore permitted to depart
with a safe-conduct for a certain time ; after which he re¬
mained in the state of a proscribed or intercommuned cri¬
minal, to whom it was unlawful to perform any of the ordi¬
nary offices of humanity.
During the confinement of Luther in a castle near Wart- Form of
burg the Reformation advanced rapidly, almost every city
in Saxony embracing the Lutheran opinions. At this time at yyritten_
an alteration in the established forms of worship was first berg,
adventured upon at Wittenberg, by abolishing the celebra¬
tion of private masses, and giving the cup as well as the
bread to the laity in the Lord’s Supper. In a short time,
however, the new opinions were condemned by the uni¬
versity of Paris, and a refutation of them was attempted by
Henry VIII. of England. But Luther was not to be thus
intimidated. He published his animadversions on both with
as much acrimony as if he had been refuting the meanest
adversary ; and a controversy conducted by such illustrious
antagonists attracted general attention, the Reformers daily
gaining new converts both in France and Germany. (See
Luther).
But whilst the efforts of Luther were thus everywhere Disputes
crowned with success, the divisions began to prevail which a.nd dlvi-
have since so much agitated the Reformed churches. The sl0ns•
first dispute occurred between Luther and Zuinglius con¬
cerning the manner in which the body and blood of Christ
were present in the Eucharist. Luther and his followers,
although they had rejected the notion of transubstantiation,
were nevertheless of opinion that the body and blood of
Christ were really present in the Lord’s Supper in a way
which they could not pretend to explain. Carlstadt, who
was Luther’s colleague, first suggested another view of the
subject, which was afterwards confirmed and illustrated by
Zuinglius, namely, that the body and blood of Christ were
not really present in the Eucharist; and that the bread and
wine were no more than external symbols to excite the re¬
membrance of Christ’s sufferings in the minds of those who
received them. Both parties maintained their tenets with
the utmost obstinacy, and, by their divisions, first gave their
adversaries an argument against them, which to this day the
Catholics urge with great force ; alleging that the Protest¬
ants are so divided that it is impossible to know who is
right or who is wrong ; and arguing from these divisions,
that the whole doctrine is false.
To these intestine divisions were added the horrors of a Civil war
civil war, occasioned by oppression on the one hand, and by in Ger-
enthusiasm on the other. In 1525 a great number of se-many-
ditious fanatics arose on a sudden in different parts of Ger¬
many ; and having taken arms, they united their forces, and
made war against the empire, laying waste the country with
fire and sword, and committing everywhere the most bar¬
barous cruelties. The greater part of this furious mob was
composed of peasants and vassals, who groaned under heavy
822
Keforma-
tion.
Reforma¬
tion esta¬
blished in
Saxony.
Resolu¬
tions of
the Diet
Spires.
REFORMATION.
burdens, and declared that they were no longer able to bear
the despotic government of their chiefs; and hence this
sedition received the name of the War of the Peasants. At
first this rabble declared that they had no other motives
than the redress of their grievances; but no sooner had
Munzer the Anabaptist placed himself at their head, than
the face of things was entirely changed, and the civil com¬
motions in Saxony and Thuringia rapidly increased. (®ee
the article Anabaptists ; also Ranke’s History of the Re¬
formation, vol. ii., English edition, 1845 ; and Mrs Sin-
nett’s Bye-ways of History, 1847.
In the meantime Frederick, Elector of Saxony, and
Luther’s great patron, died, and was succeeded by his brother
John. Frederick, though he had protected and encouraged
Luther, vet was at no pains to introduce the refoimed re¬
ligion into his dominions. But with his successor it proved
otherwise £ for he, being convinced that Luther s doctrine
must soon be totally destroyed and suppiessed unless it re¬
ceived a speedy and effectual support, ordered Luther and
Melancthon to draw up a body of laws relating to the form
of ecclesiastical government, the method of public worship,
and other necessary matters, which were to be proclaimed
by heralds throughout his dominions. This example was
followed by all the princes and states of Germany who had
renounced the papal supremacy ; and a similar form of wor¬
ship, discipline, and government was thus introduced into
all the churches which had dissented from that of Rome.
This open renunciation of the ancient ecclesiastical juris-^
diction changed the face of affairs; and the patrons of
Popery intimated, in a manner not at all ambiguous, that
they intended to make war upon the Lutheran party. On
the other hand, the Lutherans, apprised of these hostile in¬
tentions, began to deliberate on a proper plan of defence
against the attack with which they were threatened.
The Diet of the empire assembled in the year 1526 at
Spires, where the emperor’s ambassadors were desired to use
their utmost endeavours to suppress all disputes about re¬
ligion, and to insist upon the rigorous execution of the sen¬
tence which had been pronounced against Luther and his
followers at Worms. The greater part of the German
princes, however, opposed this motion with the utmost re¬
solution, declaring that they could neither execute the sen¬
tence, nor come to any determination with regard to the
doctrines by which it had been occasioned, before the w hole
matter had been submitted to the decision of a council law¬
fully assembled ; and further alleging that the decision of
controversies of this nature belonged properly to a general
council, and to it alone. This opinion, after long and warm
debates, was adopted by a majority, and was at length con¬
sented to by the whole assembly. It was unanimously
agreed to present a solemn address to the emperor, entreat¬
ing him to assemble a general council without delay ; whilst
in the meantime it was also agreed that the princes of the
empire should, in their respective dominions, be at liberty
to manage ecclesiastical affairs in the manner they should
think most proper, yet so as to be able to give to God and
the emperor a proper account of their administration when¬
ever it should be required of them.
These resolutions proved exceedingly favourable to the
cause of reformation. Neither had the emperor for some
time any leisure to give disturbance to the Reformed. The
war which about this time ensued between him and the
Pope gave tlie greatest advantage to the friends of reform,
and considerably augmented their number. Several princes,
whom the fear of persecution and punishment had hitherto
prevented from lending their assistance, publicly renounced
the Catholic religion, and introduced among their subjects
the same forms of religious worship, and the same system
of doctrine, which had been received in Saxony. Others,
though placed in such circumstances as discouraged them
from acting in an open manner against the interests of the
Roman PontiH’, were, however, far from discovering the Reforma-
smallest opposition to those who withdrew the people from tion.
his despotic yoke ; nor did they molest the private assem-
blies of those who had separated themselves from the com¬
munion of Rome. And in general all the Germans who,
before these resolutions of the Diet of Spires, had rejected
the papal discipline and doctrine, were now, in consequence
of the liberty they enjoyed, wholly employed in bringing
their schemes and plans to a certain degree of consistence,
and in adding vigour and firmness to the cause in which
they were engaged.
But this tranquillity and liberty were not of long duration. Revoked
In the year 1529 a new Diet was assembled at the same by the em¬
place by the emperor, after he had quieted the troubles in Peror>
various parts of his dominions, and concluded a peace with
the Pope. The power which had been granted to princes,
of managing ecclesiastical affairs until the meeting of a ge¬
neral council, was now revoked by a majority of votes ; and
every change declared unlawful that should be introduced
into the doctrine, discipline, or worship of the established
religion, before the determination of the approaching council
was known. This decree wras considered as iniquitous and
intolerable by the Elector of Saxony, the Landgrave of
Hesse, and other members of the Diet, who were persuaded
of the necessity of a reformation. The promise of speedily
assembling a general council they looked upon as an arti¬
fice of the Church of Rome, conceiving that a free and
lawful council would be the last thing to which the Pope
would consent.
When, therefore, they found that all their arguments and Origin of
remonstrances made no impression upon Ferdinand, the ^ nanie
emperor’s brother, who presided in the Diet, Charles him- rotestanU-
self being then at Barcelona, they entered a solemn protest
against this decree on the 19th of April, and appealed to
the emperor and a future council. Hence arose the deno¬
mination of Protestants, which from this period has been
given to those who separated from the communion of the
Church of Rome. The princes of the empire who entered
this protest were, John, Elector of Saxony; George, Elector
of Brandenburg ; Ernest and Frands,dukes of Lunenberg;
the Landgrave Philip of Hesse; and Wolfgang, Prince ot
Anhalt; and they were seconded by fourteen imperial
towns, viz., Strasburg, Ulm, Nuremberg, Constance, Reut-
lingen, Windsheim, Memmingen, Nordlingen, Lindau,
Isny, Kempten, Heilbron, Wissenburg, and St Gall. (See
Walch’s Dis. Histor. de Liberis Imperii Civitatibus, G'ott.
!755.)
The dissenting princes, who were, besides, the protectors
and heads of the Reformed churches, had no sooner entered
their protest, than they sent proper persons to the emperor,
who was then upon his passage from Spain to Italy, to
acquaint him with their proceedings in this matter. The
ministers employed in this commission executed it with the
greatest intrepidity and presence of mind ; but the emperor,
exasperated at the audacity of those who presumed to
differ from him, caused the ambassadors to be arrested.
The news of this violent step made the Protestant princes
conclude that their personal safety and the success ot their
cause depended entirely upon their own courage and union.
They therefore determined to enter into a solemn confede¬
racy ; and for this purpose they held several meetings at
Rothach, Nuremberg, Smalcald, and other places; but so
different were their opinions and views that for a time they
could determine upon nothing. (See Salig’s Hist, of the
Augs. Confession, vol. i., book ii., c. i.)
One great obstacle to the intended confederacy was the Conference
dispute which had arisen between Luther and Zuinglius
concerning the real presence of Christ in the Lord’s Sup- zuino-iius.
per. To terminate this dispute if possible, Philip, Land¬
grave of Hesse, in the year 1529, invited Luther and Zuin¬
glius to a conference at Marpurg, together with several
REFORJV
Refoma- other of the more eminent doctors who adhered to the re¬
turn. spective parties of these contending chiefs. But this mea-
sure was not attended with the salutary effects which were
expected from it. The divines disputed for four days in
presence of the landgrave. Luther attacked CEcolampa-
dius, and Zuinglius was attacked by Melancthon. Zuin-
glius was accused of heresy, not only on account of is
explanation of the nature and design of the Lord’s Supper,
but also in consequence of the false notions which he was
supposed to have adopted concerning the divinity of Christ,
the efficacy of the Divine Word, original sin, and some other
parts of the Christian doctrine. This illustrious Reformer,
however, cleared himself from the greater part of these
charges with the most triumphant evidence, and in such
a manner as appeared satisfactory even to Luther hirnself.
But their dissension concerning the manner of Christ’s pre¬
sence in the Eucharist still remained; nor could either of
the contending parties be persuaded to abandon, or even
to modify, their opinions upon that matter. The only ad¬
vantage, therefore, which resulted from the meeting was,
that the jarring doctors formed a kind of truce, by agreeing
to a mutual toleration of their sentiments, and leaving to
the disposal of Providence the cure of their divisions. (See
Hospinian’s Historia Sacramentaria, part ii.)
The Con- jn tjie meantime, news were received that the emperor
fession of (}esjgned to COme into Germany, with a view to terminate
Augsburg. ^ re]jgjous differences at the approaching Diet of Augsburg.
Having foreseen some of the consequences of those disputes,
and, besides, having taken the opinion of men of wisdom,
sagacity, and experience, he became gradually more cool
in his proceedings, and more impartial in his opinions re¬
specting the contending parties and the merits of the cause.
He, therefore, in an interview with the Pope at Bologna,
insisted, in the most serious and urgent manner, on the
necessity of a general council. His remonstrances and
expostulations, however, could not move the Pontiff, who
maintained with zeal the papal prerogatives; reproached
the emperor with an ill-judged clemency ; and alleged that
it was the duty of that prince to support the church, and
to execute speedy vengeance upon that obstinate and here¬
tical faction who had dared to call in question the authority
of Rome. To this discourse the emperor paid no regard,
looking upon it as a most iniquitous thing, and a measure
directly opposed to the law’s ot the empire, to condemn un¬
heard so many men who had always approved themselves
good citizens, and in other respects deserved well of their
country.
Hitherto indeed it was not easy for the emperor to form
a clear idea of the matters in debate, since no regular sys¬
tem had as yet been composed by which it might be
known with certainty what were the true causes of Luther’s
opposition to the Pope. The Elector of Saxony, therefore,
ordered Luther and other eminent divines to commit to
writing the chief articles of their religious system, and the
principal points in which they differed from the Church of
Rome. Luther, in compliance with this order, delivered
to the elector at Torgau seventeen articles which had been
agreed upon in a conference at Schwabach in 1529; and
hence these received the name of the Articles ot 1 orgau.
But though these were deemed by Luther a sufficient declara¬
tion of the sentiments of the Reformers, yet it was judged
proper to enlarge them, in order to give perspicuity to their
arguments and strength to their cause. In this work
Melancthon was employed; but in it he showed much
deference to the counsels of Luther, expressing his senti¬
ments and doctrine with the greatest elegance and perspi¬
cuity, and thus came forth the famous Confession of Augs¬
burg. (See on the whole of this period Merle d’Aubigne’s
History of the Reformation ; also Ranke’s History of the
Reformation, vol. hi., on the Diet and Confession of Augs-
* burg. The Confession itself may be seen in Walch, Titt-
[ A T I O N. 823
mann, or Hase’s Collection of the Symbolical Books of the Reforma-
Prussian Church. The reader may likewise consult with ^ tI0n y
profit the Histories of Scott and Waddington on both the
Diet and the Confession.)
On the loth of June 1830, Charles arrived at Augsburg, This dem¬
and the Diet was opened five days afterwards. The Pro- fession pre-
testants received a formal permission to present an account
of their tenets to the Diet on the 25th of the same month ; rori p
and in consequence of this, at the time appointed, Christian
Bayer, chancellor of Saxony, read aloud, in the German
language, before the emperor and princes assembled, the
Confession of Augsburg above mentioned. It contained
twenty-eight chapters, of which twenty-one were employed
in representing the religious opinions of the Protestants,
and the other seven in pointing out the errors and super¬
stitions of the Church of Rome. The princes heard it with
the deepest attention. It confirmed some in the principles
which they had embraced; it surprised others who had not
given much consideration to the subject; and many who
before this time had little or no idea of the religious senti¬
ments of Luther, were now not only convinced of their in¬
nocence, but delighted with their purity and simplicity.
The copies of this Confession, after being read, were de¬
livered to the emperor, being signed by John, Elector of
Saxony; George, Marquis of Brandenburg; Ernest, Duke
of Lunenburg; Philip, Landgrave of Hesse; Wolfgang,
Prince of Anhalt; and by the imperial cities of Nuremberg
and Reutlingen.
The creatures of the Church of Rome who were present
at this Diet employed John Faber, afterwards bishop of^thisCon-
Vienna, together wuth Eck and Cochlseus, to draw up a fession.
refutation of the Protestant Confession; and this having
been publicly read, the emperor required the Protestant
members to acquiesce in it, and put an end to the reli¬
gious disputes by an unlimited submission to the opinions
and doctrines contained in this answer. But this demand
was far from being complied with. The Protestants, on
the contrary, declared that they were by no means satisfied
with the reply of their adversaries, and earnestly desired a
copy of it, that they might more fully demonstrate its ex¬
treme insufficiency and weakness. But this reasonable
request was refused by the emperor, who interposed his
supreme authority to prevent any further proceedings in
this matter, and solemnly prohibited the publication of any
new writings or declarations which might contiibute to
protract these religious debates. Ihis, however, did not
reduce the Protestants to silence. The divines of that
communion who had been present at the Diet endeavoured
to recollect the arguments and objections employed by
Faber, and had again recourse to the pen of Melancthon,
who refuted them in an ample and satisfactory manner, in
a piece which was presented to the emperor on the 22d of
September, but which Charles refused to receive. This
answer was afterwards enlarged by Melancthon, when he
had obtained a copy of Faber’s reply; and was published
in the year 1531, with the other pieces that related to the
doctrine and discipline of the Lutheran Church, under the
title of Apology for the Confession of Augsburg.^
Matters now began to draw towards a crisis. There were Severe
only three ways of bringing to a conclusion these religious decree
differences: First, To grant the Protestants a toleration and *8®^
privilege of serving God as they thought proper ; secondly, testaIlt3
To compel them to return to the Church ot Rome by the
violent methods of persecution ; or, thirdly. That a reconci¬
liation should be made upon fair, and candid, and equitable
terms, by engaging each of the parties to temper their zeal
with moderation, to abate reciprocally the rigour of their
pretensions, and to remit something of their respective
claims. The third expedient was most generally approved
of, being peculiarly agreeable to all who had at heart the
welfare of the empire; nor did even the Pope seem to look
824
Reforma¬
tion.
The league
of Smal-
cald.
Invitation
to Henry
VIII. of
England.
REFORMATION.
upon it with aversion or contempt. Various conferences,
therefore, were held between persons eminent for piety and
learning upon both sides; and nothing was omitted which
might have the least tendency to calm the animosities and
heal the divisions which reigned between the contending
parties. But the differences were too great to admit of a
reconciliation ; and therefore the votaries of Rome had re¬
course to the powerful arguments of imperial edicts and the
force of the secular arm. On the 19th of Novembei’ a
severe decree was issued by order of the emperor, in which
everything was manifestly adapted to deject the friends of
religious liberty, excepting only a faint and dubious pro¬
mise of engaging the Pope to assemble a general council
about six months after the separation of the Diet. In this
decree the dignity and excellence of the Catholic religion
were extolled beyond measure; a new decree of severity
and force was added to that which had been published at
Worms against Luther and his adherents; the changes
which had been introduced into the doctrine and discipline
of the Protestant churches were severely censured; and a
solemn oi'der was addressed to the princes, cities and states,
who had thrown off the papal yoke to return to their alle¬
giance to Rome, on pain of incurring the indignation and
vengeance of the emperor, as the patron and protector of
the church.
Of this formidable decree the Elector of Saxony and the
confederated princes were no sooner informed than they
assembled in order to deliberate on the measures proper to
be taken in such an emergency. In the years 1530 and 1531
they met, first at Smalcald, and afterwards at Frankfort,
where they formed a solemn alliance and confederacy, with
the intention of defending vigorously their religion and
liberties against the dangers and encroachments with which
they were threatened by the Edict of Augsburg, without
attempting, however, anything offensive against the vota¬
ries of Rome; they invited the kings of England, France,
and Denmark to join this confederacy, leaving no means
unemployed that might strengthen and cement so import¬
ant an alliance. (See Ranke’s History of the Reformation,
vol. hi., translated by Mrs Austin.)
This confederacy was at first opposed by Luther, from
an apprehension of the calamities and troubles which it
might produce ; but at last, perceiving the necessity of con¬
cert, he consented, though he uncharitably, as well as im¬
prudently, refused to comprehend in it the followers of
Zuinglius amongst the Swiss, as well as the German states
and cities which had adopted the sentiments and confession
of Bucer. In the invitation addressed to Flenry VIII. of
England, whom the confederate pxhnces were willing to de¬
clare the head and protector of their league, the following
things, amongst others, were expressly stipulated :—That
the king should encourage, promote, and maintain the true
doctrine of Christ as it was contained in the Confession of
Augsburg, and defend the same at the next general council;
that he should not agree to any council summoned by the
Bishop of Rome, but pi'otest against it, and neither sub¬
mit to its decrees nor suffer them to be respected in his
dominions; that he should never allow the Roman Pontiff
to have any pre-eminence or jurisdiction in his dominions,
and should advance 100,000 crowns for the use of the con¬
federacy, engaging to double the sum if necessary,—all
which articles the confedei'ate princes were equally obliged
to observe upon their part. To these demands the king
replied that lie would maintain and promote the true doc¬
trine of Chi'ist; but, at the same time, as the true ground
of that doctrine lay only in the Holy Scriptures, he would
not accept at any one’s hand what should be his own faith
or that of his kingdom; and therefore desired that they
would send over two learned men to confer with him, in
order to promote a religious union between him and the
confederates. He, however, declared himself of their opi¬
nion with regard to the meeting of a free general council,
and promised to join with them in all such councils for the
defence of the true doctrine; but he thought the regula¬
tion of the ceremonial part of religion, being comparatively
a matter of indifference, should be left to the choice of eaclx
sovereign for his own dominions. Subsequently the king
gave them a second and more satisfactory answer; but after
the execution of Ann Boleyn this negotiation came to no¬
thing. On the one hand, the king grew cold when he per¬
ceived that the confederates were no longer of use to him
in supporting the validity of his marriage; and, on the
other, the German princes became sensible that they could
never succeed with Henry unless they allowed him an ab¬
solute dictatorship in matters of religion. (See Froude’s
History of England?)
Whilst everything thus tended to an open war between Peace of
the opposite parties, the Elector Palatine and the Elector Nurem-
of Mentz offered their mediation, and endeavoured to bi'ing^6^-
about a reconciliation. The emperor himself, for various
reasons, was at this time inclined to peace; for, on the one
hand, he stood in need of succours against the Turks, which
the Protestant princes refused to grant as long as the Edicts
of Worms and Augsburg remained in force; and, on the
other, the election of his brother Ferdinand to the dignity
of king of the Romans, which had been carried by a majority
of votes at the Diet of Cologne in 1531, was by the same
princes contested as being contrary to the fundamental
laws of the empire. In consequence of all this, after many
negotiations and projects of reconciliation, a treaty of peace
was concluded at Nuremberg, ins 1532, between the em¬
peror and the Protestant princes, on the following condi¬
tions, viz.,—that the latter should furnish a subsidy for
carrying on the war against the Turks, and acknowledge
Ferdinand as lawful king of the Romans; and that the
emperor upon his part should abrogate and annul the Edicts
of Worms and Augsburg, and allow the Lutherans the free
and undisturbed exercise of their religious doctrine and dis¬
cipline, until a rule of faith should be fixed either in the
free general council which was to be assembled in the space
of six months, or in a Diet of the empire.
Soon after the conclusion of the peace of Nuremberg, John,
Elector of Saxony, died, and was succeeded by his son John ,
Frederick, a prince of invincible fortitude and magnanimity,1 ^
but whose reign was little better than one eontimied series
of disappointments and calamities. The religious truce,
however, gave new vigour to the Reformation. Those who
had hitherto been only secret enemies of the Roman Pon¬
tiff now publicly threw off his yoke, and various cities and
provinces of Germany enlisted themselves under the reli¬
gious banners of Luther. On the other hand, as the em-
pei*or had now no other hope of terminating the religious
disputes except by the meeting of a general council, he re¬
peated his request to the Pontiff that such a council should
be assembled. But Pope Clement VII., whom the his¬
tory of past councils filled with the greatest uneasiness, en¬
deavoured to retard what he could not with decency refuse.
At last, in the year 1533, he made a proposal by his legate
to assemble a council at Mantua, Piacenza, or Bologna;
but the Protestants refused their consent to the nomination
of an Italian council, and insisted that a controversy which
had its rise in the heart of Germany should be determined
within the limits of the empix-e. The Pope, by his usual
artifices, eluded compliance with this demand, and in 1534
he was cut off by death before any determination could be
come to. His successor, Paul III., seemed to show less
reluctance to the assembling of a general council, and in
1535 expressed his inclination to convoke one at Mantua;
and the year following he actually sent circular letters for
that purpose throughout all the states and kingdoms under
his jurisdiction. This council was summoned by a bull
issued on the 2d of June 1536, to meet at Mantua in the
Reforma¬
tion.
reformation.
825
Reforma¬
tion.
Fruitless
attempts at
accommo¬
dation.
Council of
Trent.
Plan of re
formation
proposed
by the
Pope.
following year. Several obstacles, however, prevented its
meetino-, one of the most material of wbfth was, that re-
derick, Duke of Mantua had no inclination to receive at
once so many guests, some of them very turbulent, into the
place of his residence. On the other hand the Protestants
were firmly persuaded that, as the council was to be as¬
sembled in Italy, and by the authority of the Pope alone,
the latter must have an undue influence in that assemb y,
and consequently that all things would he carried by the
votaries of Rome. For this reason they assembled in the
year 1537 at Smalcald, where they solemnly protested against
this partial and corrupt council, and at the same time had
a new summary of their doctrine drawn up by Luther, in
order to present it to the assembled bishops it it should be
required of them. This summary, which received the title
of the Articles of Smalcald, is commonly conjoined with
the creeds and confessions of the Lutheran Church.
After the meeting of the general council in Mantua had
thus been prevented, many schemes of accommodation were
proposed both bv the emperor and by the Protestants ; hut,
by the artifices of the Church of Rome all of them came to
nothing. In 1541 the emperor appointed a conference to
be held at Worms on the subject of religion, between per¬
sons of piety and learning chosen from the contending
parties. This conference, however, was for certain reasons
removed to the Diet which was to be held at Ratisbon that
year, and in which the principal subject of deliberation was
a memorial presented by a person unknown, containing a
project of peace. But the conference produced no other
effect than a mutual agreement of the contending parties
to refer their matters to a general council, or, if the meet¬
ing of such a council should be prevented, to the next Ger-
man Diet. . «
This resolution was rendered ineffectual by a variety ot
incidents which widened the breach, and put off to a iutui e
- day the deliberations which were designed to heal it. The
Pone ordered his legate to declare to the Diet of Spires,
assembled in 1542, that he would, according to the promise
he had already made, assemble a general council, and that
Trent should be the place of its meeting if the Diet had
no objection to that city. Ferdinand, and the princes who
adhered to the cause of the Pope, gave their consent to this
proposal; but it was vehemently objected to by the I ro-
testants, both because the council was summoned by the
authority of the Pope only, and also because the place was
within the jurisdiction of his holiness; whereas they desired
a free council, which should not be biassed by the dictates
nor awed by the proximity of the Pontiff. But this protes¬
tation produced no effect. Paul III. persisted in his Pur"
pose, and issued his circular letters for the convocation of
the council, with the approbation of the emperor. In jus¬
tice to this pontiff, however, it must be acknowledged that
he showed that he was not averse to certain measures of a
reformatory character. He appointed four cardinals, and
three other persons eminent for.their learning, to draw up
a scheme for the reformation of the church in general, and
of that of Rome in particular. The reformation proposed
in this plan was indeed extremely superficial and partial;
vet it contained some particulars which could scarcely have
been expected from those who composed it. They com¬
plained of the pride and ignorance of the bishops, and pro¬
posed that none should receive orders but learned and pious
men, and that care should therefore be taken to have proper
masters for the instruction of youth. 1 hey condemned
translations from one benefice to another, with grants of re¬
servation, non-residence, and pluralities. They proposed
that some convents should be abolished ; that the liberty of
the press should be restrained and limited; that the Collo¬
quies of Erasmus should be suppressed ; that no ecclesiastic
should enjoy a benefice out of his own country ; that no
cardinal should have a bishopric; that the questors of St
VOL. XVIII.
Anthony and several other saints should be abolished ; and> Reforma-
whieh was the best of all their proposals, that the effects ^ t^on' /
and personal estates of ecclesiastics should be given to the
poor. They concluded with complaining of the prodigious
number of indigent and ragged priests who frequented St
Peter’s church ; and declared that it was a great scandal
to see prostitutes lodged so magnificently at Rome, and.
ridin‘>- through the streets on fine mules, whilst the car-*
dinals and other ecclesiastics accompanied them in the
most courteous manner. This plan of reformation was
turned into ridicule by Luther and Sturm; and indeed it
left unredressed the greatest grievances ot which the Pro¬
testants complained.
All this time the emperor had been labouring to persuade War be-
tbe Protestants to consent to the meeting of the council at tween the
Trent; but when he found them fixed in their, opposition
to the measure he began to listen to the sanguinaiy mea- protest_
sures of the Pope, and resolved to terminate the disputes by ants.
force of arms. Upon this, the Elector ot Saxony and the
Landgrave of Hesse, who were the chief supporters of the
Protestant cause, took proper measures to prevent their be¬
ing surprised and overwhelmed by a superior force ; but
before the horrors of war commenced Luther dietl in peace
at Eisleben, the place of his nativity, in the yeai 1546.
The emperor and the Pope had mutually resolved on the
destruction of all who should dare to oppose the Council of
Trent. The meeting of this council was to serve as a
signal for taking up arms; and accordingly its deliberations
were scarcely commenced in 1546 when the I lotestants
perceived undoubted signs of the approaching storm, and of
a formidable union betwreen the emperor and the Pope,
which threatened to overwhelm them at once. This year,
indeed, there had been a new conference at Ratisbon upon
the old subject of accommodating differences in leligion,
but from the manner in which the debates were earned on,
it appeared plain that these differences could only be de¬
cided in the field of battle. The Council of I rent, in the
meantime, promulgated their decrees ; whilst the Reformed
princes, in the Diet of Ratisbon, protested against their
authority, and were on that account proscribed by the em¬
peror, who raised an army to reduce them to obedience.
The Elector of Saxony and the Landgrave of Hesse led Elector of
their forces into Bavaria against the emperor, and cannon-
aded his camp near Ingoistadt. It was supposed that tins
would bring on an engagement, which would probably havesoner.
been advantageous to the cause of the Reformed ; but this
was prevented chiefly by the perfidy of Maurice, Duke ot
Saxonv, who invaded the dominions of his uncle. Divisions
were also fomented amongst the confederate princes by
the dissimulation of the emperor, and France failed in pay-
ino- the subsidy which had been promised by its monarch
all which so discouraged the heads of the Protestant pai ty
that their armv soon dispersed, and the Elector ot baxony
was obliged to direct his march homewards. But he was
pursued by the emperor, who made several forced marches,
with a view to overpower the enemy before he could have
time to recover his vigour. The two armies met near Mu -
berg: on the Elbe, on the 24th of April 1547, and, a ter a
sanguinary action, the elector was entirely defeated and
taken prisoner. Maurice, who had so basely betrayed him,
was now declared Elector of Saxony ; and by h.s entreaties
Philip, Landgrave of Hesse, the other chief of the Pro¬
testants, was persuaded to throw himself on the meicy o
the emperor and to implore forgiveness. I o this he con¬
sented ' relying on the promise of Charles tor obtaining
pardon and being restored to liberty ; but, notwithstanding
these expectations, he was unjustly detained prisonei hy a
scandalous violation of the most solemn convention. It is
said that the emperor retracted his promise, and deluded
this unhappy prince by the ambiguity ot two German
words. History, indeed, can scarcely furnish a parallel to
5 M
—
826
REFORMATION.
Reforma¬
tion.
The coun¬
cil sud¬
denly dis¬
solved. A
formulary
drawn up.
This for¬
mulary re¬
jected.
Melanc-
thon’s
scheme.
the perfidious, mean-spirited, and despotic behaviour of the
emperor in the present case. After having received in
public the humble submission of the prince on his knees,
and set him at liberty in virtue of a solemn treaty, he
caused him to be arrested anew without any reason, nay,
without any pretence, and kept him a close prisoner for
several years. When Maurice remonstrated against this
new confinement, the emperor answered that he had never
promised that the landgrave should not be imprisoned anew,
but only that he should be exempted from perpetual im¬
prisonment ; and, to support this assertion, he produced the
treaty. (See Ranke’s History, vol. iv., already referred to ;
and Robertson’s History of Charles V.)
The affairs of the Protestants now seemed to be des¬
perate. In the Diet of Augsburg, which was soon after¬
wards called, the emperor required the Protestants to leave
the decision of these religious disputes to the wisdom of the
council which was to mebt at Trent. The greater part of
the members consented to this proposal, being convinced
by the powerful argument of an imperial army, which was
at hand to dispel the darkness from the eyes of such as
might otherwise have been blind to the force of Charles’s
reasoning. However, this general submission did not pro¬
duce the effect which was expected from it. A plague
which broke out, or was said to have done so in the city,
caused the greater part of the bishops to retire to Bologna,
by which means the council was in effect dissolved ; nor
could all the entreaties and remonstrances of the emperor
prevail upon the Pope to re-assemble it without delay.
During this interval, therefore, the emperor judged it neces¬
sary to fall upon some method of accommodating the reli¬
gious differences, and maintaining peace until the council
so long expected should finally be decided on. With this
view he ordered Julius Pflug, Bishop of Naumberg, Michael
Sidonius, a creature of the Pope, and John Agricola of
Eisleben, to draw up a formulary which might serve as a
rule of faith and worship, till the council should be as¬
sembled. But as this was only a temporary expedient, and
had not the force of a permanent or perpetual institution, it
thence obtained the name of the Interim. (In addition to
the other authorities, the reader may consult Gieseler’s
Lehrbuch neueren Kirchenges., Bonn, 1840.)
I his project of Charles was formed partly with a design
to vent his resentment against the Pope, and partly to an¬
swer other political purposes. It contained all the essential
doctiines of the Church of Rome, though considerably
softened by the artful terms which were employed, and which
were quite different from those employed before and after
this peuod by the Council of I rent. There was even-an
affected ambiguity in many of the expressions, which made
them susceptible of different meanings, and applicable to
the sentiments of both communions. The consequence of
all this was, that the imperial formulary was reprobated by
both parties. However, it was promulgated with great
solemnity by the emperor at Augsburg. The Elector of
Mentz, without even asking the opinion of the princes pre¬
sent, gave a sanction to this formulary, as if he had been
commissioned to represent the whole Diet. Many remained
silent through fear, and that silence was interpreted as a
tacit consent. Some who had the courage to oppose it,
were reduced by force of arms; and the most deplorable
scenes of bloodshed and violence were enacted throughout
the whole empire. Maurice, Elector of Saxony, who had
intherto kept neutral, now assembled the whole of his no-
bihty and clergy, in order to deliberate on this critical
a an. t the head of the latter was Melancthon, whose
wou was lespected as a law amongst the Protestants. But
tins man had not the courage of Luther, and was therefore
n a occasions leady to make concessions, and to propose
jcnemes ot accommodation. In the present case he gave
ODlnion> the whole of the book called Interim
could not by any means be adopted by the Protestants > Reforma-
but at the same time he declared that he saw no reason why tion.
this book might not be approved, adopted, and received
as an authoritative rule in things that did not relate to
the essential parts of religion, and which he accounted in¬
different. But this scheme, instead of cementing the dif¬
ferences, rendered them worse than ever ; and produced a
division amongst the Protestants themselves, which might
have overthrown the Reformation entirely, if the emperor
and the Pope had seized the opportunity.
In the year 1549 Pope Paul III. died, and was sue-The Coun-
ceeded by Julius III., who, at the.repeated solicitations 0fcilof Trent
the emperor, consented to re-assemble the Council of Trent. |'®'assem-
A Diet w'as again held at Augsburg under the cannon ofbled’
the imperial army, and Charles laid the matter before the
princes of the empire. Most of those present gave their
consent to it, and amongst the rest Maurice, Elector of
Saxony, who consented on the following conditions, namelv,
that the points of doctrine which had already been decided
there should be re-examined; that this examination should
be made in presence of the Protestant divines; that the
Saxon Protestants should have the liberty of voting as well
as of deliberating in the council; and that the Pope should
not pretend to preside in that assembly, either in person or
by his legates. This declaration of Maurice was read in
the Diet, and his deputies insisted upon its being entered
into the registers, which the Archbishop of Mentz obsti¬
nately refused. (See Sleidan’s Comment., lib. xxii., 1556;
also Father Paul Sarpi’s History of the Council of Trent,
and Bungener’s History of the Council of Trent.) This
Diet was concluded in the year 1551 ; and at its breaking
up the emperor desired the assembled princes and states
to prepare all things for the approaching council, and pro¬
mised to use his utmost endeavours to procure moderation
and harmony, impartiality and charity, in the transactions
of that assembly.
On the breaking up of the Diet the Protestants took The empe-
such steps as they thought most proper for their own safety. rof sur'
The Saxons employed Melancthon, and the Wiirtembergers and
Brentius, to draw up confessions of faith to be laid before a
the new council. The Saxon divines, however, proceeded peace,
no farther than Nuremberg, having received secret orders
from Maurice to stop there ; for the elector, perceiving that
Charles had formed designs against the liberties of the Ger¬
man princes, resolved to take the most effectual measures
for at once crushing his ambition. He therefore entered
with the utmost secrecy and expedition into an alliance
vyith the king of France and several of the German princes
for the security of the rights and liberties of the empire ;
after which, having assembled a powerful army in 1552, he
marched against the emperor, who lay with a handful of
troops at Innspruck, expecting no attack from any quarter.
By this sudden and unforeseen accident Charles was so
much dispirited that he was willing to make peace almost
on any terms. The consequence was, that he concluded a
treaty at Passau, which by the Protestants is considered as
the basis of their religious liberty. By the first three articles
of this treaty, it was agreed that Maurice and the confe¬
derates should lay down their arms, and lend their troops
to Ferdinand to assist him against the Turks, and that the
Landgrave of Hesse should be set at liberty. By the fourth
it was agreed that the rule of faith called the Interim should
be considered as null and void; that the contending par¬
ties should enjoy the free and undisturbed exercise of their
religion, until a Diet should be assembled to determine
amicably the present disputes, which Diet was to meet in
the space of six months ; and that this religious liberty
should continue always, in case it should be found impos¬
sible to come to an uniformity in doctrine and worship. It
was also determined that all those who had suffered banish¬
ment, or any other calamity, on account of their having
reformation.
827
Reforma- been concerned in the league or war of Smalcald, should
tion. be reinstated in their privileges, possessions, and employ-
' v ' ments ; that the imperial chamber at Spires should be open
to the Protestants as well as to the Catholics ; and tha.t there
should always be a certain number of Lutherans in that
high court. To this peace Albert, Marquis ot Branden¬
burg, refused to subscribe, and continued the war against
the Roman Catholics, committing such ravages m the em¬
pire that a confederacy was at last formed against him.
At the head of this conspiracy was Maurice, Elector ot
Saxony, who died of a wound received in battle in 1553.
The assembling of the Diet promised by Charles was
Treaty of delayed by various incidents; however, it met at Augsbuig
Augsburg. in 1555, where it was opened by Ferdinand in name m the
emperor, and terminated those deplorable calamities which
had so long desolated the empire. After various debates,
the following acts were passed, on the 25th of September,
viz.: That the Protestants who followed the Confession
of Augsburg should be for the future considered as entirely
free from the jurisdiction ol the Roman Pontiff, and liom
the authority and superintendence of the bishops ; that they
were left at perfect liberty to enact laws for themselves re-
• lating to their religious sentiments, discipline, and woiship ;
that all the inhabitants of the German empire should be
allowed to judge for themselves in religious matters, and to
join that church whose doctrine and worship they thought
the purest and most consonant to the spirit ot true Chris¬
tianity ; and that all those who should injure or persecute
any person under religious pretences, and on account ot
their opinions, should be declared and proceeded against
as public enemies of the empire, invaders of its liberty, and
disturbers of its peace.
Thus was the Reformation established in many parts of
the German empire, where it continues to this day; nor
have the efforts of the Catholic powers at any time been able
to suppress it, or even to prevent it from gaining ground.
It was not, however, in Germany alone that a reformation
of religion took place. About the same time almost all the
kingdoms of Europe began to open their eyes to the truth.
Account of The Reformed religion was propagated in Sweden, soon
the Refor- aftei* Luther’s rupture with the Church of Rome, by one of
ination in big discipjes> named Olaus Petri. The zealous efforts of
Swcdi n" this missionary were seconded by Gustavus \ asa, whom the
Swedes had raised to the throne instead ot Christiern, King
of Denmark, who by his horrid barbarity lost the crown
(a.d. 1523-61). This prince, however, was as prudent
as he was zealous; and as the minds of the Swedes were
in an unsettled state, he wisely avoided any show of vehe¬
mence and precipitation in spreading the new doctrine.
Accordingly, the first object of his attention was the in¬
struction of his people in the sacred doctrines of the Holy
Scriptures; and for this purpose he invited into his do¬
minions several learned Germans, and spiead abioad
throughout the kingdom the Swedish translation of the
Bible which had been made by Olaus Petri. Some time
after this, in 1526, he appointed a conference at Upsal,
between this Reformer and Peter Gallius, a zealous de¬
fender of the ancient faith, in which each of the champions
was to bring forth his arguments, that it might be seen on
which side the truth lay. In this dispute Olaus obtained
a signal victory, which contributed much to confix m Gus¬
tavus in his persuasion of the truth of Luther s doctrine,
and to promote its progress in Sweden. The following yeai
another event gave the finishing stroke to its propagation
and success. This was the assembly of the states at M es-
teraas, where Gustavus recommended the doctrine of the
Reformers with such zeal that, after warm debates fomented
by the clergy, it was unanimously resolved that the refor¬
mation introduced by Luther should be adopted in Sweden.
This resolution was principally owing to the firmness and
magnanimity of Gustavus, who declared publicly that he
would lay down the sceptre and retire from the kingdom, Reforma-
rather than rule a people enslaved by the orders and autho-
rity of the Pope, and more controlled by the tyranny of
their bishops than by the laws of their monarch. The
papal empire in Sweden was now overthrown, and Gustavus
declared head of the church. (See the Histories of Gerdes
and Schroeckh.)
In Denmark the Reformation was introduced as early Reforma-
as the year 1521, in consequence of the ardent desire dis-^on^rk
covered by Christiern II. of having his subjects instructed L)enmar
in the doctrines of Luther. This monarch, notwithstanding
his cruelty, for which his name has been rendered odious,
was nevertheless desirous of delivering his dominions from
the tyranny of the Church of Rome. For this purpose, in
the year 1520 he sent for Martin Reynhard, one of the dis¬
ciples of Carlstadt, and appointed him professor of divinity
at Copenhagen ; and after the death of this man, which
happened in 1521, he invited Carlstadt himselt to fill that
important place. Carlstadt accepted of this office indeed,
but in a short time returned to Germany ; upon which
Chi’istiern used his utmost endeavours, but in vain, to en¬
gage Luther to visit his dominions. However, the pro¬
gress of Christiern in reforming the religion of his subjects,
or rather of advancing his own power above that ot the
church, was checked in the year 1523 by a conspiracy, in
consequence of which he was deposed and banished ; his
uncle Frederick, Duke of Holstein and Schleswick, being
appointed his successor.
Frederick conducted the Reformation with much greater
prudence than his predecessor. He permitted the I xotest-
ant doctors to preach publicly the sentiments ot Luther,
but did not venture to change the established government
and discipline of the church. However, he contributed
greatly to the progress of the Reformation by his successful
attempts in favour of religious liberty, in an assembly ot
the states held at Odensee in 1527. Here he procured the
publication of a famous edict, by which every subject ot
Denmark was declared free to adhere either to the tenets
of the Church of Rome or to the doctrine of Luther. The
papal tyranny was totally destroyed by his successor Chris¬
tiern III. He began by suppressing the despotic authority
of the bishops, and restoring to their lawful owners a great
part of the wealth and possessions which the church had
acquired by various stratagems. This was followed by a
plan of religious doctrine, worship, and discipline, laid
down by Bugenhagen, whom the king had sent for from
Wittenberg for the purpose; and in 1539 an assembly ot
the states at Odensee gave their solemn sanction to all these
transactions. (See the works of Gramm and Ranke ; also
Pontoppidan’s History of the Reformation in Denmark,
1734; and especially the work of Miinter, Kirchengeschichte
von Danemarck und Nonvegen, 1833, 3 vols.)
In France also the Reformation began very early to make Reforma-
some progress. Margaret, Queen of Navarre, and sister of tion in
Francis I., the perpetual rival of Charles V., was a gi eat 1 ,’ance•
friend to the new doctrine ; and it appears that, as early as^
the year 1523, there were in several of the provinces ot
France great numbers of people who had conceived the
greatest aversion both to the doctrine and tyranny ot the
Church of Rome, amongst whom were many of the first
rank and dignity, and even some of the episcopal order.
But as their number increased daily, and troubles and
commotions were excited in several places on account of the
religious differences, the authority of the king intervened,
and° many persons eminent for their virtue and piety were
put to death in the most barbarous manner. Indeed, Fran¬
cis, who had either no religion at all, oi’, at best, no fixed
and consistent system of religious principles, conducted
himself towards the Protestants in such a manner as best
answered his private views. Sometimes he resolved to in¬
vite Melancthon into France, probably with a view to please
828 REFORMATION.
lleforma- liis sister the Queen of Navarre, whom he loved tenderly, long free from the danger of persecution on account of Reforma¬
tion. and who had strongly imbibed the Protestant principles, their principles. (The reader may consult, after the Histories tion.
''—■■V—At other times he exercised the greatest cruelty towards of Gerdes and Sehrceckh, Brandt’s History of the Reforma- ^
the Reformed ; and once made the following absurd deck- tion in the Low Countries, 4 vols., translated from the
ration, that if he thought the blood in his arm was tainted Dutch, 1720-23.)
by the Lutheran heresy, he would have the arm cut off; The Reformation made considerable progress in Spain Refomn-
and that he would not spare even his own children if they and Italy soon after the rupture between Luther and the tion in
entertained sentiments contrary to those of the Catholic Roman Pontiff. In all the provinces of Italy, but more Italy-
Church. About this time Calvin began to attract the at- especially in the territories of Venice, Tuscany/and Naples,
tention of the public, but more especially that of the Queen the superstition of Rome lost ground, and great numbers
of Navarre. His zeal exposed him to danger; and as of people of all ranks expressed an aversion to the papal
Francis was daily committing to the flames the friends of yoke. In the year 1546, this occasioned violent and dan-
the Reformation, he was placed more than once in the most gerous commotions in the kingdom of Naples ; which, how-
perilous situation, from which he was only delivered by the ever, were at last quelled by the united forces of Charles
interposition of the Queen of Navarre. He therefore re- V., and his viceroy Don Pedro di Toledo. In several
tired from France to Bale in Switzerland, where he pub- places the Pope put a stop to the progress of the Reforma-
lished his Christian Institutes, and afterwards became tion, by letting loose the inquisitors, who spread dreadful
celebrated in the history of Protestantism. (See Calvin.) marks of their barbarity throughout the greater part of Italy.
Those amongst the French who first renounced the juris- These formidable ministers of persecution put so many to
diction of the Church of Rome are commonly called Lu- death, and perpetrated such horrible acts of cruelty and
therans by the writers of those early times. Hence it has oppression, that most of the Reformed consulted their safety
been supposed that they had all imbibed the peculiar sen- by a voluntary exile, whilst others returned to the religion
timents of Luther. But this appears not to have been the of Rome, at least in external appearance. But the Inquisi-
case; for the vicinity of the cities of Geneva, Lausanne, tion which frightened into the profession of Popery several
and some otheis, which had adopted the doctrine ot Calvin, Protestants in other parts of Italy, could never make its
produced a remarkable effect upon the French Protestant way into the kingdom of Naples, nor could either the
churches ; insomuch that, about the middle of this century, authority or the entreaties of the Pope engage the Nea-
they all entered into communion with the Church of Geneva, politans to admit even visiting inquisitors. °(See the ad-
I lie I rench Piotestants were, by way of contempt, called mirable History of the Progress and Suppression of the
Huguenots by their adversaries. Their fate was very Reformation in Italy, by the elder M‘Crie, Edinburgh
severe, being persecuted with unparalleled fury; and though 1833 ; also Gieseler’s Lehrbuch, vol. i.)
several princes ot the blood, and many of the first nobility, In Spain, several persons embraced the Protestant reli- Reforma-
had embraced their sentiments, yet in no part of the world gion, not only from the controversies of Luther, but even ^lon m
did the Reformers suffer so much. At last all commotions from those divines whom Charles V. had brought with him sPain-
were quelled by the fortitude and magnanimity of Henry into Germany in order to refute the doctrines of the Re-
IV., who in the year 1598 granted all his subjects full former. For these doctors had imbibed the pretended
ibeity of conscience by the famous Edict of Nantes, and heresy instead of refuting it, and propagated it more or less
seemed to have thoroughly established the Reformation on their return home. But the Inquisition, which could
thioughout his dominions. During the minority of Louis obtain no footing in Naples, reigned triumphant in Spain,
AiV., however, this edict was revoked by Cardinal Maza- and by the most dreadful methods frightened the people
nn, since which time the Protestants have often been back into Popery, and suppressed the desire of exchanging
cinelly persecuted; nor has the profession of the Reformed their superstition for a more rational plan of religion.” It
religion in France been at any time so safe as in most of the was indeed presumed that Charles himself died a Protest-
other countries of Europe. (Besides the Histories of Besa, ant; and it seems to be certain that when the approach of
enoit, an Sa ig, the leader is refened to the third volume death had dissipated those schemes of ambition and grandeur
of Merle d Aubigne.) which had so long blinded him, his sentiments became
tionITfh* f 116 0ther Parts £uroPe the opposition to the Church much more rational and agreeable to Christianity than they
'Nether- Pt °rnerwa® but faint and ambiguous before the Diet of had ever been before. All the ecclesiastics wdio had attended
amis. ups l101" that peiiod, however, it appears, from him, as soon as he expired, were sent to the Inquisition, and
undoubted testimony, that the doctrine of Luther had made a committed to the flames, or put to death by some other
considerable, though probably a secret, progress throughout method equally terrible. Such was the fate of Augustin
Spain, Hungary, Bohemia, Britain, Poland, and the Nether- Casal, the emperor’s preacher; of Constantine Pontius, his
lands ; and had in all these countries gained many friends, confessor; of Egidius, whom he had named to the bishopric
o wnom severa repaiied to \\ ittenberg, in order to enlarge ofTortosa; of Bartolomeo de Caranza, a Dominican, who
tneir knowledge by means of Luther’s conversation. Some had been confessor to Philip and Mary of England; with
o these countries threw oft entirely the yoke of Rome, and many others of less note. (See M‘Crie’s History of the
in others a prodigious number of families embraced the prin- Progress and Suppression of the Reformation in Spain,
ciples of the Reformed religion. It is certain, indeed, and Edin. 1829.)
some oman Catholics themselves acknowledged it without In England the principles of the Reformation began to Reforma-
nesitation, that the papal doctrines and authority would be adopted as soon as an account of Luther’s doctrines tion in
uni°tiCe f ^ c i inr0 rUm m a11 partS of the world had could be conveyed thither. In that kingdom there were England,
t), t °.rce 0 ,Ae se^u ar arra been employed to support still remains of the sect called Lollards, whose doctrine re-
mn-f-° ^lin»ecnce* p1 the Netherlands particularly the sembled that of Luther ; and amongst whom consequently
tiprnr ^y.ievous Persecutlons to°k place, so that by the Em- the sentiments of the Reformer gained great credit. (See
strovpf 1 j .,S,V‘ npwards of a hundred thousand were de- Lollards.) Henry VIII., King of England, was at that
the neonk h i • '1 ^'ueIties were exercised upon time a violent partisan of the Church of Rome, and had a
Provinpp6 l ^ 118 S°n * 11 "PH* be revolt of the United particular veneration for the writings of Thomas Aquinas,
a stop toV°Te1’ an^ niodv.es rea^ pobcy, at last put Being informed that Luther spoke of his favourite author
Drovinnpc ese lur“ous proceedings; and although in many with contempt, he conceived a violent prejudice against the
tholic rplio-inn 16 ct ei lands the establishment of the Ca- Reformer, and even wrote against him, as has been already
c as s i continued, the Protestants have been alluded to. Luther did not hesitate about writing against his
REFORMATION. 829
Reforma- majesty, overcame him in argument, and treated him with
tion. very little ceremony. The first step towards public 0I"
mation, however, was not taken until the year 1529. Gieat
complaints had been made in England from a very early
period respecting the usurpations of the clergy; and the
prevalence of the Lutheran opinions rendered these com¬
plaints more loud and general than before. 1 he House ot
Commons, finding the occasion favourable, passed several
bills restraining the impositions of the clergy; but what
threatened the ecclesiastical order with the greatest dan¬
ger were the severe reproaches thrown out in the House,
almost without opposition, against the dissolute lives, am¬
bition, and avarice of the priests, and their continual en¬
croachments on the privileges of the laity. The bills for
regulating the clergy met with opposition in the House of
Lords; and Bishop Fisher imputed them to want of faith
in the Commons, and to a formed design, proceeding from
% heretical and Lutheran principles, of robbing the church of
her patrimony, and overturning the national religion. The
Commons, however, complained to the king, by their
speaker, Sir Thomas Audley, of these reflections thrown
out against them ; and the bishop was obliged to retract his
words. Though Henry had not the least idea of rejecting
any even of the most absurd observances of the Catholic
Church, yet as the oppressions of the clergy were very ill
suited to the violence of his own temper, he was pleased
with every opportunity of lessening their power. In the
Parliament of 1531 he showed his design of humbling the
clergy in the most effectual manner. An obsolete statute
was°revived, from which it was pretended that to submit
to the legatine which had been exercised by Cardinal Wol-
sey was criminal. By this stroke the whole body of clergy
was at once declared guilty. They were too well acquainted
with Henry’s disposition, however, to reply, that their ruin
would have been the certain consequence of their not sub¬
mitting to Wolsey’s commission, which had been given by
royal authority. Instead of making any defence of this
kind, they chose to throw themselves on the mercy of their
sovereign; which, however, cost them some L.l 18,840 to
procure. A confession was likewise extorted from them,
that the king was protector and supreme head of the Church
of England; though some of them had the dexterity to get a
clause inserted which invalidated the whole submission,
namely, “ in as far as is permitted by the law of Christ.’
The king having thus begun to reduce the power of the
clergy, kept no bounds with them afterwards. He did not
indeed attempt any reformation in religious matters ; nay,
he persecuted most violently such as did in the least degree
attempt anything of the kind. Indeed, the most essential
article of his creed seems to have been his own supremacy;
for whoever denied this, whether Protestant or Papist, was
sure to suffer the most severe penalties. He died in the
year 1547, and was succeeded by his only son, Edward VI.
This amiable prince gave new spirit and vigour to the Pio-
testant cause, and was its brightest ornament, as well as its
most effectual support. He encouraged learned and pious
men of foreign countries to settle in England, and addressed
a particular invitation to Martin Bucer and Paul Fagius,
whose moderation added a lustre to their other virtues; in
hopes that, by the ministry and labours of these eminent
men, in concert with those of the friends of the Reformation
in England, he might purge his dominions fiom the fictions
of Popery, and establish in their room the pure doctrines
of Christianity. For this purpose, he issued the wisest
orders for the restoration of true religion ; but his reign was
too short to accomplish fully such a glorious purpose. In
the year 1553 he was taken from his loving and afflicted
subjects, whose sorrow was great, and suited to their loss.
His sister Mary, the daughter of Catharine of Aragon, from
whom Henry had been divorced, blindly bigoted to the
Church of Rome, and a princess whose natural character,
[ike the spirit of her religion, was despotic and cruel, sue- Reforma-
ceeded him on the throne, and imposed anew the arbitrary tion.
laws and the tyrannical yoke of Rome upon the people of ^
England. Nor were the methods which she employed in
the cause of superstition better than the cause itself, or tem¬
pered by any sentiments of equity or compassion. Barbar¬
ous tortures, and death in the most shocking forms, awaited
those who opposed her will, or made the least stand against
the restoration of Popery. And amongst many other vic¬
tims, the learned and pious Cranmer, Archbishop of Canter¬
bury, who had been one of the most efficient instruments
of the Reformation in England, fell a sacrifice to her fury.
But this odious scene of persecution was happily concluded
in the year 1558, by the death of the queen, who left no
issue ; and as soon as her successor Elizabeth ascended the
throne all things assumed a new aspect. The glorious
period of this reign was alike eminent for religious know¬
ledge and for daring genius, for civil prosperity and for
martial glory. Elizabeth, whose sentiments, and councils,
and projects, breathed a spirit superior to the natural soft¬
ness and delicacy of her sex, exerted this vigorous and
masculine spirit in the defence of oppressed conscience and
expiring liberty; broke anew the despotic yoke of papal
authority and superstition ; and, delivering her people from
the bondage of Rome, established that form of religious
doctrine and ecclesiastical government which still subsists
in England. This religious establishment differed in some
respects from the plan which had been formed by those
whom Edward VI. had employed for promoting the cause of
the Reformation, and approached nearer to the rites and
discipline of former times; though it is widely different,
and in the most important point entirely opposite to the
principles of the Roman Catholic hierarchy. (Burnet, Neal,
Collier, Soames, Carwithen, have written Histories of this
period ; and a comparatively recent and very spirited outline
of the English Reformation will be found in Blunt’s Sketch
of the Reformation in England, Lond. 1832.)
The cause of the Reformation underwent in Ireland the Reforma-
same vicissitudes and revolutions which had attended it in tion in
England. When Henry VIII., after the abolition of the Ireland-
papal authority, was declared supreme head of the Church
of England, George Brown, a native of England, and a
monk of the Augustinian order, whom that monarch had
created, in the year 1535, archbishop of Dublin, began to
act with the utmost vigour in consequence of this change
in the hierarchy. He purged the churches within his dio¬
cese from superstition in all its various forms; pulled down
imao-es ; destroyed relics ; abolished absurd and idolatrous
rights; and, by the influence as well as authority he had
obtained in Ireland, caused the king’s supremacy to be ac¬
knowledged in that nation. Henry soon afterwards showed
that this supremacy was by no means a vain title; for he
banished the monks out of that kingdom, confiscated their
revenues, and destroyed their convents. In the reign of
Edward VI. still further progress was made in the removal
of popish superstitions by the zealous labours of Archbishop
Brown, and the auspicious encouragement he granted to
all who exerted themselves in the cause of the Reformation.
(See The Harleian Miscellany, which contains a Life of
Brown, vol. v., No. 73, Lond. 1745.) The death of this
young prince, however, and the accession of Queen Mary,
had nearly changed the face of affairs in Ireland as much
as in England ; but her designs were disappointed by a very
curious adventure, of which the following account has been
copied from the papers of Richard, Earl of Cork.
“ Queen Mary having dealt severely with the Protestants Curious
in England, about the latter end of her reign, signed a com- disappoint-
mission for to take the same course with them in Ireland; ment.
and to execute the same with greater force, she nominates
Dr Cole one of the commissioners. The doctor coming,
with the commission, to Chester on his journey, the mayor
—
830 REF
Refraction of that city, hearing that her majesty was sending a messen-
II , ger into Ireland, and he being a churchman, waited on the
Regalia, doctor, who in discourse with the mayor taketh out of a
cloke-bag a leather box, saying unto him, Here is a com¬
mission that shall lash the heretics of Ireland, calling the
Protestants by that title. The good woman of the house
being well affected to the Protestant religion, and also hav¬
ing a brother named John Edmonds of the same persua¬
sion, then a citizen in Dublin, was much troubled at the
doctor’s words; but watching her convenient time, while the
mayor took his leave, and the doctor complemented him
down the stairs, she opens the box, takes the commission
out, and places in lieu thereof a sheet of paper with a pack
of cards wrapt up therein, the knave of clubs being faced
uppermost. The doctor coming up to his chamber, sus¬
pecting nothing of what had been done, put up the box as
formerly. The next day going to the water-side, wind and
weather serving him, he sails towards Ireland, and landed
on the 7th of October 1558 at Dublin. Then coming to
the castle, the Lord Fitzwalters being lord-deputy, sent for
him to come before him and the Privy-Council; who, com¬
ing in, after he had made a speech relating upon what
account he came over, he presents the box unto the lord-
deputy ; who causing it to be opened, that the secretary
might read the commission, there was nothing save a pack
of cards with the knave of clubs uppermost; which not only-
startled the lord-deputy and council, but the doctor, who
assured them he had a commission, but knew not how it
was gone. Then the lord-deputy made answer: Let us
have another commission, and we will shuffle the cards in
the meanwhile. The doctor being troubled in his mind,
went away, and returned into England, and coming to the
court obtained another commission ; but staying for a wind
on the water-side, news came to him that the queen was
dead; and thus God preserved the Protestants of Ireland.”
Queen Elizabeth was so delighted with this story, which
was related to her by Lord Fitzwalter on his return to
England, that she sent for Elizabeth Edmonds, whose hus¬
band’s name was Mattershad, and gave her a pension of
L.40 a year during her life. (See Phelan’s Policy of the
Roman Catholic Church in Ireland, London, 1827 ; and
especially Dr Seaton Reid’s History of the Presbyterian
Church in Ireland, Edinburgh, 1834. The reader may
likewise consult Dr Mant’s History of the Church of Ire¬
land, London, 1840.)
Reforma- In Scotland the seeds of the Reformation were very early
t\°n in sown by several noblemen who had resided in Germany
Scotland. during ^]le religious disputes there ; but for many years it
was suppressed by the power of the Pope, seconded by
severe laws and not a few executions. The most eminent
opponent of the papal jurisdiction was John Knox, a disciple
of Calvin, and a man of great zeal and invincible fortitude.
(See Knox.) On all occasions he raised the drooping
spirits of the Reformers, and encouraged them to go on
with their work, notwithstanding the opposition and treach¬
ery of the queen-regent, until at last, in 1561, by the
assistance of an English army sent by Elizabeth, Popery
was in a manner totally extirpated from every part of the
kingdom, from this period the form of doctrine, worship,
and discipline established by Calvin at Geneva has had
the ascendancy in Scotland. (See the Histories of Calder-
wood, Knox, and Cook ; also M‘Crie’s Life of John Knox;
Robertson’s History of Scotland; Scott’s Protestant Re¬
formers of Scotland; and the Histories of Spottiswood,
Keith, and Tytler.)
REFRACTION. See Astronomy, and Optics.
REGALIA, politically considered, is the privileges,
prerogative, and right of property belonging, in virtue of
Ins office, to the sovereign of a state. The most common
signification of the word, however, is the heraldic one, in
which it is applied to the royal insignia. The regalia of
R E G
England are the crown, the sceptre, the virge, St Edward’s Regardant
staff, the orb or mound, the sword of mercy, the two ||
swords of justice, the ring of alliance, thearmillae or brace- Regfd°-
lets, the spurs of chivalry, and sundry royal vestments.
These are preserved, all except the royal vestments, in the
jewel-office in the Tower of London. The insignia of Scot¬
tish royalty are a crown, a sceptre, and a sword of state.
They are deposited in the crown-room of Edinburgh Castle.
REGARDANT. See Heraldry.
REGATTA, originally a Venetian term applied to a
great fete in which the gondoliers contended for superioritv
in rowing, but which has now been naturalized into all
the languages of Europe, in which it is employed to de¬
signate any brilliant species of boat-race.
REGENT, one who exercises the power without the
name of a king. In a hereditary monarchy the appoint¬
ment of a regent becomes necessary on the crown descend¬
ing to a minor too young to be entrusted with the regal
office, or in case of mental incapacity, or incapacity by ill¬
ness which will probably be of long duration, or on absence
from the realm. There have been several instances in
English history of the appointment of a regent, usually
styled a protector, during the sovereign’s minority ; the last
occurred during the minority of Edward VI., when the
protector, the Duke of Somerset, was uncle to the sovereign.
Blackstone, in his Commentaries (book i., c. 7), gives a
summary of the appointment of regents in England during
the nonage of the heir. In cases of ill health there existed
no recognised constitutional rule ; so that on the illness of
George III. it became a matter of'hot dispute whether his
eldest son, then of full age, should become regent, or
whether the choice and nomination of that grand func¬
tionary rested with the Parliament. The king’s recovery,
meanwhile, destroyed the problem ; but on a relapse all
parties were unanimous in the choice of the Prince of
Wales. The regency of the kingdom of Great Britain
and Ireland, in case of minority upon the demise of the
present sovereign, is provided for by the “ Regency Bill,” 3
and 4 Viet., c. 52.
REGGIO (anc. Rhegium Julii), a town of Naples,
capital of the province of Calabria Ultra I., stands near
the southern extremity of the Italian peninsula, on the
Straits of Messina, and 9 miles S.E. of that town. Not¬
withstanding that the Apennines rise in barren, rugged
masses behind the town, the surrounding country is almost
unrivalled for its clear atmosphere, delicious climate, and
luxuriant vegetation. Groves of oranges and lemons ex¬
tend for miles around, and in the gardens grow many exotics
from various countries. The scenery, too, is exceedingly
beautiful, especially when the outline of the Sicilian hills
stands out against the setting sun, and the huge mass of
./Etna looms in the distant south. From a broad street
called the Marina, running along the shore, the town gra¬
dually rises with its handsome buildings and broad streets,
laid out on a regular plan. The cathedral and other
churches, the convents, the college, theatre, hospital, and
foundling asylum are conspicuous among the public edi¬
fices. Manufactures of silk, linen, hosiery, oils, &c., are
carried on here, and there is some trade, especially in silk
and oil. The modern city has been entirely built since
1783, when it was laid in ruins by a tremendous earth¬
quake. Pop. 20,000. (See Rhegium.)
Reggio (anc. Rhegium Lepidi), a town of Italy, in the
duchy and 15 miles W. of Modena, on the canal of Tas-
sone, leading to the Po. A handsome and well-built
though extremely dull town, defended by walls and a castle,
it contains a cathedral of the fifteenth century, adorned
with marble columns, and containing several monuments
by dementi, as well as his tomb. Another beautiful
church is that of Madonna della Ghiara, in the shape of a
Greek cross, surmounted by five cupolas, and adorned with
REG
Regifu- many fresco paintings. Besides many other cnurches and
gium convents, there are at Reggio a public library ot 30,000
!l volumes, a theatre, Jesuit college, lyceum, and lunatic
Registra- asyium> ^ and linen fabrics are made here ; and various
v tl0n; y delicately-carved articles in ivory, horn, and wood. The
town has an active trade in wine, cattle, and other articles,
and a fair held here annually is much frequented. Reggio
is celebrated as the birthplace of Ariosto. A house is
pointed out by tradition as that where the poet first saw the
light, though, according to some, the event must have taken
place in the castle. Pop. about 20,000.
REGIFUGIUM, or Fug alia (the kings flight), a
festival of Rome, celebrated annually on the 24th ot
February, and, according to some ancient Calendaria, on the
24th of May. Verrius and Ovid say it was meant to memo¬
rialize the 'flight of King Tarquin from Rome, while a
number of other writers, both ancient and modern, concur
in regarding it as commemorative of the symbolical flight
of the Rex Sacrorum from the comitium.
REGILLUS, Lake of, situated in the territory of Tus-
culum in Latium, was celebrated in Roman story as the
scene of a great battle. Plere it was that the dictator A.
Postumius Albus engaged the Latin confederacy under the
expelled Tarquins and Mamilius of Tusculum; and here
it was that Castor and Pollux appeared on two white steeds,
heading the charge of the Roman cavalry against the flying
foe. At the present day Regillus has not been identified
with certainty; but it is now generally supposed to be the
same as the Logo di Cornufelle. That lake, about half a
mile in diameter, lying at the foot of the hill on which the
modern Frascati is built, is of a singular character. Its
basin is evidently the crater of an extinct, volcano. Its
waters have been completely drained away by an emissary
made in the seventeenth century. 1 he dry channel during
summer swarms with vipers, so that it is dangerous to
approach it. The ruins of an old Roman villa are the only
vestige of a building in its immediate neighbourhood.
REG
REGIMEN. See Dietetics.
REGIMENT. See Army.
REGIOMONTANUS. See Muller, Johann.
REGIS, Pierre Sylyain, a Cartesian philosopher, was ^
born in Agenois in the year 1632. He studied languages
and philosophy under the Jesuits at Cahors, and subse¬
quently theology at the Sorbonne at Paris. He heard
Rohault’s lectures on the Cartesian philosophy, which soon
determined him to give up theology. In 1665 he was
appointed to the philosophical chair at Toulouse, where his
eloquence attracted great masses of the people. The ma¬
gistrates, the learned, the ecclesiastics, and the very women,
all affected to abjure the ancient philosophy. In 1680 he
returned to Paris, where the concourse which flocked to
him was such that the Peripatetics got alarmed. They
applied to the Archbishop of Paris, who thought it expe¬
dient, in the name of the king, to put a stop to the lectures,
which accordingly were discontinued for several months.
The whole life of Regis was spent in propagating the new
philosophy. In 1690 he published his Cours entier de phi¬
losophic, ou Sgsteme general selon les principes de Des¬
cartes, 4 vols. 4to, in which he embraced logic, metaphy¬
sics, physics, and morals. In the two following years 1m
was occupied with the publication of his refutations of
Huet, Duhamel, and Spinoza. In 1691 there appeared at
Paris his Reponse au Uvre qui a pour titre Censura philo¬
sophise Cartesianse; in 1692 his Reponse aux Reflexions
critiques de M. Duhamel sur le systeme Cartesien de la
philosophic de M. Regis; and in 1(04 his last wotk,
IJ Usage de la Raison et de la Foi, ou VAccord de la
Raison et de la Foi, followed by an attack on Spinoza.
Regis was made a member of the Academy of Sciences
in 1699, and he died in 1707. The reader may consult
the Eloge de Regis by Fontenelle, the Histoire de la
Philosophic du llth siecle, by Damiron, vol. ii., p. 61, &e.,
and Bouillier’s notice of him in the Dictiounaire des
Sciences Philosophiques.
831
Regimen
II
Registra-
REGIS T RATIO N.
Registration, General, of Births, Baptisms, Mar¬
riages, Deaths, and Burials in England and Wales.
The first known public authority under which registers
recording births or baptisms, marriages, deaths, or burials,
were systematically kept in England, was an injunction
issued in September 1538 (30 Hen. VIII.) by Thomas,
Lord Cromwell, lord privy seal and vicegerent to the king,
which enjoined that in every parish a register-book should
be kept in a coffer with two locks by the parson, vicar, or
curate, and churchwardens; and that every Sunday, in the
presence of one of the churchwardens, the parson, &c.,
should enter in a register-book a written record of the dates
and names of the weddings, christenings, and burials of the
preceding week; by neglect of which duty he incurred a
fine of three shillings and fourpence, to be employed in the
repair of the church.
In 1547 an injunction was issued by Edward YI. similar
to that ofT538, excepting only that the penalty was directed
“ to be employed to the poore-box” of the parish.
Inquiry was directed, at the instance of Cardinal Pole,
under Philip and Mary, in the years 1555 and 1557,
whether the clergy had complied with these directions;
and in the first year of Queen Elizabeth, 1559, a further
injunction was issued, which differed from that of Edward
VI. in 1547 only in directing that the penalty should be
divided between the poor-box and the repair of the church.
These injunctions were not very strictly observed, as ap¬
pears by the preamble of a bill to “ authorize every arch¬
bishop and bishop to erect one office of registership of all
the church-books, to be kept in every diocese,” which, in
March 1563, was read a first time in the House of Com¬
mons, but did not pass. _
The great importance of registration was in 1590 repre¬
sented to the Lord-Treasurer Burghley, who, impressed
with the force of the representation, communicated a plan
to the Archbishop of Canterbury. Nothing, however, ap¬
pears to have been done in consequence until October
1597, when a constitution was made by the archbishop,
bishops, and clergy of the province of Canterbury, and
approved by the queen, which notices the very great utility
of parish registers, and gives minute directions for keeping
them, and for the transmission of a transcript yearly to the
diocesan registrar. It appears, too, that persons were ap¬
pointed for the purpose of ascertaining if the several orders
had been complied with; and that every minister, at insti¬
tution, was required to declare that he would “ keep the re-
gister-book according to the queen’s majesty’s injunctions.
In 1603, the first year of the reign of James I., another
injunction was issued similar to that of 1597, with the im¬
portant addition of a clause appointing that the ancient re¬
gisters, so far as they could be procured, but especially since
the beginning of the reign of Elizabeth, should be copied
into a parchment-book, to be provided by every parish;
after which nothing more appears to have emanated, either
from the ecclesiastical or civil authorities, on this subject,
till the time of the Long Parliament, when the following
832
REGISTRATION.
Kegistra- entry in the Journal of the House of Commons gives evi-
tion. Jenee of attention to the importance of registration :—
‘v'"-"’7 “ Anno 1644, Dec. 6. Ordered, that it be referred to
the committee for bringing in the ordinance for the es¬
tablishing the directory, to bring in a clause in that ordi¬
nance, for registering the time of baptizing of children, and
their parents’ names, and for registering of burials.” In
the same year an ordinance was made, directing that in
every parish or chaplery in England and Wales the mi¬
nister and other church-officers should keep a register of
birth and baptism, of marriage and of burial; and that all
persons reasonably desiring it might search therein and
obtain copies.
In August 1653, in pursuance of the recommendations
of a law-reform committee appointed in the preceding year,
and including many eminent persons, an act was passed,
which directed that in every parish a register-book should be
provided for registering all marriages, births, and burials
in the parish; and that the custody of such book, and the
duty of registration, should be given to a person, to be called
the parish registrar, appointed by the parishioners charge¬
able to the poor, and approved by a justice of the peace.
It was also enacted that extra-parochial places, or small
parishes, might be united, for the purposes of registration,
to other parishes, by the justices at their sessions; and that
all existing register-books should be kept by the registering
officers appointed under that act.
This act was not confirmed at the Restoration, and the
business of registration reverted to the clergy of the esta¬
blished church. During the reigns of Charles II. and James
II. nothing was done with respect to registers, except that,
by a clause in the act of 30 Car. II., c. 3, entitled “ An
Act for Burying in Woollen,” it was enacted that all clergy¬
men “ do, within their respective parishes, precincts, and
places, take an exact account, and keep a register, of all and
every person or persons buried in his or their respective
parishes or precincts, or in such common burial-places as
their respective parishioners are usually buried.”
In the reign of William III. registration was rendered a
source of revenue. The act of 6 and 7 William III., e. 6,
granted duties on births, marriages, and burials, and com¬
pelled the clergy, under a penalty of L.100, to keep an ex¬
act register ot all persons born, christened, married, or
buried in their respective parishes, to which register the col¬
lector of the tax, and all persons concerned, might have free
access without fee. It thus imposed on the clergyman the
onerous duty of acting gratuitously as a civil functionary,
and collecting information of all births within his parish,
without distinction of sect, and irrespective of baptism; a
duty the difficulty of which was rendered greater by the
attempts of the parents to conceal the birth, in order to
elude the payment of the tax. With a view to obviate this
objection, an act was passed in the following year (7 and 8
William III., c. 35), which provided that parents should,
within five days after birth, give notice of the day of the
birth to the clergyman, under a penalty of 40s., and that
the clergyman should, under a like penalty, register such
birth, for which the parents were to pay 6d.; and by the
4th of Anne, c. 12, the clergy were relieved from the
ruinous penalties incurred under the act of 6 and 7 Wil¬
liam III., c. 6, in all cases where the duties had been really
paid.
In 1751 a bill was introduced into Parliament by Mr
Potter (son of Archbishop Potter), for providing a general
registry of births, deaths, and marriages, and for taking a
^eaily account of the population and number of paupers.
Although strongly opposed, this bill passed the House of
Commons, but was rejected by the Lords.
1 he 26th Geo. II., c. 33, an act “ to prevent clandestine
man iages,” directed the church-wardens of every parish to
ptovide books of vellum, or good and durable paper, for the
registration of marriages. By the 23d of Geo. III., c. 67, a
stamp-duty of 3d. was imposed upon every registered entry
of burial, marriage, birth, or christening, to be demanded
by the clergyman from the undertaker, or from the parties
married, or from the parents of the child whose birth or
christening had been registered. By 25 Geo. III., c. 75,
the provisions of that act were extended to dissenting minis¬
ters. These measures excited much objection, and were
repealed in 1794.
The next legislative measure affecting registers was the
52 Geo. HI., c. 146, entitled, “An Act for the better regu¬
lating and preserving Parish and other Registers of Births,
Baptisms, Marriages, and Burials in England.” After re¬
citing that “ the amending the manner and form of keeping
and of preserving registers of baptisms, marriages, and
burials of his Majesty’s subjects in the several parishes and
places in England, will greatly facilitate the proof of pedi¬
grees of persons claiming to be entitled to real or personal
estates, and be otherwise of great public benefit and advan¬
tage,” it enacts that, after the 31st of December 1812, re¬
gisters of baptisms, marriages, and burials, according to the
rites of the Established Church, shall be made and kept by
the officiating minister of every parish and chapelry, in
books to be provided by the king’s printer, at the expense
of the respective parishes, according to the forms contained
in schedules annexed to that act. These schedules con¬
tain the following particulars: In case of baptism,—when
baptized ; child’s Christian name ; parents’ Christian names
and surnames; abode; quality, trade, or profession; by
whom the ceremony was performed. In case of marriage,
—the name and parish of the man ; the same of the woman ;
when married; whether by banns or license ; whether by
consent of parents or guardians ; when ; by whom ; signa¬
ture of officiating minister of the parties married, and of
two witnesses. In case of burial,—the name ; abode ; when
buried ; age ; by whom the ceremony was performed.
The registers of baptism, marriage, and burial were to be
kept in separate books, and signed within seven days after
each ceremony had been performed. Annual copies were
to be made, verified, and signed by the officiating minister,
and attested by the church-wardens, and transmitted by
them yearly to the registrar of the diocese ; which registrar
must report thereon to his bishop ; must deposit such copies
in a safe receptacle, arranged for reference; and cause
alphabetical lists of persons and places to be made, kept,
and opened for search.
It is to be observed that this act, which referred in its
title to registers of births, made no provision for recording
the date of birth. Neither did it provide a record of the
date of death. It only provided records of the perform¬
ance of the religious ceremonies of baptism, marriage, and
burial, according to the rites of the Established Church. It
therefore afforded an insufficient register, even for members
of the Established Church ; whilst for those who dissented
from the Established Church, and therefore did not avail
themselves of its ordinances for baptism or burial, it pro¬
vided no register at all.
The inadequacy of this system, even if fully carried into
effect, and the insufficient manner in which it was com¬
plied with, called loudly for investigation and remedy, and
became the subject of inquiry before a select committee of
the House of Commons, appointed in March 1833, who
having, as they state, received evidence on registration
“ from clergymen of the Established Church, and from
parish-clerks ; from gentlemen of the legal profession ; from
authors devoted to antiquarian research ; from persons of
different religious denominations, including Catholics, Dis¬
senters, Jews, and Quakers; from gentlemen eminently
scientific, and attached to statistical inquiries ; from medical
authorities, who have long desired ampler and more accu¬
rate information on the extent and causes of mortality ;
Registra¬
tion.
REGISTRATION.
833
Recnstra- from an eminent foreigner, distinguished for extensive am
tion. accurate statistical intelligence ; and others, whose wide-
spread inquiries in foreign countries, and peculiar facilities
of information, entitled them to respect,” unanimously
agreed to a report, which expressed the following opinions
as the conclusions at which they had arrived.
“ 1. That the subject is urgently important.
“ 2 That it involves matters of great public and national
interest, as well as individual satisfaction, and rights and
claims to property ; and deserves the attention cf the hum¬
blest artisan as well as of the most philosophical and states¬
man-like inquirer. _ # ,
“3. That the existing law is imperfect and unjust, and
requires not merely partial amendment, but real funda¬
mental reform.
“ 4. That the present plan, even if improved and per¬
fected, as applicable to the members of the Established
Church, being founded on religious rights, is exclusive and
intolerant, as it would not include a very considerable por¬
tion of the reflecting, intelligent, and influential population
of the country, who are Protestant and Catholic dissenters
from that church, and 1100 congregations who disapprove
infant baptism, and must practically punish them (includ¬
ing too, the community who may purchase or derive pro¬
perty from them) for claiming the rights of conscience, and
believing what their judgments direct.
“ 5. That even to many pious and worthy clergymen of
the Established Church the system is productive of pain
and regret, as it often induces a compliance, from mere
secular^ motives, with sacraments which they highly esti¬
mate and devoutly revere. But, .
“6. That even as to the members of the church it is
detrimental and absurd, since the registers are mere re¬
gisters of baptisms and not of births, of burials and not of
deaths; since they supply no adequate proof of pedigrees,
or means of proving or tracing ancestral descent, since
they are often falsified, stolen, burnt, inaccurately inscribed,
and carelessly preserved ; since the securities intended to
be given by the last general register act (52 Geo. III.), by
directing the yearly and universal transcription of the re¬
gisters, ^their deposit with the diocesan records, and the
preparation of indexes to facilitate searches, have all ex¬
perienced only the most limited fulfilment, as, while one-
fourth of the parishes make no returns, the returns that
have been sent are never indorsed, and are subject to fiie
and decay, and the directions of the act have not and can¬
not be enforced; and since the value of property is di¬
minished by the difficulties incident to its transfer, and
the insecurity by which it is so often held and acquit ed.
And,—
7. That great trouble, vast expense, utter uncertainty,
capricious charges, and local and general evils exjst, while
no means are supplied to obtain the information other
countries possess, and justly value, as to the state of disease,
the operation of moral and physical causes on the health of
the people, the progress of population, and other matters
on which accurate knowledge can scarcely be too highly
appreciated or too intensely pursued.”
The committee further recommended that, as a remedy
for the defects before mentioned, “ a national civil regis¬
tration of births, marriages, and deaths should be esta¬
blished,” including “ all ranks of society, and religionists of
every class.”
In pursuance of these recommendations, measures for
effecting a better registration were laid before Parliament;
and in August 1836 the act for registering births, deaths,
and marriages in England, and the act for marriages in
England, became law. Their operation was suspended for
a limited time by the act of 7 Will. IV., c. 1, and they were
amended by the act of 1 Viet., c. 22, and thus amended
they came into operation on the 1st of July 1837.
VOL. XVIII.
These acts leave untouched the act of 1812, so far as Registra-
it relates to the registration of baptisms and burials, but ^ tlon' t
repeal what relates to the registration of marriages, and
provide a new registration of marriages, of births, and of Existing
deaths. ^s‘rfa-
The circumstances recorded in the register-book under ^irthg
the existing law are, in case of birth, the time and place ; deaths, and
the name, if any; sex ; name and surname of father ; name marriages,
and maiden surname of mother; rank or profession of
father; signature, description, and residence of the infor¬
mant ; and the baptismal name, if added after registration
of birth. In case of death, the time and place ; name and
surname; sex; age; rank or profession; cause of death ;
signature, description, and residence of the informant.
Every entry must be signed by the informant and by the
registrar, who discharges this duty without any immediate
expense to the parties requiring registration, but is remu¬
nerated by a moderate fee on each entry paid quarterly
out of the poor-rates. The informant, in a case of birth,
must be one of the parents, or the occupier of the house or
tenement in which the child was born; or, if it be a found¬
ling, the overseer of the poor. In a case of death, it must
be some person present at the death, or in attendance dur¬
ing the last illness; or, in default of such person, the occu¬
pier, or, in default of the occupier, an inmate of the house
in which the death occurred ; or, if there be an inquest, the
coroner. There is no legal obligation upon any one to
give notice of a birth or a death to the registrar; the only
obligation upon these parties is to give the required parti¬
culars, and to sign the register on being requested so to do ;
and without such signature no birth or death can be duly
registered except in cases of inquest.
The form for registration of marriages, applicable alike
to all religious denominations, records the place and time
of marriage; names and surnames of the paities; whether
they are of full age or minors; their civil condition (that
is, whether bachelor or spinster, widower or widow); their
rank or profession ; residence at the time of marriage;
father’s name and surname; rank or profession of father;
by what rites and ceremonies, after what preliminary forms
(that is, whether license, banns, or certificate), and by whorn
solemnized; the entry must also contain the signatures of
the parties and of two witnesses.
One of the most important circumstances not previously
recorded, for which provision is made in the present re¬
gister, is the “ cause of death,” to which a column is assigned
in the registers of death, and where it is exhibited in juxta¬
position with the period, locality, sex, age, and occupation,
thus affording valuable data of the highest importance to
medical science. In order to attain the utmost accuiacy
in the returns of the causes of death, the co-operation
of medical practitioners in England and Wales has been
invited, and the president of the Royal College of Phy¬
sicians, the president of the Royal College of Surgeons, and
the master of the Society of Apothecaries have recom¬
mended “ that every practising member of any branch of
the medical profession who may have been present at the
death, or in attendance during the last illness of any per¬
son, shall, immediately after such death, place in the hands
of such other .persons as were in attendance, or of the oc¬
cupier of the house in which the death occurred, or of some j
inmate who may probably be required to give information,
a written statement of the cause of death, which such per¬
sons may show to the registrar, and give as their informa¬
tion on that subject.”
In order that fatal diseases may be recorded in one uni¬
form manner, the registrar-general furnishes all qualified
medical practitioners, amounting to about 13,000, with
books of printed forms of “ certificates of cause of death,”
to be filled up and given to registrars of births and deaths;
and he has circulated a nosological table of diseases for the
5 N
834
REGISTRATION.
Registra¬
tion.
General
Register
Office.
Registrar-
General.
Superin¬
tendent re¬
gistrars.
purpose of securing, as far as possible, uniformity of
nomenclature in the medical certificates.
The registration system now in force is peculiarly dis¬
tinguished from other previous measures on that subject, by
the provision of a central office in London, called the
General Register Office, for the deposit of certified copies
of all registers, and general superintendence over every¬
thing relating to registration. This office, which is esta¬
blished at Somerset House, London, is presided over by an
officer named the Registrar-General, appointed under the
great seal, under whom are a chief clerk (who acts as secre¬
tary and assistant registrar-general), six superintendents, and
a staff of clerks, who are appointed by the lords of the 1 rea-
sury. Instructions emanate from the central office to all
the local officers charged with the various duties of regis¬
tration under this act, namely, superintendent registrars,
registrars of births and deaths, and registrars of marriages,
'with their respective deputies, all of whom act within their
several districts under the directions of the registrar-general,
in whom is vested the power of dismissal.
The registrar-general is charged with the direction and
superintendence of the entire system, every part of which
is subject to his control and responsibility. He also exe¬
cutes various other duties under different acts of Parlia¬
ment, in addition to those imposed upon him by the Regis¬
tration Act. Among these may be mentioned the certifying
of Nonconformist places of worship, the register of which he
keeps ; the execution of the provisions of the Compulsory
Vaccination Act; the preservation and indexing of registers
of marriages solemnized before British consuls abroad, and
of marriages celebrated in India; the preparation of returns
of mortality in towns, &c., under the Public Health Act;
and the custody of the non-parochial registers authenti¬
cated by royal commissions in 1836 and 1857. He was
also charged with the duty of taking the last decennial
census (1851); and as the objects of that important work,
and the machinery employed in accomplishing it, are ana¬
logous to the ordinary operations of the registration system,
it may be presumed that the same course will be adopted
on future occasions. The office of registrar-general was
held by Thomas Henry Lister, Esq., author of a Life of
Clarendon, and other literary productions, to June 1842,
since which period it has been filled by George Graham,
Esq.
The superintendent-registrar is a local officer created by
the registration and marriage acts, acting solely within his
district, which is usually identical with a poor-law union,
in which case he is either the clerk of the guardians,
who, as such, is entitled ex officio to take the office, or he
is some person whom, the clerk not accepting, the guar¬
dians may have appointed, subject in either case to such
qualifications as the registrar-general may by any general
rule require.
The principal duty of this officer is to receive quarterly,
from the registrars of births and deaths and registrars of
marriages within his district, the certified copies of births,
deaths, and marriages registered by them for the preceding
quarter, and, having verified them by comparison with the
original entries in the register-books, to certify their cor¬
rectness, and transmit them to the registrar-general ; to
receive also and transmit, but not to verify, the certified
copies of marriages registered by all clergymen of the
Established Church within his district, or by any register¬
ing officer of the Quakers, or secretary of a Jewish syna¬
gogue, if there be any within or assigned to his district.
He has also the care of the register office of his district,
where are deposited all register-books within the district
when filled ; and he is to make indexes of these, and per-
nut searches, and give copies of entries in the register-
books, on payment of certain fixed fees. He may appoint
registrars of marriage within his district; and the required
previous notice having been given, he may grant certificates Registra¬
tor marriage, and also licenses for marriage: the latter, tion.
however, can only be granted for marriage in a dissenting
place of worship or in the district register-office. It is his
duty to be present at marriages in the register-office, where
no religious ceremony is permitted.
The registrar of births and deaths is a local officer, ap- Registrars
pointed in poor-law unions by the board of guardians. His of birtlis
duties are to register, in the books provided for t]lat an(1 deaths-
purpose, the births and deaths occurring within his sub¬
district ; and four times in every year to make, on forms
furnished for that purpose, copies of the entries, and to
deliver them to the superintendent registrar of his district,
who, on comparing them with the register-book, will certify
their correctness, and transmit them to the registrar-ge¬
neral. He also delivers an account of the number of entries
so copied, which the superintendent registrar verifies, if
correct, to enable the registrar to obtain payment of the
fees due thereupon from the guardians or overseers of the
poor. Registrars of births and deaths are registrars of
successful vaccinations, under the Act of 16 and 17 Viet.,
c. 100.
The registrar of marriages is a local officer appointed by Registrars
the superintendent-registrar, and acts solely within his °f mar"
district, which is the same as that of the superintendent- riaSes-
registrar by whom he was appointed. His duty is to be
present at and to register marriages not according to the
forms of the Church of England, solemnized either in re¬
gistered places of worship or in the district register office ;
and to deliver quarterly to the. superintendent-registrar
certified copies of such entries, in like manner as is done
by the registrar of births and deaths.
Marriages, according to the forms of the Established
Church, are registered by the officiating clergyman, who
delivers certified copies quarterly to the superintendent-
registrar of his district, to be transmitted to the registrar-
general. The marriages are registered at the time in
duplicate ; and one of the books, when filled, is deposited
in the district register office.
Marriages, according to the ceremonies of the Quakers
and of the Jews, are registered respectively in duplicate by
the registering officer of the Quakers and the secretary of
the synagogue, and certified copies are given quarterly to
the superintendent-registrar for transmission.
The number of persons by whom the registration of Number of
births, deaths, and marriages under the existing law is reK'stra*
conducted (exclusive of the central establishment of the
General Register Office) is as follows:—
There are 630 superintendent-registrars, each of whom
may appoint a deputy, with the approval of the registrar-
general, to act for him in case of his illness or absence.
Of these, 586 have accepted the office as clerks of boards
of guardians, or have been appointed by the guardians ;
and 44 are temporary, and have been appointed by the
registrar-general.
There are 2197 registrars of births and deaths, each of
whom may appoint a deputy, and of this number 2055 are
appointed by the guardians established under the Poor-Law
Amendment Act, and 142 are registrars of temporary dis¬
tricts, appointed by the Poor-Law Board.
The number of registrars of marriages on the 31st of
December 1858 was 1250, each of whom may appoint a
deputy ; of these about one-half are also registrars of births
and deaths. The number of other persons by whom regis¬
tration of marriage is effected is as follows:—1st, 12,332
officiating ministers of the Established Church, to whom
register-books have betn furnished; 2d, 86 registering
officers of Quakers ; 3d, 47 secretaries of synagogues. All
these are in communication with the registrar-general with
respect to the duties of registration.
The 630 superintendent-registrars’ districts, which are
tion offi¬
cers, &c.
REGISTRATION.
835
Registra¬
tion.
Registra¬
tion dis¬
tricts.
Inspectors
of registrar
tion.
Deposit,
arrange¬
ment, ex¬
amination,
and index¬
ing of cer¬
tified co¬
pies.
in general co-extensive with poor-law unions, vary greatly
in population and extent. On an average, each district
comprises three or tour sub-districts, 26 parishes or places,
28,700 persons (census of 1851), and 59,800 statute acres.
The 2197 sub-districts have each on an average 7 parishes
or places, 8200 population, and 17,000 acres.
Two inspectors are constantly employed in visiting every
district into which England has been divided, for the pur¬
pose of instituting a searching inquiry as to the mode in
which the responsible duties entrusted to the various regis¬
tration officers are performed. 1 he inspectors personally
visit and instruct in each particular of their duties the
registrars of births and deaths and of marriages, scrutiniz¬
ing the register-books in use, and pointing out any erro¬
neous practices they may discover; they likewise visit
the district register-offices, and ascertain that the regula¬
tions issued for the guidance of superintendent-registrars
are adhered to. At the end of each week the inspectors
report to the registrar-general the result of their inquiries.
One of the most important features of the present sys¬
tem is the provision, that certified copies shall be deposited
quarterly in the General Register Office in London, theie
to be arranged and indexed for facility of reference ; a
provision, by means of which a copy of an entry of any
registered birth, death, or marriage, in any part of England or
"Wales, may be obtained by application at a single office, at
the trifling cost of 3s. 6d., which includes the fee for search.
The certified copies thus transmitted from the clergy,
registrars, registering officers, and secretaries (amounting
together to "more than 16,000 persons), are all made on
separate leaves of durable paper, of an uniform size and pe¬
culiar texture, having a distinguishing water-mark for the
prevention of forgery, and furnished by the registrar-general
to every one of the foregoing persons, on whom the duty
of registration devolves. They are sent by the superin¬
tendent-registrars by the post, each class of return (f.e.,
birth, death, and marriage) being sent separate, and in a
cover denoting by a mark the nature of the contents, and
bearing the name of the district to which it belongs.
On their reception at the central office they are arranged
and examined seriatim, and all defects are noted ; and let¬
ters on the subject of such defects as are of any importance
are addressed to the persons from whom tne defective copies
come, and who are required to furnish either othei copies
or such explanations as may remove doubt. The copies
are then paged, and bound up in volumes for reference..
Means of immediate reference to any one of the entries
of births, deaths,, and marriages deposited in the General
Register Office are provided in the alphabetical indexes
which are made there. rl his vast work, far exceeding in
magnitude anything of a similar kind ever before attempted
in this country, is performed in the following manner: 1 he
few particulars requisite for the index are copied from each
entry seriatim on forms prepared for that purpose. . These,
after having been checked, are cut into separate slips, each
containing the reference to one entry; and the slips aie
then sorted and arranged alphabetically on files, from
wdience they are then taken off one by one by the indexing
clerks, and "the contents of each copied into the index. In
this manner about a million and a quarter of names aie
now indexed alphabetically in the course of each year, the
processes of transcribing, sorting, and indexing being per¬
formed by nineteen persons, most of whom are paid by
piece-work. After the lapse of a reasonable time for the
completion of the arrangements referred to, the entry of
any marriage, birth, or death which has been registered
can generally, on the mere mention of the name, without
intimation of the exact date or of the part of the kingdom
in which it occurred, be very soon discovered, and a certi¬
fied copy given ; which copy, being stamped with the of¬
ficial seal” will be “ received as evidence of the birth,
death, or marriage to which the same relates, without any Registra
further or other proof of such entry.” Thus not only are t,lon-
means afforded of obtaining for legal purposes, by applica-
tion at one central office, certified copies of registers from
every part of England and Wales, but the copies so ob¬
tained have the additional advantage of being sufficient
evidence, without an affidavit, of their being correct, which
is often required for the confirmation of extracts given from
such registers.
The alphabetical indexes prepared in the General Register Kxtent of
Office comprised, at the end of the year 1858, no less than tlie reS\s'
26,600.392 names,—viz., 6,083,906 of persons married, in'
12,209,383 of children born, and 8,307,103 of persons who
died in the 20% years from 1st July 1837, when the pre¬
sent law came into operation. 1 he following table exhibits
the yearly additions to the registers and indexes during this
period:—
I. Marriages, Births, and Deaths registered in England
and Wales from July 1, 1837, to Dec. 31, 1858.
Year.
1837'*.
1838.. .
1839.. .
1810 ..
1841..
1812..
1843..
1844..
1845..
1846..
1847..
1848.
1849..
1850.
1851.
1852.
1853.
1854.
1855.
1856.
1857.
1858.
Marriages.
,T . Persons
X umber. Married
58,479
118,067
123,166
122,665
122,496
118,825
123,818
132,249
143.743
145,664
135,845
138,230
141,883
152.744
154,206
158,782
164,520
159,727
152,113
159,337
159,097
156,297
Total in
20J yrs
:}
3,041,953
116,958
236,134
246,332
245,330
244,992
237,650
247,636
264,498
287,486
291,328
271,690
276,460
283,766
305,488
308,412
317,564
329,040
319,454
304,226
318,674
318,194
312,594
Births.
Deaths.
Total of
Names en¬
tered in the
Registers
andlndexes
164,116 148,701
6,083,906
463,787
492,574
502,303
512.158
517,739
527,325
540,763
543,521
572,625
539,965
563.059
578.159
593,422
615,865
624,012
612,391
634,405
635,043
657,453
663,071
655,627
342,760
338,984
359,687
343,847
349,519
346,445
356.933
349,366
390,315
423,304
399,833
440,839
368,995
395,396
407,135
421,097
437,905
425,703
429,775
1,042.681
1,077,890
1,107,320
1,100,997
1,104,908
1,121,406
1,162,194
1,180,373
1,254,268
1.234.959
1,239,352
1.302.764
1,267,905
1,319,673
1,348,711
1.362,528
1.391.764
1,364,9
390,506 1,366,633
419,815 1,401,080
450,018 1,418,239
12,209,383 8,307,103 26,600,392
* Half-year from July 1, 1837, when operation of act commenced.
From these extensive nominal lists of the immediate sub- 3_r.e"
jects of one or more of the events of birth, death, and mal * surn ”mes
riage, many interesting facts have been derived with respect deduce(j
to the family or personal nomenclature of the people ^ from the
subject which has engaged the attention of antiquaries and indexes,
others, who have discovered much that is illustiati\e o
the early condition, customs, and employments of the in¬
habitants of this country in the names which have been
handed down from bygone generations. A striking cir¬
cumstance connected with this subject is the extiaoi de¬
nary number and variety of the surnames found to exist in
England. The indexes of the births and deaths registered
in a single quarter, after a careful elimination of ah dupli¬
cates, were found to yield together 32,818 different sur¬
names out of 275,405 entries ; and from this result it is esti¬
mated that between 35,000 and 40,000 different surnames
exist in England and Wales. Ibis number is probably
below the truth; at least, it is clear that by the introduction
n
836
Registra¬
tion.
REGISTRATION.
of the fresh names of foreigners and immigrants, and'the
corruption of existing names amongst the illiterate, the
number is constantly increasing.
The acquisition of a particular surname was the result in
most cases of arbitrary circumstances affecting the individual
who first bore it; for instance, John Smith, instead of being
called after his occupation, might equally have chanced to
become John Johnson, from his father’s Christian name;
or John Brown, from his tawny complexion ; or John Hill,
from the local position of his abode. But the curious ques¬
tion arises, whether the surnames which have attained so
remarkable a predominance over others owe this wholly
Registra¬
tion.
to their original numerical importance, or whether any cir¬
cumstances acting upon the ordinary laws of increase, have
caused the descendants of their first possessors to multiply
at a faster rate than the bearers of other names. The in- Common
dexes have determined one point—namely, the surnames surnames,
which have acquired the strongest hold on the people.
The following list of 50 of the most common surnames—
embracing 18 in every 100 persons registered—is derived
from 25 quarterly indexes (9 of births, 8 of deaths, and 8 of
marriages) ; and the probable number of persons in England
and Wales of each surname is computed from the indexes
of 1853:—
II. Fifty of the most common Surnames in England and Wales, and Estimated Number of Persons bearing
each Surname in the Year 1853.
Surnames.
1. Smith
2. Jones.
3. Williams
4. Taylor ..
5. Davies ..
6. Brown ..
7. Thomas .
8. Evans ...
9. Roberts .
10. Johnson.
11. Wilson..
12. Robinson
13. Wright .
14. Wood....
15. Thompson
16. Hall ..
17. Green
Estimated
Number of
Persons of each
Surname in
1853.
253.600
242,100
159,900
124,400
113.600
105.600
94,000
93,000
78.400
69,500
66,800
66.700
62.700
61,200
60,600
60.400
59.400
Of the en¬
tire Popu-
iation, one
73
76
115
148
162
174
1S6
198
235
265
275
276
293
301
304
305
310
18. Walker ..
19. Hughes
20. Edvvards
21. Lewis ....
22. White ....
23. Turner ...
24. Jackson..
25. Hill 
26. Harris ...
27. Clark 
28. Cooper...
29. Har ison
30. Ward 
31. Martin....
32. Davis 
33. Baker ....
34. Morris ...
Estimated
Number of
Persons of each
Surname in
1853.
59.300
59,000
58,100
58,000
56.900
56.300
55,800
52.200
51.900
50.700
48.400
47.200
45.700
43.900
43.700
43,600
43.400
Of the en¬
tire Popu¬
lation, one
Surnames.
310
312
316
318
323
327
330
352
355
363
380
390
402
420
421
422
424
35. James .
36. King ...
37. Morgan
38. Allen...
39. Moore .,
40. Parker.
41. Clarke
42. Cook...,
43. Price ...
44. Phillips
45. Shaw ...
46. Bennett
47. Lee  
48. Watson
49. Griffiths
50. Carter..
Total.
Estimated
Number of
Persons of each
Surname in
1853.
43.100
42.300
41,000
40.500
39.300
39.100
38.100
38,100
37,900
37,900
36.500
35.800
35,200
34.800
34,800
33,400
3,253,800
Of the en¬
tire Popu¬
lation, one
427
435
449
454
468
471
483
483
486
486
504
514
523
529
529
551
5-7
Thus nearly one-sixth of the entries in the indexes relate
to persons of these fifty surnames. The three at the head
of the list, Smith, Jones, and Williams, are greatly in ad¬
vance of the others ; and so numerous are the great tribes
bearing these names, that on an average one person in every
28 of the population would answer to one or other of them.
Smith is pre-eminently the most common English surname,
but that, oi'Jones, from its frequency in Wales, not only com¬
petes for priority in point of numbers with the Smiths, but in
several years contributes a larger number to the indexes.
The following table exhibits—
III. Number of Entries of the respective Surnames of Smith
affd Jones in the Begistration Indexes, 1838-54.
The result of this tabular view of the relative frequency
of these widely-spread surnames in the indexes of the
years 1838-54, is an excess of 3137 Smiths in the seventeen
years, but in six of the years the ./cmesey were more numer¬
ous than the Smiths ; together, they furnish no less than
568,937 entries, or 1 in 36 of the whole number re¬
corded. Thus it appears that, while Smith il the most
generally diffused of English surnames, Jones is consider¬
ably superior to Smith in point of local distribution.
These large alphabetical lists of surnames have also de¬
termined the proportionate number occurring under each
initial letter—a fact which may not be without interest to
the philologist. The letter B is, it seems, the most fre¬
quent initial of surnames in England, comprising more than
a tenth of the whole; next in number are the surnames
ranked under the letter H (Q'S per cent.); then those
under S and W (8‘9 and 8’7 per cent.) The vowels are
not of extensive occurrence as initial letters of surnames,
although the contrary is the case with respect to the ordi¬
nary words of the English language. Other curious parti¬
culars, including a list of singular surnames met with in the
indexes, will be found in the Sixteenth Annual Report of the
Registrar-General.
Although the primary object of registration is to furnish Results of
the means of establishing descent, and thereby to facilitate registra-
the legal distribution of property, it answers several other tion; vital
public purposes not less important. The expectations of statistics,
those who predicted that from this system of observation
and record materials would be derived of vast importance
to the science of vital statistics have not been disappointed.
No other country now possesses so extensive a collection
of digested facts illustrative of the laws of mortality, the
progress of population, and the influence of locality, occu¬
pation, seasons, and other physical causes upon the health
of the people. The task of analysing the registered causes
qf death, and of collecting and arranging the important
REGISTRATION.
837
Registra¬
tion.
statistical materials deducible from the registers of births women married, 55 in France, against 48 in England, did Registra-
sta . . . committed to not write their names. 1 hese proportions, which are tor
Sanitary-
measures.
Annual
ports.
and marriages, as well as of deaths, has been
Dr William Farr. . , „
Before the results of the researches conducted by -Ur
Farr were published in the reports of the registrar-general,
scarcely any attention was given to measures for the pro¬
motion of the public health. Dr Southwood Smith and
others had indeed strongly urged the necessity tor attend¬
ing to the conditions essential to the preservation ot health
in towns, but it remained for the registration system to
furnish the fundamental facts which led to a practical re¬
cognition of the importance of the question. 1 he influences
arrayed against sanitary legislation were powerful, and the
general Want of knowledge on the subject served to encou-
rao-g the opposition with which it was assailed by vested
interests. It was impossible, however, to disregard or con¬
trovert the facts and statistical calculations contained in the
registrar-general’s reports, in which it was shown that
certain districts were infested with epidemics constantly
recurring, while others enjoyed a comparative immunity;
and that people suffered most in town districts where the
causes of insalubrity operated with greater force than in
other parts of the country. The excess of mortality m
unhealthy districts, as compared with other localities, was
unhesitatingly ascribed to artificial and preventible causes,
producing “ unnatural deaths” and inflicting material loss
on the nation. With wealth, industry, and science at
command, it w'as urged that means could be found to check
the waste of life and health, and the evils resulting from
men bein<'- cut off from their country and mankind before
their time. In the year 1845 the first general enactment
for enforcing measures of sanitary improvement passed the
legislature; and by several subsequent acts extensive
powers have been granted for the same purpose. Able and
intelligent officers of health have been appointed in the
metropolis, Liverpool, and most of the principal to\\ ns ;
extensive drainage works have been undertaken ; and an
improved water supply obtained. It cannot be doubteu
that these and other measures adopted to improve the pub¬
lic health are calculated to effect an amelioration in the
physical condition of the inhabitants of this countiy.
The annual reports of the registrar-general, of which
nineteen have been laid before Parliament, form a valuable
store-house of information upon the various subjects con¬
nected with vital statistics. Besides detailed abstracts for
each year of the marriages, births, and deaths, tables of
the fatal diseases, classified in combination with ages, are
tion.
         proportions,
the year 1853, are deplorably high, and show how much
has to be done to convey the first rudiments of instruction
to the great body of the people in two of the most enlight¬
ened nations of the world. In the abstract of births, those
of children born out of wedlock are distinguished. All
these particulars relating to marriages and births are given
for each of the registration districts, counties, and divisions
of England and Wales. The causes of death in each year
are returned in detailed tables and discussed by Dr Farr,
who has also, in occasional papers which have appeared in
the reports, treated of the construction of life tables, the
English life table and its uses, the principles of a statistical
nosology, violent deaths in England, and many other sub¬
jects connected with vital statistics. 'I hese various prac¬
tical applications of the facts shown in the abstracts are of
great value and interest. An elaborate report on the
cholera epidemic of 1849 has also been printed in a sepa¬
rate form.
FYom the annual reports of the registrar-general it ap¬
pears that the mean annual rate of marriage in England is
8 marriages, or 16 persons married, to every 1000 persons
living,—or one person in 61 of the population is married
annually ; there are 33 births to every 1000 persons living,
or 1 birth in 30 of the population ; and 22 deaths to l^bO
persons living, or one death in 45 of the population. 1 he
marriage-rate was highest in the years 1845, 1846, 1850,
and four following years, in all of which it exceeded 85
marriages to 1000 persons living; it was lowest in 1842
and 1843, when it fell below 76 per 1000. The birth-rate
was highest (over 34 per 1000) in 1851, 1852, 18o6, and
1857 ; and lowest in the earlier years of registration, when
many births were unrecorded. Fluctuations in the death-
rate are mainly influenced by epidemics, and by the vary¬
ing temperatures of different years. In 1849 and 1854,
years in which cholera greatly increased the mortality in
this country, the rates were 25 and 23‘5 per 1000 ; in 184 <,
when influenza prevailed epidemically, the rate was 24‘7
per 1000. Amongst the healthiest years were 1845, 1850,
and 1856, in each of which the rate of mortality was below
21 per 1000. . t n . .
About thirty days after the termination ot each quarter Quarterly
a return is published showing the number of births and ^o™ly
deaths registered in the quarter in each of the 630 super- ^
intendent-registrars’ districts in England and Wales, derived
from statements sent to the central office by the 219i
the fatal diseases, classified in combina ion vv g ’ • trars 0f births and deaths ; the number of marriages is
given, and comments upon the salient *e >1 , s(» ed for the precedi„g three months. This return also
registration accompany the whole. V\ itli icga ™mnrUps tables exhibiting the progress of population, emi-
tnarr.ges.ag^m^erof^ic^^-P^d
showing whether according or not according to the rites ot
the Established Church, the preliminary form (whether
banns, license, or certificate), the civil condition of the par¬
ties, their ages, and whether they signed the marriage-re¬
gister by writing their names or by making marks. 1 he
latter fact is not without interest, as throwing light upon the
state of elementary education in England some fifteen
years before ; and it is grievous to find from this test that
in the year 1857, of 100 men married, 28 could not write
their names; of 100 women married, 39 signed wit i
marks. No less than 30,518 marriages were celebrated in
that year in which both the husband and the wife signet
with marks; so that it may be inferred that an equal num ei
of families would be founded in which neither the fat lei
nor the mother could read and write. In this respect,
however, England cannot be unfavourably contrasted wit i
France, for it is a curious fact that, exclusive of themetio-
politan cities in the two countries, nearly the same propor¬
tion (34 in every 100) of the men who marry sign the
register with marks; while the French women^ are even
oration, the average prices of the funds and provisions,
with meteorological observations taken at stations iq dif¬
ferent parts of the country under the supervision of Mr
Glaisher ; the whole is accompanied with remarks, in which
the facts are generalized, and inferences drawn on points
to which it is desirable that public attention should be
directed. These quarterly reports have been continued
since the year 1842; in the first instance, however, they
referred only to the more populous districts, and not to the
whole of England as at present.
Since the commencement of the year 1840 a report re- Weekly re-
lating to London has been printed on the Tuesday in each ports,
week, compiled from returns received at the General Re¬
gister Office on the preceding Monday. The metropoli¬
tan registrars who furnish these returns are 136 in number;
they extract from the death register-books certain particu¬
lars respecting all the deaths registered in the week ending
Saturday night, and state the total number of births regis¬
tered. In this manner, early and accurate information is
obtained with respect to the causes affecting the mortality
of an aggregated town population, wliich amounted in 1851
838 R E G I S T
Registra- to 2,362,236, .the largest of which there is any reliable ac¬
tion. count. Remarks on the most noteworthy facts accompany
v'—-the return, and the meteorology of the week, as observed
at the Royal Observatory, Greenwich, is given. During
the height of the cholera epidemics of 1849 and 18.54 the
registrars in London transmitted to the registrar-general
daily returns of the deaths in their respective sub-districts.
Cost of re- The cost to the country of the registration system in
gistration. force in England and Wales is now about L. 100,000 a
year, of which sum about L.65,000 are defrayed from the
poor-rates for registrars’ fees ; and the remainder—consist¬
ing of L. 18,000, for the central establishment, and L. 17,000
for fees to superintendent-registrars and expenses of regis¬
tration officers—is defrayed out of the public revenue. The
portion of the expenditure paid from the national exchequer
is annually voted by Parliament.
Defeats of ^ ‘s to reSrettec^ a machinery entailing so large
the system. an expense on the public is in some of its details marred
* by delects which render its operation unsatisfactory. In
the first place, the registration of births is incomplete ; for
although the preamble of the act of William IV. sets forth
the expediency of establishing and maintaining “ a com¬
plete and uniform system of registration of births,” &c., no
obligation is imposed upon any one to give notice of a birth
to the registrar. As a consequence of this laxity in the law
many births pass altogether unrecorded, especially in large
towns and amongst the poor. The registrar-general, in his
Sixth Annual Report (1844), thus refers to the results of
this omission in the act,—“ At present I am well aware that
many thousands of births annually escape registration ; in¬
creased exertions on the part of the registrars may effect
much ; but in my opinion all the births will not be regis¬
tered until by law it be made compulsory on the father or
mother, or some other qualified informant, to give notice
within a fixed period to the registrar of a birth having oc¬
curred, under a small penalty to be inflicted on default of
giving such notice.” This statement was made to the
secretary of state nearly fifteen years ago, but no remedy
has yet been applied, although under the provisions of
the Compulsory Vaccination Act of 1854, the penalty for
neglect of vaccination can only be enforced after due no¬
tice has been given by the registrar to the parents of the
child on the registration of its birth. In order to make the
RATION.
first movement in the machinery of this statute universal, Registra-
it is obvious that the penalty ought to be extended to the tio11-
neglect of registering the birth.
The next defect of the English registration system is
the absence of effectual precautionary measures against
fabricated and fraudulent entries. Any person who has a
sufficient motive for so doing has but to go to the house
of the registrar and profess to give information of a birth or
a death, and, by inventing consistent particulars, he may
procure the insertion in the register of a purely fictitious
entry, merely signing his name or making his mark as
informant. In the memorable case of “ Regina v. Barber,
Fletcher, and others,” a fraud to a considerable extent
was effected on the Bank of England by means of a
forged will, and a certified copy of a false entry of the pre¬
tended death of one Ann Slack. Besides the frauds com¬
mitted by informants, several instances have occurred in
which, for the sake of increasing their fees, registrars have
fabricated entries on a very large scale; and similar frauds
on a smaller scale may be carried on in town districts al¬
most with impunity.
After twenty years’ experience of the working of the Obvious
present system, the application of a remedy to these defects remec^es‘
could not be a very difficult matter. Some additional
checks are obviously required for the prevention of fictitious
and fraudulent entries. If, in the case of births, the regis¬
ter were attested by another witness besides the informant,
such as the accoucheur or mid-wife, or some other person
assisting at the birth,—and, in the case of deaths, the regis¬
ter were to contain an authenticated statement of the fact of
burial as well as of the cause of death, inserted from the
certificates of authorized parties,—these guarantees would
interpose great difficulties in the way of frauds. A com¬
pulsory enactment, making it incumbent on all who are
present at a birth or a death, and the occupier of the house
in which it takes place, to give notice of the fact to the re¬
gistrar, would ensure complete resignation. The sche¬
dules are also susceptible of considerable improvement.
The following schedules, compiled by a committee of the
Statistical Society of London from the schedules of other
states in which registration is practised, are given as models;
the information provided for in the English schedules is in¬
dicated by the words printed in italics:—
Schedule A.—Marriages.
Countv, MiddlesexDistrict, Marylebone.—1847. Marriages solemnized at the Parish Church, in the Parish of Marylebone.
No.
124
When, where, and
how Married.
On March 3, 1847,
at Marylebone
Parish Church.
Marriage, after
banns, was so¬
lemnized be¬
tween us accord¬
ing to the rites
and ceremonies
of the Estab¬
lished Church,
Names and
Signatures
of the
Parties.
Residence,
Present.
William
Hastings.
Sophia
Ann Mit¬
chell.
Usual.
Age.
3 South
Street,
Marylebone
17 High
Street,
Marylebone.
Chelmsford,
Essex.
32
Rank or
Profession
17 High
Street,
Marylebone.
20
Carp en
ter.
Dress¬
maker.
Condition.
If a Widower
or Widow,
date of de¬
cease of for¬
mer Wives or
Husbands.
Widower,
4th Nov.
1840.
Spinster.
° _ S-
Birth¬
place.
Bristol.
Long-
bridge,
Deverell,
Wilts.
Parents.
Name.
Rank or
Profession.
Peter
Hastings,
deceased,
and Ann
Hastings
(maiden
name,
Payne).
Geoffrey
Mitchell,
and Sarah
Mitchell
(maiden
name,
Evans),
deceased.
Uphol¬
sterer.
Butcher.
Witnesses
and
Officiating
Minister.
John
Hastings
Jane
Mitchell,
witnesses,
James
Hollings-
head,
Curate,
officiat¬
ing
minister,
Registra¬
tion.
98
REGISTRATION.
Schedule B.—Births.
County, Middlesex; District, St Pancras ; Sub-District, Tottenham Court.
Pakents.
Name, and
whether pro¬
duced or not.
William Jones
(produced);
alteration of
name, if any,
and date
thereof.
When
Born: Year
—day-
hour.
Male.
1847.
February
eleventh,
5h. 30m.
A.M.
Where
horn : If
in lodg¬
ings, so
stated.
169 Tot¬
tenham
Court
Road.
Father.
Mother.
Name, Bank
or Profession,
Age, Birth-
place.
When and
where mar¬
ried. Issue,
living and
deceased.
Henry Jones,
corn-dealer,
40,
Tingewick,
Bucks.
1830,
St Pancras.
2 boys,
2 girls,
living;
1 girl dead.
Name, Maiden
Name, Rank or
Profession, Age,
Birthplace
Infokmants.
Signatures of Father
and Mother, and
other Informants,
and where residing,
if out of the house
in which the Birth
occurred.
Witnesses.
Accoucheur,
Nurse, hy whom
certified, and
Signatures of
Occupier or
other
Witnesses.
When,
where, and
by whom
Registered.
Harriet Jones,
maiden name
Hills (her
5th child), 37
St Pancras.
Henry Jones,
father;
Harriet Jones,
mother.
Ann Curry, 1
nurse, witness.
Certified by
M. Clayton,
accoucheur.
1847,
March 10,
at 169 Tot¬
tenham
Court Road:
John Wells,
Registrar.
839
Registra¬
tion.
Schedule C.—Deaths.
County, Middlesex; District, Poplar; Sub-District, Poplar.
No.
(1.1 Name.
—(2.) Rank
or Pro¬
fession.
176
William
Canty,
dock-
labourer.
Male
Age.
62
(1.) When
and (2.)
where died,
year—day—
hour.
1847,
February
tiventy-
eight, at 16
Cottage
Roiu.
6ih. A.M.
(1.) Cause of
Death, and
Duration of
Disease.—(2.)
Medical At¬
tendant hy
whom Certified
when he last
saw Deceased.
(I.) Burial-
Place.-^.) Un¬
dertaker by
whom Certified.
Where born,
and how long
in this
District.
Pneumonia,
2 months,
as certified by
H. Bloomfield,
M.D., who last
saw deceased
Feb. 27th.
Catholic
burial-ground,
Wade Street,
as certified by
M. R utley,
undertaker.
County of
Cork, Ire¬
land ; 36
years in
Poplar.
(1.) Parents’
N ames, and
(2.) Rank or
Profession.
If Deceased was Married,
Where, at
what age,
and by
whom.
Timothy
Canty,
shoemaker,
deceased;
Mary
Canty (m. n.
Nicolas),
deceased.
Scrill pa¬
rish, Ire¬
land, at
age 22, to
Honora
M‘Carty.
Issue, in
order of
Birth, their
Names and
Ages.
1, Timothy,
31—2, Wil¬
liam, 30
3, Mary, 29
—4, John,
dec. at 27
in 1846—
5, Cathe¬
rine, 21.
Signatures of
(1.) Informant,
(2.) Witness, and
(3.) Registrar;
(4.) Date of
Registration.
Honora Canty,
widoiv, infor¬
mant ; Mary
Canty, daugh¬
ter, witness;
T. W. Gagen,
registrar,
March third,
1847.
Parochial
registers.
In order to determine whether any practical difficulties
would be found in eliciting for registration the various facts
required in these schedules, experiments were made in se¬
veral parts of London, and it was found that all the infor¬
mation was f urnished without objection by the parties ap¬
plied to ; and the committee of the Statistical Society
considered that no insuperable difficulties existed in the way
of carrying out such a plan on a national scale.
It is stated in the preface to the Population Abstract for
1831, as the result of an inquiry respecting parochial regis¬
ters in England, “ that eight hundred and twelve English
parish registers commence in the year 1538, about forty
of which contain entries (copied probably from family Bibles
and tomb-stones), anterior to the date of Cromwell’s injunc¬
tion ; 1822 parish registers commence from a.d. 1538 to
1558, when Queen Elizabeth required a protestation from
the clergy; 2448 parish registers commence from a.d. 1558
to 1603, when the canons authorized by King James di¬
rected a copy of all extant parish registers to be made and
preserved ; and nearly one-half of them (5082) have been
preserved accordingly, and are now extant. Parish regis¬
ters to the number of 969 commence between that time to
the year 1650 ; 2757 from a.d. 1650 to 1700 ; 1476 parish
registers from a.d. 1700 to the year 1750; the rest (six or
seven hundred) since that time.
In addition to the registers heretofore and now kept
chial regis- under tjie sanction 0f ordinances and acts of Parliament,
terS’ there is a vast number of non-parochial registers and records
of marriages, births and baptisms, deaths or burials, which
have been kept in some instances from a very remote period
by various dissenting congregations, and in many cases
with great care and correctness, but in no form prescribed
by authority and under no legal sanction, and which were
Non-paro-
therefore not admitted in evidence as registers in courts of
justice. _ . .
In September 1836 a commission was issued, directing
certain commissioners to inquire into the state, custody, and.
authenticity of such registers or records ; “ and to inquire
whether any or what measures could be beneficially adopted
for collecting and arranging all or any of such registers or
records, and for depositing the same, or copies theieof inthe
office of the registrar-general of births, deaths, and mar¬
riages, or for otherwise preserving the same; and also to
consider and advise the proper measures to be adopted for
giving full force and effect in evidence, in all courts of jus¬
tice, to all such registers as might be found accurate and
faithful, and for facilitating the production and reception of
the same.” From the report of the commissioners of the
result of their labours, it appears that about 7000 non-
parochial registers were transmitted to them for inspection,
from 3630 religious congregations, namely,—
Foreign Protestant churches   
Presbyterians, Independents, and Baptists 2264
Wesleyan Methodists  818
Moravians   ^
Lady Huntingdon’s Connection  44
Calvinistic Methodists  436
Swedenborgians 
Total 3630
“ Each of these registers,” says the Report, “ was authen¬
ticated by a certificate under the signature of the minister,
or of some officer of the church or denomination, from whom
it was received ; and this certificate was generally accom¬
panied by answers to the questions which had been circu¬
lated by the commissioners.’’ After being s< classed in
lists according to the several counties in England and
840
REGISTRATION.
Registra- Wales, and entered in a book, with a careful annotation of
tion. any particulars applicable to their state or custody,” they
were “ submitted to the inspection of the board, by whom
the question as to their admissibility was discussed and re¬
corded ; and in every instance the chairman, or the com¬
missioner representing the chairman, authenticated such in¬
spection and examination, by affixing his initials to the first
and last entry in each register; or if some parts of the re¬
gister appeared to be copies, or not to bear marks of
authenticity, he affixes his initials to such parts only as were
deemed original or authentic.” With respect to all such
registers as were thus examined and deemed authentic,
wholly or in part, the commissioners recommended “ that
they be kept together in some secure place of deposit,
under the care of the registrar-general, or some other
officer to be appointed for that purpose, that, under certain
conditions, they be receivable in evidence in all courts of
justice and that the authorized custos of these registers
should permit searches, and grant certified extracts, on pay¬
ment of moderate fees.
These several recommendations were embodied in an act
of Parliament, passed in 1840, “for enabling courts of jus¬
tice to admit non-parochial registers as evidence of births
or baptisms, deaths or burials, and marriages” (3 and 4
Viet., c. 92); and, pursuant to its provisions, the registers
have been placed in the custody of the registrar-general,
by whom searches are permitted, and certified copies
granted. The Society of Friends having discovered in
different parts of the country a considerable number of
registers which had been overlooked when the others were
collected, were naturally anxious to secure an extension
to them of benefits similar to those conferred by the act
above cited ; and to afford the Society, and other religious
communities who might be in possession of registers under
similar circumstances, an opportunity to effect this object,
a second royal commission was issued in 18d7 for the pur¬
pose of verifying the registers. The general course of
proceeding adopted by this commission was the same as on
the former occasion, and 303 register-books were, after ex¬
amination and inquiry, reported upon as fit to be received
into the custody of the registrar-general. By an act
which passed in 1858, these additional registers were placed
on the same footing as the other non-parochial records.
The institution of parish registers in Scotland dates
from the year 1551, when, amongst other new canons en¬
acted by the provincial council of Scottish clergy held at
Edinburgh, was one establishing parochial registers of
baptisms and proclamations of marriage. In this canon no
provision was made for any record of burials, but the de¬
ficiency was afterwards supplied during the early struggles
of the Reformation. In 1616 an act of the Scottish Privy
Council ordained that in every parish a book should be
kept in which the minister should insert “ the tymes and
names of the persones to be maryed, and of the bairnes to
be baptized, within the said parrochine, with the witnesses
of the saidis bairnes, as alswa the names and tymes of
personis deceisand within the same and the minister or
reader, along with two of the kirk-session, in the case of
births and marriages, and two persons present at the burial,
in the case of deaths, were to subscribe the register-book
at the close of the entries of each day. The Directory
for Public Worship, which was approved by an act of the
General Assembly, and also by a statute of the Scottish
Parliament in 1645, soon after the re-establishment of Pres¬
byterianism, declares that a register for marriages shall be
carefully kept, but contains no similar injunction regarding
baptisms and burials. In the year 1746 the General As¬
sembly appears to have found it necessary to pass an act to
provide for the registration of burials. The records of the
church contain no other provisions respecting registration
until the year 1816, when the defective state of the parochial
Registra¬
tion in
Scotland.
registers engaged the attention of the General Assembly, Eegistra-
which recommended that the several presbyteries should tion.
take the steps necessary to secure the keeping of three se-
parate registers in each parish : one for births, whether the
parents of the children belonged to the church or were dis¬
senters ; another for marriages, whether legally solemnized
or not; and a third for deaths and burials.
Ecclesiastical injunctions having failed to remedy the
manifold defects of the system of parochial registration,
Lord Rutherford, who then filled the office of Lord Advo¬
cate, in the year 1847 brought into Parliament two bills,
by one of which it was proposed to alter the law concerning
marriages, while the object of the other was to secure the
compulsory registration of births, deaths, and marriages.
1 hese two bills passed the Upper House, and were read a
second time in the House of Commons in the same session,
and again in 1848, when they were finally abandoned by
the government. With a more successful result, a bill was
prepared and introduced into Parliament by Lord Elcho,
M.P., one of the lords of the Treasury, to whose perse¬
vering efforts his country is indebted for the valuable mea¬
sure which passed the legislature in 1854, “ for the better
registration of births, deaths, and marriages in Scotland”
(17 and 18 Viet., c. 80).
The provisions of this act—which are in some degree
analogous to those of the English acts, but with the neces¬
sary adaptations of machinery to the peculiarities of Scottish
institutions, and some important improvements—came into
full operation on 1st January 1855. A “ General Registry
Office” is established at Edinburgh, the business of which
is conducted by a registrar-general (the deputy for the time
being of the lord clerk register) and a secretary, besides
clerks and other officers ; and local registrars are appointed
to act in every parish and burgh. The appointment of
registrar in parishes not being burghal is vested in the
parochial board ; in burghs it is vested in the town-council.
The control and superintendence of the registrars within
each county devolves upon the sheriff, by whom they may
be removed on the application of the parochial board or
the registrar-general. It is the duty of the registrar to in¬
form himself of every birth and death within his parish, and
to register the same in duplicate. In order to assist in¬
formants, the registrar is to furnish gratis printed forms,
setting forth the heads of the particulars required to be
recorded. An important provision, the absence of which
is one of the defects in the English law, secures the com¬
plete registration of births. Within twenty-one days after
the occurrence of any birth, the parents or parent, or (in
case of their death or inability) the person in charge of
the child born, the occupier of the house, and the nurse,
are required, under a penalty not exceeding 20s. in case
of failure, to attend personally upon the registrar, and give
information of the particulars of the birth. So also, in the
case of deaths, the nearest relatives present at the death,
and the occupier of the house in which it occurred—and if
the occupier should be deceased, then his or her nearest
relatives, and the inmates of such house—are bound, under
a penalty not exceeding 20s. in case of failure, to attend
personally upon the registrar, and give information con¬
cerning the particulars required to be registered. In both
cases, one of the parties attending to give information is
required to sign the register in duplicate in the presence
of the registrar. After the expiry of three months, no
birth can be recorded without the authority of the sheriff,
by whom also the entry must be signed. In cases of doubt,
parents may be required, under a penalty for refusal, to
produce the child to the registrar.
The genuineness of the registry of death is supported
by two important corroborative documents. Within four¬
teen days after the death, the medical attendant is required,
under a penalty not exceeding 40s. in case of failure, to
REGISTRATION.
841
Re-istra- transmit to the registrar a certificate in the form prescribed;
tion. and within three days after the interment, the undertaker,
' .v ' under a like penalty for default, is to transmit to the regis¬
trar a certificate thereof. The particulars of these certifi¬
cates are forthwith inserted in the registers. _
The Scottish law of marriage and the proclamation ot
banns are nowise affected by the Registration Act; regular
marriages are registered upon the receipt of the proper
schedule, duly signed, from the contracting parties, or by
the registrar on his attending for that purpose at the solem¬
nization of the marriage. Due provision is made tor the
registry of irregular marriages. . , v . j
All registers are required to be kept in duplicate; and
after they have been examined, compared, and docqueted
by the district examiner, one of the duplicates is retained
bv the registrar, and the other is transmitted to the regis-
trar-o-eneral. At the General Registry Office alphabetical
indexes of the duplicate registers there deposited are pre¬
pared, and any person is entitled to search the indexes on
payment of the fee of Is., and to have an extract of any
entry under the band of the registrar-general, on the pay¬
ment of the further fee of 2s. Gratis searches may be
permitted, and gratis extracts given to persons of whose
inability to pay the registrar-general shall be satisfied.
The following are the numbers of births, deaths, and
marriages, registered in Scotland, in each of the four com¬
plete years during which the present system has been in
operation:—
Marriages, Births, and Deaths registered in Scotland
1855-58.
Year.
1855.
1856.
1857.
1858.
Marriages.
N umber.
19,690
20,487
21,314
19,603
Persons
Married.
39,380
40,974
42,628
39,206
Births.
93,599
101,748
103.628
104,195
Deaths.
62,249
58.456
61.925
63,532
Of the 104,195 births in the year 1858, 9256 were ille¬
gitimate. This gives the proportion of one illegitimate in
every eleven births, or 9 per cent.; a proportion much
higher than that shown by the English registers, which,
however, are incomplete. In Scotland the ratio of births
to population rather exceeds that in England ; while the
ratio of marriages is greatly inferior to it : the mean moi-
tality in Scotland is below that of England. .
The annual reports hitherto published consist merely ot
general abstracts of the numbers of registered births, deaths,
and marriages, which the registrar-general is required to
transmit to the secretary of state, to be laid before 1 a’ ld"
ment; the figures are given for Scotland, and for each ot
the divisions and counties, without comment. A quartei y
return is prepared, showing each quarter’s registration more
in detail, the numbers for the several parishes or districts,
as well as for counties and divisions, being given; and a
monthly report is made for Glasgow, Edinburgh, and six
other principal towns, comprising, in addition to other par¬
ticulars respecting the results of registration, classified lists
of the causes of death at four periods of age.
The schedules annexed to the Registration Act, accord¬
ing to which the registers were to be made, were framed
with a view to obtain more comprehensive information than
that provided for by the English schedule, and the addi¬
tional facts to be ascertained on registering a birth, death,
or marriage were of importance both for the better identi¬
fication of the parties, and for the purposes of statistical in¬
quiry. It is to be regretted, however, that under the
powers given by the act to the registrar-general to alter
the schedules, some of the additional heads of information
have been omitted in the register books now in use, the
VOL. xvin.
alteration having been made after a very short trial of the ^eJ^ra’
schedules annexed to the act. v 1 ^ y
The want of a complete measure of registration for
Ireland has on various occasions been the subject of re- Registra-
presentations in Parliament and elsewhere. In the year
1844 an act was passed for the registration of marriages
in Ireland (7 and 8 Viet., c. 81); but that statute is ob¬
viously imperfect as a measure of registration since the
marriages of Roman Catholics, who form the majority of
the population, are excluded from its provisions. Such
exclusion arose from the fact of certain formalities being
required by the statute to be observed in the case of every
marriage falling within its purview, the omission ot which
formalities might be held to render a maniage invalid; and
these restrictions in the case of their marriages were con¬
sidered objectionable by Roman Catholics. 1 he registia-
tion under this act commenced on 1st April 1845; the total
number of marriages registered in the nine years 1846-54
inclusive, was 83,085, giving an average of 9228 marriages
annually, or about 1 marriage for every 710 of the popula¬
tion. In England, during the same nine years, the mar-
riao-es were in the ratio of 1 to every 119 persons; so that,
taking the marriages of the Irish people in the same ratio,
an annual average of 55,062 marriages, instead ot 9-28,
would have been recorded under a complete system.
There is in Ireland no provision for the registration ot
births and deaths, the duties of the registrar-general and
the district registrars being confined to marriages. A bill
to provide for a general system of registration has been
prepared by tbe chief secretary for Ireland, Lord Naas,
M.P.; and it may reasonably be hoped that Ireland will not
lon<r be pointed at as the only civilized country in Europe,
whether Roman Catholic or Protestant, in which there is no
registry of births, deaths, and marriages. . „ . .
The registration of births, deaths, and marriages in Reg.e n.
France is conducted under the provisions of the Code CW^rance
of Napoleon. The maire of each commune, ot which there
are about 37,300 in France, is the registering officer
charged with the duty of registering, in books provided tor
the purpose, all births, deaths, and marriages occurring
within his commune. Births and deaths are registered in
duplicate, the former upon information, in the presence ot
two witnesses, and are signed in duplicate by the informant,
the two witnesses, and the registering officer ; in the case oi
deaths, one of the witnesses may be also the informant.
Marriages are registered in the presence of four witnesses,
and shmed by the parties, the witnesses, and the registering
officer? The register of births records the year, day. hour,
and place of birth; the sex and name of the child; the
name, surnames, professions, and residences of the parents,
witnesses, and informant; the date of registration, and the
name and quality of the registering officer; and must be
signed by him, by the witnesses, and by the informant.
When the child is illegitimate, the name ot the father cannot
be given except by the authority ot the father himself.
The register of deaths records the year, day, hour, and
place of death; the name, surname, age, profession, and
residence of the deceased person ; the names, surnames,
acres professions, and residences of the parents of the de¬
ceased, and of the witnesses; and the name and surname
of the husband or wife, if the deceased was married; also
the date of registration, and the name and quality ot the
registering officer.
The register of marriages records the names, surnames,
acres, professions, places of birth, and residences of the
parties; the names, surnames, professions, and residences
of their respective parents, and of the four witnesses, with
the relation in which they stand to the parties; the consent
of the parents; whether the marriage has been opposed;
time and place of solemnization and registration ; and the
name and quality of the registering officer.
5 o
842 KEG
Registra- Registration of births is secured by a provision which
beedf recluires> under pain of fine and imprisonment, from the
t e ^ , father of the child, or, in default of the father, from some
"" v person present and assisting at the birth, a declaration
thereof, within three days afterwards, to the registering
officer, to whom the child must also be shown.
The registration of deaths is secured by a provision render¬
ring it penal for a burial to take place without the register-
ingofficer havingfirst seen the body and registered the death.
The registers are closed at the end of every year, with
formalities which preclude interpolation. Alphabetical in¬
dexes are annually formed in duplicate for each. One of
the duplicate registers, with its index, remains in the com¬
mune to which it belongs; the other is transmitted to the
tribunal of the district, where it is examined and placed
under the superintendence of the procureur du roi, or the
local officer of the crown. Abstracts are made by the re¬
gistering officer of each commune, a copy of which is trans¬
mitted to the sub-prefect, who from thence frames an
abstract for his arrondissement, a copy of which he sends
to the prefect; he also from the abstracts of the arrondisse¬
ment makes an abstract for his department; and copies of
such abstracts are sent by the prefects of departments to
be deposited in a central office at Paris.
The system of registration observed in France was intro¬
duced into Belgium, Geneva, and the Rhenish provinces of
Prussia when under the dominion of France, and is still
retained in those countries.
llegistra- In Austria, registers of births, deaths, and marriages are
ti°n in kept by minister of the church for his parish, and also
ustna. ^ Jewish rabbin for those of their own persuasion.
The register of births records the year, month, and day
of birth; the number of the house in which the birth oc¬
curred ; the name of the child and its sex, and whether it
be born in wedlock or illegitimate ; the names and surnames
of the parents ; their religion ; and the names and surnames
and condition of the sponsors. In the case of illegitimate
children the name of the father cannot be entered unless
he acknowledges the paternity.
The register of deaths records the year, month, and day
REG
of death; the number of the house in which it occurred; Registra-
the name, religion, sex, and stated age of the deceased ; tion of
and, when the information of a physician or surgeon can be Deeds,
supplied, the name of the fatal disease. For this purpose,
medical men are required to inform the minister, in writing,
of the cause of death of such patients as they have attended.
The register of marriages records the year, month, and
day of the marriage ; the place of solemnization ; the names
and surnames of the parties ; their religion, age, and whe¬
ther single or widowed; and the names, surnames, and
condition of the witnesses.
Bishops, on every visitation of their dioceses, are obliged
to call for the production of the registers of births, deaths,
and marriages. The provincial authorities are also required
to ascertain whether these registers are kept in all places
as prescribed by law.
Annual abstracts must be made by the ministers and the
rabbin, of which copies must be sent to the district of the
conscriptions, and to the office of the circle.
In Prussia, except the Rhenish provinces, registration isRegistia-
comrnitted to the clergyman of the parish amongst Chris-tion in
tians, and the elders amongst Jews. The clergyman isPrussia*
bound to enter the births, marriages, and deaths, of persons
who are not of the Established Church, but who are “ simply
tolerated,” on the declaration of the parties or their ministers,
and to include these declarations in his annual returns.
Duplicates of the registers are to be made, and at the end
of each year deposited, when examined and verified, in the
local civil court, being “ the tribunal of the place.”
{Report bp the 'Select Committee on Parochial Regis¬
tration, 1833 ; History of Parish Registers in England, by
J. S. Burn, 1829 ; Population Abstract for 1831 ; Report
of the Commissioners appointed to inquire into the State,
Custody, and Authenticity of Non-Parochial Registers,
1838; Registrar-General’s Reports, 1838 to 1858; Letters
on the Law of Registration, by Horace Mann, barrister,
1849 : Manuel des Officiers de I’Etat Civil pour la tenue
des Registres, par A. E. le Mott, Paris, 1827; Sketch of
the History of the Parochial Records in Scotland, by Geo.
Seton, advocate, 1854. (j. t. h.)
REGISTRATION OF DEEDS. The 2d and 3d
Anne, c. 4, provided for the public registry of all deeds,
conveyances, and wills relating to any manors, lands, tene¬
ments, or hereditaments within the West Riding of the
Riding and Kingston-upon-Hull by the 6th Anne, c. 35,
county @f York. This statute was extended to the East
and to the North Riding by 8 Geo. II., c. 16. The act
of 7 Anne, c. 20, provided for the registry of deeds, con¬
veyances, wills, and other incumbrances on lands, &c., in
the county of Middlesex. The effect of the register acts
is to render prior unregistered deeds fraudulent and void,
as to all subsequent deeds whereof memorials have been
duly registered ; so that a purchaser or mortgagee can only
be affected by a deed duly registered, of which he may have
notice by examining the register. The registration should
be made immediately after the execution of the convey¬
ance, otherwise the delay might enable another encum¬
brancer to take priority. Before Lord Campbell’s aboli¬
tion of Arrest Act, 1 and 2 Viet., c. 110, judgments of
the superior courts constituted a charge on real estates,
and searches had to be made for twenty years in the several
courts to ascertain whether any such charges existed. By
that act the remedies of creditors was extended over the
property of their debtors ; but it was enacted that no judg¬
ment or decree should affect any real estate otherwise than
before the act, until registered with the senior master of the
Common Pleas at Westminster. And the 2d and 3d Viet., c.
11, and the 3d and 4th Viet., c. 82, provided that these judg¬
ments should be renewed every five years, or be of no effect.
But as against purchasers or mortgagees, without notice,
such judgments or decrees should not bind any lands or
tenements, although registered, otherwise than a judgment
of the superior courts would have bound such purchaser or
mortgagee before the act of the 1st and 2d Viet., c. 110.
If the purchaser or mortgagee has notice of a judgment
against the vendor, the judgment creditor will take priority,
but the purchaser or mortgagee is not required to search
for judgments, though it is usual for solicitors, by way of
precaution, to do so ; and if there is an entry of a judg¬
ment within five years, the vendor will be required to re¬
move the charge before he can call for a completion of the
purchase. In the first session of Parliament of 1859 a
bill passed the House of Lords to provide that no bon& fide
purchaser or mortgagee should be bound by any other than
actual notice of any charge affecting the title to the pro¬
perty. It was also proposed in the House of Commons to
establish a Landed Estates Court, in which the title to real
property might be investigated (as in Ireland) ; and on due
notice to all parties interested, and on satisfactory proof, the
court might grant an indefeasible title ; and by another bill
it was proposed that such title might then be entered in a pub¬
lic registry, and all future dealings with the property so regis¬
tered should beentered on the register of titles. Thesebills,on
the dissolution of Parliament in April 1859, were postponed.
The system of registration in Scotland appears to secure
the utmost safety that can be attained in transactions affect¬
ing heritable property. Wherever such property passes
out ot the hands of any individual, either voluntarily or by
REG
Regnault the act of the law, it is made the interest of the party to
II whom it is transferred to warn the public ot the fact, by the
Reicha. insertion of certain instruments in a public register. If he
' v ^ delay to do so, it is at his own risk; for in all competitions
tor the property it is the date, not of the voluntary or judi¬
cial act, but of its publication in the appropriate register,
which determines the preferable right. If a person wish to
become the purchaser of any heritable property situated in
a Scotch burgh, he may examine the burgh register, and if
he find the right of the property standing unencumbered in
the person with whom he proposes to transact, and find no
lecral interpellation in certain other registers, he may trans¬
act with perfect safety, provided he take care to publish his
having done so in the burgh register immediately. _ The
like arrangement follows in regard to heritable properties in
counties, for which there are what is called the particular
record for each county, and the general record applicable
to them all. Thus an intending purchaser can always as¬
certain whether any prior disposition, or heritable bond or
other burden, or adjudication by the law or other legal
impediment, exist, which can prevent him in good faith
from purchasing with safety. Some or all of these things
may be actually in existence; but if they be not published
in the manner now referred to, and if the purchaser took
the precaution to have his own title timeously published,
they can only affect the seller personally (who is punish¬
able for granting double dispositions) and his heirs, but the
purchaser’s title is the preferable one. There is a strong
feeling in England against the exposure of domestic and
private arrangements by such registers; but that is now
satisfactorily avoided in Scotland, where, by recent improve¬
ments, the fact of the real right having passed from one
person to another may be published in the shortest possible
way; though, wherever burdens on property are meant to
be created, these burdens must fully and distinctly appear
on the record, otherwise they will not affect third paities
transacting in ignorance. The statutes regulating these
ters in Scotland are the acts of the Scotch Parliaments, 169S,
c. 4 ; 1693, c. 15 & 35 ; 1696, c. 5 & 39 ; also 8 & 9 Viet.,
c. 31 & 35; 10& 11 Viet, c. 48 & 50 ; 17 & 18 Viet, c. 62.
REGNAULT. See Dissertation Sixth, § 632.
REGULUS, Marcus Atilius, a Roman consul, who is
celebrated by ancient poets and historians for his self-sacii-
ficing heroism during the first Punic war, about 260 B.c.
REHER, a town and district of Hindustan, in the pro¬
vince of Delhi. T he town has much declined, in conse¬
quence of the seat of government having been removed to
Nijibabad. It is 80 miles N.N.W. from Bareily; Long.
104. 35. E., Lat. 57. N. The district is situated between
the twenty-eighth and twenty-ninth degrees of north lati¬
tude. It formerly constituted the northern limit of Kut-
taher or Rohilcund, and was ceded to the British by the
Nabob of Oude in the year 1801. Both town and district
are now included in the collectorship of Bareily.
REICHENAU, a town of Bohemia, in the circle and
9 miles E.S.E. of Koniggratz. It has an old and a new
princely palace, the latter one of the finest buildings of
Bohemia, with a valuable library and picture gallery; a
Piarist college, gymnasium, and another school; manufac¬
tures of linen and woollen cloth, and an important market
for corn. Pop. 4500.
REICHA, Anton, an excellent composer and didactic
writer on musical composition, was born at Prague on 2/th
February 1770. Having learned singing and the elements
of music, he left Prague in his seventeenth year to join his
uncle, Joseph Reicha, an eminent violoncellist and good
composer, who was settled at Bonn, in the service of the
Elector of Cologne, and who completed the musical educa¬
tion of Anton. Some of Anton Reicha’s biographers assert
that he studied music under Mozart and Michael Haydn.
In 1794 Anton Reicha went to Hamburg, and remained
R E I 843
there for five years as a teacher of the piano and of accom- Reicha.
paniment. There he composed the music of a French
opera, which he was advised to bring out at Paris. Arriv¬
ing at Paris in 1799, he produced a successful symphony at
the Rue de Clery concerts; but owing to the closing of
the Feydeau and Favart theatres, was disappointed in
bringing out an opera. He then went to Vienna, where
he held friendly intercourse with Haydn, Albrechtsberger,
Salieri, and Beethoven. He now devoted himself to com¬
position, and produced a great number of various works.
Among these were Trente-six Fugues pour le Piano,
d’apres un Nouveau Sgsteme, dedicated to Haydn. There
was nothing new in this system, it having been suggested
to Reicha by a bad treatise on fugue published by the
French writer H. F. M. Langle, and founded on a false
system of responses to fugue subjects on every degree of
the scale, and the destruction of all distinct tonalities.
Reicha’s work was published in 1803, but met with no suc¬
cess, although some writers were so ignorant of the truth
as to call Reicha “ the restorer of the fugue.” About the
close of 1808 Reicha sought refuge in Paris from the evils
of a new war in Germany. In Paris he began to teach musi¬
cal composition according to an expeditious method, which
consisted in directing the attention of his pupils solely to the
forms of modern music, to the exclusion of all those forms
which it is necessary to study in order to obtain a real
knowledge of the art of composition. In 1814 he published
his Traite de Melodic, in which he claims the merit ot
being the first to write upon that subject,—thereby proving
his complete ignorance of the various excellent works on
melody published by Italians and Germans, and even of the
work on composition published by the Frenchman Momigny
in 1806. There are good things in Reicha’s work, although
he takes too narrow a view of his subject under the aspect
of rhythm and melodic phrases only, neglecting altogether
the laws of melody as these relate to tonality, modulation,
harmony, and beauty. In 1817 he succeeded Mehul as pro¬
fessor of counterpoint in the Paris conservatory; and in 1818
published his Cours de Composition Musicale,—a work
founded upon wrong views of the theory of chords, but con¬
taining much useful practical information. In 1824 and 1826
he published his Traite de Haute Composition Musicale, in
which his ignorance of historical facts, and of the forms of
ancient music, were so great as to bring him under the severe
criticisms of the Abate Baini, in the latter’s work on Pales¬
trina. Reicha treats of double counterpoint as applicable to
modern composition, but takes no notice of simple counter¬
point, which is really the foundation of all other kinds.
While settled in Paris Reicha enjoyed the friendship
and counsel of Cherubini. Very desirous to obtain success
as a dramatic composer, he produced three operas,—Cag-
liostro, which fell flat on the first representation; Natalie
in 1816, and Sapho in 1822, both unsuccessful. Several
times he sought to be admitted as a member of the French
Academy of Fine Arts, but was denied that honour until
after the death of Boieldieu in October 1835, whose place
he then obtained. He died at Paris, of inflammation of the
chest, on 23d May 1836, and was buried on the 30th in the
cemetery of Pere Lachaise. His funeral obsequies were
performed in the church of St Roch, and were attended by
Cherubini, Paer, Auber, and all the members of the Insti¬
tute, as well as the professors and pupils of the Conserva¬
tory, and the artists of the Royal Academy of Music and of
the Comic Opera. He bore the rank of Knight of the
Legion of Honour, and was highly esteemed in private life
by his numerous friends. Besides the works already men¬
tioned, Reicha published many others. His best composi¬
tions are his twenty-four Quintets for flute, oboe, clarinet,
horn, and bassoon, which are much esteemed by connois¬
seurs. Three of his didactic works are Etudes ou Theories
pour le Pianoforte, 1800; Art du Compositeur Drama-
844 R E I
Reichen- tique, 1833 ; Petit Traite $ Harmonic Pratique a Deux
bach. Parties. His other works are numerous, consisting of two
Symphonies, an Overture, an Octuor, Quintets for various
instruments, twenty stringed Quartets, Trios, Duets, So-
natas for piano and violin, Sonatas for piano, Studies and
Fugues for the piano, Variations, &c. (g- e. g.)
REICHENBACH, a town of Saxony, in the circle
and 7 miles S.E. of Zwickau. It is, next to Plauen, the
largest manufacturing and commercial town in this part
of the country; upwards of 500 of the inhabitants being
employed in the manufacture of cloth, especially merino
and cashmere. Weaving, spinning, and dyeing are also
carried on here. A great part of the town was destroyed
by a fire in 1833. Bbttiger the antiquary was born here
in 1760. Pop. 9127. . ^ „
Reichenbach, a town of Prussia, in the province o
RET
Silesia, circle and 31 miles S.W. of Breslau, on the Piel-
bach, and near the Eulengebirge. It is surrounded by a
double moat and walls ; and has a castle, several churches
and schools, a town-hall, &c. Manufactures of woollen
cloth are carried on here; and there is some trade. Pop.
Reichen-
berg.
5760.
REICHENBERG, a town of Bohemia, second in size
and importance to Prague, in the circle of Bunzlau, on the
Neisse, an affluent of the Oder, 58 miles N.E. of Prague.
It has many good buildings, but the streets are narrow,
uneven, and irregular. There are here two palaces (one of
which once belonged to Wallenstein), a Piarist college, seve¬
ral schools, and a theatre. The principal manufactures of
the town are those of linen, cotton, and woollen stuffs, the
dyeing of silk, tanning, the making of gloves and hosiery,
jewellery, .and musical instruments. Pop. 13,184.
END OP VOLUME EIGHTEENTH.
PRINTED BY NEILL AND CO , OLD FISHMAKKET, EDINBURGH.
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